So you get up and awkwardly dance,
marionettes on strings, ducks by the pond.
The mating ritual. Never over. Finally fire,
the grandiloquent facade.
Never to be trusted with the lemon-
aide again. You're so serious, the heat
that is. Summer's revenge upon
the unsuspecting houses, then.
Matter, this. Machinery twisting
above you forever. Semantics lead
you over the edge. Ritualistic
barbecues lending a comedic verve.
A sad moon mirrors my maledict skull.
THERE IS THIS AIR
Moving without speed without motion
cerebral slang of every thought
passing like taxis in the night
the picture of your body among drawn curtains
a ringing telephone pulls at my senses
love moves through you and grabs your heart
carrying it out the window
into the arms of the most ordinary breeze
I'll leave it there flying