You’re a delinquent, let’s be clear

Your words are round and shaved to the rear

They’re just like calling a swarm of bees

To fill up space in between your knees

Cadence is lost, it’s jumbled and dry

Hymns of your sorrows are lost on the fly

Keeping us dreaming in dark fallen blue

Just trip on those shoes, you’re not fit to move

A delicate doozy, you’ve come to become

It’s not nice, being the sultry son without love

A mother overcharged with past debts due

Only to laden your words without much clue

You think you're ready, oh precious breed?

Born of the highest and lowest of seeds

Wither the garden in tears of glamour

Words behind them like faux-stammers

If I were to call upon the truest of true

A doozy without the celebratory tune

The mess they’d make of you

So I’ll just sit and watch you bruise

You’re a delinquent, let’s be clear

Not some delicate doozy

Made to cast the most maligned of a rouse

#poetry

With two arms you’ve reached out

Sanctimonious and in fugue

I’m hesitant to grasp them

A polite smack

You’ve a voice that slivers in and out

Of the ear I’ve hardened in fear

I’m met with a stalemate

I want to raid the stillness

The static between the arm and sound

But who am I to censure

What caused this peculiar embrace

Please forgive a feigned attempt

To charge this static picture

I’m learning it’s edges

While you stand front and center

Understandably blind to the drying

Of silk and red paint

#poetry

It can’t be

What it can be

What you could be

Isn’t the true be

A false be is one for you to be

It’s just the kind that he’d be

Savage be

Running sane, I’ll be

Shatter mirrors, she’ll be

Harem divine, we’ll be

More than the most of us, you could be

Mountains move, they’ll be

Seas apart, we’ll be

Be it, I can beg us to be

Faux challenges, we could be

To them, it’s all we could be

She’s not the one I’d be

Nor he, I’d be

Nor they, I couldn’t stand to be

Follow my lead, I could be

Be it for us to be...

… Well, maybe I could just

Crawling on the cusp

Simply be

Being one

Or being three

It’s just the place

I’d die to be

#poetry

Currents aren’t aroused

By the stones that lay stray

The white water is clogged

In the niches

Rising and sideswiping

The focus is around and fluid

Content indigestible

My eyes on the flow scrutinize

But it’s a tour de force of the initial

Opening the gate to the subliminal

I’m unsure how the water keeps its body

Despite the infinite disorder

But the thoughts it can mimic

Keep a collection far too neat

For me to remain indifferent

The tapestry is rapid

Juiced with imago

Fluttering with ease

Laced with tones

Of nostalgia’s blue

#poetry

What is a night without a dream

Without a dream is a void

A jump from bleak to anew

Without the bridge to pass over

What is a memory without pathways

Without pathways a dream is null

A directionless race from eye to soul

What is insight without the abstract

Without the abstract what is guidance

A simple amaglamation of words?

It can be argued a dream is a dream

A cloud a cloud

A memory a memory

But under a cloudy sky there remains

A dynamic clarity where the cloud is both face

and horse

or warrior of brute force

... and maybe something else?

It's up to the resting mind

To flesh out the rest

There is a face to the sea

The face is changing every second I turn

To cast a yellow line across the white and black

There is a mouth to the sea

The mouth munches and roars

And I can feel the yawn approaching

There is not a tune to the sea

For their fiddle is too short and stumpy

And leaves a brittle mess in it's wake

There is sometimes a glimmer to the sea

Defying generational mode of gratification

If only the face

And the glimmer

and the mouth

and the tune

Were before me

Instead of layed out ahead

With the captain

Divisive in his authority

Yawning at his post

Opting for the white

Instead of my feverish yellow