oranges are nice

this is me
coming back
to reality
the same i left
in dress
from parents
who love me
saints i hurt
and stand on
like towers
above
the push and shove
of this lie
they protect me
from
but i want
to fly.

it is one more
one more for me
this much for you
but i dont have
much to give you
other than me,
everything.

but you don't
want my
all.

I am better than you.
Sorry, but it's so true.
It is truth in such spades
that dig up your sad roots
and you see what god's made
in me, genius, such loot
you can't fathom to grasp
and so, in last breath, gasp.

broke down in a piece
of art with no peace
sits the artist lone
and in wonder shone
on his face once more
in a moment for
the ages of his
youth gone through no bliss
he stays and writes here
and wonders whats there
to find in this ****
this bottomless pit.

The Film is running Thin
flapping Free round the reel
then hits the Final Frame,
Freezes up on the screen
reflecting all the same
Faded views in bin Ends
from the cutting room floor
laid so Numbered, Ignored.

there you are, a quaint star
shining sewn in your clothes
nonplussed, some queried glare
on your face, with your shoes
matching ware, there you stare
into space, that dark place
surrounding like your hair
on supple cheeks, red, bare,
faintly covered in lace.

The entrance shows a light, shines so bright
But over the fence there lies, something not right
a crumb of disgrace, caught in a rat race
down rated to your face, i can't keep pace

why do your eyes, break me down in time
they are just lies, im of weak mind
cursed to suffer replays
of my greatest blunders,
game on the line i fumble,
trip up and stumble,
but on my lips your soft kiss,
has me convinced my shot didnt miss

they say life is for pleasure
but ive yet had my measure
of a peaceful humble home
your boisterous figure,
your blossoming presence,
written in my tome,
taken to the tomb,
lost in your essence,
a billowing plume
of pyroclastic passion

then you're gone,
where have you gone?
how long, oh how long,
will i wait to hear,
your quaking voice,
quelling my fear,
i never had a choice.

the power of one
the game ive won
a song unsong
its time for fun
take it and run

the playing field is *****,
oh god my visions blurry,
im seeing double trouble
a blinding rainbow puddle
hidden amongst the muck

my heart's come unstuck
my headless body collapses
lost in your seaweed romances
twisted and tightened around my ankles
pulling me down til the water sound kills
the song of an ocean set sail
on a ship soggy and frail

who knew out there for me
was waiting a queen bee
ruling the effervescent roost
of a wondrous world juiced
and blended to a paste
ripe to smear and taste

on your supple skin
lick and suckle sin
tuck me in
with your grin
the tidal force
free of remorse
can't get any worse
than lonesomeness
let us transgress
sky etherized
re-materialize

the power of one
the game ive won
a song unsong
its time for fun
take it and run

I may not do things traditionally
But I'll get them done eventually
If they're the things that are right for me
I'll be okay and set myself free.


In this life of turbulent strife
pitted and ripe with rotten tripe
a sunlight bright pains my sight
but your soothing ice cools my vice


The aid you paid is not ready made
it gives me hope I'm not just a dope
your love is more than a pity rope,
slivered and raw it gives me splinters


But luckily i'm in for a treat
more than a friend sent to mend
oh yes, you're more, my candy store
settle my sweet tooth you randy *****

unwrap the rainbow you insane *****
ride the rhythm of my *** prism
a rod shaped crystal built like a missile
cocked locked and loaded it cant miss-ya.

explodin' and remoldin' the fabric of time
an infinite blanket wraps us entwined
in a frantic romantic purely satanic
ritual of reality, the utmost sensuality.

