Burning

Too hot to touch. 

She was (is) the spark. 

The blinding flash. 

The binding flesh. 

An equinox of solar pleasure. 

In another life 

The fire bloomed from her head as summer winds blew her hair like the wide stretched, arching wings of a pheonix. 

She was (is) the kind of fire you want to touch. 

Banked (overflow)

Stones sit at the banks of rivers deep. 

The still waters wavering, hissing, proclaiming an unending flood.   

   

    The stone: an agent of apollo. Sits in structured confidence as the tide submerges him. The banks overflow and still waters ran deeper. 

  

Chaos is his religion. 

A traitor heathen.

Dionysus drowns his converts     

Life at sea.

Speak softly into the loud abusive abyss.

The hook is in deep. 

Time is space, and space is fleeting.

I argue with cold winter whiteness. 

While the putrid black blood of self deception smears the innocent sheets atop her corpse. 

Dead, sordid, breathless fish. 

Broken from her boundaries 

Wet and lifeless. 

'Murder' she wrote. 

Passionate murder. 

Spacetime

The past appears to be the only place where good times live. All the while the moody, shriveled, petulant present reeks of hard liquor and solemn regret.   

The meandering movement of future affairs is shifted like the monthly tide.  

A planned existence, persistent gag.

 A blood red moon amongst the blistering starlight. 

A hungover fatalism. 

 

Vodka

My goodness, 

The coast is clear again. 

The subtle arbitration of dying moods beseeched the cold, stern, cataclysmic inclinations of the courageous and beautiful women of midnight's squalor. 

My eyes open, 

Yet still ignorant of the coming storm.

My heart broken, yet still beating. 

Come to me

Tell me earth is still worth savings

Convince me not to press the button. 

Her warm smile melted my cold heart 

The planet was indeed worth saving. 

 God bless the drunken night

Nocturne

Glass stained with the morning dew. 

That cold nectar of the night. 

That magical transformation. 

I sit as the midnight blossums into morning and the cold heart of winter pumps emphatically with warmth at dawn.. 

 

Brisk thoughts cascade like the snow 

The dreaming sadness of the night permiates in my soul. 

Broken yet unscathed, 

Open yet unused. 

In love and at war. 

She so feared love. 

For it has been used like a weapon against her. 

A goudy blade of adolescence.

The wounds, still festering with 

Insecurities and wise, understandable apprehension. She is weathered, independent and strong nonetheless.  

I want nothing more to blanket her from the coldness of night. 

But as is the world does turn; so does the sun shine brightly. 

She doesnt need me. 

I should be happy. 

Falling pt. 2

The blue hole in the wall screamed vibrantly with placid words of sovereign wisdom.  

Within:

   Drunk gods sang tiding to their humble audience and the liberal vibrations of their movements hinted at the coming storm.

That violent shake took courage. 

A symbolic yet unbecoming gesture. 

Pangs of unbridled affection came from vivid reflection and an adulterous wanderlust.  

Falling pt. 1

The leap 

Ever treacherous 

Ever present. 

The same anxious visage perplexes the senses 

Is it fear of falling? 

Is it the fourth time I've tried? 

Have I ever jumped at all? 

Yet again the story sinks beneath a strange tide. 

Shallow lands

What have I built?

When stones borrowed

And cement stolen. 

When land inherited 

And never bought. 

When plans mimicked 

And tools gifted. 

What have I built that is my own?

What cruel joke

 to give man free will 

and nothing of their own. 

Whither

She took pride in her bones. 

I asked if she liked her white hair. 

She told me with a soft breath.

Her father had it.

Her mother had it. 

She said some day I would have it. 

White hair means there is hope

With her it's apparent. 

Wither away with dignity

I take pride in my bones. 

Cross fades

Life dances in the shadows of the afternoon. The golden concrete radiates with summer brightness. 

My thoughts, louder than the music playing all around me. 

I sink into my chair.

 Melt away in the afternoon. 

Evaporate into the sky at dawn..

Reemerge as dew on blades of grass in the morning. 

The wind returns with a soft burst of silence.  

A gentle soliloquy 

Bare Feet

At the cusp of dawn

(Before the mesmerizing metastasis of suburbia) bare feet left imprints on the soft, cold sands of time. Men with nowhere to go, with nothing to aspire toward looked up in awe. 

God wore a veil of infinite space. 

Stitched within it the legends of man's new heroes. Bare feet became clothed and the pyres of warmth became pyres of glory. 

      Screaming into the sky.

An implication of desire. Crying widows.

The understated consequence of wanting. The shrill prospect of warring brothers. 

Boots now rip into the desert sand. 

The night is daunting now. 

Gods absent in the sky. Heroes; shattered into a million pieces. What is left of them obscured by the cancerous phosphorescent lights of man's ambitious monoliths    

Touch Base

Seams have formed around the bulbus tenure of lost sheep. 

My curious heart builds towers of intrigue. 

I want a new haven. 

Saintly, unworn. 

The lonely catacombs of reluctant heroes.  

The fire god sings on his day of leisure. 

The wary clouds speak his name. 

May the orange light of her misanthropic wonder shine over the sad, temerarious darkness of the night. 

Half of the cycle is complete. 

Destruction begets kindness. 

The art of war sprang from passionate love.       

 

Pockets of sunshine.

Once you look into the abyss. 

How could you look back with any sympathy? 

Once you see the deep, dark caverns of man's conscious mind. How would you then see his plight and think it undeserved.

The rain comes from the sky. 

Cement never smelled so sweet.  

 

The upright daisy

The flower birthed from the sky, 

harmonious, symbolic.

loquacious . 

In tones of yellow and green. 

Persephone's cursed fruit.  

Consumed without a second thought. 

Doom brought upon the winter. 

Darkness set for many years to come.

No one else to blame.  

The semblance of bees

The flickering lights of an august morning. Turquoise spirits rise from the still bog. The first rite of passage for new egos.  

The golden circus passes today. 

The final show will feature a baron and a bee keeper. 

Dictator, fascist, captain and pope. 

The semblance to bees is uncanny.

 That rigorous dance. 

That expectant glance. 

The last song of summer. 

The ode to joy. 

The drum snare on an entire era. 

Soft whispers.

Passion on the gates of september. 

A towering courage vanishes at midnight's passing. 

The simple and childish stupor of a great lost god pretends to divine an answer. 

She whispers to me with a soft and stifled breathe. "Should the storm come, the journey of masks will protect you."  

