Like flesh on bones
My home's covered with smoke.

I smell undwindled fire.
Staring at the window,
Afraid to see further.
Cold is shade and shadow.

Lashes of flame
Collapse the homes
And the cold pains
Seem pale and lame.

This weave of dreams
Unravel in
The fires outside
And the hopes dim
As this rose grows to ****.

It makes you think doesn't it?
Who whistled Christmas lights in their weave?
How have I tasted the drops of sunshine
As though those shadowless snow covered leaves
I once saw in Autumn. Dark is the time
Between those bodies, dancing about splots
Of celestial paint drops of stardust,
So wet with supernovas' heat. A shroud
Kissing the tips of trees. Planet's of rust,
Dazed as they wander and scatter through lint,
Faded through grey from daylight to black smoke.
A raisin. A raven. A soot nothing.
I lay there and fell through a gliding cloak.
The obsidian oblivion bares
In my opinion, blue, blonde hair.
Maybe it's less of a thought
Than a song idea
For a guitar
Without any strings
Or something whispering

I will look out on those mountain crowns of my ancestors.
As I feel the wind's fingertips on my face
And as it leaves, with it's embrace,
I will go with it and I will fade.

As planet Earth slid into December
It must have collided with a thick net
Of Christmas lights, I really remember,
Along with a dense cloud of snow and wet
Sugars that titilate with briefest taste
And precipitate on the planet's face.
The night's gloom glowing with rainbows to waste.
Green and red greeting with a warm embrace.
Brothers and mothers and friends I can't count.
Stories of Jesus and things I enjoy.
Laughter, flattery, songs and Christmas sounds.
Tears of joy, from girls or maybe a boy.
The filling of stomachs, feelings of home,
And firm hugs from mum, so no one's alone.

"I'm not sorry I ate your heart for my own.
I left, carelessly fed the Earth your bones.
To make friends I would cut Medusa's hair.
Speaking as Thor thundered in my chest,
His Cerberus kiss, on cheeks and lips bare,
As Zeus breathed life onto my neck with zest.
From the ribs he pulled my dust weak body.
He the better man who left me lonely.
To you I've arrived empty, to fill night.
I've brought my casual poetry to you,
I need to tire ears to make this heart light.
Heavy is he and I know you'll sit through
Me. I need a voice he's not choked to glee.
I need a line to write, before I fall asleep."

To think artists live what they say
Is as foolish as child's play
Or make believe.

Don't dare waste your time rushing into things.
Don't dare leave venture's door without at least
A knock.
The valley of death comes inevitably,
But happiness doesn't.

Too long I linger, since I woke from sleep.
Defading day's delay does make me say
Some sweet, soft dream I've seen in scenes of sheen
Silver. Flutters, flickers of her fiery way
With phrases, persuading to stay in sheets
Under her ghostly form. So I can say
Dreams to me in the lazy morning heat.
With inavian feathery wings, to Avalon away.

Lad with a mouth, loud lauts gotta shout,
But there's nought profound to be found
In the sound spilling out.

A flicker and a flutter of his platter;
A splitter, a splatter,
Spraying splashing spit dispenser.
Twister, tengo, tempo, soft tongue dancer
Doing the worm to wiggle words into form.
Peter changes with an interpreter
After a translators had their way,
If they so choose.
Define a sign to find value
Not in it's use or what it can do.
So build a statue of Zeus
And put a deus into it like glue.
He misses her kisses, finds lips to replace her
Calls them a name they say on an early date.
They say so much.
Read between the lines to find white
And nothing but.

Winter's waste was harsh as she commenced us
Withering, shivering shells of carcass
Made materials. But mayn't silence us.
Blue and purple the phrase meticulous.
So the golden queens of Iceland
Shall dissolve from flakes in brief sunlight's touch.
Gleaming streams of silver sewn on beach sands
By some moonlight, stretching over white dusts,
Grey silks, laid on sea's soft sapphire, flamed spots,
Placing those hands where the nebulous black
Goes not, save in glimmering rain drops.
Knowing nought but how chills race on my back,
I can now allow this sight to calm me,
As is done by no works or memory.

