the day after no tomorrow

Through the years you've learned how laughter can evaporate the tears, so you've turned yourself into a clown centered upon only the performance and, alone with your light swirl of vodka straight, you find that purity comes in toxins too.  
You'll never make it to the level of everclear, but are content to settle here and slumber the pain in mixed signals spoken from numb, wet lips.  

Pull up a stranger, strike up a story peppered with lies....
From this point on, we will only leave a confused series of stains that we don't remember spilling but are happy to claim.  

Realize Now

everything you don't say matters....conversation is soil for burying secrets and eventually you forget your own and mistake the costume for the naked skin.  
The stranger's name is something you will dream with once you've achieved the climax of the absence you knew all along.

This is the day after no tomorrow
And
Carpe diem is burning every bridge like it is the last and the future shock of an island isolation is inviting a flood without escape.  
----------------------
(One day the effect will return to sleigh the cause.)
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For the lack of being human, there's a chase for a shadow claim and everyone stakes a reflection and calls it Name.  

I've wasted fantasies on praying knees, tasted the space between parted lips, the act of theft fades the stolen value of the prize, and I'm locked in a kiss that won't let me scream.

Now

Trapped in a traffic prison of speeding steel
fiber-glass monsters steered by the will of maniacs who are in a hurry to make it on time to their complaints, they don't want to disappoint their ghosts or lose the respect of the ones they hate.

Occupation.  Money.  Children.  Funeral Bills.

I survive the time, wading through the routine that pulls to drown me, thinking about wet vaginas
and arms
and soft voices and laughter serenades and stupid jokes that aren't funny but are and
hips, thighs, pillow breasts, and eyes that understand and keep me, and tiny hands, and-

Love is a slender nail peircing the thickest skin.  Glorify a halo from this puncture wound and my eyes
would be a vacant reflection for you to gaze.  See us stripping despair like
Suicidal Royalty.  I wish we were dead, where borders are outlaws and distance is a renegade
unpresent.
clouding bad weather to the lines of your face.  

What love is nothing to believe and what use is this machine.  To me.

After Now.

Through the years the colors bleed to a single jaded shade and
rainbows look like scars and
stars look like holes.  Pavement is a maze through the jungle architecture of efficient boxed living,
hand in hand with a compromise, fingers laced together like a noose, we lynch one another in judgement
and disguise our fear in knowing best.  The polar shift of responsible lunacy, hate goes to heaven, love goes to hell.  
Insecurity is security.
Fear is courage.
Immorality is morality.
Slavery is freedom.
And
War is peace.

Here

The wind blows to you the rejected breath of lives
gambled on their second chance.  In the background, the same instrument kills a different chord.
The seductive quake of a violin.  The migraine of a piano.  The sobbing of a horn.
The silence that fills the hollow of an abandoned drum--the last tune echoes just out of reach
and remembers her clearly.  forever.  

A child has been hibernating in intoxication and awakes
in the barren drought of a summer scorching age onto its face.