She’d walk up with all the graciousness of spilled paint
A glass of wine for a long day
Who has developed my room in sepia?
We’d missed the festival
Mixing in the kitchen, a flannel excitement
Why did we ever take that walk?
I’ll never know why
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
Every year I can’t comprehend another quarter
I anxiously await and loftily avoid the thought of-
Pounce on every forgetful ray to-
Release hot air in defiance of-
The sterile spray of the other side of the coin
The ashes born of Ares’ antithesis clings to my arm as if to slow me
Calm me-
Yawn me-
As if the earth longs to all together toss probability
Budgeting all the uncertainties of life
Finding stability in the isolation of population is what it seeks to do
And I am sure of it
I am one with it
And in my hatred all I view is the sky filled with static
Particles and the ever-certain participles scattering on my lawn
But it’s lonesome-
And how it is cold-
Without the midsummer clammer I find myself in scrutable control
I can’t rid my head of the pervasive interference
Is it no more than I can avoid that the-
I can’t absolve blame if the-
Equinox persuasion is the fray and rein of my of control?
Dec 31, 2020
Dec 31, 2020 at 2:03 AM UTC
misplaced, my intentions lay
a muddled sultry mess with the essence of my soul tied on
knotted and forlorn
nestled like bungee cords in the back of a suburban
the countless ambitions and insurmountable lows
they don’t treat me with focus
they cling and sink and surface in little moments
they fog my glasses and leave me empty, in a stupor
walking through any alleyway that beckons my name
it’s foreign to be misaligned with your conscious projection
someone put this out of sync
something left me out of frame
i’m pouring substance to smudge the scrawlings of a hallowed obsession
my autocratic, autobiographical TMZ
a drink to dull the sharpness of my critiques
a little remedy to sleep
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 1:23 PM UTC
Here I sit in beneath gypsum sky
Forgetful in a pitiless tomb
Laying upon an artificial knoll
I made this myself
My splintered hands crawling towards the latch in obdurate gesture
With the dismal resolve of my skeletal percussion
I made this myself
The pulse in my frame an uncertain litany
Tried torn from the brief and the certain
Not shy from a skip or a leap
I pry this myself
Unversed expression interrupted in speech
I crept down the moss extending decrepit tendrils
The treaties of dawn or a query of nebulous ambition
I pry this myself
I asked for your name in pinhole obscura
I called on your intrusive pest of a credit
I trusted your fallible cacophony divination
Maybe you have given it your all
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 3:34 AM UTC
Your eyes they felt, like a b i g l a k e
I had been failed, but now I a m p i n k
It reaches down and it counts o u t
the grain exhales, through your little hands
in the loose sand
We were one, when my m i n d rests
They can’t touch what I’ve never had
Your focus it felt, like a t r a n q u i l
A state I’ve never been
Our shoes were all, in the c l o s e t
you use the space to dance for them,
I n y o u r t r a n q u i l
Not unaccustomed, but I’d never been
and I l i k e i t
Jul 25, 2020
Jul 25, 2020 at 1:46 PM UTC
I’m full of trepidation,
I’m capricious and I’m tasteless
That’s me
that’s me
I can’t grasp their social incantations
I court them with my resignations,
honest only in our flirtations
That’s me
It seems
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 9:49 PM UTC
My mate has midsummer light and it’s filling his cup
He’s getting closer up with the spark
hugging soft sheets as we speak
My voice is dry and tired it sounds just like all the moans and squeaks
Sitting, touching wrinkled forehead and callused hands
Another warm beer will read my mind
Pouring golden over my pining cheeks
Somethings wrong here and it tries
and tries to hide but it leaks
Nov 6, 2019
Nov 6, 2019 at 12:12 AM UTC
The love of your life is out there
And probably overdosed on ******* ******
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 11:18 PM UTC
This is the last song
Taped up bodies and muted cars
This will be the last one
If I can swing the stick
I can’t be wrong
Hold me just a little tight
I need the takeout
The lawn is overdue,
earning sweeping bare feet
Fending off rain on neon nights
I’m looking for a pickup
One that can transcribe,
Vibrations uncanny
Senseless in my mind
I’m only a little open
And it’s my last song tonight
Take off the roof and pass me the moon
Let’s drive in the dark too far
I haven’t been moved in so long
But I feel it’s making up for lost time
Treat me and need me
Tonight’s song can wait for soon
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 11:12 PM UTC
A morning so bright it’s white at the edges
holds his head in aches washes away at the walls of the trenches
Just a boy in a cobbler shop playing to his muse
Sewing men’s threads and pulling at rubber souls
Feeling a needle is not as sharp as it is dull
A metallic rust foamed in his workman’s sink
A trinket lay silently where only he could think to keep
An afternoon so gloomy it’s ripe like sweet trifles
A cold front sleeping across humid drowsy tendrils
The treetops are trotted but not yet bare
The wind does not carry as much as it cares
A fermented love song torn in its callous drinks
The dream of the summer will fade in a week
A night so porous the skin yearns to breathe
The daily flick to an ashtray pins the beat of the city on a wreath
The street posts dare not glutton on as guidelines
The echoes don’t comfort as far as they try to hide
A pleasure in silent transfiguration of the dusk
A stalk so golden yet burdened to rot at the husk
Oct 21, 2019
Oct 21, 2019 at 3:04 PM UTC