here is a message about the importance of evidence
the time spent looking for
a missing journal,
lost summer bracelets, a body crouched away.
exertion is made to make
a product
one can see this in tracing dismal memories
yet these scattered words
hold and empty promise,
a failed wedding vow.
the lost journal has scripted in its crevices:
“a holiday spent on horseback,” yet
no leather rug burn, no such effort.
the next page, a prose, beings with:
“iridescent scented kitchen” yet
no cinnamon in a dish, no jam jars,
empty or full.
what happened to trying?
kinetic is the craving. and to be
considered “the one who got away”
is gold enough. get her into a
a crowd, make her a sheep,
that is better than
being an individual, yet faded… correct?
her old battered self follows
out of her modest country soul
and into a city mind of duplicates.
ask her to tell about
the concrete jungle.
no message. no possible word.
she never learned the definition of embrace.
if one doesn't shine, or burn in the day,
don’t fret. even the smallest souls,
the stars only meant to
bring out the alpha planets,
will shine at night
no matter how dim.

walking through a scattered city
not in the sense of
spaced building
but of busy souls
not willing to
lower their heart rates.
their breaths are caught
in their mink purses and leather soles;
the plants are choking.
of course smug wouldn't be of
much assistance
thick sickness of grey
making its venture
into lungs that should
be full of tree exasperation
but timid population
is reminiscent
of bee swarms
except the product of this living speed
leaves nothing sweet: a tainted nectar.
hotel lights and the array
of reds,
greens,
and yellows
making their dance on roadways
contaminate the bright
humanity
could leave: light bulb wires
are the tangles that conquest
a mind block. when walking
the sidewalks that have consumed
a million steps
and have lost
a million identities
due in part to “stop and go”
urban simplicity,
don’t you dare not question
why a herd of sheep
is more unified than us.
we are the enemies of ourselves
yet give up fighting
the second we let
pedestrian lights
control our velocity.