summer moon.

upon stepping outside, my immediate reaction was to think it unseasonably warm and humid. in reality, it's just been nearly freezing over entirely every night.

hell, that is.

a lot of people out there have a lot pretty things.
but no class.

yer doin' it rong.

we exist in three dimensions casting shadows of two who cannot see us in time. the fourth dimension the invention of our minds.

post vomitus.

subtle shivers quiet chattering
a footstep here, a cocked head and
attentive ear.
no effort to quell Silence will end in
success.
no body large or small,
no stretched lips, no pearly teeth;
merely a life among those noises
only a hermit hears.

just another token of a stolen heart.

bruised broken
cracked weathered
mother nature cannot
be fought with even the
most powerful of savles
or ointments. she
will until the

very end

be waiting in the morning
never with a smile, no
always poised, waiting for
that first grimace of
the day
upon realization that
yes, you're in the very, one
and only place you'll ever

see.

and so your hot,
dry gateway to the
soul stretches, until
the tension finally erupts
to set off a disappointing taste
of bitter metal, one thicker
than water i will venture,
or at least ever so
very slightly

heavier.

bite off more than you can
chew and it will only
take you a step further toward
that day that may come,
the day
that you can no longer
bear the pain of twisting so
many forced syllables
and troubled phrases together

and seal your lips for

good.