Tique Toque

Spreading shadows cast by a melting hand
Over the blank alabaster face
Briefly darken its pristine countenance.

Softly, the fragile facade obscures
Obscure reminders of potential times
Burying them in the growing night.

Silenced voices grow monotonous,
Overcoming the stifling sounds:
Broken and inevitably entropic beats.

Soon there is no hint of it remaining -
Only a blank intangibility
Bearing heavily down upon me.

Don't Go Swimming With 40 Dollars In Your Trunks

I've never skipped pebbles from the beach
Onto the waves into the sea
For I know that on that final dip
I'll have let more than a pebble slip
Into the timeless waters where
It seems that time is always there.
It never changes but always moves -
We can never find the things we lose.

The shifting sands feel warm with life
Beneath the sun but dead at night
Or when they're scattered and torn apart
As I dig for shells and natural art
And ignore the paintings my fingers make
Of their own accord - but they quickly fade.
By the time I can truly understand
What is lost I have only empty hands.

The waves, the ocean, the sea air
If I were told that they're not there
That I could step off from the sand
And plant my feet upon dry land
I'd head to the horizon and then no more
Then walk myself back to the shore,
And only stop to tie my shoes
Or pick up a pebble that someone threw.

Life is good sometimes.

I decided to clean off my cleats at 12:30. My eyes felt like they were filled with molten lead - burning and heavy as hell at the same time, and the world tilted alarmingly with each step. I opened the door and stepped briefly upon a wet welcome mat before clearing the threshold to my home. I was struck instantly by the brisk night air and a disquieting moist sensation on the sole of my foot. With cleats still dangling weakly from both hands, I breathed deep and felt the night within my lungs for the first time in weeks. I'd forgotten how electrifying the night air could be. I stepped away from my door and loudly clapped the cleats together, dislodging a small clump of dirt. I heard the clap echo through the streets, weaving in and out of the houses and shadows. I was struck then by the incredible beauty that is a tranquil urban setting, and for a while there were no cars to intrude upon my musings. I struck the cleats together again, and heard the sound like a clap of thunder running wild through an empty city. Still no cars.

Diving Board

Stare into the abyss and wave to a philosopher
Don't you know if you disseminate your observations to a gossiper
They will propagate mindlessly the agenda of the void
Slipping in their insecurities like their names collectively were “Freud”?
When did the word of mouth become something other than language
And take on deeper connotations while the literal languished
Are we not just simple animals aspiring to something greater
Are we not just existential crises rebelling against their creator?
But hey lets not get heavy handed with the conceited rhetoric
Pretensions are just pretending that verbosity's a successful shtick
Dive deep into the meanings and ignore the aestheticism of words
It's the shallow end of the pool but you can still drown, ya heard?

You can call me opaque, assert I'm obtuse
I'm just circling and angling to try to get at the truth,
Stretching and skewing before your very eyes
A professional doctored image worth at least a thousand lies
Or a hypocritical oath sworn before an iatraphobic
Court to protect and serve, twisted around a broken rubic's-
Mind-fuck, Necker, abstract and subjective
Cubist insanity but be sure the primary objective
Of the rambling words is to get at your soul
The encultured byproduct when men were first bought and sold
Not just as property but as what made them the fact
Humanity isn't worth much but it's worth more than that.