A most serene sense of endurement is held captive here, not quite alone, but close enough to taste what life would be like. Love has filled my heart and lungs; once again veins pump loving lust and nicotine.

I search again for a place to sell my soul, marketing strategic locations to waste so many hours of my life. With the best of intentions i seek somewhere to conger financial and social resources to benefit and support my next prolonged stay in a place i vowed to never return to. The atmosphere of this place can be dreadful, but it does contain sanctuaries spaced intermediately under the splotches of overcast and shaken dreams. There is hope, but often enough in my two decades of experience, that is not enough. Hope is but a starting point. At least home has this quality.

It is in the shadows of flesh and blood, concrete and steal that these places can be found. They stir here, meticulously, despite the sullen overcast to storms on days such as these.

***

Is it so hard for you to glance out your window, so up high in that skeleton? I wonder what you occupy yourself with while your light rests so stagnantly above this night life.

This mind and these times
Are just right for growing
And will be so ripe so soon,
Come this fall.
And although this season
Has flooded over,
It has met the proper conditions-
Patriots, not
Anarchists, yes.
We are fit for the taking.
Pirates of--This land!
This day and even more
When the sun has gone to rest
Beneath the horizon.
Awaken! Rise from sleep
And lather in the night.
The waxing moon sets the
Seams in soil,
Sow desire above the water
That has drenched the
Already flooded fields.

Flames flicker in between us; six dancing bodies illuminating a porch space that has been a figurine in my life since i was a naive and imaginative child. Smoke that has taken captive of these lungs now lingers about luminescent dreams, weaved from memory to mind and around thoughts lulling about.

Smile wide pretty eyes, because our grins will meet to the death at the end of lavender lavished kisses. Beans of cocoa and coffee seek refuge in our memories clouded with rolled-tobacco cigarettes and tranquil desires. I remember that spending nights alone are over-rated, especially in the wake of such a fog that has moisturized all corners of my skin. It is not my memory that is hazy, it is the future laid before; fate again, i now rest in your hands! This once, please forward your best.

Tragedy sweeps and takes some by surprise. As overwhelming as it seems, enduring is a high priority when pain swells the body. Emotional stimulation seems sullen at best when sorting turmoil from everyday syncronocity. Seething panic feathers out to meet distress, screaming for help; bellow for regression and hope for the sweltering--Meltdown and let all aspects of day bleed into the night.

***

Your gaze pierces thighs to eyes of the passerby. Globes roll back lick the cerebellum for lack of knowledge of what moves on and past the scene before your time. Your voice rings sweet as sour apples rotting below your heart--So tart i would spit it out if ingested, or placed anywhere near these supple lips whispering each word as i spill them out. I lay down the lines of wrath and wraith--Fact, sugar coated to make it easier to bare the taste.

I have been thinking for the past few days that the next couple weeks would be remarkably spontaneous. The last thing i expected was that circumstance would pull me back home. So where i am sitting, in the place i sought out to escape from, starting so long ago until my most recent escape. I have strange priorities, but atht the same time, they make perfect sense--My family, how long i stood on bad terms with them, is important to me now. When my mum called me this AM in a blistering panic, i knew i needed to come back and comfort her whether my grandmother was in a sustainable condition or not. Besides, i am sure my grandmother could use some, or all, of the support she can get.

It is like nothing has changed here. The sense of not belonging still lingers, but despite, i will most likely stay when i return in the fall. Regardless of the flaws this place has, it is a familiar place to base myself for many reasons; the most important being my family.

****

The overcast is scudding above, breaking into fragments and separating enough to let the sky show through. The light reflects off of the building's glass faces as beautifully as it ever has. I believe this is my most favourite place for this weather, and it is most definitely one of the more prestigious qualities of this measly downtown strip.


The foliage is now full, and i recognize an abundance of the faces moving up and down the street, but the unfamiliar strikes me with a curious wondering. The green is awesomely refreshing in the most familiar of ways. And then memory is shaken--I am brought back to the present as the pavement shakes from a passer's footsteps.

These embers lick my lips with such guilty pleasures, guilelessly guiding such a heart into a stupor of eternal plight. I who have seen so little, knows so much! i reach a state of euphoric bliss, eradicating all sorrow in such a serious gaze. I, who fails to feel and see so many wonders, knows exactly what it is that is set before me. God? The Devil himself? These figures are treacherous in their own ways--They mean not a thing to a mind who has reached a pinnacle of understanding in the praxis of modern modesty.

I rest in beds fit for only kings. I seek the breath of only angels. I eat only the most precious of food--All forbidden of the fruits. I wake in holy lights set down for only those who wait, and seek the caress of minds awakened.

Fury blinds and patience reveals the most reveling of pleas. I find peace not in jewels or any crucifix, but in the late rise of Luna from her place of slumber. I find satisfaction in only the most sensuous serenities, secreting secrets from lips to resounding minds through ears that peel with the wake of a sea.

I watch not sunsets, but the darkness swallowing the sky, my body a silhouette on the fall of a natural day. I see clouds wisping, covering into the greatest of storms. I witness birth, as i feel life slipping away with each passing wake. I leer from only what remains to this moment--Gazing, a crashing celestial body from sky to mirroring sea. I feel as if a child would who is brought love and gratification from mother each day.

I see not what certain fuss is about, but instead trust in what each moment has brought to intersect my path. Sometimes, parallel lines viewed from the side are one.

I taste only what i put into mouth these days; nothing more and never less. Sensation cannot be stolen, only the tools to maintain or create certain blockades of mind.

I, who has known too much without seeing enough, can tell the difference between life and death. This fragile scale is quite easy to tip..

I am wide awake in the triumph of hight. I write each line in the bleak lack of light. I am much more than can be seen, and few have felt what the really means.

The hight has erupted into illuminations, casting figures and colorful sensations never seen before, at least not in this reality. The shades and swirl of balance contort perception in all sorts of ways, manifesting a sense of such intense decay, when organisms eat away what has died so long ago, before this day--These days, our days.

Bless you Luna, so late to rise. That jagged side profile from bangs to bust, and the glowing arch of should and of neck. Your lips melt from crest to chin, and the flowing mist coming in from sea brings out your tantalizing eyes and sleek-slender cheeks.