The monumental image of this memory depicts
half of a man.
What makes this image monumental
is the unspoken truth
behind strong, naked feet
dancing and
kicking up dust
on top of a soap box.
Unshakeable emotions
warp this memory's
crowd of many
nameless faces,
pinching cheeks into malice
for a few,
long hours.
These malicious expressions may
be the result of the dust storm
filling in the blanks
for lots of people
collectively trying to ignore something.
Authorities have concluded that time
cannot heal a wound
if the hourglass has cracked,
so,
the memory goes on,
amassing
confusion, chaotically
like this television screen
showcasing half of a man
dancing
on top of a soapbox.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 3:09 PM UTC
Love is
being sick with anticipation;
a stomach full of Egyptian Cobras
vainly strangling and devouring the Mexican Monarchs' reign.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
Resonating senseless
necessity,
percussive impulses;
floods of excess
skimming the surface.
That mysterious lust of gods
where the denouement begets the beginning.
Oh, majestic sweetheart,
let me have my indulgences.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 5:47 PM UTC
Has it been a long time since I've thrown myself into the fire,
since I've kindled the flames with my flesh,
until I was the burning.
My softness would dance,
flit, and keep the night warm
until the deepest parts of me were glowing embers.
Would I slowly burn out
as phoenix ashes cleansing rebirth.
Maybe the kindling is wet,
or smothered,
suffocating in warm memories;
smouldering passion.
I know flames are silent,
stealing life from anywhere,
grasping at the chance to be heard.
The noise,
hypnotic,
and never enough to be satisfied by.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 5:45 PM UTC
Black mountain fingers push
***** toes,
birds, feathers, and native flora.
Suppose the babe was feral;
backwoods tempered, under tall trees,
stinging knees;
nature's reparation.
Steamy soil,
encrusted, permanently, under twisted fingernails.
Green-as-envy rain,
natural,
beat,
gone with the tree swallow's cry;
easy sleep.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 5:43 PM UTC
Shattered glass, amass.
Sharp edges.
In a broken home,
the shingles fall at will.
And I, you, my love,
I'll suffer the blue siding.
Stained and weathered,
burned and scarred;
the tired bodies strewn across the yard.
A broken home to poetry,
and poetry to lust,
and love lives in the memories,
to melodies,
to dust.
It's those eyes I'll never trust, but I do love to see them there
Chanting, don't open that door,
we've been there before,
we've muddied the floor.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
Smoky walks the tracks.
Forty paces on the green mile.
Death row.
But Smoky's not afraid.
Black as night, and growing darker
with every step.
Smoky's black eyes aflutter and spark
and notice an elm tree,
so twisted,
it's strangling itself
with rough skin, brown as the dirt it stole it's life from.
The twisted elm watches, but cares not for Smoky's fate.
Smoky wears a robe stained with storm clouds.
With every step he takes, the gravel beneath him ripples.
No doubt, he could walk on water,
not like the son of God,
but, rather,
a water skeeter, light and agile,
with a zen-like lack of interest.
Smoky walks the tracks.
The train is coming.
Smoky steps out of the way,
and continues his trek.
Keeping his cool.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 6:21 PM UTC
Winter leaves a trace of frostbitten memories.
Don't speak to me of spring,
without closure.
A winter romance is not a summer fling.
When I ask her for warmth
she hands me a dying man
who won't make it through the season.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 3:40 PM UTC
I dream
dark and quietly
They bellow,
the twisted sighs of laborers
adrift a midsummer's lullaby,
because their eyes are a collage of uncertainty
I want to scatter them,
find them washed up on a desolate shore,
uncork them
decode the message inside,
The monarch's sea ebbs
black and thick and drips
on a satellite,
a power struggle between stillness
and the busy orbit of our minds.
All the sin the king commits
is revealed in the innocent, sapphire tears
of his children,
dampening his shadow.
Youthful hearts aflame, chasing illusions,
They won't challenge the stories,
not anymore.
We dream this night,
a never-ending cycle.
I feel us here
under the twisting tree of life,
any soul seeking nourishment from leaky roots:
We are your child's laughter.
We are your fear of death.
Let us dance upon your lilies,
let the flies handle the rest.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
We are the last song of Zion.
All we ask of you
is a longer road
to carry the weight on.
What are we to do with
gray forms
or a silver spoon?
We are starving for color.
Open the window,
let the light in.
We are the lost heart of Babylon.
All we ask of you
is a better note to die on.
We were free once,
we were free.
We were blue skies.
We were sparrows singing to the trees.
We are the namesake of Eden.
All we ask of you is redemption.
We were free once.
We were free.
We we're blue skies
We were sparrows in the trees
We were alive once
We had dreams
We were free once
We were free
Now, are you filled with regret?
Was it the only way.
Do the memories fill your head
Do they waltz with the pictures on the wall
Where she wants, patiently
To **** you all.
Mar 8, 2013
Mar 8, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC