The light is racing from our room,
seeping through the cracks under the door.
The darkness grows,
casting us into shadow.
but all things including light die in the end
utterances in the small places of my dark mind
lend themselfs to such times
i would not suffer to pass
the hour without bringing forth all the angers
and mettlesome ways that confound you
the smokes rakes against my mind,
hiding me behind my eyes.
The truth came calling
along with the clock's toll,
but who among us could answer such an ominous cry?
When the hours between midnight
and 4 am are so unforgiving.
i am filled with tears
until i can bear no more
your words kiss my mind
and i cannot return this tenderness
for it would turn to love
i am waiting these hours
in the desolate towers of cold
for the rescue of dawn
but it gives little comfort
were that i could reach out to you
but i dare not
i dare not


Edit et al:           Collaboration Poem written by alyssainwonderland (http://hellopoetry.com/-alyssainwonderland/) and I (Mark John Junor); alyssainwonderland contributions are in italics

my laughing is a sign of panic
due to the indigestible actions;
the piercing made me vomit.

slowing down to an interlude;
the interest is waiting patiently
for you to make your way through.

destruction of self is a bar fight:
joining in those actions isn't on
my schedule this evening, nor
shall it be for as long as I can help
myself from myself, in the reflections
of fear that are so often transparent
when I find myself surrounded by
those who only wish to forget.

the forgetting is what forces me to focus.

crowds are a collective of nervousness
and a strangely large number of people
who refuse to be honest because they're
trying to hide the fact that they care about
what every set of eyes has to think, and the
self-centered inner voice
that thinks they actually care
about what they themselves are doing,
or look like.
the sad and beautiful truth is that people
are too worried
about themselves to think of anyone else.

unbearable pain has lift the veil from my eyes.
Oh, God of gods I see thee now.
You care neither for worship nor tribute
nor songs of praise.
As the faithful lie huddled in rags
So do butchers sleep in beds of finery.
Still, I know you by the covenant you keep;
"I am the lord thy God and thou shalt die".

For it is death, not faith that you demand.
and not man's love, but his rotting flesh
that satiates you.
0mnipotent,
0mniscient,
0mnipresent,
celestial being.
unbearable pain has lift the veil from my eyes.
and I see your true form -

God is a maggot.

There he goes skulking low.
Snake in tall grass.
There I see yellow tinged eyes
peeking hungrily from the weeds.

Ah ha.I saw him again out back behind silo number seven
Hey. There he goes again.
Slippery little sneak.

Up that hickory tree.   See claw marks on the trunk
High and low you have to know that the Devil is in
the details

...on this Saturday afternoon there is a street fair in Greenwich,
You step off the 1 train at Christopher Street station and all along 7th Avenue,
the little sidestreets, Bowery, Commerce, give me that old Dutch sensibility
Street vendors and street people eating, laughing, trying on five dollar leather clogs
On a day that is slightly drizzling, we pause to consider the trees

In a flash I understand the world you come from when you say you normally stay on the East side of Lower Manhattan, you start counting the colors on the street and ask where all the Spanish people at?

there is this reversal, a turnaround, a recognition in me that binds me to you, when I realize you can teach me how to be young and dance with my hips, when I know that you can give me what I've craved for so long, freedom-the opportunity to face all my fears- and the chance to be a wild thing. I am nineteen, for the love of God, and I never got the chance to rage and abandon all cerebral intelligence and just live in the realm of the senses! But for now, I'll settle for to know myself better and to live without apology-but of course, there is a certain fear with taking that step and giving all of myself to you.

Yet I find myself considering it as we walked with your arm around my shoulders and my hands on an eight dollar bag of Swedish candy. I know you know the effect you have on people, other women especially, I see the way they eat you up with their eyes. But then again I'm only beginning to notice the same kind of attention from men as I walk down the street-though I owe that to you too, giving me enough confidence in my body-to sway a little bit more.

And the fact that you repeat thoughts and ideas that have been constantly looping in my own mind makes me believe we are on the same wavelength. Like when the lights suddenly flickered off on the train and you glanced up at me and said how much you love it when that happens? Goddamn, it sent my head spinning.

