The waltzWaltzing, headless,for they certainly weren't heartless,but for every stephe took forward, shecorrespondingly stole one back--one action with it's reactions,and something or other aboutseparate but equal (although,I must say the way they glided itdid not seem so differentiable aswe are led to believe)--and hedid likewise, whether out of conscious thoughtor easily deduced formulas,and so without their headsthey waltzed.
My Dear is goneIn the late afternoon I came crying,"Oh! My Dear is gone from me!"and all you could think tosay was, "'Twas for the best!--she was no good to anyone anyway."and no more,and oh, how I hope you learn your own mortalityin the very worst of ways.
SundaysThis morning had a Sunday hue,serene (or dead), and thoughmy alarm clock was set, it was a while beforeit was due to bring back realityAnd so, lazily nestled in blankets and sheets,I rolled over to greet the window head-on,wishing I had kissed you the night before.
Acts of warWe're ostrich-trippingon nuclear grounds,bumbling clumsily but begging not to be found.We're ego-flyingover unwelcome seas,falling flightlessly in an enemy's bare trees.We're speed-runningthrough explosive mindsscattering dumbly within a trap's confines.We're plungingblind-headed in holes,fowl play in minefields.
I can still singI can still singand danceand I'm beautiful on long drivesin the rainwith opera blaring,like the hiphop boys in SUVs,I'm powerful; frightening.
AutumnLight shutters through the crimson-orange veinstopping near-bear trees, and they yawninto blazing blue where, perhaps unknown to them,decay opens a palm in invitationWhat wicked trick is this? beauty in death?I walk transparent down this silent road of glass,where somehow nothing lives,and the tips of my skin burn.