November 28, 2014 – We have no Secrets

What

Keeps any of us going

She points
Says
Just ahead
Round the bend

And
Before
They
Know
It

Everything is over

Rapscallions
Are no better than
Regular scallions

auto stocks
power locks
you caught me
dismantling my soul

And sat there
waiting

I find myself
Nowhere
All
At once

wondering how words
Come apart
Like nomadic
Gestures
to the door

It’s not that I’m
No good
At hints
Anymore
It’s just that
Blunt force trauma
Becomes her

Muted
autumn
Colors
don’t exist
for a reason

Come find me

I am firmly rooted in the apex of your mind

I think I don’t think

It’s all the forming snide dish of hell
Jello

I, fund you

Stuck in