Coinage of Two Faces

Let Cherry Blossoms flicker a wind that

Stabs thumbtacks onto boardwalks. London mists

Turn a shivering wall of fame translucent, graft

The portrait of a man and his corporeal shift,

Onto liminal pride squeezed between breaths;

They pattern hope into sin,

Nuzzle the caput into his padded time capsule

Between the electric blades at the edge of each petal.

This difference between death and bespoke 

Forces my hand to plead the fifth—

Bottoms up again--

And to swig the barbed wire

In exchange for the depth you exploit,

To keep your mood afloat.

Elan vital, spilling poiesis from inside the bars of my jumpsuit,

You grift bespoke cross-hatchings from

Latent Gutai cleaving Bushido through ego like the Iyi Clan,

And reverse Zeppelins Sirened by a certain Lucy

in the Sky with Diamond pressure—

Each deflated by the Zero Form of overcomplicating love.

This is surface tension.

Do you know what it means to be born

Like a Beatle on its back

Singing Yesterday’s regrets into her Milky Way eyes?

The iceberg underneath cools his thorax’s beacon,

Smuggling faith into reason like see-through chainmail;

Human nature shines through the knight’s LED armor as bespoke reflexions.

My skin crumbles under the pressure, where survival means

Every season blooms divorce, and

Different colors brush yin-yang

Where mistral feathers and secret courts

Daub indecision into my core:

This is the Invisible Hand at work.

And my fear is crystal fucking clear:

We circle the same meaning, like a Pavlovian tongue

Lapping the pools of aesthetic evolution

Marbled floors, concrete cells,

Samurai codes, top dollar tech overlords 

Who am I to score

Aphrodites in forget-me-not Velour?

She brings me to my knees,

And lets this new spring

Invite you into my dream.

Bottoms up again.