You step on melted
thoughts and sink to the
middle, where there sits a
concept
rich and lovely looked upon
always but nowhere
specifically – never spoken.

I can see you in there,
as if stepping on equalizer
bars that throw you
frantically forward in electric
fancy steps
pointing at flaws
that flash before you. They’re all mine,
posted on a backdrop somewhere
someplace that memory
keeps and dreams
call for.

At home here,
as if spilling
wine on white carpets
careless, through chats spoken at
thin smiles
pasted on faces for
stability’s sake. The dizziness of it all
escapes you, and with
wine stained feet you leave
footprints to follow
always.

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