Barrage

Belittled are the sparks,

Arranged, and ignited in me.

Reassured of my misplacement,

Referenced casually.

All too disillusioned am I.

Gross hours, gross days

Each silence an eraser.

Belittled are the sparks,

All too disillusioned am I

Reference me, reference me.

Reassured of my misplacement,

Anyway, I voice the spark.

Grappling with the lack of fire,

Each attempt a testament.

Canvas

I sat at the canvas for a year,

I've been waiting here for ever.

I stared at the blank page for a long time,

Insistent that there was something there.

There are pails of colours around me, 

I finally dip my fingers in. 

Each bucket's colours stain me, 

And streak my page. 

She told me that once finished,

She needed the paintings to run free.

The longer they stayed with her, 

The more strained she'd feel.

I find myself pinning my work to string,

Like developed photographs

Freshly out of solution. 

The poised images of my altered heart.

Corves.

Hope has been known to humiliate,

When silence has a lot of breath.

Silence can be ridiculing,

And hope, hateful.

Whose force is larger?

The seen and heard silence,

Or the un-sensed notion?

I fight for one.

For a long time, I forgot.

I forgot that realised hope intoxicates.

I forgot the misery of silence,

When I'm moved by hopefulness.

I gather the hopes in a corf,

Optimism is my container.

The silence I respect.

Even as I acknowledge the presence of fire.

Remoras Are On To Something!

Imagine coiling loops,

I'm wielding quite a few.

More than I ever have before,

I'm interested in new doors.

Remoras, Remoras, Remoras! 

Pilot fish swim alongside.

Is it mutualist if they don't give anything back? 

I suppose there's pride in knowing

That they see me as a source, 

I suppose there's pride,

In being sought.

The more loops, the greater the coil, 

The grander the surface,

The richer the soil.

Safety.

I could use a good friend now,

You know the kind that I mean? 

I could use the kind of curtain-drawn friend. 

No secrets un-safe. 

That's a truth that hurts to say,

Because I don't have her and it's not okay. 

I can see her in my mind's eye,

But I'm alone to cry. 

You know that déjà vu,

Because you've been here before? 

Only this case, the details are changed

Familiar but foreign, Only, I am the same. 

I could use a good friend right now. 

I know the kind I mean. 

I've had Him before,

I was safe, there. 

Thankful for Sadness

I'd like to express my gratitude,

For sadness. 

I'd like to appreciate pain. 

To bend, to barge, to slit or trim,

To break the skin of my twisted whim, 

That contact for me, was gain.

Imagine my life without disruption,

Imagine a course never diverted. 

I consider it a gift to see these "mistakes."

Be brave, be bold, be strong.

Be dauntless, earnest and endure long. 

These, good and bad, are the stakes.

Interactions Between Continuous Variables.

Purely dread preoccupies

Let me catch my breath

Even with assurance,

Also true is dread

Searching for

Even the smallest comfort

How can I calm myself?

Each moment is alone

Losing something doesn't always feel like a gift

Purely dread preoccupies.