Conduit

Forward i have come
found parents of the under one
blamed regards to irreplaceable vices
chose to implement
what has never been done

now a view not determined
normal
her self-esteem taken
a certain mental
conduit maiden
hell

but i am not brazen
nor am i made of the same
mettle
my time is...
seems somehow different
less virtuous
more
contemptuous

a voice, an entity, travels
a fiber-optic pathway
to my doorstep
disappears
all at once
alone

but there is beauty in the silence
a vague fountain of life unspent

over there
a horse in slow motion
stops
looks at me
recognizes something
kneels
beckoning
through the haze
no sounds
just motion
moving as if by instinct
as if in sync with some
unseen force
moves forward
to initiate what has never been done.

Dwell

Rivers of sub-atomic
particles,
articulated syllables,
all misinterpreted
rituals,
i have forgone

sightless have i
undone the ties that
blind
forward my heart
to make relevant
a constructed emotion
i have blended
slight

a backwards glance
suggests there might
have been a chance,
a gathering of stars

but an ocean grows ever
deeper
where those particles collide
where i sit
at the foot
of purest creation
where place cannot derive
location
where location is
not fixed
where you,
as if in static silence,
dwell.

Guide

Still,
i have not died
quiet,
I can be your guide
for the time spent on selfish endeavors
had been set aside
some time ago

but your eyes,
speak truths yet unspoken
see not exponential threats
so broken go
my lies,
beautiful lies
with which to teach the way
to heaven
while green is the sound
of my heart breaking
is not the color of my soul aching
is not the blade of
your sharpest
bite

so there is distance in the
cool air tonight
but you are
still

and there is reluctance on
the fence for now
but i have not died
quiet.

Warm Gargoyle

Tomorrow
the time-shifter
comes

for
some borrowed
stolen
returns
and
a livid color
to reprimand

this entity -
a conscious state,
bearing not the slightest…
wait
see it spilling over,
see its contents,
sober

and riot i
some volatile scent
in a land
a firmament
an earthly
façade
with no precedent
for the burn
to come

so perch on the cornice
my man
as we gargoyle
to the avenue
and catch the
afterglow of their cigarette-
stained lips
a sorry sodden
leatherette
a handful of
nothing i can do
a headline of empty blurbs
for you

or an ode to no one
in particular,
in other words
our time is not ours,
is gone.

Marathon

Striding figures
move steadily along
broken pavement
mouths moving through
one eighth inch thick glass
a window framing
a familiar scene

machines sail on
rivers of fractured
asphalt
more heading south
than north

today the clouds do not
smother the sun
today the pilgrims come
and go
today voices clash, merge
into a cacophony, an
avoidance of what surely is
to come

marathon - this existence,
this place
a pram, a child, a future,
a sequence of ones and zeros,
a string of choices -
this magic we carry -
a look, a glance
away.