That dank garage

 She sat at the wooden picnic table.
It had been moved into the garage.
Love was so foreign.

 She clung to emotions.
Over the other side.
The immature cousin played pool.

He imitated betty boop taking the shot.
Teeth stained as he grinned a grin so wrong.
His self neglect only visible to others.

Inside the body there is no certainty.
The wooden seat feels foreign.
A face was on the portrait.

Struggle creates beauty,
discomfort and shame pollute the aura.
Become evident as you cling to the table.

There is nothing stable.
No real safety.
So when you refuse my embrace.

And hate those that invite it.
You lose out noone else.
There's nothing sinister here.

You look away from me,
insisting on that indoor picnic table.
In that old garage dim and dank.

With that rugged cousin.
He's bordering on gout,
drunk since yesterday.

I wanted to be a firefighter

 I wanted to be a firefighter
A hero for the small town
Known as fearless
Recognised for my deeds

Riding the fire engine
Siren warding off the traffic
Heat becoming a necessity
anticipating the flame

Extending the ladder
Axe on my belt
Scaling burning infernos
Following the screams

Pulling smoked stained people out of their homes
Smashing an entry and exit
Dragging the high pressure hose in
Dousing the fire

Salvaging what I can
Letting the rest burn

 

The colony

 Open city count us
We are ants
We are crawling 
over running

We are rushing
cooperating
Competing
We are forraging, we are hoarding

Open city look inward
Count us
Find our queen
watch us scatter

canibalize
canibalize

Fondle

 At the fountain
sense flys out of the water
Love inside the water
Fondle

Life is the vessel
Desperate spirit
Flying out
Wetting the pavement

Architecture of birth
Following years in the air
Falling into the pond
Fondle

Life is a pistle
The soul is mushed
The ingredients added
cemented

Painted on the fountain
Where sense flys out
You seek love like thirst
Fondle

Inner turmoil with fries

 Yeah can I get the urgent ego package?
"You mean the midlife?"

Yeah I'll take the midlife crisis.
"Okay would you like self deceit with that?"

Two servings please.
Also I'd like the impulsiveness sauce.
Side of fresh desires.
Slice of amnesia.
And a seasoned false identity soup, are you still selling that.

"Yeah, we keep that well stocked."

I guess it sells well then.
Listen don't get the order wrong.
Last time I threw a lit cuban cigar in one of your rubbish bins.
This time I'll burn down the whole kitchen!

"Okay sir, just drive to the next mirror I mean window."

The return advent

 I fell out of the space suit and hit my head
Because the craft had landed gravity was here
I sat staring at the earth through the rockets narrow window
I would have to get out and rejoin the world

It had been months since I had even spoken
I feared the first word would be agony
But it came out beautifully
"Damn" Looking at grenery outside the glass

The door depressurized and unlocked
I barged out carrying my helmet for no reason than it felt like a part of me
The grass brushed my boot 
I threw a fat flare and red smoke burst upward to the sky

Soon they would find me disoriented euphoric
Full of the bliss of existence
No souvenirs just blocks of waste
earth air suddenly flooding my lungs
"Amen"

Days are fast when people pleasing

 There were three of us.
The urgent one, the patient one and the mix of the two who was me.
On the street the day flew by like a diesel van.
Blue smoke gushing out daylight combustion.

The impatient sequestered our will.
Led us on a goose chase across the grey city.
Smog and laughter.
We got back to the family garage empty handed.

Cousin weasel impulsive violent imitated us.
The impatient burst into well timed tears.
The patient one cuddled her.
I continued people pleasing and getting nothing from the world.