The day sets sudden into summer shimmering
blind beasts patchy and lost
wander hopelessly along the tarmac trails of rubber foot caravans.
My mind races rancid thoughts forward
the winner takes all
that winter melancholy waving funeral flags at the finish line.
I'll bite down my teeth on the metal masculinity
and taste holiday nostalgia:
fireworks just past dusk,
that mixture of sulfur and black powder,
I can't keep on like this,
knees shaky from miles measured in ruby minutes.
I'll eat this city whole,
carbon emission load before my final marathon.
These teeth will shine down like symmetrical clouds in the sky
my mad mans brittle grin.
I used to wish:
for finer living in laps of luxury;
for nights wrapped in silk, sweat, shine, and infamy;
for heavens gates to open pearly white to golden streets for me.
Those days have lost their charm
beaten dreams that bellied up
and showed their starving guts.
Submitted and laid down
with their tails tucked between legs
and panting for mercy
my dreams play bottom bitch to reality's sadistic hand.
As for now;
Hope I can hold the fire in my hand
to burn my life and this city to the ground
the pile of ashes will bare no souls return.
That silent hour,
I want to be alone and involved
in the fashion of dogs.
I'll wander off alone to the trees.
My brittle ribs showing
the silent cage of my black and tired heart.
The trees will whisper their names to me
as my spirit shakes their shining leaves in rising.
Goodbye you lion;
your angel face was as quiet as ever,
slack and pale under a harvest moon.
Lying dormant with it's sleepy memories,
Profound nostalgia burns in the bonfire.
Memories rise and ride on autumn wind,
Their heavy, smokey smell is addictive.
I inhale, try to detect and relive them.
I exhale, frustrated at having failed.
The fog that has descended upon my mind
Is permanent, solid, like the shadow of a conifer.
Why are my heartstrings plucked
Like leaves off trees, when autumn creeps?
My own memories have fallen victim
To autumnal decay.
when I reminisce about
the recollections that stand out
above all the rest
as the most important
the remembrances that call to me
louder than all the others
to retain my attention again
the memories that are painted
in the most vivid colors
to recall my mind's eye
are always of those times
when I've made you
just like that
the laugh I love the most
where it seems to almost
burst out of you
as if you couldn't hold it in
even if you'd wanted to
where your eyes crinkle up
the way they do when you're about
and your blood rushes to your face
rushes to greet me
and you become my favorite
shade of pink
just like that
you're at your most beautiful
how many times now
have I made you
made your body rebel
against your will
made you shake
that left you sore
and gasping for breath?
Not nearly enough
for of all the ways
I can please you
for of the whole range of choices
I have at my disposal
to make you shudder
in uncontainable joy
there is not one that returns to me
half as much delight
nor conveys half as much
of my desire
nor expresses half as much
of my love
as does the Gift
of getting to hear you laugh
until you are entirely
In the dark
for the shimmer of your eyes,
flashing bloody blue
in the subtle clatter of night.
For the echo of your wild laugh.
The thunder of your heart.
I sniff the air,
for scents disappearing
like the wind dancing away just out of embrace.
I look for you amidst the deeper dark,
the blades of grass,
and the soft rain of starlight.
I hunt for you.
For you blood.
And my fangs are bared,
catching the glimmer of
the swollen moon.
I hear your feet
skipping off the stones.
I imagine your sleek fingers carefully bending stalks,
delicately plucking petals
so that I might continue to follow after you
elusive but not vanishing,
escaping but in slow ballet.
I hunt for you,
my memories of you
which slip through my fingers,
like shadows fading into the dark.
I look at the Earth
to notice a dandelion
with it's sagging muted yellow mane,
bent in an unnatural way.
Then I look up at the moon.
seatbelt clicks felt like a warning more than safety
god's booming voice
yelling i can kill you, i can click my fingers
his hands reaching through the clouds to choke me for sinking when i could swim
if i wanted to badly enough.
but i can't really feel it anyway
i could feel anything if i let myself
if i wanted to badly enough
i'm lying just outside of a world i could probably face
if i wanted to badly enough.
im a little girl lying under sheets until i feel light and lights hitting little fingertips.
until i want light badly enough
I want to mow the grass in your heart
so maybe weeds will stop growing in the chambers.