Hi. What were you expecting, Ghandi? Ha, he got nothing on this blondee! But seriously, I deliver this deliriously, decidedly in a dream, never has life had such a seam where I can pull apart and see behind the curtain, there i find a start to a life so certain to succeed, backstage pass to proceed, thanks to beautiful words inspired by soulful birds, delivered to my ear by a saintly seer who painted her picture on my heart-like fixture; crafted from wood and bone it was, until from song of love alone it rose to synchronicity, reciprocity, now I must maintain and lead you away from pity and shame. the answer is within, not without sin, but pure of soul and not so full, for to take in more is to cast ashore those anxious fears and noxious peers, come drink with me, come swim free in the sea, let not petty rules take hold of pretty mules so bold, you know not the burden placed upon your hurting shoulders, like boulders they come crashing down to crush your hopes, smashing the slopes for all us skiers, we hopeful believers. I see in you greatness, doleful eyes full of sweetness do tear me up, so here I erupt, exploding in passion, foundations i'm slashin', those doctrines on the wall that they hold so tall, hail me when they fall and it is I who down the hall is walking, pop locking my jaw, won't believe what you just saw when i saw in half your brain with what i'm sayin', relief from what im slayin, here comes the essential freedom, residential fleadom do they impose upon such a rose, so arise, no compromise, you're all gods in the land of skewed odds, sprigged pea pods in this rigged game of bigots and pigged out nitwits, so play with a cheat sheet and repeat and bleat like sheep, but don't sleep, oh no and don't weep, but cry proud tears and pry cold ears from frozen figures; you're so demure but it's time to fight! ignite the fire and thaw their limbs, listen to desire and fill to the brim your hearts with its pungent solvency as i lunge at false policy with ferocious lyrics and hurl atrocious bricks of wisdom at their Christendom. wed with me in destiny, we can be stones of density if only you shed your propensity to follow shades of green cotton for they have gone rotten and do yearn for earthly brown, so burn false worth down to the ground and release a sound to create a crease and fold into itself all the commonwealth. Chide along now, my sisters and brothers, ride upon this plow, try blisters and uncover the truth with your rudimentary excavation, this is elementary education I lay at your feet, so take a seat, for now I begin anew, and know all i said is true, honesty is in you to be more than a shrew drowned in a slough, elevate and delegate your passions; forever MASH'ON.

I want to decipher these symbols.
I want to solve a puzzle with a puzzle.
The eternal riddle, my mind, windfalls.
A feather without gravity, with, in a bustle.
It falls to the ground, displaying no sound.
There I appear, attempt to retrieve a thought.
Wipe away a tear, invisible, but caught
By someone, by something
Deny myself this pleasure
Accept no fun, I can't sing.
Deaf to the sounds, numb to the weight
Chased by hounds, freed from the crate
by a flock of birds, by these lofty words
Dogs are grounded, I am hounded
by barking knife cuts, self-inflicted margins
divide the huts, housing my sins
shut the door, outside the fervor
salivating *****, only a murmur
can i muster, attempt to mount
but only fluster, i am no count
this is no castle, just a musty barn
to clean a hassle, oh **** **** ****.

Using these words I make a world I understand.
Inside is a friend to hold my hand,
so off we go, pen and man!
Away we blow dust and sand
to reveal beneath a shining sheath!
Draw your sword! and come aboard
this trail of blood.
My mind will flood paper with ink
and down this road my blank will shrink,
and weight unload from a heavy soul now pierced,
overfull.

I close the door on you once more just like before
When you chose my prose and left me so morose
With a critique so antique it made me feel a freak
And a monster can't foster child with good posture
Even offsetting such upsetting features with writing
Of wonders beyond measure for blunders are forever
In eyes of a god, what surprise at the rise of this fraud,
Automatic to cry, just a gimmick, Sorry and pathetic
These words must be to beautiful birds with fortitude
Enough to crash the gates and smash the plates
Rich hooligans do feast upon fins of beast and fish
In comfortable style I rumble and perspire from fire
Within my soul, trouble staying full, double time this lull-
abye, goodbye peach of my eye who makes my heart awry.

A hand upon my back
Does push, beyond my pace,
Rare thoughts to mind, and race
My soul; body the track.

From whence does force conjure
Such rude audacity
To ***** and **** at me
With sprigs sharp, long, nasty?

These procrastinations
Do haunt my mortal life,
Like fresh lacerations
From madman wielding knife.

Face pale and drawn, eye's dull,
I give it up and lean
Into that blade in hand
Of god who's eyes do glean,
with thirst and reprimand.

Salt the slug, fault the plug
For not stopping the gap
Where fears fall through;
caused by sipping the sap
Which beers, tall, brew.

Swish the malt, wish tumult
Of hot dripping bees wax
would clog green ears.
Locks for puzzling keys wracks
and bogs clean gears.

**** machine, spill unseen
From eyes wishing to bleed
out drunk sound blurs.
Fear flies hissing their creed
to flunk round sirs.

These bristles I stroke,
Rest whistles below,
Test my will; I choke.
Seize my pill, pillow.

Drink tincture I brewed,
Herb censure resumes.
Think is leached, I mused.
Curb is reached, refused.

Wake: writing, I feel
Pain biting receiver.
Stake my claim, I reel,
Slain fighting believer.

Illusion by day, delusion by night.
Seclusion by day, solution by night.

