Minimize unsociable souls
into popular candy bite sized
for a digestible comprehensive cycle
to churn out a simplified phrase from the guts.
Sep 8, 2022
Sep 8, 2022 at 3:07 AM UTC
A prophetic stick of dynamite
foretold to reach the foregone explosion
gather around the candle-wick, quick witted-jack jump over it
"ooh" and "ah" gape your maw, carefully crafted calculated words form contusions
reaching overhead, knocking sand off top shelves into children's eyes, bygone conclusions
by then, intrusions, no body is no death, no life to who then,
disappear, do this my dear, love is crystal clear,
sharp and a danger unto itself and others here
or so it's said, nearness muffled, deafens ears
hear their leers, squelching placed eyes
let's pry them then, with crow at left and crow at right
let's blind them, and with crowbar test who gods and poets are
let's prey upon and bind them
those who need us to pray to and find them
the masses of maggots writhing in writing that defined them
set a silver place at this table drenched in mercurial gilden-laden falsity before the great stuffed pig with poison apple in mouth;
let's dine then.
Sep 7, 2022
Sep 7, 2022 at 4:07 PM UTC
How many doors, unlocked by the keys
upon the belt of the old chapel *****
lead to stained glass memories,
now seen clearly, scenes that color "happy"
as "nothing bad is happening"
with light brush stroke through a prism
all things on a spectrum, the abacus of reality
filtered through perspective, subject to change
it feels divine, the aura of decay
how slowly it eats away, no more doors lead anywhere
but astray, how much further can loss penetrate
until all that's left to sink teeth into and bite is dust,
and that is the substance of character that one has, for one must
ash, in the mouths of babes, to and fro,
remember this was a happy place, sour note, a bleak ray
or can you know?
A dog in the church, unafraid and untame
on all fours barking mad, a man only in name
stay away, go away, get back, ruination, rumination
alienation, safety, isolation, redemption, penance
lush paradise, barren desolation
how many keys unlock the doors of perception,
how strange is the mind of a mutt, weakened by hunger
frothing with rabies, barely standing and bare from mange.
Sep 6, 2022
Sep 6, 2022 at 6:51 PM UTC
Sweet, lucid juices drip from these serrated edges
all the lights have gone out and curtains drawn
who knows what is going on inside?
A melon ball of diplomacy
patterns digging inward
turning that high powered insight inside
on itself, silence
lambs
peering out from inside it's like staying
in a cell, dog's plaintiff echoes incite violence
in this tin can,
eyes that take pieces of people with them
homunculus bandages of clay for the sick man
alchemical alteration of self, ****** makeup,
perhaps a heavier concealer-
holes crop up on the surface of goosebump plumped flesh
hairs rise to the chilling presence with dew fresh on the peaks
like grass in the idyllic morning, sweaty from anxious anticipation
shivering pale beneath, with fever wherever the gaze lands
in a suit of armor, naked before the examination of telescopic pupils
studious at the altar of presence, something to behold
invert the reflection and make the world right
let the mirror swallow whole what you don't see looking back
fill in the gaps of being human by taking the traits away from observation
that trapped inside this social sensory deprivation standing torture chamber
the iron man or maiden has come to lack.
Sep 6, 2022
Sep 6, 2022 at 9:00 AM UTC
Architecture laid in the grimoire
a sketchbook of arcane blueprints
many-storied towers rising from the dust of time
and nothing, achieving the sky and ending abruptly
heads in the clouds, the end of the road
wish one might, with all their might
if only this could last forever
self-denied, glossy-eyed atop the height
that this red-yarn spun network is so delicate
tight-rope walking between two peaks
strumming the chord, straining the balance
giving and taking, waning, below there is the promised "never"
that fantasy of love, commitment to an institution
on either side are all the concrete hardships built by hand
that simmer on low, splitting hard lines in the spitting demands
letting go is easier than falling into the lurch to never know;
to forget, what it was like to be on solid land, fate tangled with arteries
in the roadmap that constructs the bustling cities, severed
a streetsweeper assigned to come and flood the needy
cleanse all these structures, hollow out all desire,
empty of trust they mean less and grow higher,
safe havens, home for multiples of two ravens
craven, warm by a trash fire, art deco lobbies and grandeur
gilded foyers, all signs point to something deeper, the surface of a liar
guarantees, contracts, no demolition, decay slow and crumble
no fault of the construction, blame time, the equation is out of our hands
it all comes together, separates and rises individually to its pinnacles, then falls apart slowly;
all according to plan.
