dead again
as of late
whispering inert hysteria
and winding away
toward slow disorder
and wishful thinking
should we trade our idle guns
for animated kisses
invoking the gentle hands
of passive strangers

twisted and resisted
our naked reflections
are lost
to the curious curve
of platonic circumstance
and urban shadows
are now
quiet friends

almost always
last in line
nights alone
are better spent
in the care of
unlisted words
than wasted in mantras
of inevitable obscenity