the year that fall broke into stripes, she occupied another skin: the last detective on the block, both a prototype, and twin

the year that fall broke into stripes, she occupied another skin: the last detective on the block, both a prototype, and twin
she is not where she was, nor who. this is both grief, and a relief. and though in beauty breaks the morn, she does, a little, too. she's lost, with neither cause nor cost, expressions coined and breathing joined: in memory of the never-born, and sunny days before the permafrost
multicolored venom
pouring everywhere and anywhere;
the quicksand drip that holds you in its snare,
your beads and denim –
psychedelic malice
marble overdrive and underrun:
the mortal day, the everlasting fun,
corona borealis –
sepsis and thalidomide,
darkness on the edge of town,
danger, joy, and habit going down,
but we can say
we tried
Piling up the driftwood, I can see
The phases of our lives that were like tides:
That came and went, with regularity,
Till we no longer noticed that they changed.
For faces we once saw have moved beyond,
And voices heeded then – now others’ guides;
It isn’t that we were not true, or fond –
Just how far down the shore we each have ranged.
I turn to thank you, but you are not there.
I write down now, what you will never read:
Like driftwood, piled up, exposed and bare —
I’m cut off, but I’ve no life left
To bleed
the silent coast the frigid dawn the lonely trek he's been upon the mist that came the things he missed the meeting that was once a tryst the former boast the queen the pawn the game a wreck and curtains drawn the fog of blame the one last twist the world is flat apologist
we are we were we meant to be coerced now into liberty we're free to chose and free to lose and free to pay our increased dues from sea to shining growing sea a trending bit of travesty we were we weren't we didn't know and it was so damn long ago united we lie side-by-side: greed, sloth, avarice, and pride with envy as the star of show and each a highly paid all-pro this is this was this had to be united we lie blatantly
the boardwalk summer: low tide and high feeling, a helpful bit of sun along the way, and music, like a soul-possession engine -- a tastes-like-cinnamon- or-taffy day a kiss behind the pier: a running stallion, a dancing mare with yellow tangled hair, a range of wooden slats for many horses, a galloping within the blare and glare a multicolored night, a mini-vegas: a taste, another taste, a plunging in, a space for two, a tentative exploring -- a map of worlds, that's written on the skin a cinnamon or taffy taste, a blending, a play-it-off amid the swirling crowd, a hopeful kind of glance, a sudden sorrow, a private look that's somehow said out loud a day a night a gain a loss: a growing that no one notices, and everyone -- a summer on the boardwalk of tomorrow, a halting start that stops but isn't done
In the fading light of tomorrow,
Every wish gets weighed with great precision
On the edge of the lonely island,
Where the river fluxes into indecision
And I wander along the cliffside,
Hoping to find a sign to use, or borrow —
But there’s nothing but gold, and rhythm,
In the fading light of what’s left of one
Tomorrow
the truth’s not broken,
it’s been pulled apart
and carefully resequenced for
effect