An old draft I urged myself to publish, just to keep:
the ink-spilling,
the head-spinning.
Can’t control this feeling.
Transparent skin through the looking glass I was observing you with some scarce moonlight, what a shameless radiation.
A greyish shade of pink.
What was ‘eye’ to think?
Maybe it’s a sense of paranoia.
Maybe it’s a lens of panorama.
Maybe there is no reason to ring phenomena.
Cheap rhymes, such bull$hit poetry.
Check reality check.
Tensed lower-back.
There are too many maybe’s for something that never happened without a sprinkle of maybe’s madness.
Careless whisper I drift away in thoughts of yesterday and sing it louder like George Michael before kicking the walk-in closet door. (no exit flickering sign in chemical red, unisex human appearing running backwards)
Maybe this time.
I’ll self-ignore.
Maybe not a maybe.
Reality, full-split or inward spit..
I might tease you to twist.
Upwards, no further questions, broken glasses of a useless complex of mindful actions with last century compass I accidentally kept in the back pocket of my not the season to wear this jacket.
But I wear it every day.
It never wears out.
Your chance for a warm hug I kept this arm-pit temperature just for..
The flame to burn the calendar.
Lil candle, breeze feeds…
