mask

masked by the clouds of thyme
they are continual
like attempts to attach
to my floating balloon
an effortless cling to
fears nothing
in the strength of ivory
and better things
                       to be doing

i am my own apprentice
      slow and steady
      wins the cliche

if never means
i fail
    i try

oceans of maybe
pinpointing
    unnoticed

the marrow of my story
is what i am coming back to,
sandpaper changes
the shape of things
to come apart

::i am made of the fog outside::

being on two minds at once
never counting
when in front of rushing

i am still not building up right
letting the sweetness
a sapstick existence
i still feel
           my hands aren't tree branches quite yet

may i get better with age?
as you have
         these are contemplations of
expectations

i know we are opposing sides
of the same
tell me that you remember,
                  apart before together

scratching away my involvement
a devotion to
   beauty
that's barely listening to
the cellblock walls
of where home could be

just a little terrified
that running
past the rest
and into
         *hidden truths*
will be a sacrifice
    (like really moving
             to the deserted island)

and when wonder asks,
starburst questions
and i answer,
in a stutter of emotional combustion

self-worth
breaks bones
of new

      allowed to be enough?
      letting be pleased?
finally erupting
the dark petals settling
a moonlit explosion
of fantasy visions

::what if this hunch is right?::

and the marrow of my story
comes falling into my footsteps
like a mythical jigsaw

(continued... - Editor)

grains formulate glass
in a languid motion that
tomorrow can't allow
tonite to see

these lovers
who live upon .chasing. another
the repetition rhyming of saints

i am not a miracle,
    but a function of this
i will be the final piece
the end of a mystery

open to understanding
saved within the
folds of my own skin
that states a healthywhole
with choices

a fruit of freedom
sent to
a cellblock-school home

and I feel amazing on my own thyme
but that chance,
             all chance

i do worry

lift hands up
*not helpless*
but dancing
letting streams flow
       how they should

there is -suchstatic- already
blocking natural
clogging pores and veins
breaking hearts
of dead mystics
who dreamed of better than this
arrival
of tapestries that share prophecies
only between the other
      .unstifling.

what i love of another
changes nothing
into fractalfloatings
that i wear
like a glitter gleam
i save to hold
in your presence alone

and please let me late of wait for me
i forgot the feel of kites floating
            or never remembered to new,
                                 ***
         help for the answer to everything
and attach to my floating balloon
                                                     circuit.