acraein

What is joy but what we make?
Another view of the same shape.
A little twist, a figure eight.
Just twist for me, babe.

Meaning is meaningless in space.
And constellations don't know their names.
A solipsist has lost the game.
Nothing in the mind remains.

The only real I cannot see,
from vision to visionary
are quiet eyes when you look at me.
Are quiet eyes that see through me.

I can't see my eyes you see,
And you can't see inside of me.
The side of me you want to see
is sailing Saturns rings.

Why do you run?
What is at the core?
And what is it you're dreaming for?
I love just like the winter sun.
You love like the old cartoons.
Patterns of teacups in my mind
Passions once held, far behind
And somehow I lost it again.
Writing names with acrostics.

Every line I parse
makes my heart tear apart.
That moment in history
Feel it for eternity.

Invisible threads
stretching from our eyes
that weave the world that we despise 
I take my place up on the ride.
There is no paint, pastels or time.
Plotting points inside my mind
mapping these old globes of time
well black and marble, gold and glass
a situation logged and cast.

Some days we can't fake a face.
Feel foundations crumbling.
The cracks and crows are showing age.
Spreading to another page.

Speaking the language of mothers young
to mothers of a different tongue
you watch the fathers nod along.
You tap your foot and sing a song.
Speaking the language of lovers old.
Tones with decades of layered code.
An eyebrow that can stop freight trains.
A tensing lip that summons rains.

I want to say
that I think it gets better.
A simple song
that probably could have been a letter.
So dry your eyes
before they get a little wetter.

I likely lied
when we sat there by the water.
I think your fire
probably burns a little hotter.
Bless your mom
we're so lucky that we've got her.

A carnival
of thoughts falling from your well.
A simple smile
is how I know you broke the spell.
It's ok,
now help me clean these eggshells.

One year
in the span of a day
we know.
We've grown.
Butternut just whittled away.
Got the
Feet of a crow.

In time
could the daylight hours grow?
If so
who knows?
Could you bank a few extra dimes?
Sublime.

Don't say
'one day' ever again.
Let's go.
This glow
Getting dim by the day.
Classic refrain.

I know
I'm slow to get going.
Please stay.
My brain
works like paper mache,
just a patchwork of paste.

I'm down at the corner cafe sipping bitter cliche.

This house of flies

I spun.

If I

Could turn back time.

If I

Could un-spin the sun.

The calm of cool undone.

Spool un-spun to pools of wool.

Isn’t it though

The perfect rhyme?

A softer dough

Still rises fine.

Through halls of wax

I run.

If I could turn

Towards time

If I could un-sing

The sun

And just be done.