I break and the thunderous loquacity of greek deities pray for my safe departure.

Cabin gods, slithered jesters, and the stem of a pyramid. 

The night grew cold. 

And her warm heart still dripping in my hand.   

Wing it. (Who gives a fuck anyway!)

Which way is up? 

Again the spade is a spade. 

Walled up in an ash filled room. 

Broken, warped, unplayable. 

The record set. 

Expectation is high. 

High above this god damned skyscraper. 

Once upon a time 

The setting was a park in a village. 

Trees trimmed.

Paths cleaned. 

The chilled smell of foliage in the early morning. 

Sun rise; immanent. 

Now I see it. 

Bodies of water. 

Shallow. 

Peeks and valleys.

Smooth. 

The rocky hide of stubborn earth

The careless surface of a timid planet.

No ocean is truly deep. 

No mountain truly high. 

The Fall; immanent. . 

The setting is that stubborn stone.

That careless surface.  

The greatest leap. 

Faith and blurred vision.

 

Sometimes you die. 

Other times you wake up. 

 

Shoebox

How must it feel..

The cast upon your broken wing?

That shelter in a shoe box. 

How must it feel to know..

That there is space beyond a sanctuary. 

Where lay other broken things 

Unmended. 

Do you dream of flying?

Of falling?

Wake up

 

Optimismo pt. 4 (the pack)

Preamble

To be frank; it must be stated that in my heart of hearts there is a lingering cynicism. One that I have suppressed and ignored like a fastidious child groaning for attention. My mind sees red like a bull anxious for freedom and I am condemned to feel the downtrodden reverberation of a scared, loathsome ego. Nevertheless I have put my distaste for hope aside and written as lightly as I could to express an optimism that I find so treacherously uncomfortable. Now with no further ado the Optimismo finale. 

Howl. 

Be heard and never whimper. 

Never stammer or break. 

You see the moon. 

She whispers to you through the brisk forrest winds. 

King of the earth. 

Howl loudly. 

Your subjects demand it. 

Your children deserve it. 

Your wife expects it. 

The pups born in summer are to inherit  the world.

 Be brave.

 Be strong. 

The pack relies on you.

You are a rock. 

Break the rules and never sink.

Optimismo pt. 3 (Hearts like islands)

Preamble

To be frank; it must be stated that in my heart of hearts there is a lingering cynicism. One that I have suppressed and ignored like a fastidious child groaning for attention. My mind sees red like a bull anxious for freedom and I am condemned to feel the downtrodden reverberation of a scared, loathsome ego. Nevertheless I have put my distaste for hope aside and written as lightly as I could to express an optimism that I find so treacherously uncomfortable.

I know where true romance springs. 

The geysers of simple words. 

Caring hearts racing toward each other. 

Ever close.

 Intersecting. 

  The stirs of spring mean freedom is fresh.  On our minds. In our bodies. Our souls. Growth, progress, and anxious expectations. Love seeps through our fingers like sand at the beach. Through our eyes like magma from a volcano. Warmth fills our heart. It is like fear, except we want it never to end.  

Eyes lock.

Our hearts entwined like the knots in our stomachs. 

A perfect match. 

Strike it. 

Light the fire. 

Pray it's eternal. 

 

Optimismo pt. 2 (Hunter's Moon)

Preamble

To be frank; it must be stated that in my heart of hearts there is a lingering cynicism. One that I have suppressed and ignored like a fastidious child groaning for attention. My mind sees red like a bull anxious for freedom and I am condemned to feel the downtrodden reverberation of a scared, loathsome ego. Nevertheless I have put my distaste for hope aside and written as lightly as I could to express an optimism that I find so treacherously uncomfortable.

Mother.

Graciously presiding over the earth.

She swayed the oceans. 

God's womb. 

Father's better half. 

Aunt. 

Shining with uncle's light. 

You raise the tides.

Tuck the earth in with a blanket of waves.

Inspire songs from nature musicians. 

Sister.

Keeping the lonely company. 

Keeping the darkness at bay. 

You know the night is young.

The stars your siblings remind you of this.

Lover.

sleep beside me. 

With me in my dreams. 

In the day I wish to see you. 

At night I cannot be apart. 

Woman

Moon

God

O 

Optimismo pt. 1 (Royal Squalor)

Preamble

To be frank; it must be stated that in my heart of hearts there is a lingering cynicism. One that I have suppressed and ignored like a fastidious child groaning for attention. My mind sees red like a bull anxious for freedom and I am condemned to feel the downtrodden reverberation of a scared, loathsome ego. Nevertheless I have put my distaste for hope aside and written as lightly as I could to express an optimism that I find so treacherously uncomfortable.

The songs of the joyous doves anticipate the great revival of the new chosen god. 

  Undeserving he strides to the alter. 

Strikes a chord and sings his praises. 

"My gracious servants... Welcome, my mind is filled with eager expression."

The king coerces his followers. 

He seeks a new crown. 

The crown of life. 

Once so newly earned he strives for more. 

Why not of course for divine providence he has gained a kingdom..  

So too has the earth a king. 

The wise steely smirk of arbitration.

A round for all. 

Applause and wine. 

Greatness is his legacy. 

Greatness his god given gift. 

Around it goes again. 

The songs of joyous doves anticipate the great revival of the new chosen god.

 

 

New Earth. (Forever Soiled)

Steering clear of the supple arbitration of waking hours. The cold morning eagerly clutches at the coming day. Sun ever dwelling and night so expectedly distant. 

I seek a new earth. 

New territory, terrain, tera firma. 

The wide eyed ego trope from misanthropic pundits embellish the senses.  Reaffirmed assertions of our still and verbose positions. 

We cannot sit and abide by singularities. 

Unsung laws of warring eras. 

Union by misallocation. 

Strength in disassociation. 

Peace and blurred vision. 

New earth, dislocated. 

Rotten, broken at conception. 

Near death, and still eager to live. 

Ever the tragic conclusion. 

Sly endeavor

The signal shines from the tired lighthouse. 

The songs of the furious tides sway with somber percussion.  

A sea of doubt. 

Anguish. (Perhaps unjustified)  

In hope of a paradise. 

A ghost on your arm. 

A dream. 

A hope and a fear

A paradox that festers.. 

Dreams of understanding. 

The dream to being understood. 

Will the waves break the silence? 

Will the ocean depths become it? 

