i have come to believe in an astral rain
void of pain, sand-washed and bathed in chain;
from woodlands birthed.
empty hollow and arrow pierced navel
sever nurturing swallow bond,
still as kundalini pond - forgotten is this soul's bold pyre.
for distant fire closer now than e'er
regret older than thought which never,
alive in silence came - bolder taught and brighter.
my autodidact spirit lost;
some western breadth now more to east no cost
no woman nor man or beast in ahimsa feast.
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
Close in that I can feel you
but in membrane shroud
no seeing you;
In November beside English falls
at Christmas between coral walls
no seeing you.
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 5:41 AM UTC
The clock always shows 4:40.
Simple man rings out
High above thousands of
Twinkling lights; motorways scoring
Horizons.
Our time together is finite, the curtains drawn across fine grain wood -
Planks in three lengths -
The stage light sun extinguished.
Love to me is fame.
Placated rhythms atop vacant halls,
Four chambers capture
*********** phosphorus desire:
Compassion and feeling passed
Unlocked and bleeding.
I was once told, 'thinking does not mean feeling,' - but how can a feeling be interpreted in the absence of thought?
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 3:19 PM UTC
*Another morning
Blistering with iron self hate
'Dear, why must I wake?'*
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 3:54 AM UTC
Man wants the pistol fully loaded.
He wants the cool brushed steal,
the soft worn wood, the capacity for death.
Fearful of overcrowding - death loads a blank. A ***** with no ammo.
No power over life or strength in death.
All this I needn't worry; I favour the knife.
Life pours icy smoke from chalice lips
Coloured with the flag of every nation.
Daren't a silver bangle fall tearfully to the pistol - barrel in mouth, I fear no evil.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 3:38 AM UTC
I saw you, I heard you.
Today on a screen my future appeared all black, white, and grey.
Nothing at first but bubbles of contrast
swells of innards and technology.
But then I saw you.
Your bones a beautiful highlight,
Our blood; flutters of movement -
Head bowed the two of us saw through your mind.
And then I heard you.
Pounding spikes, white rhythm on black.
Tiny pump like a machine blinking -
My own heart beating faster.
Alive and real, your beat fills the room and echoes through blank pages and clean slates, into empty homes or ones not yet built, cries out in the night with warm comfort and soothing heat.
Now your likeness sits in my pocket
Until the day we meet.
Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
I busted my ******* hand and it wasn't because we fought -
Only because I couldn't handle the manifestation of my paranoia.
Now it hurts when I wipe my *** or lift my dog, meniality becoming a master task.
A reflection of me that isn't me passes by with a strong stewed vegetable smell. My dark green sweatshirt rigged into the main grid of the city; its fibres and style backstreets and pulsing.
Not like I don't recollect who I am anymore after never knowing - visions of a man's head being crushed under train wheels giant and rusted foaming and screeching with primal rage, confettied brain matter explodes like a firework across blackened earth; children will investigate the remains with sticks.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
Microspasmic and ethereal heavenly chords flow inside the avenues and walk ways walled in by different expanses of grey, a monochrome city.
If you have time to stand on the escalator I envy you; dread your existence and pity you on a Friday morning when everything is more quiet.
Hot sweat growing on my back, my fear and financial disparity exploding on my skin. Fresh roasted coffee beans and legs that prove endless and soft descending from a pink comforter.
I walk through the streets in the uncomfortable light of a September morning when the world struggles and it's health declines, but the light of winter is more pure - a planet bathed in cathartic light.
I never forgot how you looked on those mornings when it was colder - your face a faded navy in a morning still wrapped in night. The fire escape and scaffolding like bones that hold up our bodies and the life that applies pressure to the structure.
Akin to the city you are beautiful in the morning, alive in the day, joyous and free in twilight; restless in sleep. I've found a deep rhapsody in the smile that accompanies your perfume; stepping over a single crushed flower and someone's children sleeping on the street.
A sugary leak in and a vengeful glance his way, thirty-eight hour torment. Sitting upright in the bath with your phone resting on the edge waiting for a response, conversation boiled down to a pictorial exchange of genitals: horror that your **** isn't big enough, trepidation that your ****** isn't neat enough.
Tuesday saw you take that leap into forever, you come back up once you've drowned. Skin to match your nails. A train derails inside you; a man is stabbed to death. I'm awake and it's real and my bones are filled with molten fire which spits out of compound fractures to my ego.
A cup of water.
Nitroglycerin collar.
Sep 3, 2016
Sep 3, 2016 at 8:29 AM UTC
Today I spotted
a disfigured man
by the lake.
His right hand
in a soiled
bandage loosely tied.
Left eye missing -
I dared not
uproot his repose.
I feared for
him so frail,
Beside black water.
Today I spotted
a disfigured man
aboard a train.
Earphone hung from
melted plastic ear,
does he listen?
He smells foul
and looks unblinking -
a commuting ghoul.
What station can
such a man
find his home?
Today I spotted
a disfigured man
at dinner alone.
His teeth rotten
with gums bleeding -
drinking soup slowly.
Waxy red blood
staining cheap napkins
He doesn't care.
An omnipresent reminder
that no man
survived a week.
Sep 1, 2016
Sep 1, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
Forget about glass that holds out the
world
Imagine the bone that bares a mind,
Can a room harbour its own universe –
Or contain a flowing galaxy of despair
drifting
Endless because of tremendous torment
Liquidity of the walls, floor, contents; it.
Green vines cling to consciousness and
tighten
At the slightest inclination of anything –
-
Less than a sickening sense of sublime
divinity
Which is unattainable to it; it is not what it deserves.
Aug 1, 2016
Aug 1, 2016 at 7:54 AM UTC