i keep them folded

this street of ticking gold

watches the winos pass

out like a light under

hazy lights breathing down

on a bed of asphalt and red confetti

for bed sheets.

said “it isn’t your fault

the celebration passes quickly.”

said “just be thankful for what’s left.”

 

this is all that’s left:

broken neck-

ties of jubilance,

a smirk, second

glance at the door I came in.

it’s cold out.

 

it’s cold out

there you know, and

though I’d rather not freeze,

if turning up the heat in here is going to cost

my heart

again,

I’d just as soon watch my breath

embrace me

like you used to.

 

fractal ice flakes spill down

as drips from an overturned bucket of

paint. colors of remarkable beauty.

and see, they never grow faint,

but see,

they never grow.

liberated, dissipated, and not

one

ever wasted.

each the only one of its kind.

they speak of your beauty,

but I see the “you” in me.

and as we are mutual beings,

we know, therefore

we see through.

we see.

see the truth…

…lonely.

 

I’ve lost the words to speak,

so I’m forced to resonate in refrains of silence.

ya see, I’m not mute.

just burned my tongue

on a tall cup of molten limestone and carbon

fuel

and poured it out

to fuel the smelting of the

INNER ME

from the

I AM,

and I AM no longer

ME.

gave my heart and voice up for some wings.

and hot second servings only cost a helping hand,

not a heart.

still, I think

I’ll pass.

if anyone needs a hand

now, it’s me.

can’t seem to get this moth-man mentality

out of my head,

and seeing around that

light is no easy task.

am I that oblivious to my dilemma magnetism,

or is this thing stalking me?

hope I figure it out soon,

because I have a splitting headache,

and my nose is pretty damn flat.

singed

wings or not, I can’t hold up

flying in these conditions for long.

too bad insight doesn’t come

too quickly

to us insects; we might have a thing

or two

to show the world.

seems that I held a

two-card hand there:

“metamorphosis”

and “shit-out-of-luck”.

doing my best to ignore these

flashing green and red

dots in my eyelids, I think

back to that vexed day. 

there

I chose my revolution.

and yes, it did revolve.

spinning

like a little boy slingin’ his yo-yo-YOU

until the string snaps.

and no, no you can’t just wind it back up.

wind back up the silken string to

my karma

cocoon. and couldn’t move,

until now.

and now I reunite with what I lost,

grabbin’ his hand so he won’t be lost.

“look here, kid.

these wings are splendors

hidden pitfall.

We (you) were orphaned

there.

here’s some string…just,

please,

use it for your yo-yo.”

 

I’m pretty tired,

sitting here with you

all, my friends.

yes, sitting near, but

just sitting.

wish I could say nothing

warmed my heart more,

but I’m torn.

I could be flyin’, but the sky isn’t my home.

sure as the sun,

my blood still pumps love

for you…

...just not as well as it used to.

had a stroke (of bad luck),

and could use a (time) bypass,

cause my heart is in the past.

and your look says this isn’t my home either.

 

driving home doesn’t

fare well

though, cause my windows are fogged,

and I can’t see for anything.

swerved to miss our car wreck, and almost did.

and here I go again with the revolution.

spinning slow, out of control.

criminal, cause I break the laws,

even gravity.

not proud of these wings, so

I keep them folded.

screamed our names but choked on silence.

so twisted metal speaks for me.

 

this street of ticking gold

watches life shift like a street

light in the wind,

winds that used to carry me to wherever I chose,

but I’m lost again.

in a maze of warped wheels and headlights

breathing down on a bed of asphalt and red

confetti.

if I could speak,

I would only implore you grab the paddles

and revive the worm

I was…this flying gig is

old now,

and I miss you (I miss us) dearly.

plus, I think there’s a time limit,

so wasting it here in silence

seems a bit too sick

a joke, even for me.

let’s go back.

no more feelings of

left-out

or

lonely.

I’ll show you how I fall

like fractal ice flakes 

as drips from 

my (spilled bucket of paint) heart.

and it’s all for you.

let’s go back.