grinding

and love will come while the sun will blind
shining over your well-schooled smile
and performance kit persona
and that well groomed fear posing
like docility in the chaotic 21st century North America

take off the light
I won't be much, not even less
the closet still stinging black
and eyes swelling like the menstruating crotch
of a chiguagua dog
always purging its foul insides
always looking painful

the leaves turn

away from your last season's rage
it's a system of betrayal
you decide
the congress of want
the society of foreover consume
the fall into cavity I
where the search is circular
and bound to immortality

twisting open the how are you's i'm fine's
in desperate need of oiling
lulled by the watches of
when to do what to do
no whys

I've decided to then become what I hate
a vacuous eggshell
no substance and morbidly fragile
eating animals and slurping at the
Second Cup
full belly, hollow soul
and that forlorn longing
that when the leaves turn
so will I.