The blank black of vacuity stretches East
With white streaks, with flaming meteor showers
To combine the sublime with a burning wreath.
This unbreakable spine, this cosmic flower
With physics' patterns in her form, shade and shape,
The thorns upon the multidimensional strings
Of this vast vessel who observe her own way.
The mass mediocrity of creation thinks
Herself so specifically defined by arbitrations
It can't know how well it knows or if it knows
At all. Construction. Destruction and function
Drawn with chalk on a blackboard, stars on shadows,
Those wisps of moonlight in silver song's pieces.
I only know the lonely God, when I know
This universe's fundamental forces.

This joker fell through vats of chemical
Desperation, severely misplaced desire
And maybe a drop of a drink. Too cool
Not to be too rapidly set on fire
When I set my eyes on a mujeres.
I hit on a girl at my Spanish class
But we weren't speaking the same languages.
Worst of all I took it way to fast for us.
My corona, my cheap beer is her crown.
My idioms and her idioma
And the spiciest sauce I can take down
Es simplemente su salsa normal,
Although, she doesn't like her meat so white,
I don't really mind not being her type
Because you can't cry over that each time.

There the lighting lashes
And a glade in the nebulous
Reveals astral flowers.

My hugo, all my growth, how they erode
Like rocks' bones break beneath banshee whispers.
My memoir unremembered and sold
Somehow in a resumé. To my peers
I must appear and disappear. I fold
Like a lashing tongue or crashing super
Car. So I loath a lingerer listening to old
Song, too shy to fill midnight with a pur-
Pose which replaces silk silence' or cold.
Await till dawn to awake whatever
Puts me to sleep and dreams up a soul
Purpose to stay as Saturn drapes over
With a collapsing ripple of meteors
Crucified in a constellation to Thor's
Sky.

There the thunder thrashes.
Then the nebulous conceals over.

Putting it in a metaphor doesn't
Make it true Confucius. Philosopher
Kings of academia collapse, sent
Away like the rest. All the inventors
Say science isn't a religion and yet
The facts don't work without faith in some test.
So we'll see it go around at sunset
No matter what beautiful book you've read.
Yet even Hume and Nietsche must accept
Beliefs must be kept. So we must interpret
Our universe with faith in our friends' witness
When they attest or confess. Disproving
One fallacy or falsehood an evening.

Four flakes fall towards the warming Earth
While white flickers. One knows nothing at all
And falls. One knew all the world at her birth
And falls, forewarning herself of the thaw.
A leaf elevates herself with the wind;
Released from rest with upward, forward force.
The crumbling of crust from leaves and crying
Skies, mingling a monotony with the course
Of a raindrop crescendo. Oh, to know,
The beauty of books and blade cutting grass
Blades, to cleave away green and to show
An empathy for everything. Pass
Me by knowledge and yet infiltrate me
With each day forcing me into belief.

Colours comes from a char, thrown by fire
The way thunder's thrown from the broken sky.
The way a sound reflects the night air's veil
The photons, pages and plastic seductively
Remind of reality. I know they'll
Seem to dream of touch, tangibility
Among magic lanterns casting onto
Smoke who chokes, evokes and cloaks what we see,
Or at least wish to. So I'll drink Earth through
Neon siphons, LEDs, LSD
And possibly a vacation back home.
Leave hourglasses. Don't ***** clarity.
Then watching the sand slide through empty bones,
Knowing all tempos take form and forsake,
The time bends my mind till it breaks
And fragments must imagine consequence,
Before lashes rip them to the present.
Is that a shiver or a thrill going down my spine?
Rush the soul to chug the universe and getting it stuck
Run out too quickly for time.

1
I don't know what this walk's for.
I'm always lost, but sometimes I find scenery
I haven't explored before.
Words aren't vague enough
So songs will do to mirror my soul's company.
Graffiti gropes, grasps, grips my eyes with a rough
Attention to detail. Never failing to see
Something imaginary, even when my eyes
Are closed as tight as the shops I pass.
I don't know what this walk's for.

