back stepping through the bushes

I 've been growing sick of this allegory, the same old modern high school textbook  story.

I gave it two thumbs in the crit, but honestly I think it's shit

So I'm not going to lie, but it annoys me.

When I rise from my bed 

with the crust blocking my eyes, 

the sky looks 

quite dim.  

The reality that you get 

looks for your pedantic crap,

 makes me gag and question my purpose...

I'm not nearly as small as you perceive me to be,

when I pass you in the hallway you suck your breathe in not speak.

So keep walking down this road with mislead truth as your might.

Because this highlighted moment will be worthless after tonight.

I won't stage protest, but I won't hand out life vest when your ship goes sinking down.

I don't mind the ethereal, but you've got to be real.

The people hang from coat tails like tags.

I find nothing sacred in your material,

I find you quite in inferior..

But I guess you think the same of me.

would you please,

piss off please.

would you please, 

piss off please.

the hesitation in your eyes

tells her you want more

and yet again she moves across

the floor,

but the obvious is now your surprise

and you still try to persuade her despite 

you've become an annoyance

it could have been avoided

your heart is clenched in a crimson fist

and you won't let go of making this right

at least in your eyes.

so she pleads..

won't you please,

piss off, please.

won't you please,

piss off please.

you stand hand beside hand

cradling a drink

the war is at your feet

you attempt to step ahead

but the actions are of your heart

not of your head

tripping in midstep 

a half hearted attempt

you've almost given up

raised hand with cup 

taken a sip 

turned away and stayed 

but glances back to look

you see she's walked away.

-- 

little numbers

--i wish they keep down the obscenities,

i mean - what the fuck.

I guess this date was over before i realized

 you were preparing to get off at the next stop..

queasy feelings have me shaking

as the patterns beneath my feet begin to sway and overlap 

like a blackened sea

and everyone around me looks concerned in manner

that promotes intentions that they won't keep

an overall feeling of compassion and reaction

to boy hunched over nearly bleeding tears onto the walkway

with a face so red and a sweating neck

the bundle of body parts falls into itself

my arms and legs give into me

it's like a fetal position in my seat

if you make up the equation 

it's minus 90 percent of me

because I'm gone from this reality-

i'll be

In the morning,

i will walk this pittsburgh pike

under the haze of morning smog

and the dimming 

city lights

the birds will fly low

above my head

they will peck out my eyes

and I will look to the sky

catching the rain in the holes as it pours from the clouds.

I'll be a bird bath ,

moving north bound

that kind of B-movie imagery

Not a classic or ON- Demand.

In the passing greys of grimmaces 

that are fading.

I pick up a cigarette 

put it between pursed lips

and remember that I quit

Dropping it beneath my feet

 I second guess and bend to pick it up from pavement

at that point

a yellow taxi cab clears the area where my head is leaning over the edge of the sidewalk.

I fly high like the birds in the blue

the smog is lighter when your deep in tune

A flutter that last for what seems like hours

child I was anew

freed from my brain basket 

I won't be put into a casket

And God would agree 

wasn't it a wonderful scene.

The lover lock lips in park lots

as the funeral march rounds the corner

a mother with child straightens her skirt

fully aware that she'll one day be old lonely and retired

the chemically imbalanced limp to the curb

"there's hole to be filled, in other words"

the herse is a mirror reflecting all who pass it 

and in the back 

there goes my ashes

in the back there are my ashes

to be sprinkled here and there

to mixed into my master piece

to be used in the mortar for a half way home

to diluted and written in the ink for a poor family's loans

I'll be the soil in the park to wash away with the storms 

blues

I'll turn that blues

into a bruise

If we're wise beyond our years 

then we'll move  away from here

cradle me in these arms

dulled charm

do not depend on

these cold palms 

to be of use

 to you

I'm not fooling anyone

and i wouldn't want to

I refuse

I refuse

i refuse

She moved last summer

despite your letters 

I begin something

I'd rather forget 

because it hurts

the fear turned my face 

alabaster

She'd try to tell you

in notes

but she'd ball them up

in the pockets of her coat

it came without words

in the darken circles of her eyes

you're losing your  head

you're losing you are  head

are you using your head

you're losing your head

you're losing your head

are you using your head

if not

why lie