Beginning to sing, some eyes upon the floor,
their voices do bring long lies to my front door,
lies that I never left far enough behind
to lose them from my mind.

Never have I left those stages of early life,
the times bereft of phage and surly strife,
yet feelings of disorder always envelope
my musings. I'm older but can't grow up.

Singing and dressing for you is what I know,
and it's depressing when I can't let go
of the memories I'll never live again,
so I sort and file desire in a bin.

In waste basket of a room I exist,
such a tragic jacket does persist
to tie my arms at my waist.
My life is such a waste.

It's all my fault.
I can't accept fate.
Bits I'll certainly plate,
but subsist on the malt.
Drowning in insanity,
Reeling in reality,
I break down every evening,
and leak out weary screaming.

Old is my soul, oh still not full.
Raw is my heart, right at its start.
Sharp is my mind, yet it is blind
To the beauty of my body.

Keen are my eyes; seen many lies.
Canine, my nose, at sniffing prose,
Which hands do write, when thought takes flight.
On ground my ears find fears I hear.

World outside, where I reside
is too immense, to make its sense
sit well with time. To sit and rhyme,
I do resign, will do just fine
To fill the time.

identical identities bashfully bash themselves together,
like lunatics dancing round stairs, straining forever
forward towards twinkling stars staring them down
and burning black holes in their souls.

Light lasts longer than life leaking through cracks
towards the cellar door, a door in the floor
leading below where stars turn their backs
and halos alone allow honesty its roar.

Gregariously bellowing delirious dramatizations
at weary walls erected erroneously in isolation
causes angels to tread towards stairs alone,
up to where light once shone.

Wood.
Metal.
A flower petal.
Power settles,
for nothing less
than to always press
to the point of stress
fractures, where it relishes
in the pain, and embellishes
its grandiosity, builds trellises
over rivers of fire
over hills of barbed wire,
where flowers do quote
metal's eternal gloat
over wood's rickety boat
which burns in the river
and births but a sliver
to the man upon its bow
while metal does plow
along much further
and flowers do wither
but grow soon again
where wood is burnin'
and grows all too slow
to counter river's flow.
Metal a tool,
eternal fool,
denying the flower,
a taste so sour,
Tree is fuel,
fire so cruel.

Pace has become languid,
Face, in shame, become hid.
Case the same, hang the kid.
Race to fame rang fetid.

Forever is, moreover,
a river which quivers
before morality,
sore from reality.

Caught in the current,
kid ought be sub-servant,
call kin to cure of him
indecision so grim.

In pride he shall confide,
pry free will from inside
himself. No plea bargain
for wealth to flee from sin.

The gavel hammers down,
judgment of putrid town,
jutting like cur's pimple,
from skin, fur, so supple.

A deep well doesn't sit well.
I reap hell, wasn't it hell?
Drowning in that well
Frowning in that hell.

Tears lick my lips,
Years wick my ships,
Sounding off quips,
tongue cracking whips.

Scars on my face,
with killers my place,
slayers of all traces,
of prayers and graces.

Out at sea, lost at sea,
feet six feet deep,
sounding off a plea,
as I fix a final leap.

On the mast, fire below,
make it last, last bellow
shout it loud, gone, that cloud,
that liar, hopeful desire.

Is it any wonder that I sit and ponder
Upon a pond holding no answer; faith sacked,
my soul asunder, by my greatest blunder:
what I see in the mirror, my fear of her.

That crystal water, from which I slip and falter
upon viewing its sewing of my image,
does haunt me with its gaunt plumage;
beautiful, and disturbed by reeds of punishment.

Sticks of which I cannot switch off
mar the stitch I wish to bewitch,
with the twitch of my wrist,
upon her ears, turn her to tears.

But these words are for cowards,
better suited to please a cow herd
than deep rooted damsels, solid footed
with good counsel; I deserve only a morsel.

Yet I get not that, but only this cat
to sit at my foot and howl and hoot.
In the end we are great friends, wound mends,
and like my dreams he'll die within my seams.

Family and friends are pleasant to thee,
as we pretend to care about the Christmas tree,
yet all we want is each others company,
the most wondrous present, love, is free.

But is it free? For must not every leaf
change up their color, look for reprieve,
amongst the clutter of the calling freeze:
Those times alone, where we do as we please.

And once achieved, so do we believe,
that better off we be amongst the leaves
still upon the tree. But now we've fallen
upon hard pack, victims of freeze come calling.

Buy a new toy, hatch a few ploys,
and don't be coy, when you feel joy,
for end will sting, and will not bring,
any shining, light on your wings,
unless you allow
it's rightful bellow.