 Wake on the sand. 

Amongst the grain of possibilities. 

Be there trillions.

Never know

Never try

Ever fearing truth.

Sons of god.

Dire, circumstantial. 

The ever present reminder of a life aloof.

Signs of danger never clearer. 

Smoke filled rooms now dissipated. 

The empty night remains.  

Tonight is tomorrow once again. 

And once again

 (like ever before) I am alone. 

The foggy morning rises above the holy city lights.

Halos of saintly desires parade atop the   scalps of sullied friars 

As if the night never occurred. 

Dire, inexplicable. 

The wrath of a starry night. 

The minuscule affairs of wretched beings.

The room is now clear as day. 

The steam has dispersed. 

I can breathe again.  

Lifesaver

How do I express the inexpressible? 

Yell for help to an apathetic world?

 The cold, painful stare of a suffering populous. Fellow creatures with similar wounds. Identical knife wounds twisted in our spines during our leisure.  How do we know there is a common understanding? A mutual realization of pain, or sadness, or desperation.  Are we just requesting  life rafts from another sinking ship?

There isnt really salvation from despair. Shovels and heads are our only tools. Escape may be impossible.    

Misery loves company 

Lighter fluid to a flame. 

Is there hope? 

Yes. 

It lies in our soles. 

In out bootstraps. 

In our will power. 

Hope does not lie in our hearts. 

Hope lies to our hearts. 

I have no hope in this apathetic world. 

No hope in myself. 

But I do have a will. 

I have desperation. 

I do not need help from sinking ships.

Life rafts in short supply.   

Who needs life rafts when i have bootstraps? 

Last lights.

No

Might my eyes grow wilder? 

Seeing again the passage of spring transgressions. 

Seeing black dying stars flicker like a flirting eye. 

The sinking winds push against the  wooden door. 

This home inhales a misplaced breathe. 

This home lets out a somber sigh. 

This house is full. 

Of it... 

Laughter

Fear

Contempt

Jealousy 

Hopelessness

Love

Hope

  

Night stabs at the windows to the soul. 

The blind abduction of god. 

Empty sighs grow silent and the last lights turn off. 

The moon knew this house especially well. 

She gave me a blessing before bed. 

And it was good 

Phosphorus

 Seen in the bright bewildering starlight the objective decisions of the night's growing ire become omniscient. 

Inspired.

I bleed like candle wax among such radiance. Sweat like glaciers...

A dream. to reminisce of clouded cities. 

Time lapsed emotions 

The braided significance of thought. 

The phosphorus glow of my time in heaven.. 

Silence gleams now, the dusk has given birth to darkness, and her heir will soon thrive not long after. 

Beware, my sweet Persephone. 

Humble sounds of cricketed laughter mean the end is near. 

Every night the world ends at 4 in the morning. 

Candle wax

I'm in the darkness once again. 

Heed my own advice, I did not. 

Haunted by reality. Entangled in my own words. (Written on a placard in dust.) 

I sought for truth in an idea. 

An insatiable idea with a porcelain mask. 

The same mask that sat in roses, and was worn by royalty, kissed by a ruby lipped enchantress and fitted for a princess upon a lake. 

I did it again. 

My life; a Greek tragedy, a German romance, an Indian folk tale.

Fears grips me. 

I see a road off at a distance and I know where it leads. 

Sword in hands. 

Tooth on nail. 

The bitter sweet taste of defiance. 

I walk away. 

I must push it away as I have done. 

I ought to go back to a simpler time.

The Stone Age

The days where the seeds were hopeless visions and I nothing more than an aspiring fool. 

Crushed.

I see a face.

The youthful face of joy. 

I see the hands of a clock. 

The wooden fences around the farmhouse. 

The theme for tonight's dance is macabre. 

Windows sneer with contempt. 

A sinister, jovial and anxious parade 

I see truth, baked in the sun. 

Crushed beneath the feet of hard working men. I feel afraid of sunlight. 

I can be so easily blinded. I can hear a crunch.

Joy's hands wrap around the apple tree

She doesn't give fruit she takes it. 

My, what a nice day it is outside. 

Post Mortem

Location: a dinner. Fluently pretentious in it's ambitions. Worn down. Looks to have been remedied with less than conventional means.

(Enters Luke. 25 year old male whom doesn't have a sense of style. A philistine with ambitions to impress a woman with conventional tastes and an artistic platitude)

Luke: uh, hi. My name is Luke. I have a...

Waitress: oh yes! Your friend is waiting for you at table 13.

Luke: really? Oh. You see I was hoping to have gotten here earlier than her and well to create the impression that I was prepared for our. Uuhh Encounter I guess.

Waitress: mmm oh yes, so you want me to rewind time.

Luke: uh

Waitress: I'm joking Hun. Take that seat over there and i'll tell her that there was a little misunderstanding.

Luke: thanks I, I'm glad you understand. I just didn't want to seem like this..

Waitress: hun shush. Just remember I make my living off of tips ok.

Luke: sure. You got it

Waitress begins to walk away

Luke: thank you!

Waitress: excuse me, Mam'

Laura: yes?

Waitress: it appears well that I made a mistake about whether a certain gentleman had been waiting for you or not and may have confused a few names and the like.

Laura: is that right? Look I've known Luke for a long time. Perhaps longer than I would have liked to have known some one like him and I'm fairly certain he has not been in this fine establishment for longer than say 15 minutes compared to my 30. But all that aside I'm willing to bet that he's orchestrated this "misunderstanding" so as to appear a changed man.

Waitress: no I can assure you he's been here for a good 35 minutes..

Laura: Fine whatever, where is he?

Waitress: table 1. It's on the other side of the diner.

Laura looks at waitress

Laura: ok I know you had a story all set. How'd you fudge up this reservation?

Waitress: well when you came in and asked for a Luke I thought you had said duke and because my writing is all screwy I had mistakenly written duke and had not noticed Luke was at table one.

Laura: not bad. Then I suppose the reserved table was a lie.

Waitress: I have a gift for improvisation.

Laura: I can tell.

Luke: oh hello Laura! Where have you been? It's been almost

Laura: cut the crap DUKE. I know you just got here.

Luke: that's a absurd Laura. It was all just a misunderstanding like the waitress told you.
Lets just put that behind us and get this "post-mordum" going.

Waitress: so would y'all like anything to drink?

Luke: yes I'll have

Laura: nothing. He's probably had more than his fill of coffee. For one day having been here for almost a whole hour!

