Lonely Dimension

Searching will uncover more strangers. Time belts around my waist shrinking the scale; I wish to refrain from viewing bouncing numbers flowing out of fingering mouths. How am I not whom remembers this person questioning familiarity every moment?

Faces change from flesh to synthetic, an act of demeanor the undercover world silently, wordlessly whispers theory slipping ideas causing my dreams to collapse into tireless sheets.

Reminiscing foolishness, reaction to situation, reasonable for most; perhaps I should be advanced. Survival now a fortitude of shelter as I gather steps configuring a staircase to Uranus madness, power of consciousness, cosmic neuroticism of an unknown knower.

Feeling my passion's presence drawing nearer changes colors within from grey to blue. When she is distant my blood channels opposite directions from my heart; I suffer this anguish to the point of no return.

Names beget imitation; blame is no comfort yet comes when I embody personal sadness. Time is conceit of appearance; dungeon of the worst which becomes of myself.

Drifting mental pictures of stillness proves another me.

Man inside a castle of physical tests, living inside dying worlds, battling questions without answers driving him mad.

What it is to be ordinary possibly the worst experience for any human; nobody is plain and simple.

Holding onto memories make him weaker while searching for pieces of the self that might fit together.

Calculating mental intervals defies clocks contemplating this missing person trapped inside.

Disconnection

I am uncertain what summons us to a half circle bench amongst the cold brick square. We share a continuous simple thought, perhaps we desire power of clarity at rest. An electrical intense vibrance surrounds our equilibrium this grey afternoon before a symbolic blizzard casts the whole city for white despair. Mutable silence acknowledges a future without expectations full of tribulation. Naivete refuses to delve deep into pessimism; war will rage until no life exists. What a strange curious metal geometric pattern aligning bricks pocked with sorrowful boot steps. I stare at numerous clay craters allowing childlike inquiry to take over my mind.

Patterns of neurological worry storm my brain with circular activity; numbness gathers my senses. I care not for such sentimental emotions; hard knock experience creates a stone heart inside of an empty vessel growing horns wildly. I sit alone while she wanders within her individual will; lost inside my self I mindlessly awaken to chaos. Ice sky globes crack red lines cycling two unholy dark centers; I react foolishly upon noticing upset body language.

"I'm sorry........"

My actions are without contemplation; appearance of dismay creates her face. Disconnecting static separates our fondness of cruelty; an atmospheric nirvana motions her to giggle the coo of a grandmother upon discovering sweet rosy cheeks.

"No people come to sit at this bench; surely large enough to seat a large tired group. Why is that?"

Breaking waves wash upon her shore of realization; staring at the distance she is offended by my interruption. Her voice's sonar bounces through my cave of essence yet I cannot recall. Dramatic tenderness transcends her appearance into one I find hilarious from the act of insincerity; thus no longer amuses me. Fruitless willfulness creates a sense of seriousness from disappointment. I cannot laugh unless the situation is a feather shed by a dove. I may nervously crack sarcastic rumbles to regret; my vitality dies from wasted energy.

"We are sitting on the bench. You cannot say that nobody sits here."

She physically demonstrates different positions of emptying and filling a seat. I cry tears of sorrow for the ghost; the reason is not inside a grave.

Methods of comfort never transcend my distillation into serene placation.

Desiring no further answers from Snow we settle into her home. Tossing and turning from a restless spirit she attempts to sedate me with Bavarian chocolate; I feed her fluff of bearded feline. As I pretend to sleep she carries me; she shocks my softness and sings a village folk song.

Good Idea

What perils we face inside the New World, full of death defying naivete our bravery hath no foresight into the unknown.

Early morning fog of pollution crowds the dock of the dead; bodies of reeking smoke arise from steamy grave water. Pigeons substitute the position of sea gulls; white is too pure for these pickings. We edge the slope to a ramp recycled from polished maple hotel ballroom renovation curving upward towards the largest ship at rest.

"Are you sure I should trust this guy......I know you sort of look alike.......come on, what the hell is this......."

I contemplate every word of discretion; triumphant emotion guides me through the stench.

"Antonius, here we are amongst the dead, yes indeed. The smell is undeniable and we do know morning is the only safe time for humans to cross amongst these wooden platforms of justice. This will be the moment of truth for your ability. You must overcome your worst fear and abolish all discredit amongst your adversities. This is where you Antonius will defeat your greatest enemy...........death! "

This may be the final destination for the wheeled board carrying his winged feet. Gemini slowly walks into the clouds of vapor ghosts; the drama of Shakespeare surrounds Hamlet's account. Logical sense floats further into the bay. Antonius stands tall astounded by thoughtless reality; we are caught between charismatic waves. He peers possible doom; the challenger and ringleader emerges from the depths of the stink.

"Thus Antonius we honor you with this armor so thine noggin will be protected from thine flogging."

Gold metallic spray paint sparkles from spotlight reflection scanning liquid currents and long narrow pink feathers plucked from a boa align the center brushing gusts of inertia; a mohawk football helmet awaits him. He bows one knee onto earth and the other angles towards destiny; the empty head begins to fill. Behind him is a larger balcony edge pulled from a skating rink for circular momentum. Rusty iron black enamel abstract splotches can be seen from the boat ahead. My twin and I debate a few words twisted from rehearsal. We look over the bay; a shiny gold coin with pink wings waves a thumbs up.