Anachrome brought me here:
Leveled the forest floor
And dug the deep holes
That left me homeless.
I wrestled with fate.
I angled my history towards
Chemical baths and
Burning blow torches.
Then I left in distance.
With mud huts and ivory
And skinny dipping clear-cuts.
Like a woodpecker on a telephone pole.
There was no death.
No marked spot for execution,
Hanging noose or bullet hole.
Anachrome lived in smoke.
I am a victim of a cry
I am saddened no desire
Your denial of pleasure
Of finer things in life
Another way
I am a truth without a cause
A burning candle without a wick
When things explode
I am the hole
Absent of memory
I am a lesson never learnt
Beaten into fibrous lush
Browned and featureless
Lost and empty
Homeless
I am the midnight street walking
A single fluorescent light aglow
Long shadows down the road
And no finger prints
Left outdoors
I am not your golden rule
Your constant stream of pleasure
Lollygagging in suns warmth
Straight and narrow
There is no direction known
Fucking bloated imperfections
Passing tulips and roses out to guests
Inviting homeless inside
For a warm nights sleep and
Steam to wash away stains
Push on me; your aspirations
Dance with this wallflower
This undernourished lover
Through the night and
Along sleeping streets
Blunt under our breath that
Pissed away the night
Live away sadness in
Drugs that float lightly
Betwixt passages of your brain
Lovers mingling in ecstasy
While bloating subsides
Windows
And faces
And murals
And cement
And brick
With mortar
Smells
And stains
And trash
And brooms
And homeless
With doubt
Sounds
And colours
And damage
And cursing
And beauty
With breath
