there is a boozy
insubstantialness
to reality in the
frame of bioluminescent
purgatorial musings
a
hint
that
nothing
is as it
appears
viewing the world
through side mirrors
lends an
inky incandescence
to freefalling
through the strata
of traumatic scars.

i could accomplish
something
but i will be good
and goddamned if
anything
sounds half as good
as kissing you
until the sun burns out.

this is just another
ode from my lips
to the sparrows
hoping it finds your
lovely ears
another set of words
fired from ny
mechanical heart
to pierce an otherwise
indifferent world
moving faster than
my troubled mind
can follow.