Sep 4, 2022
Sep 4, 2022 at 8:35 AM UTC
Behold, you tower of imminent collapse
obscure, picturesque obelisk
dishonest monolith, ironic cairn stone
call yourself behemoth, you mammoth
an affront to the primordial gods
who stir this civilized cauldron and lick the soup bone
how you've metastasized, between two lines
so very fine, you walk the edge of Occam's own
what with the sticks and mud and rocks
brass and iron locks airtight, you cut this Pangea into pie
cover the faces of your clocks and walk away upright
with your cute, morbid curios of olde
the missing link- frozen somewhere in the Arctic cold
carnival amusements for your half-pennies, hay-pennies, hayseeds
you pay, a slithering mass observes your compassion on display
tailing the predicted demise of a cosmic appraisal spans Twain the temporary sun
massive panic in the wake of this poisonous gas from fireball's past
that with held breath, eyes do not turn away
The hairless ape is cleansed of knuckle-dragging to the bipedal standpoint by,
baptismal in a pool perfectly still, reflecting back the boundless stars of a frontier sky
as calm beneath the surface as the shuddering, shimmering lake
a soul can search throughout all time in that most restful sleep;
and be unable to keep everything it has learned once it is finally awake.
Aug 30, 2022
Aug 30, 2022 at 10:16 AM UTC
Readers scour the white pebble beach when the tide rolls in that certain way
frothy, black as calligraphy ink still drying on the page beneath the sun mid-day
collecting omens on the rocks to declare the future or omni-present fortune
heel, toe, stained with a skeptic life your sky-blue silk and black bristles
carry along over the landscape like a paintbrush, leaving a thin red line
the murky tide of fortune is high
A goat dances on its hind legs the kagura in the traditional garb of the Miko
with his foreign tongue hanging long from his foaming mouth and horned head
wildly speaking of heresies yet to come and blaspheming in manners not invented
unaccompanied, the brush approaches this desecration of all sense standing
with hobbled feet from the miles of prophesied shore that never foretold its coming
to stare it eye-to-eye, without kneeling, as soon as the demoted kami locks eyes
the dance stops, the tide itself stops and begins to roll backwards, recoiling from the land
where this thing has set foot
Clots in the thick, wooly fur of the beast form first, revealing the reversal
dry death rolls wetly backwards up the throat into a long cut,
near severance of the head, a fountain erupts from the terrain in four pillars
all flowing back into the eyes, nostrils and mouth of the goat
without revealing the terror or flailing away, she stands witness to it
stalwart with stoic determination and faith, nothing can deter her
unnatural as it may be, the loosely hanging fit of the Miko fall to the ground
a bleating animal stands on all fours, and leads her into a temple of white ash
high up in the thin air and snow of the mountains, where there is only the unwritten of the pale to behold
with only the trail of her long spindling fate behind her,
and not a natural thing occurs beyond the Kami's gate where they meet
and nothing good can happen once she was drawn to the dance
now a queen in ice, bloodless for all her love given
loveless for all her love given, godless, faithless
and alone.
Aug 28, 2022
Aug 28, 2022 at 3:32 PM UTC
Through a golden-amber hue of softened rays of dawn
with a hint of butterscotch rising on the baked back
gently hardening in the warmth, naked silk spun outstretched
reeled into a statuette, naked and glowing eyes half-open to a yawn
seemingly as innocent in her natural state as an unapproached fawn
she wraps herself in robes, descending from her attic
each step down seemingly brings right now closer
until the morning-do of Artemis in Eden is gone
by noon she is a toiling man in the den
by night he lays decay beneath his feet with every further step along
down the gravel drive, back up the lush and grassy lawn
leaving frost where her hair like wheat, ran all the way down to her heels
and touched the blades in days beyond,
a trail, tread, treacherous and dead lays cold in the steps
that lead up and down, where a rapturous child's laughter resounds
in harmony with a christening of an affair between the soul of man and a bitter hound
there, surrounded by the crickets, cicadas, and all the nightlife in the air
nothing on the property square, as if to suggest this were cleared by forces in nature
a hallow, or hallowed ground?
Once she whispered into his ear as he sat in the dark, uninterred
and even as stoic as he was, the closeness is what stirred
her hands were his or his were hers,
merciless and precious, left and right, run the fawn
they were disturbed by the conclusions that were drawn
roaming back and forth from night to day, lingering over the middle as the sun
mother giving birth and raising man to father daughter to give birth to mother
the loading of life into death, six bullets into a the six chambers of a loaded gun
the romance of morning blended with the fear of these nocturnal goings-on,
walking hand in hand with a shape in shadow, never to understand there was always only one.
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 6:40 PM UTC
Kitty lands on her feet
hairs stand high on end
little jagged bolts of gray never
euphoria in pheromone form
she rubs against a promise
her sweet little head perks up
with a purr
pointed ghost-grail ears cup
beneath the palm that rests on her
a shield from eight loves and one life
the kitten's tiny heart warms cur
whose cold body, hunched over the curb
draws thinly the visage of a flicker
a humming streetlight heads over
to the warm allure
joining pattering rain
keeping he rhythm against a dumpster
raspy breath lends itself to the bleak ensemble
leaning on the point of knees, lullaby rock to sleep
fall over, into the pavement on the street
a ninth love seeps, the scenery itself
busted bottom rusted dumpster and fading light
emaciated, mewing turning to a sad soliloquy
of a crumpled heart atop a wet and smushed cigarette
the lamp goes out on time with the city, and the gutter takes the body
but the kitty visits the grave, warmly cuddling in the chilling palm of its friend yet.
