summer machine
with dials like rain
stumbling upon a
back door apocalypse
and flirting with a second chance
that only means something in dreams

i held the copper cube in my palm
one final time
remembering our prime

lost and found
and lost again
with menthol kisses
this soft little life is set to expire
as lady winter is ready to retire
and i am ready to inspire
disruption or corruption
then, unseen interruption
shut down by a
self sacrificing siren’s song

race to the top
only to be stopped
no contrition
forgotten
in this infinite condition

there’s no flow
drowning in the afterglow
the rhythm has dissipated
as the soul is silently consecrated
then secretly consolidated

bonfires burned
as passions turned
from hesitation
to a drunken invitation

how many times must we shuffle the deck
how many times must we play this game of
tedious complication
the rules of acquisition
no longer seem fit
as we race towards this sudden respite
should we recommit
or just passively submit

quiet moments
in the back of my mind
sometimes i visit them
these girls that left me sour
do endings really matter?
or are we all just
tattered pages
in random short stories?
how easily they forget
an old face
when obscured by
a new embrace

art is preferable to madness
beautiful and subjective
artists in love
perpetually plagued
by a pale sadness

the gods granted me a new season
with uncertain direction
and i have so little reason
to complete this silent insurrection

saints and sadists always call, and
some days the knife is preferable to the mirror

but for today
the keyboard, a cigarette,
and a cup of coffee will do