Ah.

You looked into my eyes
And I looked into yours
Knowing our pants would be in the floor,
But your heart was re-routed
It only needed a detour;
And mine was freshly grouted.
You flew to my penis,
Like a trickster’s knife.
Heart screaming you didn’t mean this.
Just needed a new life.
I let you in my home
Paid with magnificent dome
And you sang in the kitchen
Voice absolutely bewitching.
But you left me on my birthday
For a skater that made you thirsty.

Waiting, paranoid.

Waiting…. A minute… two minutes. Three… maybe an hour. I haven’t really taken notice to how long I’ve been here. This place is like sitting in hot sludge. It’s warm and holds you tight. But there is a part of you that knows it’s toxic. That it is slowly draining the life out of your body. I could get out of here… but I feel as if I am being watched. Every once in a while I hear distant sounds through the walls, like someone trying very hard to keep still and quiet softly adjusting in their seat. If I wasn’t under surveillance I could walk around… see if there is an exit to this place. But I know only a fool would stand right now. I am not a free citizen. Not anymore. They came for me, and now I belong to the unknown and unseen authority. Waiting. Waiting. Maybe a year. Two years? Three? Who could know at a time like this. I want to scream, or throw the vase across the room at that ominous mirror that wont stop staring at every breath I take. Maybe if I adjust, they’ll be surprised and make a louder noise. My suspicions  would be confirmed… or I might be afforded a liberty… but perhaps they will think I am trying to escape and knock me out. They do a good job hiding the nozzles, but I spotted them right when I woke up. Ill just jerk my whole body at once, so they’ll think it’s a spasm. There. No sound from behind the glass eye.  Maybe I am alone.

Waiting… I haven’t heard a thing. Silence. Maybe I am, alone. What’s the worse that would happen if I stood up? They could gas me… would they shoot me? Would they march in and beat me? Anything is better than nothingness, empty space and useless time wandering on and on in unstoppable repetition.

When I stood up I was tense all over. I could feel every fiber of my being. With each breath I grew more tense, like a piano sting twisting into tune. I watched the nozzles. They were still. I focused on my ears to hear the movement from behind the glass, attendants or officers rushing into the room. But there was nothing. Maybe I really am alone… waiting.

After looking around the room I could find no door, no window, nothing but a ventilation system with thick bars restricting entrance. I had nowhere to go. There were eight hard plastic seats surrounding the room, one table in the center with an empty vase in the center. No decoration on the walls and no airflow from the vent. Everything was silent, stagnant, empty. A great hollowness filled my bones as a thought there would be no one coming for me. I walked to the window in a final act of defiance against my silent captures and knocked on the window.

“Hello?” I said politely, knocking again. “Shouldn’t you be rushing in, or gassing me by now?” Silence. “No? Ok. Thanks.”

No captures in the history of kidnaping did nothing. There was always a ransom, or a demand, some kind of work to submit their new slave to. I wouldn’t just be left to my own devises. Would I? I knocked harder, this time truly panicked that I was alone.

“HEEELLOOO?!? Jesus, AREN’T YOU GOING TO DEMAND SOMEKIND OF PENENCE FROM ME?” No reaction, no sound, silence in the stillness.

“Oh. Silence… finally.”

Floating

There are days that I float in my head.
Firmly planted on the ground
I am astronaut and ground crew.
I am the disconnection
I lack the down protection.
In my mind I soar wall to wall
But my arm fails my call.
I order a clench, a release.
My fist balls, does not cease.
The noises fade
To make way for the visual parade.

A gurgle, rumble
Mind floats feet stumble.
I hear voices soft on the air
Combating my blank stare.
Lightly my head veers
Slowly my mind steers.
Focus comes slow
My world starts to grow.
The ship lands safely on earth,
Crew safe and staff relived.
The blood sugar launch complete.

Whispered in a Crowd 

Silence is a sound I’ve never heard.

It’s a mystery in entirety.

Alone in an empty room I hear

A cacophony of sound

A tirade of this and that

That have nothing to do with the silence.

Yet I still hear in that empty room,

The music of the air

The rolling of the dust

And the drum rap ta tap

Of the mice in the walls.

 

To sit in solemn silence is a goal

Out of reach for my own meditation.

The band plays on

And even at their moment of sotto

I hear the smallest pan flute

Squeaking out the lonely phrase.

 

The silence I hear is the white

Noise of a crowd that flows

By the street corner flooding

My ears with more echo

Than my ears can cope

Within the time of a second

Idea that pops through and drown

In the flood of sound.

 

Silence is a stranger to me

And the flood of sound is

The only way for me to think free

Grandeur

Not the lips against mine.

Not the body under my fingers,

Not the cheek quaking

Not the legs undulating,

The mind behind the eyes,

The voice inside the mouth,

The thought between the ears

The knowing of the nose.

I have a love with me.

She is the grandeur that I see.

Power wrapped in beauty,

Intensity within her warmth.

Clutches and grasps

Feels and flitters

The love that is all mine

Mind the mind.

The mind is a funny thing as it runs on its own. Self-perpetuation whizzing and burning on a course to soar out of your mouth on its way to the sky. The pulse beats in the bone orb imperceptible to us. Until it complains. The pounding of an overworked thinker beating for a moment to feel weaker, a moment for the body to perpetuate on auto piolet. Fatigue is the crucks of the breaking of genius, that grand moment to test the mental medal. Wave after wave of sleep washes over the over worked and yet still bored mind. A and B fit the same and reverse in singular boredom. The trick of the weary and pleasure of the bored is to find how A & B are never combined. The mind is a funny thing when driven by the bored