I see how your breath is interrupted sometimes, you hiccup
out of an intoxicating sadness
mall fountain no one tosses their dimes and wishes in.
I bought you a set of those antique hairbrushes, hand mirrors
so heavy in their silver lace
beautiful like doilies or handkerchiefs for sneezing.
May it bring you silkworms rather than one from slimy earth.
Dear you, it can be okay not to talk about
how you feel and who you love and why you love me
as long as you feel it, please know that I believe it is there.
It can be okay to brush your hair looking into a vanity,
pretending that I am your lover overseas
because you feel that way
vines as big as the Berlin Wall block your heart from mine.
And still, we love
despite the wasp nest, the sadness bugs inside.
She looked so sweet but she had black eyes
That charming little smile was surprisingly sly
An innocent act she continued to play
There was never a rumor, for there was nothing to say
She constantly, craftily, stole the upper hand
Guilefully cunning, appearing offhand
Triumphant she was when her deception succeeded
Prancing away from the hate that she seeded
Her friends were like puppets, their fate she controlled
A friend to no end, when she spoke she cajoled
She listened wide-eyed, and blinked in surprise
She was begged to help, and begged to chastise
So she fixed the stories in her own way
Discarding the remnants, displayed to decay
Contented and sprightly she talked very lightly
So sweetly and sightly she left ever brightly.
And now you know of the girl with black eyes
With that charming smile that's ever so sly
So don't be fooled by her false disposition
Otherwise, you will find
in a most
It's beautiful, beaneath the stars and giant cliffs
Upon a sandy shore so soft, the cool silkiness is like a kiss
On tired, worn feet that stroll without haste
As the hot, humid night pales in breezes
Trailing the bold colored silk of her sundress behind her
Silhouetting her form against shining waters
And a bright, enormous moon resting as though sleeping
He watches silent from a place in the trees
This woman he covets though he doesn't even know her name
Every night she does walk, alone down the shores
But tonight would be different
He walked towards the shadowy form
We got the ocean breeze and the seven seas.
humming birds and buzzing bees
plant's and creatures
the beauty features .
farmers armer's and those midnight charmers
we have food not hard to search for,
kids who have to line at church door's
there'e are stores to by our sneekers others off to be a tweeker.
we get clean drinks with out no kinks it's the U.S.A with out no pay.
with a clean head, and a nice bed.
some call it lucky to live in a shed...
a different country roomate with a monkey ,
roof made of hay the dirt bed a lay.
we live like survivors , we search for our dinners , how is it made to be u.s.a winners?
with you're cool cars and movie stars,
you get ocupied ,
and well supplied...
what a cool plate i'd wish for in fate
you have you're singers we eat with our fingers.
you roll those dice and hope for some nice,
lets go find dinner and cope with some rice....
Look who's at bat and serving at war,
you're lifes just so hard with you're one choor.
I want MY MONEY!!!
thats shit's just funny...
_---Look at this world--
with a breef glance ,
Think of it more then some school dance.
I’m a running kind of guy
Hopping through Bombay smoke with an open palm grasping
every cloud with my fingertips gripping
Nothing but air a
Fine man photographing
Tequila sunrises to send to his beloved waiting
Endlessly by the shore and he just
Can’t see why her phone is dropping drenched
Like his throat
(he only drinks when he wants to)
When the right time strikes never
Checks the time unless the hands hold wine and
Light his cigarette
A normal fuck
Bumming rides and piling nickels thinking
The essence is different if
Spelled in french a
Running freight train aiming
For the hill for
No one knows his name he’s
Alive kicking and
Through the night and
Crying in the morning when
He lies sweaty and
Watches the sun rise says
Fuck sex to his shadow
And turns around
Just an asshole
Enjoying his shitty life