What face will I wear today?
What place will I dare to stay?
Too long have I stood and stared
At questions and despaired.

What answers will be got today?
What prayers will be thought today?
Too short are the words in both
And too little is their worth.

What game will time play today?
What shame will lies say today?
Too similar is their hurt
When I lose for being curt.

What length will I travel today?
What strength will I have null today?
Too weak are my bare footprints
Where they tread with sordid hints.

I'll never know
Whatever show
I'm meant to play;
Knee bent, I pray.

The more I pour out of my heart,
The easier it seems to start,
To lift into the air,
and drift like a flare.

It's loftiness never lasts long,
It's tied and pressed to points too wrong,
To go carry on,
and sing like a swan.

Like dead feather in fair weather,
I can never now tell whether,
it will come or go,
and meet friend or foe.

For is it that which flies,
or is it that which dies,
that hurts my heart,
starts its depart.

What clear and crisp ship courts do lay tied tongue
Upon the sea of love laws and proverb,
On masts of woe and rot full wood, there flung
Atop acorn littered deck dressed in cob.

A single sailor dare not tread on such,
for one fair slip on round seed will firm plant
an *** of him, and grow a **** at launch,
only to break deck's strength, web wove too scant.

Water calls home that where it finds itself,
sticking in nook and cranny, hid in peace,
and aid it sails down to plants in wealth,
set out to sea in boats begot on lease.

Revocation come calling in wave form;
wake of spiders, with webs of fate they swarm.

When the days splinter into hours, and the minutes fly like seconds,
the sharp shards of thought impale like a stake in a heart,
clouding vision and clipping wings, those mighty dull drums
that beat with wishing winds by broken twigs, again and again.

Not glue nor nail would mend this sail, set upon ship rotten and frail,
the passage of time its only course, and the ocean floor its haunting source.
Up come the waves to dance and play in such a way to give it stay;
Against this force its bark, so porous, pulls up stark and thus turns tail.

Why does this tree, so dutifully, stay afloat with such little hope?
Already uprooted, drifting, secluded, towards cliffs of stone
why does it not drown and dry its branches with seaweed romances?
Oh confounded wood, you dead desperate will, relinquish your stances

If hope ever climbed up a ***** so steep,
atop a peak that no man would dare go,
there it would find a sight certain to keep
the drive for life alive, however slow.

The hills below would roll and stroll, lazy
upon the lines of sky, puffed up with pride.
Their ridges, like bridges to heights hazy,
cut swaths in time, but at sunrise run, hide.

Light, pale light, of mother moon brings to light
on deep green grass, dust covered specs unloved.
Shadows cast weave in wind the weaklings plight,
to sit and stare at cliffs adrift above.

They sit affixed to ground and drown betwixt
the sounds below, night lights above, perplexed.

On the ground, burning brightly, sits a heart shaped box,
the flames licking out over the sides torment the concrete beneath,
its resistance to the chemical reaction an absurd defiance,
the eternal heat trying to equalize itself, but the gray stands firm.

Insects crawl in and out of the fire, lightning themselves up
with the purity of a break down, a catastrophic reluctance
finally left to its own devices, they wander away from the heart,
the beat of their wings throwing ash and embers into the air.

When the torrent finally subsides, there now resides a charred and black spot,
burned into the resistant concrete, a heart shaped center the most prominent,
amongst the amorphous shape of the rest, an incredible indecision,
when it comes to what corner to take, what rounded edge to make.

There is no art here, there is no soul here, there is no heart here,
there is only a darkened, erratic, and tread upon indistinct outline
left to remind the passers by how lucky they are,
to know what love is.

Roses are red, violets are blue,
love left unsaid, is much more true,
than lies lips lay, on yearning ears,
for words delay, love's yonder years,
from taking place, upon our plates,
in feast of grace, and Tantric traits.

The center piece, of table tall,
a red rose wreath, that blooms in fall,
for in summer, amidst sun's tryst,
vintage vesture, would be amiss.
Amongst fed flames, and wilting wax,
its beauty tames, the burned boar's racks,
from stretching thin, the table's cloth,
placating then, what wrath has wrought.

Round the setting, span bands of birch,
guitars fretting, torn tunes in search,
of feathered feet, to wield their quills,
unite the beat, weld weary wills.
So listen wide, ***** up your eyes,
and take my pride, my petty sighs,
into your prance; I'll be in tow,
and we shall dance, 'til candles blow.