Creative Experiments and More

Were I to gather my thoughts
just as they appear you would
not recognize the portrait.
I am a reflection of the voyeur.
My selves are not selves at all,
they are fragments
of a more substantial being.
A fragment can assimilate
any number of designations.
Make of me what you will.

Each teardrop is a star quilted
in unparalleled darkness,
I unstitch them one by one
but they go up in smoke
before ever reaching my lips.

I shed my second skin
and settle into the pauses
of your sacred architecture.
My derelict bones are dry enough to burn.
Will you furnish me when vacant?
Can you love me knowing
that I am temporary and inexact?

All that spills through my fingers is lost
for I have not the composure
to bend down and recover it.
My fingers stumble down
the length of your sternum.
If you were truly…

I’m not in sync with the frequencies of my mind. I cannot follow where I’m going. The universe seems to have lost its patience with me. As if tetchy, it’s been berserk flashing its messages in my ears. I’ve gone color-blind with all the sounds. I cannot taste the shades of any synchronicity. I’ve lost the ability to fathom plain and simple. How can I make sense of this viscosity seeping into me?

My fists are tight. I hold the dying fizz of my dreams – dead mostly because I grabbed too hard. I’m in constant denial, like the broken tape stuck on a loop, but no one knows that I’m spinning with quintillion times the speed of sound. The moment I let go, I’ll be lost in the pit of a collapsing bang.

So, I stand here, wide-eyed, in front of the celestial traffic lights,

waiting.