And now we are together, supposedly. But of course I always keep in the back of my mind the possibility that everything you are is a lie and you could wake up one day and say I don't want you anymore and just walk out my life with both hands in your pockets.

If that happened now, I could say fuck you and move on.

But if I love you the way I want to love you and the way I long to be loved, all of that mind body spirit crap, a piece of me would just break and float away forever.

I guess that's a risk I might have to take one day, and I find myself considering it as we race each other to get burritos and later on I flick some water in your face and you just stare at me with a faint smile on your lips. So, at this moment, I am too much with you. It scares me when I think of what I might feel for you, and so I am on the edge of a precipice here-wondering whether or not to run with you.

grandpas eyes:
where the war
is still being faught

Where the sky is as blue as CG special tinting reality to a sharpened point.

The seas are. As warm as the womb.AMNIOTIC shock when I dive in.
I can smell beauty in the cool trade winds. My god made paradise here
Carried it away to parts unknown.
My god.

My lover set me free many years ago but I never returned to her tender
Arms. I had forgotten her charms even while laying in her four post bed and running my hands slowly over silken skin. The thrill was gone.

She is forgiving
                       She looks at me with eyes that glisten.
In the starlight. But time is not my ally.
Soon I think she will deny me.
A lover scorned.

old makeup spilled on my floor
dirty clothes strewn on my floor

You can hardly see the carpet for all the clothes carelessly being trodden on. Blue holiday lights are strung around the mirror. I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger on a new, thousand dollar laptop, slick-as-a-whistle, paid with a swipe. For the past six months, I have had less than four hundred combined checking and savings, and that number dwindles by the day. I have no groceries, but I've got fistfuls of orange prescription bottles, and I was handing pills out like candy (but they are needed, much and every day).

Where did all these bills come from?
Suddenly, it costs money to breathe.

Eating? Oh pshaw, that costs money, and the store's six blocks away.

I pout on my throne of dirty cotton, thinking I get what I ask for, when I ask, and it always comes--at a price! It's always over a hundred dollars more than I could spare and brings bad luck, moreso than a couple broken mirrors would, even if they were smashed over a the back of your mother's black cat.

"Quick! Let's do designer drugs with the paltry change given by our parents! I wouldn't feel like I wasn't nothing, nothing at all," I say, batting my eyelashes, "Wouldn't they feel proud of our feelings of entitlement to the greater things in life and consciously responsible adult-like decisions?"

I crack open my father's checking account with the swipe of a magnetic strip,
it makes me seem responsible when he sees I just use it for pills and foodstuff.

(I prove I love him and he loves me this way)

Now, together, we will buy strawberries with his money,
they must be four dollars, at the very least, then we eat like the bourgeoisie (!)

I kiss the cheeks of my reflection in the bathroom
tousling my hair, tipsy, as I touch up my face by
licking the tips of eyeliner up like a cat's little tail,
the ends of eyes, coated with eyeliner as black as
my tightest velvet pants and dark, dark heart.

We go together.

You should move to a big city
and I'll come call, prepaid, with
a voice that is thick and ripped,
chattering of sugar-white beaches
as I cross the seas all on a plane,
all the while drunk on red wine,
twirling my fingers around, with
bags under eyes, a little anemic

(I think it adds to the glamour)

We will go out to a dimly lit place
We will go out dancing then after

I will put on dab perfume under my ears and on my wrists,
I will wear black tights for pants, but first, do a little cocaine
and you will fasten the clasp on my silver necklace tonight,
while I smoke, before helping me put on my favorite fur

And we will go see Andy, at the factory
I hear he's doing something
with that Basquiat fellow (!)

I will go follow false luxuries, come with me.
I will gamble with you in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas,
just as long as you pay my rent at $695 per month,
until I die, or something else.

Cheeks hollowing out. Eyes burning white over black.
Uniqueness fading to pinpoints,
Then pfting out like the embers of candles.
LIGHT IN THE DARK