Do not speak unless spoken to

Can you hear me when i speak your name
in the hours
after
midnight's disrepair
creatures
junkies jonesin for a new fix
crawling in the ally ways
in between the winter suns
rays
rummaging through
funerals with floral arrangements
space station satellites orbiting
ice cream parlors pistachio stash
the corner of your rooms door frame
spiders crawling
out of your mouth as you sleep
not up the water spouts

can you feel me
when i think of you
wrapping my arms around
like your bed or pallet still sprawling
after a long hard day at the
institution for the handicapped
am i a piece of your playlist
on shuffle
a drawing in your
sketch book of
scribbles
scratches
crosshatches
how about a scattered torn up piece of paper
tossed to the wind
among beautiful crying women
with exposed breasts
father figures
water colors of bad boy blue
scarlet red
bleeding out on the kitchen floor
mascara running black
mixed with tears and tears of the heart

but from what
memories of pain pressed against a lovers body
pleasure from the peak of sensation
salivating
passion rolling down your skin
screams
moans from mouths in the morning
butterfly's plucked from the sky like a treasure
or tummies fluttering
then framed behind a pane of glass

when did i cross over into the nightmares
nodding like a passerby
still smiling as a saint
but you can tell there's bitter thoughts
bouncing
brewing
a hard pill to swallow
sweetly
wrapped in cotton candy
canvas the neighborhood
from day to daydream dancing
on a set dining room table for twelve
i miss you like a medicine
that holds back the dogs with
rabies
foaming
outside of
wrought iron gates
water gardens to walk through
with lily pad leaps
fed from treys with clear plastic cups
by friendly enough looking
men and women cloaked in white
as if shepherd's
from the watchtower
that left me feeling faint and good
a match made from the river Styx

i'm encamped at the front
king of the dirt and muddy hills
and this war has only just begun
a leaf of the most vibrant orange
cascades on the
breath of the wind
as gun fire
sounds not so far in the distance
as my grandfather once heard
from the tree line with shrubs
we use to call comfortable
you raise them
we make them fall