Your Menu

I simmer in truth
stirring in the silence
waving away the clouds of steam
swimming in high air.

In Hell's kitchen
the menu offered
a delicacy;
a one of a time special...

Stewing in my thoughts:
What do you have cooking
good looking?
It's a horrible dish
unless you sit across from me
eyes locked
asking to pass the salt
across the table.
Rub it in deep.
I felt only a season of you.
Maybe I'm too bland,
but there's a
pressure lumbering
as if there was an elephant
on my chest.
My ribs ache.

Where did you get this recipe
for disaster?
Bitter side glances.
Odiferous, drunken advances.
I've been boiling, turning, lifeless
in the middle
of a four course spread.
Tea for two...
clinging glasses of wine.
Everyone is here for blowout time,
but it's my head on the platter,
and your carving knives
take the first cut.

I hope you feel nourished.
I have been picked apart.
After there is nothing but a shell
of my body
I hope you have
at least
saved my heart.
It was yours anyway.

The Question

Who in consistent inquest
paces for orientation?
Succumbing to mauling query:
bother and pother.
Turpitude in a serpentine twist.
All of which
should be assigned
a sword that splits
a blade of grass.
In each side
an answer
that sensations trouble
the same.

Daily awaken with
the same questions.
Was I a thought today,
terrifying your mind?
Did my absence retrieve
a patient sleuth,
gumshoeing
the idea of our worst tyranny?

Situations,
at a glance...
Face to face:
the only time
all of my inquiry
becomes still.
I just wanted some answers.
Lean in and press.
I didn't learn anything.

What bothers me,
fidelity?
I can't tell you.
When our eyes met I forgot the damn question.

Before

Before.
What's in store,
as the door slightly creaks
and you
are continuing to peer through.
Anxious for the minutes
as the time came to pass.
I verbalize yesterday
but worry about tomorrow.

Lovely days of before,
chest clenched and sore
only by the ties of narration.
I tell about your virtue
in storytelling lore
although
I don't think my counterparts feel the same.

Conclusions about before
often a reflection you seemed to ignore
as I fight for a valid reason in this convocation of obscurity:
opinionated plebeian biased irregularity.
Friends who turned out to be enemies
sent out a draft
but I didn't go to war.

Instead
my heart just aches.
Some ghosts are actually alive.
These days, I lock and bolt the door.

I'll be Poe if you are Eleanor.
Haunting me
not in mustering flight
but with nightmares that I may not be able
to see you again.

Rest yourself
and be assured
I am as authentically real
as the last time you remembered.
Impermanence of life
pushes even the most stubborn....
One day this may not be a recollection
but for now
everyday I carry you with me
I love you just as much as I did before.

I'm Tired

I'm tired.
The slumber is thoughts of which become sleepy times,
wrestling in nestles of clear blue sky.

I've walked a lonesome trek,
and wind blown snow's beauty made me feel worse....
Because...
I'm tired.
It was just the day before when I thought he loved me and I pronounced the language that concluded an open door.
Today it's shut.

I'm tired.
Do you know my name?
Exhaustion meant that I can't introduce myself.
He knows all others,
but I slept in a daydream that replayed yesterday and
the introduction of my belief will tell you in a solemn lullaby.
Rock me to sleep.
You are so tired of playing...
its no longer fun.
Go to sleep,
your tears will have them on the run.
They are so well rested.
I lay awake.
I'm so tired.
He's my nightmare.

Battle

Pick axes and cleavers.
Barreled guns and torturous constraints.
Out to battle
for sovereign safety.
Behind an enemy line
to defend these escapes from lips
and thoughts
that time life
by the ungrateful death
of a tragedy.
I have been taken
as a prisoner of war.

They said I was part of a
meaningless battle.
That the peace
that should follow
is only drawn out of fate.
One from the other side
since cowards who combat
truth barely exist.
It was nothing short of treachery.
The way they separated my pride...
the heralded advance in my change of policy.
It's all over once I touch his face.
Have you missed me since I've left for war?

I escaped for a moment.
The sleep deprivation
had terrorized every second
after home again.
Post traumatic loving disorder....
I returned to shine my boots.
Confessed the disgrace.
Hang my medals on the wall.
Add up loses
and admit I couldn't withstand the fight.
So much for my tenderly apparent warfare.

A contention is simple apprehension.
Striking down the series
of treaties I wrote for justice.
Ceasefire.
You know you've won.
All is fair in love and war.

Window

Don't be mistaken
when the painted glass shatters away,
and rose scented memories fill the room.
We've been colored lights
dancing until dawn
in deep chuckling breaths.
A shadow came along.
I failed to believe it.

The light hues,
and stained panes
have been adequate to see through.
Soldered.
Fixed in freeze frames.
Reveling a pleasant time.
My misery evolves.
Certain colors tamper with trust.
I should paint over this glass.
The fine lines of concern
settle in the cracks.
We are beautiful.

Chips settle slowly in the light.
Mosaic-ed in shades
that stop some in their tracks.
Water color traces the mirrored profile.
Severed in short
sharp edges.
The surface had our appearances
smoothed over carefully.
Conference agreed.
This is worth saving.
Clean, transparent views
started after I took a hammer to the wall.
Now a couple can be caught
looking longingly out the window.

Brutal

Struggling is a heart song
I brutally dance to.
Play a different melody please.
I need to forget how difficult things have been.
Let my chest vibrate at the noise of you.

A jukebox with limbs and personality
will accept silence as a payment.
I guess I didn't hear anything at all.

Back to my own anthem.
If you hear me humming
it's because I didn't divulge any
lyrical conviction.
I sing everything that I remember about us to myself.
Brutal aberration to interrupt a mutilated distraction.
I do this through poetry....
you can add the music.
I manage to dance through refinement.
Through the distrust.
In hysterical confusion,
and permeating lust.
All of the mutiny hardships can offer.
I don't merely manage to stand....
move my feet.
I celebrate them through ballroom waltzes.
You already warned that you can't dance.

Brutally fallen on the cusp of moonlight.
The sun was torn from the sky.
Let me hear what bellows in the tragedy.
To become this whisper
I had to be brutal.

The same voice that laughs at the wind,
and has seen starlight and vengeance simultaneously in shades of purple.
Goodnight to the loose stitching.
All are undone.
So long to the waves at the river.
It was brutal to keep my head above water.
When you intentionally envy all who bare to run away,
and I chanced to circumstance all that brutally remain.
Thrust on.
Vicious is love and terrible time is only forgivable if I savagely burn away.
They all dump buckets on my head.....
Hearts that haven't any pity.
Brutal compliance,
we both know my soul ferociously awaits.