the blankets

We can not blend. Though we're
sitting still, for the

tampering eyes never miss
a thing.

Hand stitched and woven tightly
the blankets sit still,

letting rise a loosened

chatter. I speak for myself,
but in the

givingness of generalities
I sound vague.

An enigmatic mischief of tone,
hooking air and

putting her to cure.

I dare to improve the California
Sun on

bundled words and bonds in string,

selling them to her eyes, and
the trees

that follow. When
I should be the Sea, and

give the tides away.

You taste of barley and
cream. Separate tastes

on your tongue and lips

conclude on mine, a devilish
dance in suit. I feel

your stress, see it in your
eyes, I pinch to

steal it away.

I pirate your
afflictions. Tell them lies,

and suck them from your skin.

stand up comedy

I'm sitting with the self, relaxed
in the stream

of time. Coalesced, repeating,

then beginning again as new.
In fractals, within, between

and in a dreaming state without.
Knowing not the differences,

I guess with words and rhyme
spaces imagined,

using maxims I read.

Drawn into color by
chance, and with a single
smell

I live; breathable moments of

inference. Equal parts shadow
and light can not be factored

into the minds eye without intellect-
guided by perception and

what my fathers father gathered from
his fathers dreams-yet

so many stood silent back then.

The difference now is that we
ignore the moon, looking sideways

and sharing the air not allowed
to breath itself.

A stand up comedy of wills
to be decided for/by us.

Within reason. Growing anemic

and with plenty and chances to
feed. Love and the seeds of

rebirth appear as themselves and
masked...vanity...anti-vanity

combined. And at our will,
as offspring, they are change-

we are changed by it.

come the morning actions and the first of light spent in choice

A valued cast still uncertain,
As the steam flows behind it's curtain,

Shall i peer into the fray,
Cast blight aside before the day,

Let the light grow from our eyes,
Or play into a small demise.

Before the sunrise I will decide,
Let emotions seek a better guide,

Or lay until the nymph returns.
Clean breath, the circuit table turns,

She will be the one to choose,
To drink a love behind the boose,

Put yourself into her hands,
Like she did on castled sands,

Ignore or heed the words we spoke,
Call the bluff, or let them soak,

Come it will the story told,
of us and ours it will unfold.

The difference being I haven't moved,
Within the thoughts indeed has proved,

Something more then unions past,
Channeled, built and meant to last.