"A Requiem For Reciprocity"

"A Requiem For Reciprocity" 

Do you remember
your first time?
Saying it in your head
or thinking out loud..
Trying to say it out loud..
Like, "I'm In Looooo......"
Dammit..
But you just can't
bring yourself to say it..
Words stuck in your throat like fresh Popeyes biscuits..
Mouthing the words
isn't sufficient..
You need to let her know..
Because not letting
her know would be an
omission of said affection..

Quick to compare perfection
to her milky complexion
as if the former couldn't hope
to hold a light to her.
Wouldn't fight for her
before now
when the fight was just
to see how long
before imaginative thoughts
stemmed from perceived positions
on the couch
became more fluid with each shout
I've heard in silence.
Timeless this temperamental tirade
I've gained by loss in a trade
for the simplicity of affection....
Maybe our direction
in the pursuit of perfection
has stirred this tension between us....

Time passes in a timeless fashion.
Seconds, minutes, hours
feel like months and years.
Compilation of euphoric moments
condensed into brief instances.
Doing things seen as uncharacteristic
because, quite frankly, I loooooo...
... Just cause it's Tuesday.
Which I'd like to use as euphemism.
Showered with material
things which serve as a
masquerade for my true intent.
Shallow veneer, I'd admit.
But what is one to do
when the words formed in
my brain won't accurately
articulate themselves
phonetically.

Aesthetically,
feelings are benign.
Just ripples in time that aren't clear
until we stand still.
Life is always moving.
Is proving myself to you
really moving myself a few
meters closer?
Do your arms drape my shoulders
like they once did during embrace?
If I show but will not say,
will you still cover your face
in that pretentious cloak of indifference?
Isn't it the experience that remains?
Are the memories in chains
or can they claim a holiday?
If my actions are ignored,
what I say should be implored
even less.
Right?
I've thought to speak
but convey better in movement.
If one's voice trumps volition,
then we should look toward improvement...

I'll muster up the
courage one day.
But for now, I'll create a
circumference around my
heart and placing you on it's radius.
Position comfortably,
not a care in the world.
A bee line through your
complexities to unveil the real you.
Manufactured uncertainties would
dare you to think ill of my intent..
Unintentionally keeping
me two steps back..
But to no avail.
Ambition lackluster at best
because in the fringes of your
brain you know that I'm here for you.
Emotions spontaneously combust
amongst the battle between
what you see versus what you feel.
And me, in all my angst, will
someday unsheathe how I truly feel.
And you, in all your glory, will
know what it feels like to be in...

....and when then arrives,
I'd advise against
the inclination to shy away.
The least bit of refrain
would only serve
to break open
an already raw wound
with exposed nerves
worn much further
than the sleeve discloses.
What one might suppose is
that we've been forever.
"That's how old love acts."
"That's what years look like."
Even when we look right,
we've flown dangerously
close to the left.
Maybe at best,
this is what is made of we.
I guess it was meant to be....

Written By: Eric Gumas and Devin Joseph Metz
~ Twin Monks ~

"Across Lines"

"Across Lines" 

The plan
is to tear down this temple
for all that it is
despite what it resembles
until it floats about Atlantis.
Can't stand this symbolism
of the woefully miscalculated
statistics geared toward
a false sense of integration.
Enough smeared across the nation
to where some still think
that our fountains are as clean.
I mean
then I say
then I pray for understanding
but for the time,
I'm landing in the middle.
In the mist.
In the midst
where molotov meets riot gear
and fear mates with anger
conceiving danger
with a complexion that favors the hapless.
The had less
have less
patience for the percentage.
Can't hear another story.
Won't read another sentence
about those sentenced to death
before addressing the threat.
Before pleading for oneself.
Before ignoring the steps
and being slammed against gravel
never reaching the gavel.
There will be crying when
Leviathan awakes
standing strong in the wake
of tiki torches burning state to state
that elate in trepidation
only to cringe when their relation
to oppression is disclosed.
Chose to
blow
through
you
and all you stand for
if your stance means
to bring me to my knees.
Please.
I beg of you.
I've so much better to do
but time will stand still
for you
until I'm through
and I won't disjoint
just to make a point
nor will I disband
so that you're draped across my hands.
Not even.
The plan
is to make sure that even
will never again appear rigid.
Seething and Livid
when recalling every punch and kick,
every curse lined with spit
and every time you gave us shit
for our very existence....
......with bare hands
I will bring you down
brick by brick
until there is barely any room
for even hope to float.

I'm tired.

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz

"Wings That Won't Float"

"Wings That Won't Float" 

They fell like leaves
that have worn out their welcome
to an audience of confused wind.
The folding and bending....
.... some falls don't cease.
They decrease in ease
and there is no peace
and barely an ending.
If asking me,
the fall is what rules.
If asking you,
to fall is for fools. 

Faith never breached
so deep you could reach
no matter how deep
and pull out some pity.
Self imposed defeat
you've learned to repeat
and blame on your history;
never learning
that love is an answer
and life is a mystery.
Not the other way around.
So distracted in your search
on your perch
that they still plummet to the ground. 

What are your gifts worth anyway? 

On days like this,
a wish used to be sufficient.
Hope had more proclivity
but now,
you scoff at sympathy
as if you've landed already.
Your "balanced" calculations
a mere rationalization
of unsubstantiated selfish insecurities
hinged on likelihood
you likely would look to
adversely alter to your advantage. 

Please procure a bandage
or ten.

Yet again, 

amid the scratch
and the scrape,
the stitches,
the scotch tape
and all that effort
that once meant something to you,
you let them crash.
You find time for delay when asked
to recount some glimmer in your ink well
so they fell.
Favoring your back to display it
but what abruptly meets the pavement?
Stayed with your stave
as a slave to your disdain
as if to wear this pain
in layers that hide no smile....
....will they sit there awhile?
No summit for the somber storyteller? 

Can't weather a climate
quickly created for the wrong reasons.
Neither of the seasons
will grant such without forewarning.
Global warming didn't cast your cloud.
Conditions blatant.
Loud.
Exclaiming your existence
given a level of persistence
that will not pay off this lifetime.
Like mine,
yours were meant for flying
regardless of how high you're climbing
or how wide and vast the distance
but now this instant
when you leap,
you'll claim no current as your seat
and those you've passed
won't see you complete
that fall from your perch
to claim the street. 

Written By: Devin Joseph Metz