Luke: (at waitress) an hour?

Waitress: well actually mam I said 30

Laura: forget it I'll have a coffee. Black. Like my luck.

Luke: two creams three sugars.

Waitress: okie dokie I'll be back with your coffee in a few

Laura: you haven't changed a bit Luke.

Luke: well my taste in coffee hasn't but I can assure you my entire way of life has certainly been altered. I'm not this neurotic attention whore that you knew many years ago. That's actually why I wanted to get together again. I know there isn't any trace of what you would call a spark anymore but I wanted to know what exactly killed what we did have.

Laura: what we had was a mistake. And you can't destroy that which is meaningless.

Luke: now wait, I don't think that's a fair interpretation of what we had. Just put all your bitterness away and think about our relationship in an unbiased manner.

Laura: I'm not bitter. I'm NOT bitter. I think you romanticized our relationship to a level that just wasn't realistic. You are seeing what we had through rose colored lenses. When in fact every aspect of our relationship was a lie.

Luke: so I'm a lier? You're telling me that I didn't really feel how I'm telling you I felt? That's absurd. If you look at our first date. No, The first time we met you have to admit there was a spark.

Laura: I'm leaving

Luke: oh no don't do that.. Look
(luke pulls out an envelope from his jacket pocket) It's from when you worked at the art gallery. You wrote me a poem. Remember?

(Laura looks at the postcard from the art gallery it has a picture of Van Gough's "A Starry Night" on it's back)

{The Note reads}
Above me the abyss
The City's ironic glare.
A work of art.
Her rendition of van Gough
Without the subtle strokes.

(Laura begins to word it out)
Below.
Globes, radiant globes.
Worshipped by monoliths.
Stoned architects of the wild.
The rhythm of the night...
It banishes cowardly spirits.
Holstered arias. Bested by beasts.
The sky erupts.
The silence now triumphant.
The pin drop is heard.
A weapon of mass destruction.
(Laura returns the Postcard)
Laura: You believe the world is ending.

Luke: I don't know what to believe. I , yes, I suppose I do. I'm actually.. If I knew for certain. I wouldn't be here.

(waitress returns with two coffees)
Waitress: Here you go two creams three sugars and black, like your luck.

Luke: thank you so much.
(Luke takes a sip of coffee)

Laura: why did you save it? How is this important to why I'm here?

Luke: I have yo be honest. When you first wrote it. After reading it.. It went way over my head.

Laura: that's part of the reason we didn't work out. You're too dense to understand the intricacies of poetry.

Luke: Agreed, I'll give you that. I didn't get it. I spent hours trying to extrapolate meaning from art. From Poetry. I tried, YOU know this. Remember the museums? The countless galleries? Can we agree that I tried to understand?

Laura: You tried, But failed.

Luke: Why are you throwing it in my face? The sincerity was there. I genuinely wanted it to work out.
But that's not the point. Look,
I finally understand it. The picture.
It's about the end of the world.
It's about what going to happen.

Laura: No it's not.

Luke: Just look at it. The sky's erupting, the city is hopeless. We're hopeless. Just like the man screaming in the streets keeps saying. It's no longer just a crude drawing of the sky to me. It has an attached meaning..

Laura: I suppose that's as closer than you've ever gotten before. Can I go now?

Luke: Doesn't that prove anything to you? I get art now!

Laura: You hear the world is ending and you start seeing signs of it in postcards and bus signals and lunatics in the streets. That doesn't prove to me that you have any imagination. In fact it proves just the opposite.

Luke: what about what you wrote? It's definitely about the end of days..
Skies erupting, Weapons of mass destruction.. You cant tell me you didn't intend to imply it!

Laura: I didn't.

Luke: not even subconsciously? You must have had a premonition like that girl on tv.

Laura: I should know shouldn't I? Look Luke, I can't bear to sit here any longer you're making a fool of yourself in some brazen attempt to kiss and make up. You call me here under the guise of a post mortem. When It's blatantly obvious you're trying quite pathetically to resurrect the dead.

Luke: Laura please listen to me. I

Laura: no, do you want to know what killed what we had? And It's not your daft understanding of meaning. It's your inability to be sincere. That time you wasted at museums when you really didn't give a damn. At first I thought it was sweet. I thought it was just you being supportive. Being open to my world. But I'm not stupid, Luke.
You're here for the same reason you were there that night long ago. You don't want to die alone.

Luke: you're important to me.

Laura: Check please.

Luke: Please don't leave.. Don't leave me here. Please. The worlds ending.
And all I want is to sit here with you.
Is that to much to ask?

Laura: yes. Good bye.

Luke: WAIT! At least tell me! What Does it mean? Your poem.

Laura: after my gallery, The dance we shared on the rooftop. The sky was beautiful. The stars were perfect like the painting. But the skyscrapers and the city lights overpowered the natural light. I had only known you for a moment and I was anxious, vulnerable, nervous, the moment was so fragile. If the music had stopped. The night would have ended.. I didn't want it to. It hurts me that you never understood.

Luke: How could I? How could you expect me to? I knew you were scared, you were nervous. You didn't need to disguise it in words. I felt it.
I remembered it. Do you think I never cared about you?

Laura: I never understood why. You don't GET me. We don't share a single interest! Why am I so god damn important to you?

Luke: I can't explain it. Is that hard to believe? I love you! Why do words, or images or anything have to account for how I feel? Can't it just be the simple truth? Can't you just accept my love without feeling used!

Laura: I'm sorry Luke.
I'm sorry I cant love you anymore..
We are just not meant to be..
(Laura tears up and stands from the table)

Luke: Laura, I..
(Attempts to approach and consul her )

Laura: Don't.. You.. Just stop.
I want truth.. and the truth is lost in the shadows of our past. We only have forward to look.. and however far that is. Be it a day, two hours. its far enough from you as I would like to get.. Can you let me walk toward the darkness please?

(Skies blacken and the lights in the diner go black)

Luke: am I far enough now? What is truth in the abyss, Laura? How does it differ from my love?

Post war fantasy.

The diamond in the rough.
Bleaker tides have crashed on the turbulent shore.

High tides at midnight.

Weaker wills bode well in the Indian summer. Like the drifting wind; destined to change. Eager to move in an instant.
Freedom from choice.
Anarchy in the somber afternoon.
Fate anchors the mover.
Time has shaken the earth.

