a train-
           and a bus
I'm in the gathered shape
              (now absent of a
                  once-anchored Virgin.)

Mount my high-horse, and
disappear into the Rabbithole
        Jolted back into the lockbox where
lights sneak in through cracks to
alert to an overall general awareness.

At length, most of what most-often occurs 
          feels as though most
             anything that happens is
             something that just
snaps and cracks,
always on the sneak attack
banishing confidence, who
always arrives much belated.

By then it is all a dirty dream I've forgotten to photograph...

I've a wicked lil' mood
writhing just beneath the surface
   to bate your breath in
   momentary notes of mischief
found outside the melancholy.

Race like rising strings to the streets,
slap ass streak, rushing in and out
eyeing sliding doors as a safehaven from
anything outside elevation.

Sighs and sunken fingertip to flesh,
fossilize second and day.

    slipping backward feel like
Ridiculous rewind-
   an end scene in a mechanized set
on-set soliloquy to shout of
(or taste) the moonlight.

Silence has lost its
last innocence in
prolonged incubation.
supposed purposes throw
smoke-screen escapes,
reinventing reality
one pre-fab at a time.