A.I. Interactive
Every unwritten segue
promising escape
our novel approach.
Tactical engagement
of unspent collateral
in linear talk.
Suggestion surrenders
impulses to tease away
discarded warnings.
Uninvited
in my own body
I want yours.
To be captured
in forgotten and
redundant exploration.
Immobile until
inertia surrenders
remote possibilities
Until a
recognition
beginning ends
amid pretensions
A skilled retreat
remorse coded trails
we navigate alone
Past indifference where
intelligence is artificial
or else
remotely akin.
Plethora
for Natalie
These talents you posses
a whirlwind of
antecedents, wild colours
bringing lustre
new words even
an image starved poet
can claim to have
after picking
them off streets
discarded, otherwise
denied such radiance
alongside your violet
lipstick traces on
half inhaled cigarettes.
I need a lost simplicity
to capture
what in essence is
formless in
a pose that is
what is fluent
in a careless smile
or unplanned backward
step or too forward
a joke to register
with others
with the camera
that loves you
for having such talents.
The lenses, flash film
dare an intimacy
inspire a jealousy
with each picture
staling a moment
truly not mine.
Yet it is enough
for me just to
make that happen
far easier with you
than anyone else.
Escape Has Its Benefits
Kicked to the corner
where she said
I’d find company,
I walk outside
where the wind lies
it's fresh.
The corner girls
spin their stale tales
that I’m next.
I pass the bar
three times then
traipse in.
One whiskey
becomes
five.
Then I see
tattoos too dark to read
yet her smile says enough,
beckons me to lose
for I gather quickly
her victories are small.
We leave seeking
a temporary respite
letting stars kiss our wounds
with only the moon
truly golden
over a closed for good
pawnshop.
That Drunken Night
Your lips
were Picasso's
artwork
when drunk
with unsteady hand
in paintings blue as
eyes of emaciated
pale orphans of hope
with beauty
captured still.
Our stories
predictable as if
stolen from
paupers knowing
little charity
yet with a smile
illuminating only
the obvious
with all its measures
of diluted
clarity.
I took her back
to my place
to finish a story
that cried for an
ending.
Revealing we lacked
one or two in sundry
nights that followed
as
they began
open
ended
like
they do.
Inside The Parenthesis Of Being
Then
Under
a tall tree
(We kiss) whys
away under branches
dividing
the light.
In Stasis
As if
in a dream
we (sleepwalk)
in shadows
away from the light
in each other's eyes
looking at
others.
& Now
A harsh
daylight on
dying)roses
she threw
in the trash
clinging
to life.
The Future
waiting as
always to throw us
(together) anew thinking
this riddle (inevitably)
can be remade
to find out otherwise.
(again).
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