i feel invisible
and your eyes are like two
green crescent moons
dangling like apples
or ivy from the trellis of the stars
roseline!!!
christ! i can't hope to escape cliche in
this
escapade
temper tantrum
crying cryptic tirade

where do i place my head
how do i begin to learn to deny this yearning
to reconcile algebra and art
the mind and the heart
this
this is bullshit
i dance in the eyes of a painting on display
in the window
during a banal small town opening
out in the rain that more hangs
lurid on the air
and it sticks to your skin
it leaves you wet without the benefit of a downpour

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