Leaning over

falling, slightly

but only to crack my famous knuckles.

every feeling is a new one, a new star.

Every feeling is a new flavor, as I crack those same knuckles,

my knuckles / my star.

and I admired the easel, and my damaged knuckles,

and all the oil slicks,

spills,

glaciers,

and stars, too.

https, too,,,

a jungle , believably.

The ONLY ONE/

like milk

past its breaking point ,

past its boiling point,

past me ,

past kelvin,

below kelvin.

into kelvin

onto EVERYWHERE,,,,,,,,

Absolute zero,

ABSOLUTELY

a bird,,,,, apparently

I am not sure where the dog went

or why

and I will sit down to cross my t’s and dot my i’s

behind some caution tape,

and CAPITAL LETTERS

AFTER the clouds

disappearing behind the clouds,

disappearing AFTER HOURS

and a lingering crow slowly circles,

into a fully grown mirage now.

I’ll recognize everyone as that one English professor form from here on out,

he’s everywhere, especially up the stairs,

sitting with me, like a comfortable nightmare, his hair longer than mine

always longer than mine,

lingering more than mine,

growing in the chair,

growing under clouds,

especially up the stairs,

growing always….

He remembers more passwords than I ever will,

He’s compensated for that, though.

He’s compressed because of that, though.

His intel Pentium processor > mine

> than me , > than all of them///

I hadn’t really grieved yet

I knew what song would play next somehow.

through the screen door, and into my ears,

somehow.

Through the light , accompanied by a slow gloomy hum,

A gray cat.

LowercaSE. pENSIVE.

I can still see him, in passing, in shadows,

on tables

looking into nothing,

stalking me instead.

I miss him,

stalking me,,,

hunting me for 16 years, instead.

I miss him, instead.

and I haven’t still really grieved, instead.

well dance in the moonlight,

alongside sports cars and love songs.

not really dancing per se,

Every sip,

Every sneeze,

and still getting used to the insects trilling,

horns blaring, and Berber carpet riddled with sand and discarded voices,

From the cars or from the orchestra , from the lights on the roof, wherever.

being broadcast from somewhere, wherever,

being projected from somewhere, wherever.

From the window, where we can barely see the orange tree,

we are still getting used to it ,

getting stuck to keys,

getting stuck to one another,

and our ragged veins,

and the barely visible orange tree.

At the intersections, a crossroads,

waiting in the car for chorus practice to start, staring blankly across the street.

and the sports drink

spilled long ago, mopped up poorly with paper bags,

and I sang my heart out after that.

not really singing , per se,

more like spinning then actually singing.

Everything matches, wrong.

and everyone was singing, wrong.

everything is orange.

Something dark, that wont show stains,

something that will however collect hair

and dust, collectively.

Caught in that lukewarm air, collectively.

Caught between lukewarm updrafts and lukewarm outcroppings,

caught, circulating, albeit routinely,

Melting at room temperature, casually.

Well want to go further,

deeper,

collectively.

He drones on and on and on

going on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on about

guardrails and other types of suspensions albeit routinely.

As if we aren’t begrudgingly aware bridges exist in the first place.

all at once,

feeling free tonight,, feeling free now.

[practically blind tonight,

parasitically, me tonight .

My receding nostrils,

vibrato, crescendo, etc.

The arch, the dark, the daring,,,

alto, tenor, soprano…etc, buffering….

My shining something,, were speeding,

spreading,

careening,

buffering

and whatever it is was you sent me can wait,

down whatever embankment, can wait,

in the line at the buffet, cant wait,

The feeling in my feet is wet, and it can wait.

even the guardrail, it will wait.

The Jello, it can wait.

The embankment, is still waiting….

Were busy still speeding, spreading,

waiting….

It can wait, I can wait, at any house,

but none; in particular.

It’s getting worse, and brighter, and louder, and bookmarked.

I am getting worse, brighter, and louder, and bookmarked.

The guardrail, it can wait,

The bookmark, it can wait.

Laughing, drowning, organic and

sped up to a dial tone,

to a dull roar,

But still buffering….

What happens to the trees?

and the water with the hair in it,,

to the streams,

to the columns,

to the pendulums.

to the fine print especially.

and to the trees, with all the water in them, even? still?

It sounds better through both ears,

whistling through,

blowing through the canyons,

bellowing, although almost out of time now,

out of battery.

A battle against sightlessness,

selflessness,

boring, but someone is still listening.

I can hear the careful breath on the closed circuit,

and I can hear the crickets,

on that same closed circuit.

minus the bandwidth,

through the canyons,

through me,

but someone is still listening.

No more drafts,

no more sleep, either.

as a screen flitters, either.

I flitter ,

like sleek silver,

a hummingbird,

stainless, timeless,

in my dreams, rummaging through the cabinet,

like a hummingbird,

and that’s your inspiration,

there’s your invitation.

Were suppose to be sweeping the chimney,

and she’ll calls us by our childhood names.

There is no chimney here, and no weeds here either,

but we are warm,

there is barely any light here,

but we are warm.

I get caught up watching for meteors,

watching out for ropes,

for waters, about to rise.

Watching for shadows,

and seeing some of those same reflections.

Tiptoeing with a flashlight is one way to go,

but ill surely choose another,

and break my ankle,

and fall on my sword,

loud enough to wake everyone up ,too.

hypothetically,

cowardly.

Maybe you’ll eventually see the shadows I was waiting up for

and you’ll be less scared of them than I am or ever was.

You’ll be less frenetic than I am, than I ever was.

You’ll be more kinetic than I am, than I ever was,

at the moment,

up to my waist, at the moment

and up to my chin, at some point.

Up to my recollections,

which are wholly underwater now,

swimming with me,

swimming beside me

and how many times can I repeat it

copy and pasted.

crisp, cowardly sounds,

strokes, and sins that bounce off the walls,

off of me.

copy and pasted

copy and pasted

copy and pasted

off of those those sometimes pastel reflections,

and off an eventual , pastoral cliff.