superb partaking of private delicacies
yet always keeping track of the skyline
keeping senses alert, never fully falling
I allow myself to get hurt each time that skyline changes
not because I enjoy the pain
but there's just something about you I'm not willing to lose, not that easily
so - I swallow rubbish and suppress the ego and take the whipping words readily
whatever it takes
there may come a relinquishing-moment when I can just give and let it all flow
free fall, like a kite almost
but for now, when shadows may come and place arms round the heavens
seduce sun rays from abode and kiss the air into a messy cloudburst
and leave the sky taut with approaching footfalls of fiery thunder claps
I take it all and want it no other way
I accept the paradox fully
the pattern has been set
it is consistent
this mega beautiful skyline over me hovers so discreet in plain sight yet blind to all
I see the veins on the back of your hand, and blood veering sideways towards impossible thoughts
a line upon the horizon tells me never fear
a stringent fire walk simply tests the mettle coil
discoveries in life confirm nobody is alone
as deep and low as it gets sometimes
the highs, oh! the highs outfly the roof
take what you need from life now and from me
yet take your sweet time
until the day I see your eyes reflected in that skyline
and your lamp beckoning on, into this frame
your skyline tastes so good
Granted with solitude
Becoming too familiar,
I sank into crinkled sheets and sobbed
While Loneliness hovered,
Embodied and so absolute
That its shadow projected on the gaps
Between aging artwork on my wall,
Having the impression of a spider I once knew,
Who was weaving along those very gaps
Its own artwork,
Which too would have aged,
Had I not taken its life with a dusty tissue box -
A memory like a cloudburst over my heart,
Flooding its hollow chambers with regret:
If only I had kept that spider around,
Perhaps by now it would be calling this house its web,
It would have multiplied
Blessing me with generations of natural listeners -
For I would speak my mind
And they would skillfully translate
Each vibration from my mouth -
I would see my thoughts reflected in their webs.
Why did I insist on killing?
Defensively I announce, "I am fearful
Of its poison!"
But that is no justification
For I have witnessed such poisonous Love
And the way it would have
Hurried along my flesh
Could have very well been the same.
Whether poisononous or affectionate,
A spider's company
Is better than none.
Shamefully, I stare at a wall
That bares no such creature,
But the shadow, rather, of Misery's lover
Who will never feel this exhausting solitude
For Loneliness is never lone
So long as I am Misery.
Inky black pervades the humid club
as sticky bodies, swathed in white,
dig and prod at each other,
vying for an inch or a foot or a mile.
For those few stygian seconds
the heaving throng is silent,
fervent excitement and suspense
pulsating through the sweaty mass
like a coveted contagion,
until the stage lights come up,
a blinding spectacle of whites and
violets, daring the crowd to blink,
lest we miss the anticipated entrance.
Finally, the group arrives,
a ghastly spectacle of half-naked flesh
framed with vicious horns and alien body
armor—metallic spikes, blades, and skulls.
They grab their ancient instruments,
introduce themselves as the Scumdogs of
the Universe, and unleash a torrent
of notes so loud, clashing, and violent
that my eardrums cry aloud in protest.
The notes pulsate through the bar,
a cloudburst of liquid metal that
engulfs every heaving body.
Immediately, the waxen sea erupts
into a storm, thrashing and writing
in a heated frenzy so fevered and
chaotic that an uninformed observer
might believe he was witnessing a
a mass seizure—or a barbaric orgy.
While the music assaults my chest
cavity, little circles open up amongst
the heaving mob, and people of all
shapes and sizes run in vicious circles,
limbs thrown about haphazardly,
The temperature in the club rises,
as does the stench of cheap beer
and unadulterated body odor,
but suddenly, the melody ceases.
A greasy, sleazy fellow joins the band,
and gives a self-righteous speech before
the first lambs are brought to slaughter.
Caricatures of political figures, more than
seven feet tall, stumble onto the dais—
forced into a faux boxing ring.
The throng howls like a pack
of bloodthirsty wolves as the entertainers
sever counterfeit limbs, purposefully
sending a shower of red cornstarch
over our hungry, eager faces.
In the midst of the flailing crowd
I am pushed closer to the stage,
and am bathed in this homage
to human nature, this gladiatorial
spectacle. It is a fight to the death,
and culminates in a beheading,
which unleashes a deluge of
costume blood into the congregation
with such force that I can taste
its sickly sweet satire in my mouth.
bitching and chinese food
yr metamorphosis cocoon
joy rich chestnut metal mouth
navels crinkled leaf corners
w/ lashes nocturne velvet
our motel penny rapture
our rough patch reformation
im sweet dot so clueless
friends in a golden hour
lazy cherry bubblegum suck
rancor mirage crossed-out control
door knocker my lovelace trip
rush studded-weekend limits
our nyc catalyst
our reckless star spotted luster
after-party gold-teeth drip
blood-knuckled grip sure thing
such tough infatuation with
yr sweet shock sugar fox
one teaspoon bad behavior
gamma ray wild child
im lovely scum dirty gun
w/ finders-keepers best
pop candy corn california
neon oil slick l’america
olive-pitted eyes oh ex
our cloudburst mischief
our benzedrine metropolis
hard thrill seeker
sublime say yr fine w/
real pretty guns that
always wanna die
double-black out baby
be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine be mine be be min e n be
The clouds roll and tear the sky.