2
Over a month the moon will streak across the sky
In a secluded, fading sphere. With the nights
To ******, briefly before the day.
The praying mantis of dawn
Camouflaged the dark to it's warmer tone
Moments and an hour before it strikes.
You see so many sirens if you stay up late enough.
Never prior the invention of the late nighter
Did I know constant crimes of urbanized life.
Caterpillar busses piling up horizontally like pills
In suicidal intestines.

3
I'm tired as the daddy issues of the church
Go out with the lights, but the dates too late
So Christmas crashes with babies and omnipresents
Of the night requires her and so she's too busy
To entertain that simultaneously
Occupied fixation with a fiction.
The paradoxes and boxes unravelling
To be replaced with a flirting, fleeting
Fixation with a hammer for Bob the Builder Junior.
It strange at a private school
More students arrive at 5:30 a.m. than 6:00.

4
Seated at the bus stop, waiting for anything but a bus.
Envying a long plane trip
Thinking it'll be less brainless than this,
Not caring for the destination.
Drooling at fantasised bliss,
Dreaming of inspired imagination.
Seeing a picture show.
Suspending disbelief for relief from pretending
You enjoy the anticipation for you ending.
When all your credits will roll up like a cigar
And burn away in no time at all.

5
"I wish I was cool like her.
She just doesn't give a ****."

I replied "But inside it's just boiling up
And as her dissolving sense of self crumbles
It slides between her goosebumped, quivering fingers.
Then as the voices mount in a crescendo
She can't let go through her own lips,
She hides away in her room for a month or two."

As she was standing next to us,
I then proceeded to receive a slap
I consider it a clap for my performance.

6
Listen to silence and think
What's the point of being up at one in the morning
If you're not going to be singing your heart out
Till you've got yourself a cardiovascular eviction.
Then make your decision,
To shy away or to find the way
To force a cringe from the tonedeaf night.
So what that so far the best days of your life
Were when you were a cry baby?
So what if you still are?
If you have to cry, cry out for us all to hear.

7
The Halloween theme of indifference till consequence.
I heard a scream from someone's house,
I hope they were watching a horror movie,
Because I sure as Sheol didn't stop.
Only the non-sticky outty bits of the comb
Are left standing and the spikes are stars.
Those aforementioned sirens and silence
Evoking more or less the same Viking entertainments.
Those aforementioned marvelous, gaseous, Goddesses
But dots in my sky,
Or at least they were before they were lost.

8
I saw my murderer walking straight towards me,
But luckily, he passed me by.
Believe you me, that cockroach had killer in his eyes.
An old buddy bumped into me
On a spider web and used me
As a fly swatter. He talked to me,
Fishing up a philosophy from me
I gave to him casually.
I tell him, the blackhole of a guitar releases me,
Strings strong enough to launch me from my web;
But I would only care about me,

9
All the strange two legged insects
On their way from hive to hive,
In some squabble and squawk
That should end at five
But continues long after labour's of the day.
Perhaps with the moving, cattle subway
Or a mind unmoved by the intense reality
Of what is and cannot be.
These flat ants and roaches writhing with repulsion,
Feasting on the invalid repugnance of reality tv.
Convinced these chemical trails hold some destiny.

10
Why go? Why take the slow road to know
You are all sinking in the same boat.
So why would a church bell chime
Change for better my little time.
The soul that goes without real purpose
Repulses the personal will with a rose,
Whose petals fall with each member of a community.
The trampoline of faith keeping fate
From ascending beyond its borders,
Crashing down with Satanic anchors.

11
It is good, to be not one but a fraction.
It being no matter of distraction
But of completion in another
For we are so rarely finished as the loner.
Despite a night of spite and recited criticisms
One must finish themself with an -ism
Or else be some incomplete word.
The faith and the works
The bolts, jolts and volts of lonely hours
The punishment of this selfishness of ours.
The irreversible spaisms of sanity.

We're not gay, but I have to something say
You fill the hole in me in a pure way.
Believe you me, when the sun goes away
Or we have our bluest skies together
With splashes of sunshine and wisps of haze
As some entree for the starlight flavour,
Even when one of us fades off the Earth
And decays like old memories, you'll say
Something stupid and I'll have to traverse
Across the universe to call you gay.

