In the inconstant ravages of midday
I drink of your succulent greys,
of your endless repetitions.
Winning accounts for only a fraction
of our experiences, we lose everyday.
I stand here challenging my failures,
the pawn of my genius watered down.
I will not be made palatable.
I will not be made to adhere.
The only geometry worth the commute
is the human heart. Those slovenly angles
really get me going, even now
in this wrangling heat, the muse seizes hold
shaking me free of my rumpled dress.
We were young once, too young
to appreciate the distress of bones
huddled beneath orgasmic flesh.
Too young to know the intimacy
imposed by silence. I love you
in ways both innocuous and forbidden.
I’d kill for you, an oath not undertaken lightly.
We only seem casual, ordinary
but on the inside we are slicks
of versicolored gasoline, ready to ride
the circuitous waves of our ever deepening
sense of self. To truly understand life
you’ve got to jettison your identity entirely.
I will not be tagged, stacked, and sequestered
by your quadratic pretenses, the I before am
is completely unnecessary, be for nothing
else matters, not even the reward.
cutting it close time-wise barely managed a quick poem.