There will be wounds in the future.
Scars: even slightly more distant.
Our mortality fixed.

watch where you stand.

Epilogue

The third planet.
Life springs from the beautiful streams.
The molten rapids of reborn islands.
Deep echoing resonates within the hollow catacombs of earth's boiling pot.
A melted ether.
A slow parade of symbiosis.

On the third day...
Dawn and Dusk are born.
Day and Night.
Flesh turns immortal.
And French hens crow in place of the rooster.

the third denial..
No more chances.
Venom spouts like a fountain.
Elegance lost in the hastened panic of unappreciated angst.
A snap, a growl.
No sheltering. An unnatural reaction.
Truth in spades.
Holes dug deeper like depression.
Graves built for mourning.

The morning comes.
The rooster crows.
Light scatters and recollects.
It is day once again.
Life continues.

Fin

The little dragon's fire burst destroys the golden kingdom.
A rich successor to the throne.
The sunken spoils of war melt in The blazing sun.
In the warm breath of hellfire.
Before the storm clouds come and bring winter.

Princes in palaces spark new challenges.
Philosopher kings lose their golden thrones to the troglodyte soldiers of fortune. A humble new approach to humility. A tongue and cheek disaster.

The last days are upon the wicked, upon the holy. The sorrowful holy and the confident damned.

Ashes fall on earth.
It starts with a whimper, and ends in a kiss. Humanity falls silent.
It's one true love.

Salt burns on open wounds.

I can't compete.
The water is freezing.
The innocuous scoffing of fresh wounds.
A Gaping hole in the desperate heart.
it laughs at me.
Salt burns.
Salt burns.
Salt from wounded eyes burn the open flesh.

The wall became holy.
Blood stained impressions
Agonizing fists and retreating feelings.
The ire of barbarians
The sensibilities of philistines.
I regret having known truth.
I regret knowing better.


I wish the sky was falling.
I wish the earth crashed faster.
Tomorrow...
the last day of this forty day tirade.
MY heaven remember the cries of the damned and may I know nothing more of this nonsense.

The frustrated holler of hounds scrap the night sky and breaks its silence.
I cannot compete with them.

Tristan in chains.

Heaven calls with a thunderous jolt.
The spine of subtle heart beats break under pressure.
My insane prophesy
Spider cyanide wrapped in candle wax.
The judgement of somber masters behind closed church doors.
The sirens wale of destruction coming to pass. The cold yolk of foster children petrify in the iron plateau.
Coal marks on a blackboard read ;
"Oh sad stranger mark the words of your beloved Isuelt"
Yearning is the journey

The night sky fell and the goose that laid the golden egg flew toward the vanishing sun. Hell has come for you. Lest anyone else cares to intrude, your home awaits.

She placed the shackles on my feet.
Hell could not take me now.

Red snow.

Sing a song of spiritual redemption.
Like the river to hell. Sweep the waves with eager admission. Play the symphonic arrival of hades and his beautiful new wife.

Kings have crossed the country road.
The horses fray and sway toward the ragged path. Rotting empires await their just desert. The sign claims absolution. The sign seeks your approval.
The station slated a new policy.
No royalty after midnight.

12:00 doomsday is near.
It is here.

My journey starts beneath the rocks.

The free bird sings best.

Fuck
Written on the wall like a sophisticated assertion. The plague of modernity caught in the sights of a fanatic upheaval. The strike begins at dusk and ends once the wick runs cold and ascends into heaven.

Orange peel floors mist a friendly welcome yet the smell of health hints at disease. The song of the sparrow is played and her cage becomes essential. The trap an asset. 

Shackled beauty feigns the fearful. 

Satisfaction; unescapable.
But what of love?

The sound of morning shakes the countryside as the native sun rises.
The sky's symphony informs the day so that the night may hold in her darkness
The day inevitably grows old, and the sparrow is freed from her cage.

True Love is.. Always slightly out of reach.
One would not have it any other way.

Waves on the shore.

Asleep in paradise.  
Where palms brush the sky and paint it from somber black to amber.
From a soothing amber to a hopeful blue.
A light breeze on a peaceful shore.

Waves massage the tired beach side.
Footprints easily erased. Castles effortlessly washed away.  

A yearning quelled by a necessary renewal.

We dream in black and white but wake to the colors of morning.  

Moonlight

The dark side breaks a warm afternoon.
Wrinkled shadows become omnipotent and my wide open heart sinks into my stomach.

The fountain spouts impossible promises
My eyes as wet as dreams and clear as the phosphorus bulbs. I am enlightened
The cosmic balance must be obtained.

The moonlight must be dimmed and my tears quenched. I am no longer a lover or a saint. A poet or a philosopher.
I am hidden like the growing darkness.
May the days never grace my presence and may my hearts never feel warmth.
For it would burst like pyrotechnic display.

The sun's day is coming and the 40 day tirade will end.
All balance will be restored.
And I will vanish once again.

The Spider and her prey

New blood
Rich, simple, adequate.
Virgin sensibilities
Concocted and reversed.
The ambivalent strategies of the damned.
The signpost is up ahead.

Relax, spring is here.
Over yonder the twisted silence remains
The sad, eerie call of the spider.
Her web, a spiral, a vortex.
Judge, jury, executioner.
Willow spoke and praised the mountains


Virgins become shriveled widows.
Prey unannounced, salt on wounds.
She saw the sunrise.
And spun a last goodbye.
The widow peaked.

Can't go higher than heaven.

Dreaded insides.

There is a sinking feeling.
Deep within my chest.
I know I've sighed and whined before.
This feeling is nothing like the rest.
I feel a weaker courage.
As if I have no hope.
But still the feeling grinds within.
And my body seems to cope.

The sand sinks deeper toward a pile.
And wicked folks appear to smile.
Intensely seeing with a grin.
These dark and widowed men within.
They break the silence.
Like the skin.
They break my spirit
It's a sin..


Tomorrow I will wake up.
No history beneath.
Tomorrow I will take up,
The mantle of my kin.

I shed a tear for my omniscient self.
For he knows what awaits me
And I know nothing..

Isolde.

Above the atmosphere; I sit and wait.
The game is played
The jester is set up for a gig.
A royal engagement with a just dessert.
Time winds down and history is lost.

The sun sets over the canyon
A beautiful sight for sore eyes.
Sore from images of pain and regret.
Depression sinks like a stone in a lake.
The sun sets.
I am above it.
I must will it so.
I am above it.
I am.

