Nofish

If I were a onefish,
it wouldn't be so bad,
to swim along alone
on the paths the twofish tread.

If I were a twofish,
I'm sure that I could find-
another kindred twofish
to share the same mind.

But no, you'll never find me
treading the same ponds,
swimming in the waters
of which twofish are so fond.

And you won't see me splashing
around in the same lakes
where onefish live so happily
despite their lack of mates.

Instead you'll find me dreaming
up on their grassy banks,
on every ivory coast,
near the oceans- on the lands.

You'll find me watching gladly
as all the fish swim by.
You'll find me being thankful
for the way I lead my life.

For twofish may be happy-
and onefish may be glad,
but being' nofish at all
is the best life ever had.

Chasing horror

Masses of words lie jangled.  Tied in with your paranoia.  Thickly woven into the fibrous substance of your thoughts.  Your  mind reeks.  The sweet putrid scents of opulent ideas overcome it‘s every corner.  Fear is for the living.  Gelid showers trill down your crooked spine.  In raising yourself it makes a sound like a brittle ancient book being reopened one last time, then cast away.  You‘re in pursuit.  Your ugly eyes  trained on their prey.  A yellow glint in a thick forest.  Amber on a vicious green.  The cold smoke of your breath caught in your throat is only an afterthought. 

You still pounce.

Perhaps it's Time for Something Good

The frost‘s been biting harder

These last few days

The season shows it‘s anger

In this way.

At times, the shroud of darkness

Seems too thick to pierce with light

It seems that we must harness

What strength we find inside

And walking seems impossible

With this burden of snow

The sheet of ice an obstacle

That hinders us to go

So much weighs down the mood

Perhaps it‘s time for something good.

Truth Deficient

I don't know what to make of this,
the show you like to put on,
pretending to be something else
than the one thing you are good for.

You stretch the truth with such skill
it's hard to find the edges,
or signs that give you up until
your skyscraper collapses.

You build your lies with little truths
you've morphed into submission
making it hard to find the clues
beyond all recognition.

And in your darkest moments
you're the blind leading the lame
you're your own worst oponent
but you delegate the blame.

It's hard to be responsible
for all your past mistakes
when everyone's disponible
to hide the truth away.

And in the end you'll find the flaw
in your illusion's grand design
that you can't reverse your own law
when you're feeling so inclined.

Beating a Dead Horse

Here's to every story
we will never make
to those glossy sounds
that give way
to the break
Cross your fingers
close your eyes
Unmake
There is nothing
stopping you
so don't wait
I have dug my nails in
too many ways
And my teeth have grated
your skin
I have picked apart
all the separate parts
And drawn the music out
as my bitter reward
So here's to every story
we will never make
to those glossy sounds
swallowed up by the break

The Shore

So it's come to this again

the rain is pouring

on the earth where I stand.

I'm still just myself

And I know, I'm sure

you know what I mean,

I feel like the writing in the sand.

Every wave that hits me

is your words undisguised.

You just keep me busy

and it's not advised

that I see that dark note in your eyes.

It makes me dizzy.

I feel like,

yes I feel like,

I feel like the writing in the sand.

Made of art by a steady hand

but fading

on this earth where I stand

and the earth is shaking.

I feel like the writing in the sand

I'm slipping away,

I can't pretend

that I don't feel,

yes I feel like,

I feel like the writing in the sand. 

The Choice

In this moment,
stagnant with unspent relief,
I feel like a nerve:
Exposed and Raw

In each hand,
and no matter how brief,
a choice to make
each leaving me bourgeois.

In hesitating
one is yet exhausted
leaving me
with nothing but one option.