All those bites

those mosquito kisses,

they feel so good,

the blood loss and the blinding light.

That choir singing!

All of it.

and I just don’t want to go to sleep just yet,

I cant get over how good those bites actually feel,

bathed in orange,

which is your favorite, for now.

My swollen feet; your favorite color.

the vampires, for now.

So ubiquitous, and unassuming

those parasites for now

so much so that both they require emphasis in italics.

it all does.

You’re living it,

that constant twinge in my shoulder,

that constant twinge, in orange, in wine,

per se,

sincerely ,

your neighbor.

Both of them pulling like a guitar chord when you’re trying to sleep,

drifting away like a a good sunset,

drifting away in orange…

However we choose to adjust to for inflation ,

and despite our lack of context or forethought,

it’s a near perfect example of taxonomy,

a near perfect example of what an apex predator should look like,

and however still I remain whilst in the trees,

I still swim pretty well,

and despite the tempest,

I still swim pretty well.

Blueberry tops

chocolate bottoms,

that dough soft sugar cake cone

at least they are harder to see in the dark

at least they are easier to rip apart,

at least they are melting in the sun.

The subtitles say it all,

black and white,

back and fourth,

Belching out loud,

announcing this dessert,

or a missed call,

or the approach of the hyenas.

Like a roaring lion proudly sunbathing,

7 days from now

an earwig, proudly scurrying under orange lights

seven days from now

in the twilight

increasing our word count.

That very same earwig,,,

doubled over

under the cold,

like a lion, tamed.. recoiled.

Are you seeing all of this?

All this without looking.

this last little, bit, yeah.

without looking, baby.

A play by play, baby.

It’s lining up to be a great end to the evening,

if not , certainly an abrupt one.

at that.

To learn this way,

to groan; to gurgle,

like that.

It reaches out to grab you,

to hear you,

to thank you.

to say the same thing,

to sit out with your feet in the water.

…Despite what’s lurking below,

…Despite what could take you under.

You continually hum along to the sound and the sparkle of your on voice,

and feel for the uncertainty beneath your feet

as your own uncertain voice floats out over the water

freeing up storage along the way, as it spreads,

like an algae bloom,

devising a strategy all it’s own as it permeates out to various shores.

Sending all the beachgoers running,

and despite feeling strange about all this newfound storage that’s yet to even reach newfoundland

not yet, anyways.

There will still be music for singing,

and music for listening ( that is fundamentally different)

but exponentially? and out loud? all at once?

sure.

Visc3rally? vertically?? Why not?

definitely, definitively

divinity , ethereally.

defiantly, in infinity.

Spur or sour,

both are sharp

and shaped like me,

and taste like me,

either way ,

either way both are melodic; metallic.

either way both are albatrosses

in their own right.

Instead they are weighed down by me.

Instead they are accompanied by me.

I’d keep going if anyone would (will?) let me ,

when I drag ( dragged?) me down.

and I hate where it comes from sometimes,

all of it (me) floating upwards of course ,

and I think were at point where most people would get lost

because it sounds better that way

Airplanes flying low,

and there are no drafts left

plenty of flack, though.

If you couldn’t piece that together,

god have mercy.

I know they can see me from here,

from all the way up there,

rip me apart from there.

The blinking green lights of the wings of the plane blending fluently with the lightning strikes,

then the lightning takes on the precise glow of that same planes wings,

it’s at the drop of the hat in which this occurs,

it’s all green when this occurs,

when that plane is flying so low,

amidst the hum of the cicadas,

and can come grow from nothing.

Even if I was able to get a word in edgewise,

it’s still there,

lingering at night,

loitering, just out of reach

and all we are missing are the fireflies when were having this much fun.

It doesn’t have to be IN CAPS.

It’s all improvised anyways,

despite the existence of the shift key, and trading posts off the beaten path.

alternating between custody of the lower case and CAPS lock

and bouts of yellow fever.

I take the stage alone,

anyways, as always.

I don’t look,

I never do.

I take the plunge,

the fear of heights still fresh in my mind , as it always is.

I don’t close my eyes ( this time) and I still don’t look,

despite my lonesome reservations

it allflowstogetherandihavetotrytodecidewheretoputthecommas

I HAVE TO MAKE A DECISION

THE HUMANITY

the red underline is a glare, a stare,,,,, a question

the cliff or rooftop from which I leap,

( of course it could be either, or both)

and I’m in freefall

and if you wanted a mirror, here it is.

Like I wanted to be sorry,

sorry if I have said this before.

As if I wanted to be hunted ,

in that way.

As if I wanted to be hurtled , that way.

As if I wanted to be trampled, that way.

It sounds better now, that way.

In the future , it will be up for interpretation.

The gap,

The séance,

the throttling and

that righteousness

_________________all of it$$$$$$$$$$

Finally some good volume.

Finally some good vultures.

It all comes spilling out,

Spilling out between the skin and bones,

Circumventing the fanatics and the cellular walls,

darting between all the held calls, and the rentals like traffic,

that all adds up.

this is all exhausting.

Finally it comes to rest at the shoreline,

all the blood and time and blue cars,

still significantly short of any rhymes, or sedans.

Desperately short on sand dollars, and four-wheel – drive, as well.

We all are thinking ,

finally we got a good haiku,

even if its a syllable or two , off .

Even if were still stuck in the sand,

and this is just a painting, anyways.

Whats the opposote of a piranha?

What’s that resting on the heads of the druids?

I’ll make sure I get to sleep,

Once I am done looking over my shoulder.

and cocking my head back,

but not with laughter

but not with sleep, either.

Kicking my legs, back and fourth.

Kicking

my

legs.

Those chattering teeth are right in my blind spot,

Just let me MERGE.

The light is tired of constantly catching up to sharp angles,

and catching up to me.

I am busy trying to catch back up on everything else.

Just trying to remember,

trying desperately to consolidate.

trying so hard just to read ahead.

It has to mean something,

To remember; to peek peak.

To be this over encumbered

to be that free.