I watch,
acerbic mumblings stumbling
across lips broken open in profanities
having nothing to do with four letter words,
fingers trembling in anticipation
of a revelation that never comes
across the sunrise like waking dreams.

I want to scream at you
that everything's dressed up,
please don't forget to look behind the curtains
sweeping down to hide behind the scenes
no one was ever meant to see,
because who wants to live in real life?
Just promise me you'll listen to the
tragedy of being,
with just a little trepidation
behind your reticently reconciled eyelids.

Join me in this netherworld
of everything whiling in your mind
like mine,
thoughts so carefully explicit
in the inconsistency;
follow me into the fray
where Nothing teems in dark corners,
waiting for a wisdom to pin it up
into some sort of recollection.

Sit at the edge of anything,
inhaling eternity,
where real meets genuine in dovetail joints
along shores of teetering glass slabs
breathing the cold
while swirling brine swishes near your toes;
the current wears your bones in two,
doubly double jointed daydreams
falling down like jilted skeletons
around the skin you shed so readily,
so that you can be twice as human
as I.

Wash the dollhouse windows in acid
and watch their pretty faces shrivel up
in crystallized dismay
at how mundane the world really is—
beauty is in the eye of the unbound,
let lines redefine their boundaries
underneath your fingertips
until reality becomes subjective.

Drift,
ribs heaving in the labored cries
of newborns screaming prejudice,
so apt before their eyes have even opened
to glimpse the heresy and ugliness
their mothers so lovingly expose them to;
just return to amniotic amnesty,
heartbeats painting colors in your ears.
Come here with me.

I miss your condescending clarity.