Transverse

parallel lines have always served as a comfort
because i know
no matter how far they go they will never cross paths
with another
and lose a piece of themselves in the process of
factionalized patience with no beginning
only the promise of a fleeting junction
only hesitant common ground
only end.

Blue Sidecar

Blue sidecar hold me above the tracks
Keep time
Keep time against the hum of lazy hours
As they forge ahead to cushion the fall
Falling
Pushing through soft sheets of identity suspended in the air 
I might almost taste the condensed clouds
Breathe them in and let them swim
There lies sweet release in the saturation
Folding into the crevices of progression
Speeding across terrain in nimble flight
I come to stand stills now and then
For a moment only to forget 
The rhythmic pulsing of blue sidecars
Until we board again

Phases

I swallow myself whole as I breathe
Noiselessly
Through lungs bruised with my own handprints
Crushed with all the expectation of crossing out lines drawn in the sand
Crossing over was too easy
Time will pass
Without the familiar hesitation
Grinding
Rendering me raw
Marching on with a rhythm that echoes out of my rib cage
Fumbling from my mouth and staining sheets of beige paper
Close my senses
Until soft grey vapors can work their way into my dehydrated ambition
Always shrinking in the dull heat of obligation
.

Planes Of Us

At midnight I wrap myself in
The need to put you into words 
As I can no longer keep my hands from
Locking themselves onto the corners of vacant stares
Loosely fingering the idea of
You filling me
And my void of clockwork sighs.
Stop and stay a while
While we still have time to sink into the depths 
Of each other and the instinct to run fast and
Far so I promise 
You can step inside and rest assured because
I will never try to find you if you are lost
Across the hardened planes of us.

Matter

I‘m standing in a stark white room with one thousand brass locks scattered on the floor.

What’s the most important part of that sentence?

Not the locks or plain room-,

I’m

Standing.

Weight evenly distributed on both feet,

Legs bent slightly,

Holding myself upward.

So simple, so instinctual, so habitual.

Someday my bones will be dust.

Fertilizing the earth.

Nourishing a school of fish at the bottom of the ocean.

How remarkable.

The life cycle at its best.

What will become of my liquid gold?

Swirling around in a basin carved from my greatest insecurities

Every decision I ever made and the memories of the life I’ve lead

Once proudly displayed on the coffee table and in the sleeves of a wallet.

I’d like to think that they would solidify

And form the bricks of a fortress to keep me eternal.

Or the drain is left in the right, hand of fate.

And every coherent thought I ever formed is whisked out into space

Spread

So

Thin

Their contents become questionable.

Did I ever make a friend?

Fall in love?

Fuck everything up?

Maybe do it all simultaneously?

My favorite color is yellow

I tie my shoes monkey-around-the-tree.

I can stand on two lengthy appendages sprouted from my torso.

It’s a mid-July night

Laying under a sky that should have a few more stars

Uttering empty promises about losing ourselves in others, and in the world around us.

Only to then have it all ripped out from under your feet,

To then move on and melt into clouds,

Or carry on as a blade of grass.

But I’m only a blip on the radar, a grain of sand of the beach of forever.

When the universes collide and the skies open up to pour translucent blood on us, will we be able to process that our bodies are being compacted into unintelligible forms?

Or is it a pair of pliers, clipping electrical circuits until we’re blanketed in blackness,

Rendering us as fading light bulbs that are only useful when smashed so I can use the glass to look into my reflection and give myself a knowing smile.

“It’s over, pal.”

And after

As I swirl through a cross section of time and reality,

Will I remember the sensation,

Of this stark white room,

With one thousand brass locks on the floor,

And bones that are solid,

Just

Standing

Existence.

The Self Improvement Manual

When I close my eyes I can see clouds against a sapphire sky. My eyelids could be transparent, but I'd rather believe that He took a paintbrush and swirled the images there Himself. I'm not typically an outspoken person, at least not when it counts, so I hope to someday have a tongue that can do more than swallow and lick, and a mind that stays out of the gutter when I write a poem. Hundreds of thick green vines couldn't hold me back when I'm driven, but they also couldn't pull me along when I'm lazy, which is completely unnatural so why am I the exception? Sometimes I feel like a blemish on this place like a blemish on my face in my 6th grade yearbook photo and I cried and cried. How could I have been so shallow?... I'll tell you why because I'm still only a kid though I hate to admit I have no experience and can not yet form original opinions, selfless thoughts, or beliefs...Ha!I'm not sure if that's an acceptable excuse anymore seeing as 3/20ths are already gone if I go by Five For Fighting.I have driven hundreds of miles and seen just as many faces but I'd like to tell myself that I have left a permanent smile on at least one of them and I wish I could remember every mile and each face because somehow I neglected to make a scrapbook. As the yellow and white dotted lines of this road blur together I can only hope that they don't form into chains, but instead into handrails aiding me across rough terrains or at least so I can slide down them. I'll tumble and scrape my knees, lose a few brain cells through means both legal and illegal, have my ambitions accordion folded in 6 different directions... Just like I will accordion fold some other poor kids heart BUT that's life dust yourself off. We can't be perfect all the time so for now I'm content watching the clouds float by on the backs of my eyelids, because when all the grime is wiped off the mirror that's the only productive thing to be doing anyway. 
You should try it too.

For You The Moon

Sometimes when I hold my hands up to the sky, I wonder if could fit the moon in the spaces between my fingers.
But there is no wondering needed, because I know that as long as I
Eat my vegetables
Kneel by my bed every night
And never let a bad thought fight its way into my mind
I will have lunar dust on my hands.

Even as the moon came hurdling towards me I didn't anticipate what would happen as it fell into my hands, my wrists snapping under the weight
Exposed now were my milky white bones
Matching my milky white teeth because I brushed them so hard
Just so I could have the moon like you said I would.

Now as I sit on the ground in a pool of disappointment, all I have between my fingers is air.
Often I have thought of words that can encompass my true core
Naive was never on that list before now.