regarding the balloon
in flight, he whispers
that it can’t be false

its arc etching the path
of wind through air

-

a deep breath beneath
the great whorl of night

i exhale,
wrap in rubber
and release

every day is somebody’s end of times
the day they build the pyre is mine

the sun is signing little words
the fine day singing all the world

is watching Brent from the Office
humiliate himself and the dark mask

every Wednesday it airs. every air
takes to air, takes two erryday

gave herself airs, must be pulled apart
by fist and first let’s build a pyre

my love for him a splinter:
(the ninja turtles character:
fictional)

heavy hang
tomatoes (testes)
come, cavort
:

don’t directly
ever evince
sexual senses
it’d insult;
rampant rumour
explains easily

ring the chimes of your heart
toll the bell of your anger
clench the fists of your love

keep breathing that sweet air out

~~

roll out with your close crew
drink alcohol or sugar or the slightest hit of caffeine
and chew on clouds with that smile,
i beg,

‘til they give you your stage

peel oranges with my
platinum nails, discard peel

i flatten symbols
with my silent palm

knead silence til he
bleeds, with my knuckles

~~

my fingertips
are for tracing ass

mice in a citrus bed (praxis)
and god in the firmament

i would carve my headstone
as a portrait of ideals

seems true,
or at least articulate

that words should
show us who to hold

who to leave behind
in our straight
forward
world