what is it? try to feel around

a curve ball – shooting past into

a warped mind cluttered with many unnecessary

folders, littered with tons of memory confused

with the reshaped story sweet like the first

ice cream tasted, bitter like the first betrayal

given. the straight line is missing many pieces,

with a landscape ill defined, unchartered,

the broad road appears like one’s favorite wine,

a kool-aid: how warm, how refreshing, with

the warmth spreading from fingers to a heart

now bewitched by

a foul mouth monster sneering, licking, tasting

a nerve wrecked shriveled ball

tightening fist to keep that last precious gem

covered in dirt. is it gem?

the mouth spitters saliva, erasing all the hard

earned rice harvest. a farmer is made poor again

then burns away the scarecrow who

chased away no angry crows with eyes grayed out

from too much wax. drip. another turn of events –

how do you sidestep an avalanche

when the ground vibrates,

when the boulders drizzle like

water drops, the back is turned away

from that mountain sliding –

neatly burrows into valleys of the heart

still hearing a nursery rhyme

going thud, pud, pak: splat. broken,

shattered, fragmented, the rhyme

becomes out of harmony, sinks away

all the drizzle like rain, cracking unto surface

brittle, the ear drums continue to hear

the rushing waters filling the cavities,

all those intonation, emphasis on the high pitched

metal scraping metal

with mary’s bloody lamb crying out for

help but mary has gotten hungry.

with miss muffet gone cruel,

eagerly tearing of each limb of that nasty

spider still opening wide it’s jaws

in silent plea. i just wanted some company.

then the back gets thrown forwards with many

layers of cushions suddenly squashed, a faint

sound, almost like a fart! then it was pure flatness,

that dull monochrome voice sent to all channels,

all frequencies, nothing to tune out noise from signal,

with probabilities touching philosophy, then noise: signal;

noise: never happens, signal: blotched

an error in the logic, the ears strain to hear, to hearken

to a flood of tuned out jingles faded like the cushion

now hard as hard.

fevers, molten dreams melting into

flesh. the warm comfort of a favorite meal

slowly cooked, each bite savoring the

heat, the ice forming inside when burns

become numb. a thorn in the flesh

no longer bothers, prod, prod – no reaction

when the eyes continue to glaze away

at nothing in particular. the response is never

coming, though the arms shudder

when a pile of rocks hit right

too close to home: gardens, curve ball: monster

as a monster thrashes all those roses,

the ball bounces up and down, hitting roof

and floor, cracking that foundation,

black roses created; time to live: 55s;

soon it became quite clear that it was

all spoofed. poof away at vision dim, ears hearing

the sound of yesterday, the hands grasp at

invisible strings but the master is

still loosening control. feels like freedom till

a fall comes about, a deep growl within the pits

reverberates to the linings of the heart

whose eyes see, hear and speak. they test curve

balls out of whack, out of touch with reality

of the memories jumbled, of the heavy sky

hurtled down when a mountain collapses,

then the targets become clear. and it was just

an echo of my face, my mirror reflection

whispering, tugging on strings to finally seal

this prison. seen as the first ice cream tasted,

the nursery covered in dust, grasp at air

believing it to be more than wind and all the while

chasing all the puffed out air let out when a cushion’s

saving grace never saw the real north.

there is was, still refilling up – this empty hole

in my heart.