I've heard, someone criticise her, yet
I see the green and gold in a sunset
Through a eucalyptus curtain beside
A river, rippling and glimmering, wet
Light dancing till the cusp of night swept tides.
Twin winds headed West, windless pirouettes
Of a gentle warmth, who sleeps in the air,
Curled up beside me when I feel free to care
So much less. Even when the tears cascade
And stars fade, she, like a wave to the shore
Inevitably throws me this and that way
With foam and a thousand visitors more
From places they left not so long before.
Though I know an aeroplane goes sweetly,
I have Australia and she has me,
Sure she's not perfect, but neither are we.

She's a golf course and a red flag marks her hole.
Our chat's meaningless to me, yet I get stressed
When her text pops up from the net. Hold ur bowl
Of blows to my ego for our banter, don't forget
To flatter this reject wen she gets sicc of me.
Still, I can't afford her, so I sold my wallet
To feed her. She'll teach me like a trainee
For a matador. But who's got my cutlass
And just between you and me, is she *****?
Just coz she's sending her signals in Norse code,
Coz I reckon miscommunication be
The cause that runes us. Set this coke to explode
With the mood and mode she's in, as I take
A taste of her minty mis-takes and heartache.

I closed my eyes to watch the darkness dance.
Then opened them to candlelight. She laughed,
"Who the ****'s happy?" "An old acquaintance."
Her date replied, smugly. "You get one draft,
You know?" They went on, talking casually
About their prescriptions, doctors and thoughts.
"I mean, each date is a new draft really?"
She smiled and boasted for her retort
"You'll never get a girl crazy like me."
"Yes I will. They line the streets nowadays.
I still find kids picking up a ciggy
Only to be edgy and unhappy or always
Pointing to laugh at those who are. This year
Ought to be aborted. These kids impeached,
Replaced by some good kids. With an ear
For commands and gratitude for their reach.
This generation that lives the longest
And can't tell how to live with happiness."

My heart's feeling really heavy in bed
So I'll roll over to crush my innards.
Wrecking ball, cardiovascular head
Hurter, damaging organs with its words,
Pressing way too hard when the beats too fast.
I need to ***, but with this ball and veins,
So passionately disturbed by the dark,
I'll stay right here. Guess I'll just risk the stains.
The scary voice in the silence, it says
"You're the weight on your family, useless
As a used ****** to holy preachers."
The voice whispers and slithers and seduces
Me to self-loathing and pity. But I
Don't know whose it is, it sounds just like mine.

This town has marijuana on her breath
And neon light's on the face of the deep.
Nicotine Nietsches discuss surface death,
Too tired of missing out to go to sleep.
His paranoia's poised to annoy her.
He guesses what she wants to discuss.
She refuses, confuses views and viewers
Via her hair and vain vaunts. Invictus
To explain how she hurts herself. Scandalous,
Scared, scarred, scampering. Incisions to bleed
And promises to read a meticulous
String of pages, as known as it's envied.
A pierced vein and a question. A ******
Whose esteem's sacrificed for little laughs.
Her humility and his humiliation,
His hubris, how high he gets of her calf.
Images, a thousand evidences
Of life in photoshop philosophers.
To them Nietzsche is a name
And Derrida a deconstruction
And a vague book they read long ago
But there is nothing in between
These thoughts and each memory.

The cigarette circumference
Is smooth against his face
And the smoke clouds precipitate
To tar teardrops. Pooling as a lake.
Before they all evaporate
Like decayed lungs of late smokers.

Last year
I found my uncle in his cave
Starved, greyed by paper embers,
Cursive scriptures and veils in waves.
As fires fade the way December
Eves into days of a brief fatherly presence.

This year,
I hear my cousin's down there too
With our brothers, under that wreath.
Round is the jaw of the their tomb
And jagged are the snaring teeth.
Like thorns that hook against sinew.

