you're the pale disk of floating in my sky
untouchable and unreachable
yet you're always there
floating, unmoving but there
even in the day
sitting umong the clouds
set upon a blue backdrop
i find you constantly during the day
searching the sky frantically to re locate you
but you're always there
at night it becomes easier to find you
but harder to ignore you too
your pale, distinct light is a reliable roommate
i'm always up at night
i can't help it, you're at your brightest then
i can't ignore you
can't sleep while you're near
i wouldn't want to
maybe that's why i sleep peaceful
on stormy nights
when you're not keeping me up
not that the moon can help shining
brighter at night
than in the day
[ ~ ]
.
It was a demon's night,
traveling alone in Cindar forest;
the wind pushes me forth
and steers me into madness.
Gripping at grooves in scarred bark,
my balance is constantly steadied;
my sanity constantly endangered
breaks at the seams for a swift escape.
Thrown about the foot trail,
bones broken with bleeding clumps of muscle,
in shock, resemble that of human
and little skeletons of hunted beasts.
My name is Francois Martyr,
a true monk employed by Christ's church.
Though the name does not interpret my resolve,
I shall not want, nor desire,
to accompany the souls of our deceased!
Reporting, now in the third month
of my extended travel in Germany's ranges,
feeble stories of the invention, Lycan.
Evidence acquired in short tales,
birthed from the touched tongue of the poor,
speaks of fanged savages evolved from man.
I, Francois Martyr, can assist
the church's needs in evidence of my own
having never suffered my eyes
to be that in nature of failing.
Deep within this enchanted wood,
wind filters out yonder screams
that seem to derive from cliffs that tower,
descending me into a darkened void that's terrifying.
My once sharpened mind
was once notable in reason,
always employing the rational narrative.
I fear the fisher
has become the shadow target.
In what realm of God should I deserve this?
The air is of great thickness in muggy mephitis,
clinging on my loose trails of cloth, soiled.
The stewy broth of sweat, death, and wrath
permeates a, now, threatened heartland.
Millions of full moons wane and wax
in the reflections of forest blood splatter,
like the landscape of hot wet garbage
primed in yellow, olive-green rigor, fanned.
A formidable spectacle in form,
silhouetted by the expanse of cerulean space,
with the threat now real; becoming surreal,
I am left with that, which corrupts my faith.
The putrid rot of congealed pus and blood
revealed itself in the chewing dissolve
of the menacing monster perverting
life's natural design, before me, in its voracious state.
I write with danger looming in my sight,
watching, waiting for something to ensue,
passing out deep breaths to the unseen mosquito;
echoes of bones breaking like snapped branches horrify.
How impressive of such imposing display
that this creature feared is of this world;
alien in disguise, damned by God himself,
coat of hair, bristled and black, matted in grand supply!
The creature has applied fell eyes upon me,
seemingly wary of the cross I bear,
with eyes rent and fired in their sockets;
a profane mastery of evil incarnate!
This death dealer of a life discarded
has attended a baying at the Hunter's moon,
dripping, spitting, shape-shifting from wolf to man;
Wait, he has seen my face!
I have been sentenced to my mistake!
The man, from wolf, drilled his stare
and upon my presence, growled the words to John 14:6
-Mark Lach
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CoQRkCZ4BZ8
John 14:6= “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
I used to scream & scream
so angry I found I couldn't stop
crying hyperventilating
maybe to make her worried
maybe to make her notice me
maybe to prove I was crazier than her
I made her cry
made her go in the basement where the vodka coolers -- blueberry smirnoff, your favorite -- were waiting
made her silent streaming tears come out & her coffee refilling again + again & her cigarette package needing to be replaced; the basement a hazy cave my mother sat in, silent + unresponsive, smoking constantly crying often rocking back+forth occasionally for four days
I win.
When it's time
and if it's time
it will be mine.
Time has a habit of creeping up on you and peeking into you
then staking a claim.
Fame you can keep it
I've seen it and spent it on even more time
that is the hourglass
a time that we save and time that we waste
all a matter of personal taste and of circumstances beyond our control
controlled by the clock I am constantly in shock
when I look at how time flies yet stands still.
I am reasonably sure that sometime in the future I will look back on these minutes with a grimace
and a smile
meanwhile time takes a break with some tea and a cake
and I sit by
watching the clock
still in shock and in awe
because it just passed three thirty and it's a quarter past four.
I can't even sleep got to keep my eyes on the tick
and the tock makes me sick.
Think I'll pick up a pickaxe
smash the clock and I'll relax
but in the twilights of midnights where the demons of mornings and in the yawnings of men it's already ten after ten
can't escape
I shall wait for the winding it's grinding me down
and I need a pick me up
a tonic to buck me up and I should just shut the
clock up.
Meeting you
Made me feel like a child,
Reading one of those pop-up books
For the first time.
What I mean by this is that
You add so much depth to the world.
There is a dimension that appeared spontaneously
The day you introduced yourself
To me,
Back when I was a plain and simple novel.
You are a book—
No, you are more than a book.
You are my favorite book.
Every day, I flip through your pages.
You are impossible to put down.
I knew you would be a great book
The first time I saw you.
