But what I'm trying to escape from
follows.

I snuggle up with a cold ghost of neglect.

From the next room I hear loneliness
calling like a friend in need,
but I assume it’s from the wallpaper.

Armed with special love, and my favorite color
the beauty of a rainbow slips by.

On the other side of a chain-linked fence of connotation
and association,
I watch clouds sink like wilted balloons.

Familiar Street is a dead end.

But it beats prison camp, I imagine,
as I play with boredom like a toy,
spin the top and watch it go
like spellbound illiterates
zone on words.

Welcome to the tunnel,
perception is spin,
where a devil is an angel
eclipsed by the dark side of god.

Take a bite.
Perception is sin.
 

But in the healing light of our misgivings
that fall like rain
down the drain
(never to be seen again...)

is something mightier than the sword,
the pen, or internet transmission.

Sensational quivering, questioning
diving into resonance,
this hurting depth of
ulterior motives
root deep
into a cave of love.

Precious cavern mystique,
holds the power
to swallow whole and complete
anything,
anything at all.