Round. Round and round.
They chant "It's not deep enough."
Down. Down and down.
Doomed to look, loom and drown
In tar teardrops.
The smoke lingers.
It remembers
It looms. The fumes and Hume.
How do I accuse
And can we agree
Which cause is true
Of that father's lesson.
Leading to the question,
To wonder if the father
Teaches to consume or fume
With incense or loss of innocence.
That commandment of his example
Vital as the signs displayed in pulsing waves.

A son of some man appears from the cave.
He turns back and sees that ember
Dwindling within.
Then takes a step toward the light.

Knowing only our words and dancing lips,
But not her thoughts, I pierced black with blunders.
Arrogant to assume our bright abyss
Between was traversed. As vein bells thundered.
Vaunting my vice and confidence as those
Weft waves vaunt of their temporality.
Great velocity bringing long shadows,
Charges, a Rhamesses' dream of history
Set surely towards shores of broken sand.
From an alien surface I see rings,
Like a silver tiara in her strands,
Divide black of night. My mind in foreign
Lands, where lust is lost among moondust streets,
Where I waltz alone. Memory's a wreath.
Sheets of Saturn, of silk upon the heat,
She was a white clothe upon our own teeth.
Flames of her furnace, her firmament crown
Hearth of my heart, I have forever found
To be somewhere between eternity and me.

As our chapter ends, the page crescendos,
It's shadow so long as to loom over
And cover us. The last words, no one knows.
Paper between us and sunset. Brothers
Composed of light, wait on the horizon,
Unknown and unseen. The last words unsaid.
Weaves of dreams sweeping over and upon
Us, volts against the current. Yet when red
Signals dusk, it dawns over foreign seas,
Like life in the water or blood in the womb.
This chrysalis, these images, fantasies,
And uncertainty's fierce shade, are no tomb.
Friends' voices dwindle into the distance,
Yet I'll never surrender remembrance.

I like to keep my meaning flacid
And my sound solid,
The air must be rigid
Or else
It becomes truly meaningless.
Leave the keys hanging for access
And blessed
By a reader are the poets.

Leopard, lion, lepper, lime, linger on.
Sounds. Silence. Seduction. ***. Super serum.
Dilly dally, dissolve dandelion.
Boil, bobble, brim, burst, babble on hobo, ***.
Sonidos sin dirección.
A purple puff pronounced 'poem.'

Dilly dally, dilly dally, the dandelion desintegrations.
These country town thoughts appear just as though
A dolly pulled back and shrunk creation
Till dust dots in morning light. The shadow
Of infinity sharing silence done
Within my mind. String theory confirmed hereby
An avian feathery cosmos made
In colours, shapes and shades, flowing to fly
Gilded and gliding. Powers to persuade
Not existent in words or praise. A phrase
Unable to capture what eyes cascade
Upon me. Despite this, a make believe face
Consumes my will and not for memory
I would recreate, nor an open path,
But simply a fantasy I can see
With glee through my mind. A fancy, wet scarf
I drape on me at dawn and under black.
So do I dream of dreams or girls I lack?
So would valkyries convey me to Avalon?
So would avian visions
Fly me off and away.

The day is made of light
And sounds create the night.
In the darkness, a text
Blinds with meaning, regrets
Inevitable and
Burning with bright command.
To find your flaws in agony
And your faith for better in sacrilege.
Then a jazz melody
And written in it, God's undeciphered passage.
Our cosmos, but a wrinkle on God's side
And so I bargain myself into pain
Again and again
Over a girl of my third eye
And no more.

This locomotive motion is so slow
I can't tell if it's moving anymore.
But just sitting here crushes all the roots below
And the captain of this soul won't explore.
So impenetrable that a pyramid eclipse
Would turn this tomb to dust with nought but rays.
So quick to flee into freedom, collapse
And liberty became different ways
To say the same thing. Liminal levels
Between devils and visions of heaven
Pollute me with poignant points and stories I tell
Procrastinate about integration
Unravelling to disintegrate to late
Lights which illuminate no fate.

