Weekend Love?

Has begun garnering
simply by how she adds flavor
to days of a seemingly slanted stance
Each time I attempt to speak
In a senseless funk all vowels descend
As she passes a series of
Reserved yet, callous glances
Though hidden remain their meanings
for this reason alone
in silence passionately I suffer

Clockwork

Usually, the option of social interaction
Is rarely honored amongst my list of activities
For years such strange behavior has been
Quite the cause to raise concern

Amidst the bowels of concentration, I rest
Observing the soft exchange
Of vowel upon meaningless vowel
No relations or interests composed

To identify and sympathize
with a colorful sea of strangers
May add colour to all that might
Be missing in my life

Yet, in a constant of fear I live
Running…
Just running…
Whilst striving to fathom
The clockwork of relationships

Digest

To much surprise, with great truculence I was met

Of all things I had expected our conversation

To be predictably simple



Oddly enough some personal relations

Had surfaced within the discussion

Relations of which were difficult to digest



Finances, virginity, vehicular independence and so forth

Why should such issues be the subject of immediate scrutiny?

And why should I favor opinions I detest?





Then I said to myself:



“This is the time for reinvention.”



“This is the age to make a difference.”



“This is the year to familiarize what is rare.”



And on I carried…

Mary Michael

The air was bitingly frigid that Monday afternoon
When so suddenly she appeared
Only seconds later did I spot her peering
Upon a rather questionable piece of technology

“What are you reading?” I asked
“The book of Genesis.” She responded
This caused her thoughts to detour
Into mindless babble about the controversy
Concerning proper prayer location

It was then that I studied her
In an interestingly disgusting way
Composing not much of a difference
All else shifted to the subject of radio

A somewhat plausible means of elusion
Though as she departed nothing was to be seen
But the wake of what remains unknown

Actually...

Possibilities become ironic
Where certainties do not
Fake are the grins that flicker
As tension paints the corners
Of things we never said

For each occurrence involving your face
The elements of jubilation dissolve
To that of a stranger’s shadow
Frozen, in distance we blend

Actually… possibilities become ironic
To repair what has misshapen us
And that was when the icy twig
Had snapped in two

Side Effects

Breasts are a classic pastime

Through American eyes

Sickening shapes such oafs mime

Beneath grave patchwork lies

Debut Vowels

In brighter days she sought escape
A vowel yet to take shape
Reasons faint as loveless lips
Miserly her wicked grip

Common be the traveled road
Debuted was a fate forebode
Heavy though I did not shake
In brighter days she sought escape