The Space in Between

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My Easy Yoke

Wet boulders on the tops of hills and logic chopping chopping chopping
threaten to bury me with super-colossal gravity.
Day dreams of office jobs and ties tied tight around my windpipe,
researching endless pages of madness only to regurgitate in
brain-damaged facsimile threaten to crush crush crush me
with prodigious efficacy.

My easy yoke is tugging at me lightly
as if some five-inch sprite is pulling
a length of fishing line attached.

She whispers in my ear and I will follow.
I will by owing owe not.

Locked Eyes

Our eyes lock on each other
and you don't know me
and there are no walls.

You turn some rusty cog
within me,
sparking a revelation:
a striking stream
of echoes and negatives.

It's an ecstatic assault.
And I know your life
because I've been here before,
looking out from your eyes.