What // Remains

(Nuclear)

Songs of solitary
confinement
create a harmony in
suffocation of sense to
distract with or from the physical.


Heart says "Go!" but
head hesitates and a
dirty dance of delusive balance begins.


"This never ends well,"
the body chimes in with
muscle memory of the
meaning of life.


A corpus-chorus-line.
Feeling a bit like a puppet and
never the master,
asphyxiate with strings to
escape the proliferated penitiential practice.


Prolific writer, setting bombs, talks of body, never of arms.

(Graveyard of Shells)

Snails in tunnels

lurching toward the

smell of simplicity.

Rain rushes towards the house and

suddenly nothing remains but the

Graveyard of Shells.

Culture clash with a lazy dash to

dream about dandelions and

open fields of fate.

Searching for strength and

my signal is low.

Candy crazed sugar rush

ridicules responsible rationailty.

Dreaming of deserts

disconnects the delusion.

There!  is space.

There! Is time.

There the tide has slunk

down and away to leave the

salt to sterilize and

send you into flavor-pitch.