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I said- your coffee or mine?
And I forgot I was too small

For any major contradiction.
As always, a little too small

For saying what I said it big
That I was a little too small .

Stop running, will you, you leaky-pants.
Tread run of mill to stay where you are.

Let the reaper do the running ,why not.
Let his bones rattle in his creaky-pants

And do grim reaping under the scythe.
Let reaper pant under its rusted weight.

It seems I was something,
somewhere
In the metaphors I actually
became .

I keep pages unoccupied
by thoughts,
The spines creaking in my
many nights,

Their dust full of my future
after light,
Like a powdered clay pot
I will become.

One time we passed
by a boy,
Who called a once a
one time
That is how it was, a
moment.

Moments are boys in
streets
We pass by once, in
one time.
They are piling up to
all-time.

The lights are constant there.
Up north, lights never go off.

All who go north are outside
Of myself in a room on GPS.

My outside has all, including
That boy who recently went.

I have felt all that before,
deja vu.
I was a very thing down
somewhere

Metaphors I had actually
become .
All had passed and I was
all that before.

Nice things to feel
on their spines,
I run finger through
their minds.
The smell feels like
inside of caves

Of first men,bodies
in pots
Thoughts encased
in silks.
They are like seams
of old dreams.

Did you see pretty woman
pass?
The pectoral bone asked
in a jungle.

Some bones & some flesh,
did pass,
Screeched the bony voice
in mandible.

Intrepid dreamer brought up
Some images in continuum

A flying cascade on the hills
With fallen peach blossoms

That had to flow with water.
As lights glistened forgetfully
.
It was just a whiff of thought
The bones in the earth -pot.

It is how we rattle a poetry.
How a poem rattles bones.

We are at the age of terror.
There is fear lurking in liver

When rattle of fear sounds
Much like bone of laughter.