Spring's pink eye gleams over the countryside. The panicked breathe of winter sighs a final time.
My dear Persephone. Return to me.
Hell hath burdened you so.
Hell hath burned you with his cold arms.

Symbol Crash

Wash out your brain.
Mortality is only a blood drop away.
The constant symbol of resurrection
A snake whom consumes itself.
The sinner with a Sisyphean task.

Repent and be sorry.
Deny your purpose and beg
for forgiveness. For happiness.
Beyond sin.
Beyond disaster
Beyond the self.

The serpent paid the price for betrayal.
To live beneath the foot of god for eternity
Worse fates do exist.
what Is a spine anyway?

The cross on the road crashed into a pilar.
The man in chains fell to his knees.
And the sharp whip of Romans struck.

Disaster looms as the symbol's crash.
The cymbal crashed.
And drums had their revenge.
Once and for all.

Choking, gasping, smirking

"Choking under the sea fairing vessel.
The waves grow larger as the sea sinks in my lungs. "

I sat waiting for the storm to settle.
The beach blew hot air and the truth escaped me.

The ocean consumes the dying man beneath the vessel, the sharp pain of death evokes a stagnant cry.
Wallow in the depths of life long enough and the direction of the surface becomes obfuscated.

"I drowned as I swam closer to the surface. My god, it will not come. My eyes grow darker."

I smell the salt.
I taste it soon after.
An old friend drowned today.
A shadow that attached to my feet.

"I am but a soul, may heaven accept me graciously."

The hot air turned cold and the somber truth of darkness overtook me.
My shadow has returned for me.

"My eyes, see darkness. My heart knows of nothing more profound"

Signal (moral adjustment)

The simple style of new avenues
The ghost trail that leads to new territories.
I am shaken.
Aloof.
Yet again beneath long wretched highways. The pantomime screams of checkered flags. Wind caught in the appetite of a muddled earthly vestige.
My senses permeated,
my new wheels; Halted
Discouraged by the sight of forked roads 
How to decide right was wrong? 
Was it only until nothing was left?
When it was gone for good. 

There's a long road ahead

Undeveloped footage pt. 3

Click*
The universe bows to their beauty.
Two children with proud parents.
Hearts held with tender esteem.
Tears and blood, Kane and Abel.
A binary system.
A black hole in the making.

Click*
Waiting in the forest.
A vine ridden porch of nature.
Man's need for consistency.
A home, a heart, a lost civilization.
Journey into mystery.
Thee unknown.
The flashbacks of land owned,
a subtle reminder of his need to begin again. To run away.

Click*
She cuddles close to him.
A warmth not felt before.
A dream. An important dream.
Clouds form above a lake.
Castles hold princesses and queens.
The dreams ends at dawn.
We only sleep to dream, child.

Wrought with good intentions.

I mustn't know love.
I know not the intentions.
I must not know love.
For my eyes do not see.
As my mind does not remember.

The features of shallow waters escape me. The details of of the waterbed vague.
A murky reality.

I do not know love.
For if I did her image would be burned into my memory. Not narrowly escaping description. Like a photo copied too many times.

I suffer from a bordered haze.
A wicked dejection of thought.
A borderline identity, singing and crying. Fighting and dying.

I must never know love.

Back from drowning.

Days grow closer.
Time expands like a radiant aura.
A brilliant rainbow comes forth.
God's Promise.
No more floods
A flagrant lie, a malicious misstep.

The sea is red again.
The glowing eyes of medusa
They seek revenge on planet earth.
They want blood.
Blood on sand, on stone. On leaves.

God promised to return.
A promise in vain.
In leu of those great servants

Servants whom heard first hand the word of god.

She knew the rivers ran deep.
She was still brave enough to enter.
Blessed are those.

I know now, we know now.

In the sun light.
Red wooded beams
Filter dark from a beating heart

Grey guilds prove to much for my mind
Straighten out dents in the shrine.

Beat, beat my dying heart.

The sun down.
Cold violent brands
Take siege in the house next door.

Shriveled waste rots on the floor
We know our masters no more.

In the sun light.
The courage of man is high.
Justice is blind.
The blind know not fear.

Rivers and Angels.

The frigid airs dissolves my resolve.
Ambrosia stains sink into my lapel and the quixotic subtleties of the day evaporate into the auburn sky.

My mind aloof, as if the gloomy morning descended into chaos and the water torn city was reborn like a phoenix chick.
New life, reminiscent to the old. With only an all too familiar name attached. A daunting name. Wrought with an anxious aroma, the smell of rain on cement.

My city, is a princess.
A crown jewel.
Treasured, sunken, forgotten.
Perpetually shrinking
like the world around it.
A microscopic earth torn a sunder

She forgets I exist.
She thinks I'm alone.
She thinks it's what I deserve.
She expects nothing more.

Water returns like a lighting strike.
Flames engulf me before I am quenched.
Rapture is always free of charge.

Sun dried tomatoes.

I sit in the corner.
Like a troubled child.
Castigated, berated, marginalized.

I sit away.
On my own free will.
Convinced It is mine own.
Convinced I have a choice in the matter.

My nature lures me.
Like a dollar on a string.
Like a hot dog on a fishing poll.

Never tell me what to do.
I do it on my own.
Never show me.
For I already see.

I think I do.
I think therefore I am right.
Right?
You think?
Right?
Are you there?
Am I right?

The serpent eats his tail.
Introverted.
Self contained
Self perpetuated.
Like that impossible myth.

"How can there not be perpetual motion if all energy must be conserved?"

The earth fell to static
The sun dried to diamond dust.
And god got a continue.

Enlightenment and the cave.

Within a cave.
Lives a man.
A prisoner chained.
In darkness he lusts for light.
The dream of a vivid reality.
Today.
Truth is the shadows.
Poor, staunch imitations of enlightenment.

The weary prisoner escapes.
Steps away, a gleaming promise.
The promise of a vivid reality.
The shadows lie.
They are art.
Gestures of kinship.
Insurmountable.

Enlightenment begets blindness.
Especially from those in darkness.
Temporary.
Unforgettable.
Eyes adjust.
Truth unescapable.
Surreal.
Perfect.
Temporary.

Back to the cave, he is taken.
Darkness prevails.
Blind again.
Temporarily.
Eyes will inevitably adjust.

Drum Snare.

Midnight.
Dawn of man.
Half past the end of days.

