Identify
He slumbered and as he did he transported into the bowels of his sbconconcious or perhaps somewhere else entirely. He was in a woodland shrouded in a dense fog. At his feet was a rapidly moving creak whose waters rushed like New York traffic.
On the other side of the creek was was figure that sent shivers through him. The it was human...almost. the being had no face or even the traces of a face. It beckoned him or was it taunting him?
He waded in to the creek with a splash. The figure with no Visage also made no sound except its own splashing foot-falls through the water. He chased this mysterious being into a cave and with a resounding splash tackled him down into the water!
They struggled but He pooled the Faceless One up out the water and stood astonished, for the being now had a face. He had been the faceless man.
Ink
I hear short tales, where you are nothing good and far from impressive and all imposing.
I try and see you diplomatically. But unfortunately, I feel you.
I feel your ache. The bruise ever-pressed. The expectations failed. The stale shock of chilled wine dripping into the dip of your shirt. The want for bleeding passion and settle for dry stability.
I stare. I can't help it. I want to know everything, but there is very little I can ask in the cage I am unsure how to free us from.
Your mouth raises on the opposite of mine dominantly. You scan like you're waiting for a threat that won't manifest but you'll cruelly deny looking for if it's acknowledged. Your hands are calloused from weight lifting and you hold a pencil funny, and with every trait, you become dominating in my mind.
I won't rewrite my story to fit you, nor will I try and force you to want my narrative. But you don't move away when I press against you, and you look a beat too long when you don't think I can see, and I think maybe you'd be happy to read the words your name constitutes.
You are not penciled into my life, you are the only thing that's written in ink.
Again
There. I take it back,
everything I didnt say.
Finally, I step tentatively into the light, that first step, so fearful, but driven by unstoppable forces,
churning so close to the surface I fear they may spill out.
If only to taste your breath again.
I have found that I am more afraid that goodbye will be too permanent, than I am of having to scrape to your whims,
In the hopes that I might swim through the depths of your sagacious delusion,
Depsite my better judgment, I wish to drown myself in sentimental repetition.
The Backdrop Man
Aren’t we all just hanging on
By a loosely woven thread?…
As the heat rises from the
George Foreman grill
All the searing words I’ve said
Which I’ve maintained are sound theories
Are only linchpins to my cause
To keep my head atop the waters
As my soused heart
Drops the ball…
There’s a man who walks his bike around…
Every possession on his back…
He pauses here and there on benches
He lies beyond your daily sight…
Today you’ll pass him at a quick clip…
He’s lying dormant to the right…
When News Reporters capture on site News,
Making molehills out of sand…
You might see him slowly migrate
Holding a parcel in his hands…
Notice the wrinkles under both eyes, and on
The outskirts of his lips…
They go deeper then you could ever know…
His lids are pinched tight, as he shifts,
And gesticulates wildly
At an object in the sky…
Notice the clothing!…
The bleached apparel!…
At times we glance, then pass him by…
He is telling a bygone story…
That holds a key to what’s mislaid…
When he maps out answers in the heavens
Will you still look the other way,
Or see life within the margins
Where the grit and
Rubies flows?…
Aren’t we all just hanging on
By a loosely woven thread?…
As the heat rises from the
George Foreman grill
All the searing words I’ve said
Which I’ve maintained are sound theories
Are only linchpins to my cause
To keep my head atop the waters
As my soused heart
Drops the ball…
9/8/25
Bunny Villaire
The battle that takes no prisoners.,
The battle for my sole,
survivor i am,
not going down without a fight,
between me and yours truly,
I have the edge,
Of a cliff I dangle holding on to the roots,
of my childhood is where it all started,
And ended as I freefell into the depths of my mind,
To be continued,
When I get back on my feet again,
And again and again.,
true, i miss it
11
i miss you more than the stars and the moon
i remember it all in the inbetweens
moments between things, during
i miss the times we had under spring trees
i woke up with the memories of thursdays
in my head - foggy dreams - remembering
waking up in your bed, savoring every moment
while it lasted
i knew it would end, i just didnt think like this
i thought about you here, away from home
i thought about the times you made me cry
and i miss even that. maybe im just a masochist
i just miss you being you, ever irritating,
ever comforting. the love despite the hardship
you made everything feel so easy
until i broke, fell into a million pieces, and im picking them all back up,
im trying to
i just miss it
i miss you
the only future i ever had had you in it, you know?
you never believed me, but i know
it still feels like its real, like its just a love letter away
in the stories it is,
in the stories its easy because its true
but the only thing thats true
is whether or not we believe it
The Closing of Open Doors
psychologists say there are five fears
from which all other fears stem
like digits, as manufactured,
the handful presumably
Natural, like
...extinction,
...mutilation,
...loss of autonomy,
...separation, and ego death...
to quote from Psychology Today
in this list, the median we see
of aggregate sum, or mean
centers on loss or losing...
which is to say
the irrevocable closing,
of the slatted gate...
09.11.2025
Gatekeeping challenge @Last
