I erase myself in pointless endeavors.
Traveling along the print on a page,
my picture, my name,
stain your memory with disdain.
I erase myself from your history-
belonging nowhere in time or space.
Existing to trace a face from a familiar place-
disappearing from hometowns and high schools.
I have no childhood
but a red mask
of rosy reminiscent sin.
Nostalgia paints the way to melancholy,
and the only escape
is to allow yourself to be erased.
A bigot's tale is tall,
wide and vast.
It encumbers an infinite mass,
blankets the earth in black and white.
Weakens the strong,
blurries the difference
between right and wrong.
Eliminates equity,
the fight,
and the right to belong.
A bigot's agenda is read, told,
said and sold by familiar faces
in your favorite places,
even public spaces.
When I'm alone,
it's like freedom
in my disconnected space.
Chasing down
dead air radio static.
I wash out his essence
for the last time.
Love written on open windows-
on lines-
sun fades its intimate messages.
I bask in His sun,
transparent,
a place where I find your trace.
Interlacing fingers in my dark space,
sonny, I know your face.
The sun rises without (me),
casting shadows on the surface
of an expanding universe.
Troubled turns to windowed daylight,
she speaks to the world
through breath and fog on the glass.
It disappears to nothing.
It's everything we have,
the air in our lungs
and each other.
A foggy vision of you in each sunset,
a reason to see sunrise tomorrow.
You're a tainted fortune,
filled with the glory
of fables and fairy tales.
A hidden treasure of shams
and charlatan hero-princes
on filthy white horses.
Deliver me from wicked witches
then lock me in your
enchanting bell tower:
Where I'll find my escape
from the sympathy
given to phony saviors.
Nature has its way
of aging the kindest stray
into a single-minded ideal
for fortune and fame.
The blind torment of intrusive thought
meddles above as a storm cloud on a sunny day.
What a terrible end,
trapped in time
with a sinner's reprise.
Yet small-town-syndrome takes its victims,
then devours them to inflate its leaky ego.
I've settled into a sound speculation
of suburban civics.