Aug 25, 2022
Aug 25, 2022 at 6:40 PM UTC
On a night where the wind was dry and arid
coming off a summer day of rain that left the surrounding woodlands humid
trees sticky to the touch, their red-brown bark left dark by the torrential downpour
now it seemed a clearing gave way in unnatural air
everything within the radius, dry and hot as sand in the desert there
not one wet blade of grass nor trampled twig
not even morning dew graced flowers that blossomed outside the huts
on the occasional sprig
in the center of this drought stood a lone tower, only a head taller than the tallest buildings
and still not as tall as the mighty trees beyond the surrounding woods
wherein lived a fell and gnarled creature, once human
who long ago had communed with magick forces for a wicked bloodprice
cursed to hold the borders of this meager keep against all life for its lifetime thrice
With a flourish they walked across these loose dirt roads
a dress laden with intricate gold against green cotton and silk
inlayed against such decorated, attentive details it seemed
with every rise and fall of the ***** that it covered to take on its own life
with every step and slightest breeze, to dance away from the wearer
a ghost trapped, tethered to the vain spirit of flesh that owned it
who's to say if a mason saw this, a bricklayer, the architect or some knight-errant
who had settled, no, in fact it can't have been the Knight-errant
Ser Hobbe was he, of barrel chest and light armor, with the club and leather shield to match
his manners, errant not to court a maiden, though the beauty enchanting him lived
and breathed, life into a person wearing her, the Garment of Green and Gold
Trees fell as the well-traveled road from the castle felt farther away, and well supplied
the people settled a village, small, in a reasonable clearing near to a river
with plentiful game and resources, intending to make it larger by calling upon workers
once they had established a safe foothold there and a system of order approved by monarchy
which lent itself to the tower rising, one floor first.
Housing the nobility, some cousin or other related to king and queen who lived weeks away
they stood in the barren home, admired the hearth and stone, then ordered it as if the earth itself would stand on command
to "rise" and "make it greater"
with only a crew of few able-bodied guardsmen sworn on their honor to the noble blood,
and all but two working at their behest, it became a setting for a coup in this development
Two stories. Another half or third, not quite as full and even as the first that housed who became known as the Wizard
though they are unknown themselves, only that the nobility found them and enticed them
took them in, and they were witnessed by Ser Hobbe, who was sworn into their service
no longer errant, now a Knight of their blood, promised the garment and its possessor in return
as though he were retaining a corpse that had been stolen from his care on the way to a proper burial,
as soon as Ser Hobbe was permitted this price, he took it in fashion,
the Wizard, an advisor on alchemical things, medical and magick to the nobility
it is speculated, was there in service to offer assistance to an ailing noble
be it the wife or husband, it has never been known, but in what became the attic
that incomplete, roofed over, third of a story that was itself the third floor
they were established themself, a center to operate
it is said that for months following the completion of the Tower
neither Ser Hobbe nor the Wizard were anything but venerable to anyone
anywhere in Ford-Moore
A ritual, tongue dipped to the root in ink for that
captures the essence of the wronged whose voices cannot speak
with curses that run as deep as their entire life, the heavy iron-gall
burnt wood mixed by mortar and pestle poured over the throat
and words in a language of blood-magick druids of highest orders have long forgot
whispered loudly the gallows-making cost onto these thatched-hut pigs to slaughter
that was heard and incomprehensible, as birds fled from trees, deer were scared towards people
rabbits hopped, and rain fell with heavy, pounding, driving, blinding force and fog
encircling the lot, an ancient voice that can only be conversed in once for the cost of two lives
one taken to make the poultice in preparation to receive the knowledge, and another to be the bearer of the power
every word symbiotic with something human eyes look upon and hear, but to listen and see a mortal mind cannot
one of the nobles, never know why or which, enacted the toll on the other and inherited the Tongue of Rot
it is said then that first the Wizard was alerted, and that Ser Hobbe was second to know
both quartered in the Tower, the Wizard scrying saw madness and sensed Hobbe
who was gripped by the fell Green Garment, as he wandered through the hall below
bursting through the seems of that cursed thing he sought,
his face stained with a pleasant, warm grin and the blood of the maiden owner, he faced the Wizard over the dining table
two dead nobles mere rooms away, Ser Hobbe an unwitting champion had an unshielded mind to the plot
with his might and club he was as formidable as the Wizard was, and they did not smell blood in the air before they fought
Rain fell so heavily there was no passage to or fro
no matter, as wandering forth from the Tower came a sinister glow
and all that is surely known is the faces of the dead then after, were contorted with the look of an everlasting nightmare and woe
they said for three times the natural life of anyone, as long as they walked past Ford-Moore East, if the sun was low
you could still see the sparks inside the tower from the battle raging, and feel the presence of all the residents warning you death awaited beyond the border; wise children and men regarded the wives' tale not to go.
Aug 20, 2022
Aug 20, 2022 at 2:11 PM UTC