Tunics and Scarves

Walk away, your dying day, good morning and goodnight.
I dream about you in my wake, my sleep deprived sight
I'm blurring pictures from memories, but my stories always straight
don't listen close
as i exhale my lungs, my slanderous tongues, these dangerous words wrung,
together like bicycles, icicles
The freezing air of this morning bliss, freezer burn on my slender wrists
and heat rash upon my thigh.

I'm climbing trees inside my head, I'm catching birds and moths in nets,
I'm sleeping in tents, with a boy and sheets
the rustle beneath, the way we breathe, and shift in time
with cricket songs, and rooster cries,

till sunlight's touch becomes too hot, burning memories beside our thoughts
and the space between our silent heads, heating up from words unsaid
gone to bed like the cluttered bodies and teary eyes
of most situations that start out strong and end all wrong

but not with you, on that cold spring night
when skies above told fantastic lies, and below our ankles flew all the flies,
the damp, no, wet grass, when time did not pass, for almost too long

but it was just right

and finger tips touched heights unknown, and babies slept quiet, alone
like infant dreams of nothingness, and nothing less than this last kiss
we shared before you walked away to unnamed feelings

until the unnamed face was named at last and labeled "Love"
as if it happens as fast as light
electrical currents, bright white, might I tell you one day
If i do not, I promise at least I am no beast
the way i feel towards you've increased, and won't cease

with my actions, separating feelings like factions
no more of these fractions of truth
that flow like currents of winds or streams, the oceans sing with everything
those crickets, those crows, those roosters, and so what if i sing with them today
of things not forgotten, but idolized, memorized, hypnotized
I'm mesmerized at what i think when i think of you, and how you still care

i can hardly bare to see her stare, and I'm sitting there wondering where
her thoughts collide with reality, sensuality, sexuality, technicalities
like how much does she know? I'll never know
but i can guess, and i can dream of being with you
one more chance to give back to you
emotions, true, through and through
proverbial to me; ones that set me free and make me capable
of holding on and trying hard to make it last, unlike the past

did i ever say how sorry i am?
i hope you forgive, i hope you condone because
I'm out on my own, subsequently alone,
happy to be what i define as Me
something i did not have before, similar to being stuck on the wrong floor,
and there is no door,

but now I'm standing at the shore of this expansive sea,
not looking anymore for an answer or a truth
just for you to be okay with me behaving this way. saying these words,
admitting, spitting, requiting, old news, quitting old habits from the last time i had it

it as in love, love with no pre- judments like:
he doesn't love me back, heart attack. i lack the facts of how you feel
towards me anymore
i never should have been so mean, unclean, stupid, obscene, seeing life like a movie screen: simplistic, unrealistic, pessimistic, thoughts ballistic,
but now I'm different

and life is strange, but one thing hasn't changed
i miss you. side by side
and like descending tides, i run and hide, subside, reside by myself

the last book on the shelf. you know my story better than anyone else
and so i surmise that you've left nothing in disguise between our hearts

scientific charts of vertical lines which say our sentiment will remain
unable to attain, my feelings are restrained,
and i can only hope, like and ambition, but i'm bad at decisions
and i'm lost in this vision.
leave me and object of your derision

Institutions in Psychology

in pictures and pixels on bright backlit screens
through color or grays and blacks

i feel my gut bulging
bloating from gloating
that everything's great looking back

as i flash images
of experiences gone by
after they've molted from growth

after all the thoughts and desires
have turn to dried out old toast

i want to be able to make sense of it all
the feelings that throb through my veins

i want to know why i get so excited,
with anger, or sadness, or pain

and i can feel the demons
rushing around
wearing down my delicate entrails

they're filling my mind
with manilla folders
and eraser debris blacked from details

looking back into the past
it feels like a storm
is rising up inside of me.

it is a resounding hum,
it is a beating drum,
that is played for full moons next to open seas

with time
i find
memories blind
and the new
comes from something old

so with change,
therein lies
the strange,
butter and flies
and crumbs that stick to your soles

we are left with the bits
the segments and sections
of instances from long ago

and it all becomes true
as they say "one cannot simply move on,
until, from the past, they let go"


and life wants to escape
from these stained window panes
but even if it succeeds

it will move on,
and away from the place
but the place, in the mind
does not change

the cells, or chemicals,
or DNA structures,
or the particles in between

remembers,
and always holds true to its form
like the fragments of glass left unseen

they are the ghosts of our brains
like ghosts in a house
that cast shadows upon your walls

but the lights flick on
and nothing seems wrong
in the morning the mocking birds call

so though it seems lost
or forgotten or sad
i know what i have to do

still i find ghosts in my blouse
and these ghosts in my mouth
don't want me to let it be true

for if i let go
counted fingers and toes
of reasons, the forgets and forgives

these demons inside
and around me they glide,
would die alongside their votives

Its hard to agree
with the inside of me
when i feel pulled out like taffy

i want to look back on the times that ive had
but i know that it makes me feel crappy

for the person i was
or the way that i thought
or the the way i treated people

because part of me knows,
though older i've grown
i still feel all the same evils