street purchases.

she wears bold font around her eyes,
italics and dark strokes,
spilling words straight from her mind,
her lips wish that she spoke.

a golden ring adorns her hand,
the smell of jasmine flows,
like silken waves from where she stands,
her gaze steady and slow.

soft strains of music paint the air,
and yet, nobody moves,
its rhythm no-one wants to share,
a song she thought she knew.

"come," he says, his skin on hers,
her eyes are sudden blanks,
lips shut, she's stoic, better or worse,
a locked vault in a bank.

dust clouds, she follows when he looks,
her stumbles count for nought,
her whispered sigh closes a book,
her text,
a tale already bought.

Overture

I am now a member
       of an endangered species;

And I fly above,
circus clouds,
basking in the far flung shadows of
trapeze artists

as if I could steal their grace
and twist and
  u
t    r
  n
and grasp onto ideas,
And I am a member,
of those who sit and think

and think
yet never look before they leap
never quite reach the swing
(I’d be a terrible trapeze artist)

Maybe I’m a member of the dragons,
who belch flames
(or play with lighters
one or the other)

Maybe I spray kerosene into the air
and light matches off of the
s
i
d        of my throat.
e

I think maybe one day I’d like to join a circus;
but for now,

maybe I’ll just play
with sock puppets.

(let me think about it)

for dummies

i faked it,
if you couldn’t tell.

the times when yousaid,
“i’m upset,”
after all you’d s
                           c
                             r
                           a
                            m
                            b
                              l
                             e    p
                            d    u 

my emotions andplayed them off as yours,
I faked being uncaring, (i’m not her)
i pressed [delete] on my consoling touch [type]
i pressed [x] on the windows of my eyes

didn’t you see the grey circle

next to
my name?(

it means offline,
you were never any good with com[munication]puters

)you laughed;

i faked being
stoic and i 
r a n

                                                                                                                          far away

I’m pretty good at running from [you] my emotions.

The thing is:

she’s not you’re not,
web designers,

but your spidering code traps me. (
drama, drama, drama)

[don’t] let me go,

please.

perhaps

And they sparkle, and they glimmer,
jewels adorning the neck of a princess,
cold cut and hard rock,
maybe they’re plastic,
because she likes her rings fake.

she likes pretending that she’s trapped,

maybe she’s me,

maybe i’m writing about myself
(passive aggressive-passive-passive-passive)

or maybe i’m writing about nobody,
maybe fairytales are just

mushrooms circling damp dirt,

maybe the princess never found the pea,
maybe i never found purpose.

on purpose.

dilithium crystals

i used to pretend that i was kirk
maybe you were bones
(skin and bones, your mom used to say)
but you weren’t really a doctor,
not really.

we used to play flying,
f l y i n g,
a space craft made of s p a c e
a gear stick in the form of
your hand mine
holding

now,
I think I’m probably more
engineer olson,
stupid and reckless,
(why don’t I pull the shoot)
spock,
calm and logical and
furious.

But you’re still bones.

You still kind of patch me up.

You still kind of make me think I’m Kirk.

Brave, [aye captain] determined, “still stupid, kid.”

(i’m off in the stars)