Endgame


Innate distractions rule over the lascivious lands, a wisp of hair,
A touch of razed empathy,
Embraces from an ethereal banquet,
The irradiate smells of ozone you’ve sensed--
These bring you back to court in aloof misdemeanor—
A crime you’ve played on love,
A victim you are of changing the furious balancing,
And harboring the lingered ghosts of arcane desire.


Peripherally alone casting solitude with spider-web hands,
Finding pleasure in the inanimate challenge of living—
Annihilates the murmured feelings
Willing to seep through,
But spinning sounds so much better than finding salvation,
Of creating new memories, of living,
Of feeling the relinquished game
Coming back again.