Like liquid coffee smell pouring

With fanciful flare,

Hazelnut or French Vanilla-

Hardly matters, entropy electric,

Buzz of laboring bees each confiding

On old sassy gravity-

Dazing dancers spread

Shallow sparks zapping

Mental confetti murals.

Like checkered tiles

For the Captain’s ball,

As hi hats bounce and echo

Night’s melody, slowly

We meet and depart,

Strangers we are

Seeking a final trial

To reclaim each tie

We cut from those closest to us.

Like the end of a great film

Or show- more, more, more!

Encore or not the curtains

Have shut the mouth of theatrical

Wormholes we will never confront

Because ultimately fantasies will never impale

The true killer of each dream and existential calamity.

It sinks as a final note from a playful piano,

Forever taunting until released.

his eyes pour into mine

and for a moment

he knows all of me

every dream, every fear

the songs i listen to

when i am sad

his fingers trace my skin

and i am no longer my own

but i have fallen into him

and i am not alive

until he touches me

his voice is soft when he

moans my name, and

its as if i cannot peacefully

sleep until my name rolls off

of his tongue

crunching on memory

like cubed ice

turning a Ruger

on myself,

flinching

at the empty

click.

(fuck)

it always happens in a bar

a shattered heart

against sticky

counter-tops

fragmented

thoughts

on what was

once love

my father

stunned

sits with wide

eyes at his

whiskey sour

rejected

by his own

daughter

he has been told

not to come to

the wedding ceremony

it's moments

like these

when the bar stools

swivel and we

turn to face the music

he got served

the wrong drink

and my heart

broke

in that

moment

Some days I feel like a girl.Somedays like a boy.Its not explainable,since it’s not just because I don’t feel like abiding by girlish or boyish stereotypes. It’s this tug in my gut,something unsual.Something which is sometimes uncomfortable when I’m a boy in girl clothes or doing stereotypical girl things. It’s a pain which not many people know about.But it’s also a blessing since I can be who I want to be.

heart’s pounding down 7/11 polyrhythms,

nape’s a pin cushion,

earlobe’s puffing up cauliflowers in hell’s oven,

and the platoon of sweat emerging from the hairline’s

making you sweat even harder.

they carry in their knapsacks and bandoliers

a holy mission of scouting the lungs. they’ll

check for traps and openings in the roots

in preparation for an ambush whenever, wherever.

watch your step kid, read some line from a book about pain -

about sonorous waves pulsing like some typhoon’s scorn?

you’ll trip their claymores, losing your legs again,

you’ll cry out, drowning in the pool of sweat. and

lodged in between the Os and the Hs are suns, but they’re not beautiful. no,

the spike tendrils that snap and whip on the surface are your sins. those

blazing balls are so bright and so heavy, your page’s plagiarized from sisyphus and icarus.

and you’re stuck back before galileo, thinking it’s not the center of all things,

you idiot, you selfish bastard, you shameless-

some uroboros waterfall, this is. it

halos your outline chalked

on the skin of your mattress

and wets your moth-riddled bedsheets;

old friend underneath

takes its ritual showers

while you try to sleep. readying

its ingredients, boiling scarecrows in a witch’s cauldron. the

vapor’ll pierce through the veil of your dreams, blackening the sky, wintering lungs,

and instead of yawning when you wake, you scream.

It's the drool that seeps between your neck and collarbone and gets your shirt wet, signaling to everyone around you that you just woke up. It's the chaffing underwear against your thighs that tear your skin more, making you hate your reaction every time someone attractive walks past. It's the black ghosts that appear under your arms and around your collar right before a big presentation. It reddens your cheeks and the tips of your ears and makes your shoes suddenly exciting. It's the sting on your lips after you've subconsciously torn off too much skin and the crimson hue that stays in the patch you've exposed. It's the little smile to keep from crying, the pulling your hair out of your face so you have an excuse to look away, the little shuffle you do like you have to pee to signal that you urgently have to leave. It's the sigh as you lean dramatically against a wall, the climax of the red cheeks, the humidity that floods your eyes once you're finally alone. Your hands cover your face, the heat throughout your entire body goes from 100 degrees to 1000, and the humidity threatens to spill down your cheeks and show everyone you've been crying, which would add one more embarrassment on top of what just happened.

Have you ever looked at something so beautiful that there were just no words? I stood at the very top of a Greek island last summer. There in my vision all around me was a sight so beautiful that there were no words. The sun on my skin, the smell of the breeze, the way the sky met the sea with its perfect shade of cerulean, I have never seen anything more beautiful. A life long dream come to fruition, now in front of me. Words escape me and there are only tears.

10.12.20

2:00am Musings of a post menopausal insomniac mind