Stick a lolipop
into the mouth of moments
your life is a child
And somewhere in there
you give a fuck about the moon
and somewhere in there
you give a flying fuck
about the moon
and no it's not cheese.
That mouth knows what dirt tastes like
but that wont stop me from pouring caramel
and cigarettes over it.
I need a fix
of candied dirt
and addiction.
I'm not afraid of the eclipse
because I'm already addicted to the dark.
So lock the door
&
draw the curtains
&
be content.

The tide wont be knocking
no matter how much you
want it to fill the room
or how big is your sweet tooth
because
hunger
is BIGGER
and eventually
anything will do.
So thank the moon we were wearing seat belts.
Otherwise we might be vegetables
eating only exhaust
like Hiroshima
force fed the sun
because
you only make war on an empty stomach
or with an insatiable hunger.

Be content

for the civilians and thier children
who only know the taste of war.
Idiot flavored idiots with a hint of
dead mothers
that will bore a cavity so big
it'll put holes in the head
of kindergardens everywhere.
Who write their valentines on bombs.
Who's love murders buildings,
topples families,
plowing through bodies on city streets all to reach
nobody.

Be content

for the people
who aren't
you because when parents fucking in a box
you call a country means
you don't care
you put genocide on the menu
and there are some things that just wont do.
As I grow weary of rivaling chefs pointing fingers
in circles forever
becoming a porthole to the murder business
becoming the unsuspecting manhole for
the human animal's existence

in crossing.

The dead mothers would find safe shelter in the sewer
but it stinks of shit and dead bodies
like our prepackaged liberty
express delivery
to
every where.

Be content.

Because to start a revolution means living it
and what better way,
to cripple a reckless pace
that finishes first in hunger,
starting fist fights with other people's lives
and forgets even sooner
than
to
be
content.

Through a garden bedecked in the finest façade
In a natural beauty of eons compiled
An assault to the senses which quickens the pulse
Yet soothing the detail, organically styled

Its borders haphazard yet clearly defined
By a frenzied assortment of pollen clad blooms
Enhancing creation with lust and a craving
With nectar, ambrosia scented perfume

The thickets and bushes, with industry cloaked
A sprawling utopia thriving therein
With bees and with butterflies drinking their fill
And drizzled in webs which the spiderfolk spin

A meandering trail through flourishing life
An encouraging push from the sun to my rear
Entrancing, the chill of the dew underfoot
Yet thrusting itself like an ice laden spear

My sight is attracted by hidden desire
To a door at the crest of a flurry of stairs
And the stone of the flight is as fire to my soles
After languishing still as the midsummer glares

The door is ajar and within comes the sound
Of a single piano, adeptly caressed
Each note sends a shiver rebounding around me
In purity soaked and perfection possessed

I make my way forward and darkness inside
Removes me of sight as my pupils adjust
And the air is intense as a northerly breeze
And shimmers in motes cut of sunlight and dust

My eyes become clear and before me they see
Cascading and dancing a musical frieze
A picture in motion, a fairytale path
In a spectrum of tones and a myriad keys

Inspiration her name and the course she describes
Is a poem in light to beguile the mind
She speaks with her body, a wordless refrain
Of a mystery poets have clamoured to find

A pipe cuts a harmony no one could play
Distilling forever the passage of time
And though such a symphony draws at the tongue
Causality never once utters a rhyme

A pattern of shimmering images form
Behind inspiration and quickening pace
To fade with the music and ever be lost
Lest the pen of a poet can hold them in place

Most fickle of muses and teaser of tongues
To flirt with despair and to promise elation
We chase but remaining just out of out reach
Is the ghost of a girl which we call ‘Inspiration’

Atomistic projections birthe free out of a thick and porous shell, candid with light and bleached from the inside. And it fractals out into zero, infinitely. But how we collapse is imprecision. What function spits your mortar out? Or are you unawares of the gaps left in your voice? This is the decision to systematically disassemble yourself. No one else. And it won't be where you look, or even when, but it shadows every thought, and lives off feeble grasps in its direction. How can you know a river when the river is yourself? If a door is always closed could it be called a wall? A man cannot step into himself more than once.

