a date with destiny, and amber eyes.

Run-down arcade on the corner of a bad block,
The locals say it’s haunted,
The owner died of electric shock.
But I don’t believe the stories,
Told for the dual purposes of preventing vandals,
And, too obviously deduced from the excited spittle
Forming in the corners of the peroxide-haired gossip's mouth,
Because every small town needs a scandal.
shaking my head, i turn away,
their blithe unawareness bothersome to my cause.
Atop of a grassless hill in dried and fried suburbia,
I lie among the stones, ants crawling over my eyelids.
Baking sun bears witness to the eagles’ dying call,
Graceful even in his final moments,
Swooping and soaring, so fast that maybe
heaven won’t catch him in time.
But then the clock ends its circle, and as the last grain falls,
So too does that magnificent creature who brought me here
To the place of my dreams.
I will enter that condemned arcade,
My footfalls will rouse the ageless dust
from disintegrated floorboards,
I’ll shatter the forbidden glass prism.
I’ll do it for him.

all tensed up and nowhere to go.

scratched and cracked polish on my fingernails,
it would be perfect, had fortune favoured me.
day after day i labour away,
endeavoring (in vain?) to achieve the perfect coat,
oh, but to have perfectly glossy red talons for but one day...

the dull ache that comes with each swallow,
is a reminder of the bitter pain which erupted from
the night's events.
bare feet, violent shivering, unforgiving rain,
scrolling through useless contacts, each nothing more than a name.

a little more of my tough facade eroded away,
soaked to the skin, faced with unfeeling reality;
nowhere to turn to, but here i can't stay,
i'm trapped. trapped in the place i must have at one time felt safe.
now alone in the world, salty tears my one companion, and concrete paths
paving the way to the only escape.

the headlights of a small blue car serve as a beacon of hope...
but even torchlight is temporary.
and laughter fades.

a few missing words, a window to my soul.

Bird’s eye view, I can see into your soul,
Your skin is transparent to my acid-eyes,
They burn...

Frosted glass, condensation builds,
Forming pretty patterns, but then a shot,
And a bullet shatters the attractive illusion.

broken glass makes another pretty pattern on the ground,

i tiptoe around in a room devoid of sound,

this strange place i once found,

it makes my heart pound, silently.

have you ever tried to trace subtance of your dreams in reality?

i never had patience for thousand-piece puzzles,

crosswords cross out meaning in my mixed-up mind,

but i think you'll find,

that all the sense you've been seeking was right under your nose all that time.

so just go to sleep dear, and it will all fall into place,

like the fake snow i made the other day.

you found a sweater on the ocean floor.

yes, we're crazy idiots. but you're jealous because our friendship is amazing.

so many good things about this day, i just can't name them all.

a day in a week in July

"She know she got me dazing
Cuz she was so amazing
And now, my heart is breakin'
But I just keep on sayin'
Baby, baby, baby ohh
Like baby, baby, baby noo
Like baby, baby, baby ohh
Thought you'd always be mine, mine"

the day started out grey and lethargic,
each movement like languidly dragging limbs from
comfortably warm quicksand,
some corner of my sleep-fuzzed brain insisting i need to move,
but the will-power was caught up somewhere in the land of nod.

so i plod...plod...plodded through the necessary paces,
motivation muted somehow by the seductively welcoming thought
of returning to a pile of pillows to sleep the hours away.

pushing these thoughts back, however cumbersome, was worth it.
rain-embraced greenery is nature's own art,
that carved-out concrete cannot conquer,
and the suddeness of being surrounded by magpies
provides a quick, fun thrill of fear, photographs capture the innocent joy
and spontaneity that made the day what it was.

alone again, i laugh at myself, surprised at the ludicrity (no pun intended) of my newfound love.

"and i was like baby, baby, baby oooh"

a breather.

Indigo hearts scribbled in biro down my arm,
And crossed out names and question marks on my palm
A hairdryer blocks out persistent chattering,
Then a sudden stop. Glass shattering.
A crumpled sobbing heap amongst the debris,
A pitiful sight to the pitiless soul,
Icicle feet desperate for heat, upon my vulnerable emotions,
Winter takes its toll.