On another sanguine eve

Petty second-hand needs
Insignificant

Heartbeats pulsing through veins
One, two, three, one too many
constricted flows
of thought, bulge and explode

Symmetric distances curve in space
Footsteps wait
Eavesdropping on passers-by
My mind to your mind

Meld
Need to be spoken to
To see sounds take form
in thin air and in dreams

Thrashed understanding
of the insufficiently artsy
Simply normal
in form and action

Threads of need stitch
with pricking needles of singularity
Random patterns
in a quilt of mouldy hearts

Run, run and overtake
my shadow
Before the night, the day
for I hate needles

howsoever insignificant they still
prick and bleed

This not a poem
It is not in a language
you can read and I can speak in
presumptuous prose faking
the remnants of a random taste
I can still taste
on my lips.