Flashes of light
August on the highway
hot weather heat
Thump and thunder.
Under a construction hat, pour of sweat.
The jackhammer in concrete
humidity so thick it mists.
The crew starts after sunset
no flag person on site
steamroller melting road up ahead.
A passenger says careful now
it’s coming up
bump in the road
makes them sway.
A cloudburst, deluge
through orange cones
Thump and hit ground.
Back turned, hit from behind.
Pounding on pavement
shower of glass
August on the highway
running in rain
knees and elbows bruised
hard hat and head
Grabble and thump and hit ground.
I was as young as air is fresh on the first spring day
I roamed around my tired, empty house,
With only the crackling of the radiator for conversation
A combination of boredom and thirst
Motivates me as I waltzed into the kitchen
Purple faded headphones blasted
A spice girls song from around my neck
I stretched my arm out as far as I could
to jerk open the refrigerator
The last water bottle in front of me
I took without a second thought
Eager for the cool comfort of crisp consolation
I tilted my head back, allowing a delicate stream to enter
In a brief, abrupt moment, a cigarette
butt meets the tip of my tongue
Immediately I spat out the uninvited guest
my knees embraced the ground
With weak knees and glistening eyes
I begged my toothbrush for alleviation
my teeth were clean, yet the taste evidently remained
It lingered like chalky autumn air
Tasting like rain soaked leaves
It was building a home on the back of my tongue
Desperate I lunged for the freezer
and greedily snatched an ice pop
My trembling hands fumbled with the wrapper,
As smooth saliva slithered down my chin
The first chilling bite sent me into a
cloudburst of algid winter bliss
the foul taste in my mouth
began to tenderly dissolve
Knowing limited time was left,
it clung as if my tongue was a cliff
my hero overpowered the chalky bitterness,
just like that it was gone
I joyfully squealed as the corners of my lips
met my flushed cheeks
the rest of my hours were spent eating Popsicles,
Ecstatic with freedom from a terrible villain
And although it was cold outside,
I felt like a warm summer night
I lived in island culture. But was coastal
The hunidity rose and the sun shone on cloudburst.
Ah those were days for swimming in the rain
White sand and blue water warm to the touch.
A gaggle of kids. Ready steady go.
Full tilt to the ocean likity split.
A two hundred yard sprint
Naked as J-birds .never seen one
Naked or clothed.
We.sprint to.the seaside.in warm driving rain.
Then splash and swim out
And do it again
In the rain
Till the jet took
Out to old. LAX.
The beauty dawns early, She is more fair;
Nature is ever green; She warm up to care;
Towards the green hills, winter covers cold;
A cloudburst; rages out, this time, I was bold;
Far, at the other end; the mother earth flares;
in a passionate heat, with an increased glare!
When they were entangled
in the orange coils of passion again,
she reminded him
of the moonstone.
When he and she were in a band,
at its wild crescendo,
the moonstone had melted,
a molten green fluorescent liquid,
roared in his loins,
she felt the tremor,
the spasms that comes like waves,
to embrace the shores,
wild winds, cloudburst.
"Come deep" she pleads
to him in between.
Winds still in the wings
kept roaring as if the thirst remains,
didn't he see moonstone in her eyes,
an eager glint, unspoken words,
obscene perhaps, erupting from deep?
He ate apples, she had peaches,
she combed her long hair,
with a ritualistic meticulousness.
He spat the seeds of the fruit.
She stared at him with unbelieving eyes,
at that night,
something strange happened,
the river went dry,
in the morning he saw dead fish
amidst pebbles smooth and round,
shaped by long years of rolling through
the riverbed, now lying orphaned,
naked without the cover of water.
She had already left,
was the moonstone yet another myth?
I feel like I'm the grass and You're the rain, because the only time I grow is when skies are gray
We both know this is true, that I'm brightest when I'm drenched in You and
Now the sun shines and brings the rays, and Your water dries up and the flames will blaze
I need to be soaked in You, to stay alive, or else I'll start dying at the roots, I won't survive
Could have guessed the wind was all it would take, to turn thick to thin and fog to mist and rid me of my haziness
You left too fast and all I ask is give me back my overcast, I get comfort in shade
The heat is beating down and random spots are turning brown
I'm warm on a summers day but that's never been enough to make me ok
I'm dehydrating, with each moment passing, it seems this might be everlasting
We used to have the best front yard on the street, then You left, now it's filled with sticks and leaves, and dirt
I'm weak and withered You know damn well it hurts and
The weeks will pass and the months will turn from the day you let that fire burn
In springtime I hope You'll return with a downpour that will quench my thirst