The Lefthand Spies

So much for telling off the suspense…

Spies! Hidden in all the left pockets

Scratching fingers off

Begging at the Gods they don’t believe in

And for what?

To live an extraordinary long life on a boat?

Whose getting off on this

Sweet agony of having no disposition

Go pick up some tricks in the panic room

Keep strumming up the subtleties

Let them lay their upturned bodies

Until the breathing sounds real.

3.2.15

 

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The One and Lonely New York City

I took a walk down the rabbit hole

Alongside the army solstice

Bombarding the damp subway heat

The smell of noise and last night’s bar fight

Everyone fends for themselves out there

The fear of rescue in the middle of the street

In the urban lonely where stars are hard to find

Truly yours,

One in a million.

3.1.15

Little White Lies

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I used to love it when you were surprised

A poker face I could never predict

The same as your smoking brown eyes

Making me more ill than they satisfy

I never liked your new look

Goosebumps over my white lies

Now that’s an all inclusive love

Delectable scars for a greater prize

Sophisticated give and take

Over spilled wine and trying to get wise

Honey you’re getting better by the day

But they still tell me to cut all ties

Like hey man, it shouldn’t be this hard

I said

Goosebumps over my white lies

Loving and fighting til our throats are sore

From the view of a vacant disguise

They don’t even know what true love is

Just delectable scars for a greater prize.

3.1.15

The Curious Incident of the Man in the Bathtub

The house of cardboard

Once held lifelike bones

Where she used to pick flowers

Just a seed remains

Inhaling the after smell of rain

Because when you’re BIG

You should not engineer

An unripe body

In an embryonic daze

And with the powers that be today

She will patiently wait

But it was hard to argue with

What one could not conceive

After all

They already said she was strange

But it’s an unfortunate incident

When she just can’t emulate

The precision of a bathtub

When she’s three feet tall

And relatively straight

In her good fortune

The gardens no longer

Represent a mistake

These days she doesn’t always run so late

And she knows intuitively

The remnant marks of his face.

2.22.15

The Lot That is Kindness

We the people

Must resort to what is kind

It is the wayward duty

Of our ethereal selves

If the animals can get along sometimes,

Why not us??

We ache

For the belly of linguistics

We survive

On group-based faith

Well our bodies go but our spirits keep at it

That’s what some of the stories say

And in these long cold days

It’s whatever it takes

Let’s not forget

The artistry of forgiveness

Starting with ourselves

Leave the bullying to children

You my dear

Are much better than this

The hands of kindness

Are even stronger than fists

So just hear me out

Before it’s too late.

2.19.15