They Were Me

We’d unhappily see them as incredulous fluidities
While they saw it more as a type of limestone commodity
When we’d asked druids to show us future explanations,
They never gave it to us, instead
They chilly, told us
Where our wants should be,
More of what we should think and, or,
How we should feel, irrationally.

With our head in the clouds
Where we’d fail to consider,
With thinning breaths, while wearing
Dunce caps, thinking that
Mayhap cloudless firmaments existed
But gusty winds had rolled them over,
When we had put up a cold front
We would pay by missing it
Within similarities in the morphic,
“Dude, like el o el, wut?” ‘s



Abnormalities shift in paranormal wise directions.

Abducted figures of morning glory’s moonflowers
Dismal in malformations, unwatered, cower, chiefly
Grimacing at the prospect of the doctored maleficence.

Granular textures pondered by the reticent
Cranium, as to what had been understood, entwined
From paraphernalia belonging to malcontented
Fissures that withstood morose restrictions, curdling
By way of the maladroit; their prehensile digits
Chromatically descending into why’s.

She Would Say it Better

I can reason
That it was never about me;
That she was me, her, and him, and them;
She was
The thoughts that would slither and writhe
Deep inside the dark infinite expanse
Demonically apparating, flitting, in and out
Leaving particle trails of excrements
Laying waste in synaptic data encasement;

But I wanted it to be.

That was in some other life,
Some other utopian dream,
I created in efforts to keep,
This fantasy fiction that fate
Unfolded in front of me.

She would say it better
She was better with words

If she really wanted to make a connection
She could have reached out and grabbed
The trembling hand I had extended.

But she didn’t.

The idea
Of her cold lifeless body
Causes grief.