I saw your lost chocolate fattener,
I remember him like a suspect on the wall.
Ears ate words from mouths from one another.
He had your hat on his head where he wore
Your halo last week. You two upside down
On each other's head, under each other's
Heels. While before, during and after's drowned
In this blur of… He had a jacket. Verbs
Begin to be proverbs prompting old thoughts
From the better time only two weeks ago,
Or so he tells me. He said, "Cobwebs caught
Something, still sticky but just drying slow."
I said "You know she said she regrets thee."
He said, "Better that than she forgets me."

I sit in the heart of some mason's guitar
As defined by echoes as by design.
Books and scampering eyes are scanned like stars
From telescope glasses in silent time.
I see crystal girls sit across from me
With their obsidian hair, silver oars
Of light sinking like oblivion keys
Through tremulous tartarus. Strands force
My eyes like gravity, yet can't compel
Me enough to pull questions from these lips.
Do eyelids talk, to tell more than words tell?
I feel them, as the moon feels tides and rips.
But I do as usual…

Later I batter my head against a lamppost
To expel fearful demons from this host.

Incredulous city's lights, and loud sounds
Crescendo and billow to blow my mind
As though those Marco Valdo's mushroom clouds
Pouring, bursting from vehicles' behinds.
Blue light on the chapel's crown,
Do these images cross Christ
As dances on disintegrated bones?
Fool, ask the blue light, "What's right?"
Neon siphon's psyche, soul or sorrow,
What is left like a Hiroshima shadow
On the ***** white wrapping of his corpse?
My views a metaphor's meteor shower,
A star high rubix cube kept from collapse
In a glass skyscraper, flowers
Like perfume in vials labelled colon
Or a thousand shattered, scattered shards
From photos of photon lanterns with golden thrones.
I must embrace shimmering facades,
As if more glimmering mirages
Would water this soul with images.

Someday, as the night arrives
Glows grow from Afremovs on leaves and blades,
Then they turn to nocturnes after the afternoon.
Birds chirup, chirp and serenade.
A whistle. A wrinkle. A tune.
He prepares strings to sway, persuading air
Knowing, it's his final chance to tame time.
Shadows move through grassy hills' hair.
Finely, he siphons wine and life through lines
Of nylon. His fingers are old, they're cold, yet it seems
Linger long enough for a song, some songs maybe.
His melody akin to dreams.
Maybe a single sound's plenty for eternity?
Eyelids embrace, but black covers not the soul.
His last song, soon lost forever long.

I am terrorised for I am my flaws
And I fear I'll never be more.
My mirror melts like words of Eleanor.
My ears bleed, leak by metaphors,
Like an overused *****,
To hear such decor
Of air carved and reformed.
I have, without remorse
Been to words as criminals of war
To the Jews and the poor.
I am mortified that I fear not failure, nor
To be impossibly less nor to be never more.
At least, they can't drain the life from a corpse.

She had an Asian face
And I'll remember her that way.

There's the rumble,
As train track lights
Penetrated black night,
By a gutter a flutter of outdoor wind
I saw her walking alone,
Clinging to her bones.
At first, I thought she some vampire.
Then I saw holy water drip from her eyes.
An apparition, shaped like a man
Walked out, under a leafy shroud.
"Come inside?" Sounded out the shout.
"Hurry up!."

There was a short pause,
Between seconds and eternity.
He was already in the crooked house
On a crooked street,
Her silhouette so hesitant.
Then she began her retreat
To that crooked place
I know not within.
To that crooked cave
Or that crooked grave,
I let her pass without a phrase.
There's the rumble
Of another train.

My brother and I
Sit in our uniforms.
A cloud sniffs whiffs of the house,
Shifts and moves on.
My bare feet fricatives
Sound as though a warm afternoon.

I haven’t lost them,
I just don’t want to play
With them anymore.
I know it’s sad to surrender.
The dinners they bought me.
The debts I’ll never repay.
But I don’t want to play
With them anymore.
It’s hard to make believe,
When the toys have beliefs of their own.
So I guess I’ll leave.

God damns the fertile,
The futile rituals to grow a child.

A bird released
Three ethereal notes.
Perhaps it's the briefness
That lets them float.

The fortune teller yelled,
She told me
"There are two breeds of oathbreakers
The liar and the failure."

