the irrational and the mundane

they kissed like lovers beneath a moon gone orange - bursting to tell of illicit activities of two accomplices holding hands and whispering sweet secrets when poison runs deep for you see the first accusation is "this isn't good for you" and the second becomes the tail end of a derailed train when mundane goes tsk tsk - at another swing of the hammer breaking fine china shattering to a million bits of cracked hearts trying to make sense in a tunnel of must, do, have to, behave! then the irrational rises from the depths to swallow the pieces incongruent with a square hole not malleable to forsaken passion - left out in the sun. rained upon, till the dilution leaks away memories once fervent and a sun sinks beneath the sea unreadable, unfathomable, as poker players take their turns - showing skin, hiding intent solemn when the self is at stake! chipped hearts displayed with a casual shrug, the mundane keeps the score while the sun surfaces from green sea sick with holding back forces wild. blazing heat burns to ashes these logical loops, till only the spin of a ballerina on tip toes survives the onslaught and she is gazing starry eyed at the reflection on the water, those pupils so very dilated because intensity is unnerving ... ... to those rigorous practices done like a loop, to achieve a goal when the distance towards a buried star trapped in cobwebs sticky don't move, don't think, don't be creative - and go off script so she stares sullenly within, a bright smile outside as the green sea begins to vomit out passion longing to be rise once again. then she bolted, she ran, she screeched like a banshee let loose even as an orange moon begins to choke from a rising star erasing away one poker player down. fiery spirits dancing in the rain, blue moon gone south - then the trembling earth signaled something poignant of frayed wires igniting fire unchecked. rose to touch the heavens with scores of hearts made whole and left with burnt out dreams unable to keep one foot on the ground. there - there - the pixies nudged one another when it soon became clear that two odd fellows under a bemused sky really did have some points with an imperfect tail cut off from heavenly bodies nostalgic for utopia - why can't you just be like me? and the echoes that resounded back, told of a sick sea, a sun buried and a cracked heart.