An arid lantern exhales abrasive hums
It rests in the smothering cloak of humid anticipation
Names of children are scrawled on the nicotene crickets’ lattice backs
The crickets bumble in drunken waltz along the ground
They cannot fly through clouds gasping on the chains of Cerberus’ collar
The sticky smog and shadows scuttle through the low-hanging, lifeless clouds
It’s innocent origins trickle from the hem of God’s garment
To the jaded, cracked doorframe to deliverence
This sympathetic shack of dim-witted yellows and hosiery pink
She lays porcelain petals on the descending steps into indigo overcast
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
Tears and cans of pop, tear gas and the police
Races and arms, the backdrop of the arms race
When I close my eyes to respect the dead
All I see is red
Races and arms, the backdrop of the arms race
Tear at your textbooks for a page colored in peace
All I see is red
Breathe in the brackish scent of stagnant air
Tear at your textbooks for a page colored in peace
Is there never peace at no human expense?
Breathe in the brackish scent of stagnant air
Exhale whispers of hope to break up the despair
Is there never peace at no human expense?
Must there be blood to see red?
Exhale whispers of hope to break up the despair
I let them encase victims of ceaseless attacks
Must there be blood to see red?
When I close my eyes to respect the dead
I let them encase victims of ceaseless attacks
Tears and cans of pop, tear gas and the police
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:20 PM UTC
There are many ways
to break the spine
of a book.
Line the jelly-bean backs
too close to the battered floor,
Hide wedging polygons
between pages and binding,
Or open them and stack the backs
in lateral,
frayed Vs.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
staring just north of the afterlife
is an infinite blue expanse;
bedrock of the basilica unearthing her
realm of myth.
broken heads of statues are
found by the radiance of marble noon,
her contradictions build such a secret
hidden place
beneath the courtyard of scholars’ books.
yet the distended, black granite skeleton
would be a wellspring of royal remains
if underneath culumn-fragments
a campaign of thriving law still hovered in
the temple walls.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:19 PM UTC
Birdy, mind your ears: my howls dash the desert’s edge
My passing gusts will matt your feathers fair and faint
And scratch your eyes of liquid soul with grainy kiss
And gentle downy is unsuited for the desert’s bipolar breadth
Accompanied by what I fear is desperate, decrepit depth
Yet you flutter further in the flats, breaching the jagged heart-planes
Doleful dabs of curt dismay smatter some sodden planes
The wrenching, soaked, woolly pelt fumbles at the edge
And he hopelessly attempts to slow his slide into the depths
The depths ****** in dew to make heaving paws faint
Paws drowning in imbued imbalance: my broken flooded breadth
Washed out and faded just short of amber kiss
Who does he yowl at night to kiss?
A range of mismatched capricious planes
Breath for miles of biome breadth
Between each bound a splitting edge
As fate would weave, his heart is faint
And craves impassioned, tender depth
Perhaps the hiemal hillsides bear a greater, sanguine depth
Beneath the snow are pines to smell, daffodils to kiss
Amid the pungent, frigid, fear the air contains a faint
Hint of something sweeter there, buried in the planes
And when the blunt ice trickles warm, beneath the caustic edge
A range of life of a new kind: unbeguiling breadth
Who forsaw the vanguard hunch of birds and bears for breadth?
Not I believed that birds could dive in deserts and find depth
Not I believed that bears could whet love from sharp edge
Not I believed, thus almost missed, fate’s gentle ghostly kiss
Not I believed and thus I blew dark clouds across the planes
Not I believed in him, thus it was I who was so faint
And in the meadows lions crawl and crocodiles faint
And happily, with wherewithal, the boa to gaur breadth
All coexist in mystery perplexing on placid planes
Burrowing through sand and snow, birds and bears find depth
Jumbled earth and tumbled thoughts, a misty morning kiss
Stitches the bipolar planes and hems the obscure edge
Across the crystal planes you see their trusting dives to depths
The bird’s faint singing drifts through waves as it explores the breadth
The bear’s protective kisses peek just beyond the edge
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Sordid stepping from the left arise
For to the right she’d seldom think to see
Lashes just like spider webs o’er eyes
Which sweep the mist and catch me as I sleep.
The new Sprit with the eyes in wich he’d trapped
The strings of many precedented fates
Grazes on the threshold of the lapse
Of recognition; there the left berates.
The Sprit of spirits potent in her kind
Her all-assuming manifested craze
Ejecting me from woeful holds I find
Rejectamenta clothed in urbane gaze.
The Sprit of desperate threaded fingers jousts
The Sprit of spirits: sovereign of doubt.
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:14 PM UTC
there is a place where the digitized vinyl gospel funk
intercepts the rumble of passing cars
and creates the most electrifying revitalization
sharper even than the razor blade air
running darting
from underneath far-off frosted leaves
on starch high branches
scraping my fingers and ankles
with ceaseless sounds that show
the bristled boundless scuplted green plane
how to dance
soon the sun loses its hold on tranquility
and leaps from the halos
of buildings and coloratura crowns of trees
painting the bustling scene with an overlay
of glossy jubiliation
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
residual voices casting
ruffled dusty shadows
of uneven pulsing
one sure burst cries through
woolen cloth
humid walls, yet
hollow and dark over my eyes
sad sag and lost-its-pep grey-blue
dingy-typed letters overlapped
I am too disturbed
by the pulling on my temple
and the taughtness
of my scalp
like the thin skin was instead
a weathered safety blanket
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:11 PM UTC
a lit candle rests on a mirror
she coaxes the cold from the corners
the candle smiles at her reflection
her fiery birth was for selfless light
she coaxes the cold from the corners
globules of wax wilt her happy gaze
her fiery birth was for selfless light
she sees herself shorten in the mirror
globules of wax wilt her happy gaze
she feels the heat press on her brow
she sees herself shorten in the mirror
she’s being burned at both ends
she feels the heat press on her brow
she cries for help from the warmed ones
she’s being burned at both ends
hasty blotches of wax and wick are desperate assist
she cries for help from the warmed ones
the candle can’t see her reflection
hasty blotches of wax and wick are desperate assist
a candle melts into the mirror
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:08 PM UTC
Sandman climbs through the etched window-lace
Tim Hunter and his owl race
They unite the family of stories
Sandman climbs through the etched window-lace
The Tree the children climb Grows in Brooklyn
They unite the family of stories
The window grows dim and pallid
The Tree the children climb Grows in Brooklyn
The same Tree grows Cold and Sassy
The window dims and grows pallid
Can the Guitar Gently console the clock that Weeps?
The same Tree grows Cold and Sassy
Throaty melodies iron the Wrinkles In Time
Can the Guitar Gently console the clock that Weeps?
We’re too quick to bemoan the nostalgia Dust In The Wind
Throaty melodies iron the Wrinkles In Time
Tim Hunter and his owl race
We’re too quick to bemoan the nostalgia Dust In The Wind
Fleece blankets comfort a jazzy guitar
Oct 6, 2014
Oct 6, 2014 at 10:06 PM UTC