It is this feeble form,
With deep roots of saphire
Juxtaposed with soft silk
Spines, undermined by magma.
The milk of these bones are
From an unhealthy donar.

Great singers sing
Through happiness and sorrow.
The writers are writing
Whether with joy or woe.
The warrior fights on
For failure or valour.
The great fear not defeat
But the fleeting self
Who flees.

The hour hand swings around to twelve,
Like an executioner's axe
Or perhaps a guillotine
Towards the head of the snake
That feeds upon itself.
The Earth's orbit, allegedly complete.

Flickers of images, she dances
Round and round the embers.

Since this morn, a monarchy fell. To say
"All the king's horses and all the king's men
Toppling wood carvings, piled up like greyed hay."
All the landscapes and shapes of paint, blackened
By an incredulous shadow. "Lights out!"
Cried the wicker man, as the blaze burnt down
The last efforts and thoughts effigies
Can muster. His energies
Exhausted and run out,
Like children's feet over the ashes,
Like the last scampering echoes he heard.

"Burn the embassy.
Shower the embers
Over the Sea.
Recall the sounds of November.
Save for them, no mercy."

Oh! But isn't it a delight,
All flamenco shaped flames
Lifting throughout the night?
All the jokes, japes and games.
Flickers of images, she dances
Round and round the embers.
The Peruvians are bustling,
Stirring up some smoke.
The populous is burning
Tires to make them choke.

Since this morn, a monarchy fell.
Thorns in his hair, ablaze with red,
Burns In the air, unresurrected,
Fumes, firm pillared, piled firmaments
Not faintly reminiscent of Hell.

I see wet mirrors on the floor
As though skies pooled into puddles.
The reflection shimmers some more
As though sights shown, shone and wobbled.
Water covered tar's ignited
By streetlights' illumination.
Flickers of fire, flame and brightened
Colours of electrocution
Serenely, surreally, softly  
At peace.

My wings are unburdened
But I fly not.

I see no seashore.
Just water, no more.
Swimmers among the shimmers
Murmur about the glimmer
Glittering above a drop.
I know what I'll do.
I'll build a tower of water up high,
Above the waves and weave of turbulence.
A reflection behind my closed eyes
Always flowing to this current moment.

Forget the question. Please, please, please. Don't think.
Build your tower before you sink.
But alas I think. I think and I sink.

Sometimes I stop to be swallowed below,
To fall to forgotten, forever nights.
The deeper you go, the better you know
How dark our sea is and how brief the light.
Both fast past and fleeting future shrivel
Shrink, sink, fuse together with tomorrow.
Shimmers on the sea and this revival
Are but surface echoes, not heard below.
We're just splashing around before the sharks
Slither from bottomless shadows of dark.

Why?
My wings are unburdened
But I sea nowhere to fly
But towards the end.

"Yes!" Some teardrop moon reminds me,
"Summer's always on her way."

Spring arrives, tipsy with delight.
Fairies aloft a flower bud lift off.
They tickle nostrils, they sing 'Sweet fragrance…"
With such soft whispers. A soprano cough
During a shuffling swing and low tempo dance,
Escapes lips, foreshadowing wet winter.
They float fairly, as all the flowers fall.
Tremors of terror interrupt chatter
Among them. Above, trees, no matter how tall
Shake as though poppies under thunderstorms.
Then it is calm again. Without winds' arms
Jostling and jarring their world. Cold now warm.
Souls simply resolved. Harm is now disarmed.
The fragrance, so sweet and so fleeting.
So impossibly soft. Some real feeling.

Then a soprano cough.

The thunder thrower falls into silence,
A whiff of purple wind, the sky's fragrance.
See Zeus droops into droplets and drenches,
Soft layers of water reflecting blue,
As our universe sees through eyes, images
Of itself eternally boiling through.
See our scientists seek the commandments
Of our new God. No longer reading scripture
To see the future, woven through moments,
For all millions of millennia.
All the Old God's grow cold in hollow graves.
Now I see her. Darkness, careless chaos.
She's the shadow of Sheol. All petals' shapes
And decay. Endlessly devouring creatress.
Yonder Yahweh melts as rain which drenches.
All falling down, as heaven collapses.

