Simple

Etch into my space,

and allow our palms to grind,

walk at my hearts pace,

in another world we're destined to find.

After Midnight

I'm not afraid of your dark, no,

it's those dancing shadows crying like monkeys,

I tug at my shirt, creeping,

soft steam swirls off the the damp alley,

the brick stifles my vision as rats scamper at my feet,

I've had this dream before, and it ends the same,

a car speeds by while my feet sink further,

deeper screams and grip at my legs,

I scratch and claw at the dense walls,

I've had this dream before,

my waist is submerged, a cool chill shakes my spine,

I've been here,

I can't feel my lower half,

strangers laugh and murmur off in the distance,

my voice is a whisper no matter my pitch,

I always wake up,

it's over my eyes as my finger tips

reach for the stars

just out of reach.

101

The baked Sun bloats the polluted streets
and that zooming and coming and going
never let's the tired sleep.

She lies sunken in a trance,
huddled like a C willingly
offering her hand.

I stand frozen watching the outside from above,
heart screeching with anxiety,
since the perch is disappearing
beneath me.

The Open

Two weeks walking on top toes

suppose the spectators become restless

trapped in a lousy boat

moats keep blades from reaching throats

but that western air still guides through

blue crisp skies hidden by murky grey brewing

about to collapse

pieces glittering and chiming

change scatter from holes in pockets

and hands clinging drunkenly

no me ho die tries to swindle the mind

so polite for strangers

and clean as a medical tent

went there and back

took more than a three day trail

snails may run faster

but they don't enjoy the scene as much.