Baking a Nail File Into a Contraband Cake

somewhere between

gallant and pusillanimous

lies a field

which stretches from

here to pluto,

unfathomably gargantuan

and irrefutably macabre.

it bewitches and it devours.

there was a time prior

to its contemptuous existence

in which lovers could

lay contentedly within their

respective paramour's embrace,

the most pressing matters

a fracas over

a cloud's perceived visage.

but as the ozone layer inflated(or

perhaps one could argue

its deflation),this obverse

inflated,

forever hungering for

the bravery of a

suitor's

soul.

escape. flee.

love cannot be savored

if

one is bound

by fear.

A Plea to Happiness

perhaps

(and this is

quite the request,

i realize)

but perhaps

just

once,

you could stay.

not for a fleeting ticktock,

or an infinitesimal fleck(like

the skinflake snowflake

falling passed my

energy-saver bulb),

but for maybe

months.

years?, if it's

not too

much trouble.

you make me feel genuine.

you make me feel real.

you make me feel

something other than the

darkness-by-osmosis

that seems

to suck me up like water.

but if you have other things

to do and

other places to see,

i understand.

i move at a snail's pace.

i won't be

very far.

It Sounded Kind of Orca-ish

low-frequency symphonies(un-listen-able

to you,to me)echo the

things i do not(willnot,cannot)say.

do they mourn or do they exalt?perhaps

joyandloss are two halves of

their whole.

mourn(jubilant)ing mammoth,

you are no match

for the crux

that

pulsatespulsatespulsates

within this chest,for

even you

are dwarfed by

this sanguine nucleus and all that it holds,

this pith i have

come to behold;but

nothing does it mean

if he is not the kindling

for

this flame.