You used to be an ingredient that i put in my coffee
Now I feel that sense of something missing
The brew is slightly bitter but I'm fussy
But still good to keep me busy
I usually add cinnamon and cocoa
Just a dash of you even in doubt
But the jar is empty, it's a no show
we're all out
Sweetness used to give me such a headrush
I miss it all the same, dark bean crushed
The strange sweetness enriches the warm drink
That would make me move, make me think
Born again into the portrait
Flames from mouth
obscurity
schist
Short cut lawns
abandoned there
By a wealthy world
left static
rock melts
The forests above observes
The land shakes
The slope speaks
Bamboo knocks and whistles
Minion of ghosts gripe and wail
Dead ancestors look down from the window
Come to enslave you
Blow fire
Labor for the century
Out do you
Press forward
Maim the adversary
Advance
It was getting full now
It sat rusted smiled somehow
Brimming over with garden waste
My mind suggested rest, limbs haste
The front wheel sinking into the mud
the iron soil red like blood
I threw another handful of weeds
The beds were clean as was need
My hands approached and curled around handles
Assuming the weight barrow's contents demand
raising it up in confidence for forward motion
Physics came to disprove my simple notion
sadly the wheel did not turn nor budge
Over-acquainted with deep red mud
Should I endeavour now to empty part
I shove and press not moving the cart
The mystery was how my energy never dulled
I picked it up again like a tide a ship's hull
An energy rose in my humble bones
The wheel turned under my own groan
That grin it wore inside the eaten metal rust
Now but a scowl as I urged and thrust
Too seen
Too exposed infront of everyone
Pack the little you brought
Your presence a secret
Little fidget
Long fingers wittle love
Now out of the way
Top shelf sugar
Forbidden rapport
feel that restlessness
Would love bring calamity
A few blocks across
Dwelling on something
The sense of absence
The mind here is quiet
Once so generously bustling
In agitation
In wonder
Now mercy be
All is tranquil
Alas being shook up was elation
clashing eyes were thrilling
A relief for the mind
A frost for the heart
Lying on a floating block a nameless pier
I investigated the rays moving underneath
It looked like bait but hunger was universal
An uncertain philosophy
Yellowish meat should have been chicken
but wasn't
The line slowly slipped into the water
I lifted my legs
afraid something might bite
The line was running faster
almost no time to set the bait
before it disappeared,
luring some poor fish
The waters were so abundant
As if there were no predators
I slip beneath the surface
and become the shark
Tropical fish
swimming inside irony
an aquarium
uncertain philosophy
Always swimming
putting on a show
then escaping a million schools
while the fish swim up
Tickling their desires
the salt water had to be perfect
in an imperfect world
one moment bitter with silence
the next overwhelmed by noise
Colors flashing on their bodies
Grace moving through the water of fame
The appeal from outside
The call from within
What a reef
The man was sooty now,
five hours under the car,
he had just lied there
and choked on exhaust cloud blues
His leather pants and jacket skimmed and scratched,
against the coarse concrete floor.
But he didn't care, he almost drifted off.
Every canter of footsteps would awaken him fresh.
He dreamed of an achilles heel severed
and was willing to wait the whole day.
Just to see the flesh above the high heel or boot open
and over the pale gray tarmac spill.
Then he would covort with himself,
between the chasis and the concrete.
The deepest sense of fiendsish freak.
As the man or woman fell and on impact coming face to face.
The responsible for their undeserved pain.
As one wrythed in shock and pain.
The other in strange deranged pleasure,
before rolling out redfaced and bushwhacked.
Getting on his motorcycle and riding back to his cabin near a slum.
The glare hid a galaxy of sight.
A patchwork of every cream and yellow.
Sun stained nimbus.
Built painstakingly by an enthusiastic morning.
So dedicated to show off the eastern sky.
The warmness of which moves me to motion.
Virtue is movement.
The morning holy therefore.
For building the inspiration to get me mobile.
To creating one single firey eye observing me.
As I earnestly exercise after dawn.
To wear myself into the first hours,
like weening at the front door of life.
Yes the eye captures any and all who are up and exposed.
To the early architecture of a common tuesday.