I am

Band t-shirts
Fireflies in the park late at night
She whispers something in my ear
(abstract gluing tiles on random surfaces)
Jagged edges sticking out everywhere
Weird and for the most part bad haircuts
Punk rock shows and punk rock moshing and punk rock girls
Actually pretty good at playing guitar when I'm in the right mindset
Not easily proud
Classic rock blasting in the car, too loud for most of them
In the screeching highs of Plant and Rose
And in the deep low cuts of Slash and my heroes
All the birds in the world, all the time
Not over-dramatic, just dramatic enough, as he winks
Both impossibly ignorant and secretly wise (graced infrequently)
Words, words, words
Indescribable--
Babble, ramble, gabbing, loquacious
Wordless, hungry, quite voracious
for any definition at all.

I'm the reaching summit and falling the who
                                                                            o
                                                                              o
                                                                                 ole way down, mister Sisyphus to you
I'm random dancing home alone
Singing my favorite songs in the shower and I can't help
Mouthing the words as I ride my bike
The burning desire to suddenly burst into song as in a musical!
A dream and a dreamer
A wizard in many ways
A jack of many trades
And a deuce of even more

I'm scratch-scratch-scratching at the door
...knob? oh, there it is

Standing at the threshold in the silent space
between thunder and lightening
Straddling the door sill of uncertainty,
stranded in a continuum of discontent

One foot in…One foot out
It's just a  step away…One foot forward
while the other follows the wanderlust
of an evolving enigma

The first step begins
a journey of a thousand miles
Walk to the end of this long and winding road
Carry the weight of an unfinished life in this soul

Breathe in the stillness
of the tempest calm
The ethereal instant within
the eerie pause  of natural hesitation

The exhilarating silent fusion linking the anticipation
between the bolt of lightning and the thunderclap ;
nature’s well performed sleight of hand
Two souls touch igniting carnal synthesis

Reaching upward to the heavens they draw strength
from the spirit of the lightening and the hail
The ominous sky’s anger … the storm’s fury fuel's the essence of verve
Vibrant celestial elements manifests a drenching downpour

Heightened senses are enhanced by an electric aura
squeezing out every last drop
from the enchanting moment of stunned silence
Spirits transcend a cleansing rain ... invigorating heart of soul ~

©Harlon Rivers 2013 ...February 28th, 2013

So...I asked this girl out on a date
No money had I made of late
With no job prospects for quite a while

Had her drop me off at the grocery
Proceeded to stuff sardines down my jeans
We were going to picnic it up in style

The whole time I had security
Keeping a watchful eye on me
Nabbed me as I stepped out of the door

Even grabbed the girl who was my date
She might have made a grave mistake
They say she was driving the get away car

We went before the hanging judge
Who wasn't much into showing love
Gave us each thirty days in county

I convinced them she was the master mind
I was a fool in love, didn't deserve the time
So they locked her up and set me free

Though it was our first date
And didn't seem to go the way
That it was I had it planed

I think that when she gets out of jail
And if she doesn't look like hell
I just might ask her out again...

When I was young
My mother hung
A dying man above my door
Upon a nail
Upon a nail
And I don't know what he was for

I was left alone, in shades of grey
White was cold and black was noisy
I could not hear the silence
And I could not see my sun
Wandering through the labyrinth
Surrounded by blank empty walls
Searching for new colors
I didn't know
Spend all my days dreaming
I imagined a story and then painted it on the walls
All shades of colors, patterns and swirls
Mesmerized by my creation
Caught up in a delusion
I had no clue
And I was still wandering through
At last one day
I found the door
I comprehend the attitudes now...