I turned my eyes around
and looked inside
and saw you staring back at me.

I was so taken I started screaming and backed into a china cabinet smashing everything to bits.

Hey, I can’t hear you this connection’s all fucked up. Click.

I sleep in a bed that’s not my own
It’s not yours. It’s no-ones.
I selfishly hog the covers, my white knuckled grip upon them.
Crushing me.
I don’t feel the pain. I feel a void.
Recovery is superhuman. Life denying expectations.
They recently found a hole in the universe, you know. A big one. Billions of miles across.
That is where we are together.
In the singularity, it’s a mish-mash of alternate realities.
Planets collide and immerse us in primordial ooze.
Living in a dream is a lot of work. Maybe I should ask for a raise.

The ocean’s deep.
Space is big.
You’ll realize this when you’re out walking and collapse to the ground.
And weep just like me.

You know, it’s times like these when the road bears its teeth that you just have to walk into it.

Where do all the people meet?
They’re not in the street, they’re not at the opera house
They’re in their rooms alone
With goggles on
Looking at each other
Because you see everyone’s room has a camera in it in a secret place
You don’t know who’s watching but that’s ok, because usually everyone’s doing the same thing
Watching
Waiting
Baited breath
White knuckles
Fingers dug in deep
Grab a handful
Drink a dramful
Suck up the scent
Evolute in the moment
Repress your desires and globulate across the floor
Like some kind of late 90’s proto-scum comedy baron
Shake my barrel bones dry.

Look, he moved.

No fingers on you
You’re all messed up
Hanging fog in my garden kissing my morning flowers with passion
And fire
And all those dream things
You know the thoughts that escape into vapor

I am born again
Eyes that won’t focus
Suspended in unfamiliar air
Free air, Justice
Adherence to a moral code
Admiration of principles
The hardships and longing of the builders forgotten ray from your eyes
Spray from your fingertips
Explode from your lips like a car bomb
A suicide bomb

Focus and split me in two why don’t you
I don’t mind, what have I got to lose after all?
After all is said and done you’re still just a haze
The cloud of flies surrounding the carrion
Obscuring the vulture’s eye
Fleshy hand in my garden picking my fruits with ardor and purpose?
Pricking yourself on my thorns
No rings on you

I hear a noise
Am startled awake
Rush to the window and focus on you through my binoculars to see if you are trespassing
Are you?

The whole world is dying
can’t you see?
What separates you from me?

The whole world is ending
can’t you read?
I will not plant another seed.

Instead instead
I’ll plant myself in paradise
and grow deep rusty roots
and become a mighty oak.

In life and love;
there are a few instances when your insides become much smaller than your outside
and the space in between is all you can feel
and eventually, when you lose yourself, I will come with searchlights.

I have halted the flow of time to try and find an eraser.

I will use the eraser once I find it to rub off the features I once deemed so perfect from your shining face as you stare frozen in time like Helios or Lady Liberty or the neanderthal in the ice block at a point somewhere between fourteen and sixteen inches from the foot of our bed.

The bed is set perpendicular to a small, soft window furrowed in the eastward wall of the quaint little loft space directly above the makeshift cabin dining area that some would argue was even quainter where you and I have shared and as I recall, thoroughly enjoyed each others company, conversation, and hot beverages the most common of which being a half cocoa half coffee concoction you put together face shining like the sun one Sunday morning upon arrival home from worship.

I stop to admire you and the artistic magnificence of the face I am about to destroy. The thick snowy sunlight reflection settles upon you finely like cosmic dust or at least my own personal conception of cosmic dust. I normally avoid dust and have not experienced any from beyond the boundaries of our planet’s atmosphere that I know of due to obvious limitations. I assume any entering would thus be burned up quite quickly nonetheless I maintain that this is what it looked like.

I begin to verbally voice what I am thinking about the cosmic dust but feeling quite sheepish under the circumstances stop short of it and look toward the ground at the silence and shadows. They are not moving. I suddenly remember that I am looking for an eraser.

Once I have found an eraser and a pencil which was stowed neatly next to the eraser in a downstairs covered desk enclave I sit at the foot of the bed reasoning with myself as to the real motivation of my sudden decision to stop the flow of time and completely do away with your facial features. I could just move one or I could fill out this portion or that portion. I could turn them all at interesting and new angles or I could move them all toward one central location. I could craftily plant them in subversive and impossible cubist positions like Picasso. But I realize that perhaps I don’t have the right to decide these things after all. Who am I to judge the fate of another human being’s only true means of inward expression? Who am I?

Time starts again. You are staring like a confused animal at the pencil which has suddenly appeared in your hand. I am next to you assuming this because I cannot see. I have no eyes.