i do not ask it why it must be done
i know it does       so deeply in my
subconscious there is no time 
for other thoughts to exist between
i m p u l s e ---> & --->  a c t i o n 
I MUST PAINT THIS NOW
even if i try to start
another endeavor -- more often than not
i look down suddenly to find
brush in hand and myself
dizzy from the missed conscious connections
between cognitive agenda and creation
i do not ask why, though, for I know
it is greater than i
the cosmos filled my soul with paint*
and at the slightest sparkle of the moon
the fairest twist of the tide
she can pull it out of me
to sate her buds
whether or not i consent
​to give

*paint = all creative arts i'm currently involved in

i've not yet fully learned
how not to apologize
for things that aren't my fault
how to tell someone
what my cost is
without deducting half
before even opening my mouth
i've not yet learned
to speak my mind 
out of fear i wont have enough
facts and experience to back
myself up
and i still can't cook
in some ways it's embarrassing
to see how much i'm lacking
but i think it's also comforting
to know
i'm not yet done with
​growing up

He wore socks
i said
my feeble voice
trembling
as subconsciously
my freshly crisped fingers
brushed up against
my charred, meek mouth
He wore socks
as if that explained 
anything
but in my mind
it did
the detail seared
into my marrow
like a thorn
the news anchor was
setting up
clearing his throat
and passing from
foot to foot
in place
in front of 
the coffee shop
that was now
in fact
just black bare bones
i had heard him
ask the leading questions 
in prep
for the interview with the cafe owner
they were conjuring up
a suspect
on nothing more than
prejudicial speculation
the Homeless man
with dreadlocks
and an iPhone
who laughed to Himself
while reading Jung
sipped coffee
and knew the barista’s name
and tried to help me
wave down my Chai
and whose whole of 
earthly possessions were 
seated to the right 
of His sagging, brown couch thrown
a tall, smelly pile
His own “son of god”
He, whose skin was golden brown
and more creased than modern
time would normally allow
He, who hummed “merrily”
content to sit, be warm
--this was their villain,
and why?
because He: patron non grata
surely looked to have less to lose
than any of the fine dressed
bathed and socially progressive
the housed combatants of civility
surely, surely these college girls
and boys, and work-day wanderers
these friday morning payday chums
who presented proper posturing
surely—none of these could be
hiding sinister objectives
of the blowing up kind
but, He wore socks, i said again
not even shoes for running
His whole home within
and here He was, at last
in warm content
from a bitter cold
—to blow it up?
that made no sense
not that blowings up ever did
but it just seemed to me
He was too easy, too innocent a target
to pin things on
too obvious a dunce 
for the farce of media propensity 
no, you’re wrong, i said
you see, He wore socks
He wore socks...

serenades i am not worthy of
with melting morals and a slippery mind
my, my, my spirits skunked in dirty shrapnel
a life’s worth of worthless collectables
you wouldn’t dare be brave enough to enter
this state i am in
this place beyond the sun where the light and dark
have become one
what would you know about that?
you smile with ease and even your pain is dulled
with your twinkling enthusiasm bubbling up with every
shiny new, new toy
 still, this is what i love in you
yet, what do you do with this love?
you walk away--
unscathed
—are you?
while the darkness opens up the floor beneath me
are you watching?
i’m performing the grand act of mediocre surviving
are you watching?
yes. you are watching.
so, watch this:
serenades i am not worthy of
turned into dusty diamonds i sparkle on myself
my slippery, sanded mind
casting webbed spells
bending every truth into convenient tale
and you won’t ever know me again 
as that girl,
​your girl

the earth spun
at such an angle
as to cause you
crashing
into me
and as the sun rose
your shadow grew
like a cold breeze
blowing over me
and for a time
we wound our rhythms
together; two cicadas singing
in the sap
but the earth’s rotation
was soon too much;
it dizzied us
our love dried up
you took a step back
and the sun hit my face
like a slap
my bare skin burned raw
as i strained to watch you
walk away
too hot to the touch
too easily influenced
by every passing dark spot
my antennae retracted slightly in
i’m fragile, but strong
and i know how to live long
yet transitions like this
take several spins 
to catch on