thorns and stings and those such things

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Vanish, hide, slip and slide
away from the hidden corners
where you might just capture
the essence of shadows
between sticky fingers and
moribund heartbeats. 

There sits the inherent antichrist,
shouting from the bully pulpit
of lies, shame, more lies,
cheats between teeth
caught fast against
tonguetips and tiptoes
and the holey soles
of holy souls.

Verily, nearly peeling eyes
like banana peels makes
appealing sights to those
that lurk like watchers in the night
in the cold, dank recesses
of perfectly blended,
pastiche poisons inside
that quick-fix mixed drink.

Blur fact and fiction and realize
that they’re the same thing, 
really, because it’s all
just a matter of perception,
really, and we should all
just take a moment
to open our damn eyes,
really—don’t you think?

And in and among the 
sweet, cool whispers
of water droplets and 
subliminal sublimation,
icy cold like gaseous steel,
find beauty in irony
and never stop
laughing.