Time stops at the end..
the end of our last heart beat.
Born alone.
Sadness. Disconnection. Trepidation.
A new life.
A new death.
Miles away.
If we're lucky.

"Thank you" She said.

Planes crash,
sirens screech,
wolves howl.
Crickets play the world smallest violin.
Universal sound for silence.
A failed joke.
An analogy to life.

"You're welcome"

Whirlwind

Triumph.
Eloquent yet subliminal.
Like charades beneath the moon light.
Strobed mannerisms.
Emphatic delight, prose and seditious.
The dust clears after a roaring pursuit.
Air in hands. But not empty.
  Sinking in to the night was expected.
Drowning in laughter was not. 
The tide is now lower. 
The leap a shorter distance

Victory.
It is a skipped heart beat.
A captured glance.
Sincere questions
Positive attitudes
Whirlwinds, Butterflies.
Spring must be here.

The boy in a turquoise vest.

Like tulips, a spring awakening.
The florist is a love monger.
A fascist benefactor of well wishes.
The boy in turquoise shudders.
He shudders at the sight of happiness.
He is alone on the edge of the world.
To live and die beneath the city lights.

Atop a hill of dreams he flew with friends when darkness sprang,
all shadows vanished.
No one in sight.
The illusion of independence.
A sardonic requiem.
The boy in turquoise sits alone.
Without wings
Beneath the city lights.

Circles. (Spun)

The steeple sits silently as the choir sings.
Distantly a bridge collapses.
Seven casualties, Seven brides to be.
The bells toll seven times.
The priest prays for their souls.
The music for their would be spouses.
Non-existent.
Distantly, an empire falls.
Disastrously.

From the ashes rises the phoenix.
From the fire, seeds grow.
A passionate ascension.
Heaven awaits with golden wings.
Fruits from the tree of life,
Destined to whither far from the tree.
Far from the bell.
Deaf to the ringing.
Ignorant of liberty.

I once saw a spider on the wall.
It's web elegantly spun.
The flies caught on her trap
Helpless.
I once felt ashamed.

Luna: maid of honey.

Her pale face hidden.
Like a blushing rose.
Complimented color.
Light and darkness.
Surrounded by stars.
Nothing to howl at.

She's a mystery.
An epilogue.
to a greek tragedy.
An overture to more torment.
The end is again the beginning.

A feigning imitation of truth.
failed loquacity
A tongue tied apparition.
A pathetic attempt.
Apathetic whispers.
The "H" falls silent.

Hush little baby.
Don't say a word.

Waters of the southern sea.

Bleeding edge.
Crisp images of suffering.
Dark, crusted, festering growths.
The metropolis.
The bustling cancer.
Smoke filled center of gravity.

The gravity of the situation.
The pool house during summer.
Cesspool.
The poor house during winter.
Built for a king.
Slept in by cretins.

I washed in the southern waters.
Bathed in a ship wreck.
Cried in a burrow.
Died in a cocoon.
Buried at sea.

Oh native sun
Free me of your burden.
Save me from your nature.
Hide me from your light.

Cancer awaits at every corner.
She knows not why.

Raw Pots and the Metamorphosis

Dominate the playing field
The rules of war are complicated
Complicated and unbound.
Fear has no place.
Indecision neither
Hesitation finally too is unneeded.

The leering, looming, loquacious
Lieutenants lament the ever lasting loss of lives for love of living.

Love.
Indeed love and war one and the same.
Without discourse.
Not compromising.
Intensely primal.
irreversibly enchanting.

The ladybug slept soundly.
The caterpillar did not.
For the feet did march
And spring came for the first time.
Metamorphosis takes no prisoners.
Leaves no innocents.

A Black Eclipse

Once there was a lion.
A cub to be precise
Whom roared a withered cry.
This lion cub in winter
hid amongst the snow.

One day the winter's appetite grew
And consumed the lion whole.

A freezing day
It is today.
No eagles hope to soar.
A drop of rain will come in vain,
And leave your foreheads sore.

No summer will rise again.
Of this I can be sure.
So long as lions weep
And eagles sleep
Beneath the eclipsed shore.

A darkness falls upon us.
The degree of which unknown.
From this I heed a warning
That the cub did so abhor.

Hide under a mattress
Deep within your home.
For when the black eclipse passes
You will not be alone.

Once there was a kingdom..
Once there was an empire..
Once.

The gray delirium

I see it, at a distance.
The gray delirium.
My essence compounded.
Estranged.
Compounded by multiple eyes.
Estranged by a greater "Me".

My voice is gone.
A silent shriek remains.
A glowing confidence.
Unaware, vain, distant.

I wondered once.
I wonder constantly.
Am I out of it..
Touch.

Am I the obelisk?
Am I a stone statue?
Unmoved
Bewildered.
A relic.
Hardened by time.
Fragile.

Topple me.
Drop me
Break me.
To find out.

Spectrum. (Or the end of warmth)

Cut open another wound.
Cut around the dying flesh.
Remove the sadness from a dying heart.
Remove the fear.
The trepidation.

Five years gone by.
Five years to long.

The orange groves continue for eons.
The red rose stood on the foreground.
Envious .
Afraid.
Sad.

Cauterize the wound.
Stop the bleeding.
Love knows no bounds.
Dreams, no limit.
Put the heart on ice and take the cooler.

White lights are at the end of the tunnel.

A spectrum's agreement.

Life's only compromise.
It's last gift.

I see it now.
clearer than day.

X00 Caliber.

Tenderness, aching, ambitious.
The double-edged sword.
Arthur's birthright.

Tomorrow is the Spanish Inquisition.
The great tirade.
The grand torture beneath the terminals
Seeds have been spilt.
Oceans emptied.

Tomorrow marks the day of wrath.
Bitter, sour, distressed.
The brightness of day eclipses the darkness of shadow.

Shadow so essential.
A shadow so dire.
Obligatory, quintessential.

Today I sit alone again.
Sword in earth's heart.

Tomorrow she will bleed to death.
Mother Earth.
She will flow volcanic rivers.
Birth a bastard nation.
A simple, lonely nation.

God help it.
God abort it.

She knows not goodness.
Only the cries of a hungry child.
They must be nourished.
Worshipped.
They must be saved according to Guinevere's last will and testament.

Post war.

Please believe me
The curse of the violent shadows reawakens.

The inner demons will run rampant and the god star will breathe life into the eternal.

