Pretty Diamond

62 inches
above the
planet
that occupies
cheaters and
liars
and scary murderers
and late night abductions
and vomiting children with
bugs in their
guts

a child, a tear, a friend
who stood so close
to the
planet
that the child could
squish it
with his (swollen)
thumb.

mama is dead.
papa is dead.
child is alone, with
his cute
little friend.
a bug.

in his gut.
his friend.

pretty diamond--
turn your neck, and weep

dive, dive, dive

into the
future;
where my arms
are your
safe spot and
your safe home.

turn your neck, pretty diamond.
that's all you'll have to do.

'cause diving
into
a weep infested future
is a dive
that will not occur.

you've got
this guy.

you've
got
this
guy.

weep no longer.

turn your neck no longer.

The past exploded
when it happened
and now
lives
in molecules
that
don't matter
because
bugs eat
them.

and that lonely child
eats
his friend; the bug.

pretty diamond.
smile.

your dive
into
my
arms
will
be
a
safe
one.

Currently:

The hum of a dust gatherer sucking innocence from the very surface of the dirty floor that we've all dragged our wheels across while dreaming of our destination.
excluding, stomping, zoning.
nothing can be done--nothing can ever be done.

Previously:

The voice of an angel (1455 miles west) traveling elegantly through wires and reaching the insides of my probably deaf ears. another reminder of my beauty, and another reminder of the beauty this world cradles.
Grinning, Loving, Fantasizing.
Something can be done--something can, and will, always be done.
I smile.
I love.
I(t) hold(s).

Now what?

I'll crawl into the whom of a knife's web and treat myself to a drink and some food and a friend and some friends and a friend is waiting for me.

here I come.
My eyes are enervated soles.