Judging you by your handsome cover
And pulling you off the shelf
Was the best decision I have made.
Your plot is constantly unfolding before my eyes,
As is mine before yours.
You have your ups and downs,
As do I.
You make me happy,
And you fascinate me. And in turn,
When something bad happens in your story,
I absorb the emotion and become despondent and worried.
But it is always resolved in the end.
If I am going through something terrible,
I will pick you up and read you,
Shutting out everyone and everything else.
You are there and you are right
When nothing else in the world is.
Some say this it’s not healthy
To do what I do,
To have only one factor
In my equation of happiness.
But these are probably also the depthless people
Who have only seen movies.
All I can say is that
I am glad I learned to read
At such a young age.
pacing moderately down the road
avoiding any contact
maybe it's just me who
constantly worries
or maybe it's their suspicious act
i do not like these people
i don't like how they think
i do not wish to stay forever
i wish i wouldn't overthink
My brother and I were invited to
Polynova, "The Grande City of The World".
Polynova is the largest city
To exist in our world,
It is home to every race in the world
It is has the largest trade market
It has the most beautiful architecture
You could imagine.
It can best be described as a giant pyramid
Where the governor sits atop
And the city becomes larger and larger
'Til the base.
I couldn't tell you a specific color of the place
Because the people have tampered
And structured it over time.
Gold, Magenta, Bright Green,
Cerulean, Silver, Mud Brown,
The list goes on and on.
It is constantly crowded and bustling,
You would be surprised how good it smells.
The cuisine is magnificent,
All the best foods from the world
Gather here and share their secrets
With the masses.
This city could be best described as,
"A city of togtherness".
It is a city of hope
Hope that the world will settle its differences
And hope that one day the fighting will stop.
Polynova stands as a symbol to us,
Some reject it,
But I embrace it.
I am but a boy
Too young to have seen the world
As a cynical and terrible place.
I regard everyone with the utmost respect
And love.
My brother and I were invited to Polynova
To participate in the first ever
Grande Fireworks Festival.
We come from a long line of firework makers,
My grandfather was one of the first firework artists
To grace this world.
So off we go to Polynova
To share our secrets and craft
With other firework artists.
Off I go to,
"The Grande City of the World"
All those who exclaimed
“Fuck the world” were maimed
And ended up being by the dust bit
For they were the ones being fucked by it
And failed to understand that this world is an illusion
Which has been continuing since creation;
And we mere beings of sensation,
Are constantly being fucked by it...
There was a crack.
Not a mighty one. no, it wasn't even loud.
And if inside foundations moved?
without, appeared stout.
held up with the iron bars. too proud.
I see the roads before me,
which suddenly fill, my brocken will,
and rubble brushed lightly on pavement,
and hazey land, burnt still.
The sun is burning my hands, burning I say.
To the north there is fire,
sepulchures to the west, I kneel to pray,
East is dust. South has rusted red. I am on a wire,
painted gold. Crouched, I drink sand,
burning like fire, fire to taste nothing.
Too many dreams of wine and sugary honey,
I'm spent, choke on demure beauty.
My hands' flesh melt off in ripples,
dripping down my arms, and please,
with ease, I run into a coma, untruthfully,
bold and blue, choking on truth,
slipping down my lungs, cold bile fed
from a crocker, chipped resign,
take me home, I cry.
But I was never home. My home had died.
Trip. And swollen feet? Sprung loose,
the fidllers harp plays naught,
A truce, fate, please, allow me loose fate.
I pray escape, but I could never choose late.
With no hands I can not lament,
my feet rooted in soil unfit to grow,
and I am. not. I will go,
where rain falls constantly.
I will go to drown and burn in equil measure,
dreaming, with slitted eyes,
the earthquake shattering the sun inside,
shoulders square, jaw set, I hide,
while stepping forward,
I'm tied.
/my home has died.
I was in love
with Denise,
(She sat behind me in the third grade and
moved away in the first few weeks of the fourth),
but it was Tasha,
(who sat next to me and was the
best friend of Denise),
that I would fantasize about.
I would wait in some bush
for her to pass by and then
leap out
wearing a black ski mask and
armed with a rag drenched in chloroform.
The part of the fantasy that would
constantly change was
the way I would drag her back to my trailer.
Sometimes
I would have a Tasha-size duffle bag and
other times
I just dragged her by her feet
or grabbed her by her arm pits.
I often thought it would be smart
to bring my little red wagon.
except that I didn’t have one
In my fantasy it was always late morning
because that’s when my mom wasn’t home.
Once I had Tasha naked in my room
I would tie her hands with a rope secured
to the ceiling after
stripping all her clothes off
I would pinch and poke and rub Tasha’s body
everywhere.
She would be blindfolded but
I would leave my ski-mask on
just to be safe,
in case Tasha’s blindfold fell off,
you know?
it’s hard to find chloroform when you’re
only eight.
Anyway,
she would squirm and writhe and
wiggle
but soon she would change a little
and she would start to moan
she would gasp
and eventually
she would beg for more.
And then more Chloroform
and I would drag her back
so that when she woke up
she would maybe think it was
just some dream SHE had.
When I dreamed of Denise,
We just rode bikes and stuff.
I was in love with her.