Waves of elemental magic beseech the crimson crown of the terrestrial wasteland.

God of war, son of god, Father of fear.

The world bleeds blue.
God bleeds yellow.

A Madness: Part 2

The tragic life of a dreamer.
Faust would be proud.

Today the glimmering solemn midnight jolted with eloquent veracity.
The poet saw.
The poet too wrote.
"Oh myriad skies,
a shallow grave you dig for me.
Atop a tombstone with etched goodbyes.
A half dug grave unseen by man.
A wooden coffin.
Rather just a tree.
A time trapped prison.
A master plan.
A perfect future only god can see"

The devil deals in rotten fate.
Expired promises, important dates.
The time of day, one can say is under the spell of our own hell.

The tree of life provides shade.
Life only has one escape.
Escape can be tricky.
Make a plan, or serve your sentence.

Procrastination is now a virtue.

A Madness: Part 1

The taste of consequence severe.
I've leaped again into the same dark waters. If repetition is the definition of insanity then surely I am mad.

But nature too is lunatic.
Yes, a mad god made this twisted earth. 

A mad god caught in a loop. 

A mad god, a broken record.
A line crossed. Never crossed before.

I am bound by cruel nature.

It is clear to me now.  
Mad, cruel, twisted nature.
A mad, cruel, god's lunatic punchline.

unbound.
static, static, static, static.

Putrid, solemn, lazy, Walrus

("Deterred by warmth and affection")
The frozen ocean waits for you.
Beneath a sky so frozen blue.
A cryogenic cell of ice.
A crystal palace to be precise.

The fatty skin will keep you warm.
But of this aspect I must warn.
A horrid sight you are to be.
A monstrous walrus is what they'll see.

Two jagged fangs grow from your jaw.
Three padded flippers instead of claws.
The whiskers will be long and spiny
And your brain and eyes, tiny.

A grotesque howl you will emit.
Lets not forget you'll smell of shit.
Oh, walrus: fat and slow.
You are indeed the king of snow.
But at least the pain of love you'll never know.

The Waring Graves.

How miraculous.
Heaven's exposé.
Why, muttering seems second nature.
Yet laughter comes first.

Baser feelings amidst a longer exposure. Human platitudes like love and unity whither like dried leaves.
Only to be born again when harsh times are past.

The waring graves.
The dead unaware they are dead.
The fighting at a standstill.
The coldness persists.
Space and time decide your fate.
How futile it is.
How futile to think you are alive in the long run of things.
How hopeful we are.

Moloko vellocet

Walk against time,
Consumed elixir of the mind.

Velvet, morose and nonsensical.
The corded arithmetical pondering of beating hearts.
Throbbed ventricle expounded.
Glass in the eye. Sweets in the queue.

Breasts.
Sensual, conditioned.
The warmth of company.
Fear: not withstanding.
Overbearing.
Confusing.
Conflicted but warm all the same.

A warmer smile.
Felt at a distance.
Like an arrow
Cherub archers.
Child soldiers.
God's very own .

This is the way my day ends.
Not with a bang but with a whimper.

Soldier, surgeon, saint. (The witching hour)

Today the last sound of humanity flickers. The silent snicker of a madman.
Prose, with a finger on a button.
Cold, frozen.
Unexpected yet serene.
The greatest gag.
The punchline.
they'll never press the button.

A droning tenure, an outspoken fiend
My loving regret.
Gnawing aneurism.
Crude and adolescent.
The armed guards bleed red.
The poet bleeds blue.
True as the gathering darkness.
White as noise.

Awake,
In a cold bed.
During the witching hour.
Clarity, Clairvoyant, Cleansed.
Not a glimmer of hope.
But eyes wide open.
Tears dried.
Blind in darkness.
No truth to be told.

Asleep for the last time

Ode to Normalcy

The basics; contrived and ineffectual.
The courteous sniping of branched timelines.
The family tree, well regarded, esteemed. Rural and tenacious.
Beached proliferation.
The scoured ocean.
Sandals, Scandals and broom handles.

Today I knew of golden arches.
Today I knew of cupid's sting.
Today, perhaps I will know better.

Miles, Morals, Concentration.
Feet of stoned expectations.
Bury me along the shore.
With hand on heart and nothing more

Cannibals and Hunger pains.

I am told that I am being fed.
Yet my hunger grows.
How could these lies not be filling?
My appetite for knowledge is unsatisfied by these empty calories.
Sophists spoon feed me.
As if I am a child whom could not do it himself. The media shovels putrid slush disguised as a healthy meal. An abortion disguised as caviar.
-------
They sell to you
You want what you like
They sell you it
You consume it
Like zombies in hoards
Mindlessly walking. .
Craving a brain.
Perpetual self consumption.
An Unsustainable existence
You eat
You shit
You eat your shit
You eat, you're shit.
You ate yourself
------
I sit here hungry.
for I would rather starve.

Because so long as I sweat in the summer and shiver in the winter I will forever be aware of my frailty.

Dichotic synchronicity

It is strange. How in an instant we could lose all meaning.
Indeed it is stranger that there is no substance among shadows.

Meiotic concerns, evoked by entitlement.
Delusions of grandeur: uninhibited.
The dichotic growth of aspiration .
Fueled by the search for validation.

The shadows creep slowly.
Their arbitration, sincere.

When I sleep I dream of death and wake at her feet.

Indeed my fear rang true.
And truth rang brightly.
the deaths I dreamt were mine, but not the deaths of my reality.

Ashes, Ashes.

All alone
At the end of the world.

Stars gleamed with clear skies above.
The thundering cheers of a gleeful mob.
Resistance unbound by weary militia.
Court orders bred false flags.
Loop holes within loop holes.
Knots twisted.
Stomach aches.
Knife wounds.
Deep in the back of civilization.

Left to bleed out.
To slowly die like starving penned animals. 

Mistakes made clear.
To die with hope clenched in our fists.

If life is warfare
I am but a pacifist

The 40 day Tirade

I'm so fucking cultured ain't I?
Bare naked, on hostile ground.
Torn from the womb with gaudy abrasion.
The roaring soliloquy of a fostered pet.

A howl at the moon.  

Can you hear me? 
(How it shines upon us.) 
This fraud, this poor imitation.  

(But a flattering one.)
Like a false idol, or a death mask.
This palely drawn still life of godliness.
Who brings unity through vision.
And reflection through the darkness.

Reminding us all what we are on this earth