My skull is empty on set.
A studio light casts shadows
In through windows.
Burning an iris as I pirouoette.

Do I want to play this game?

My thoughts have descended
I dread to confess,
Down to drown my heart
To dwindle stars before they start.

Do I want to play this game?

Blame circumstance.
Dance! Dance! In circles dance.
Cram yourself against every puzzle piece
You like to look at.
Crash with foreign bodies
Then regret, you reckless idiot.

After antique whispers and thoughts, we are
Children of the Silver Millennium.
Slithers of light reflect on peaks out far,
From waves of a rising tide or Autumn.
The alchemy of notions, the cold ocean
Encircling, on our electric windows.
All our memories born in some fiction,
Projected out from within screens. But those
Glinting pearls of the ocean out beyond,
Shall defy gravity, yet we won’t dare
Go there, where we would be beyond our bond
To this mortal coil and this planet fair.
Lest this planet won’t always sustain us
We must cease to release black winds thunderous.

Each man I meet,
Each time eyes teach
The colours of characters
Only to have them fade away,
Dissolve, depart and disintegrate,
Just another face on the street.

Soft licks of love
On lips of mine
Which whisper of
Devotion of body and mind,
Remind me of solemn goodbyes.
Just another sweet sight on the street.

Each venture I venture,
Each pain that came,
Each pleasure I endure,
Each rain sustained,
Just another street
Wearing a away where I wear my feet.

I wander this valley verging on black
And exhausted, I lap the ***** lack.
The question whether I'd be fast or slow.

Often my flesh begs and beckons for flesh,
The same way entrails desire to digest.
Furthermore, even and ever more so
The eye sees a feminine collage and wishes
To take and forget a thousand faces.

But flesh makes no remarks that it wants a heart.
For I do not need love, nor regret, nor
Shattered shards that implore to call for more.
Although sometimes I aspire the pride of two parts,
Since the single must play and pay alone,
A debt of dates not buried like bones.
For I often feel I must play the scriptless part.
So sometimes I wish to play the jester,
And for a soft face to grow lighter.

Yet…
Why reenact what was?
Why phlebotomize my pen?
The call has been made and rejected
With the mentors and the Goddess I have met.
Afterall, the sky was already blue before she left
And now shades have only darkened.
For women excite and ignite the cauldron,
Only to boil the broth, summoning smoke
And conjuring cuneiform from words I thought I knew.
Within darkness previously mentioned
Leviathans slither by lips which whisper.

To fall and collapse
For jokes at her feet.
My pen pressed.
Unable to clear the hourglass sand that dirties
The wind sweeps across the beach.
My pen pressured to leak.

No one told that man, how hard it would be
To let unfurling sapphires become passion. Yet
Everyone knew which way he ought to be in action.
They bought your innards with dinner, they took
The muscles by which morsel and mouthfuls travel
And took your mouth in debt that lasts till death.
While the rain fell like ink on the heartbroken stage,
As my pen wept upon the page.

I know lessons ought to be known with each mistake
But with this heartache, which mistake do I begin with.
Still my pen weeps upon the page.
He cries to speak,
Of a girl who spoke of vulnerability
And thought of Othello till the leaves yellowed
And funnily enough, pierced me.
A story she’d never write for me, for why would she bother?

I now care only for the alarm
And howling, hollering sirens
Of diversions and perversions
And I’m scared only by the harm
That wouldn’t bleed but would imply
My lacerated pen leaks upon the page.  

As a thousand poets pens have bled.
For heroes have fled into stories of old
And all stories told from youth
Say let lingering souls lay low.
Don't dare resurrect this meek creature.
Hasn't he suffered enough?
Don't dare twist via alveolar to say "Hello."
Don't you dare continue this.
For why would we let tongues lick our innards and hollow us.

Yet…
Sometimes on tired nights as I stare above,
Lapping the lonely lack. The void stares back,
As we lock eyes and despise one another.
I wish I could turn my face and see her
Who at least to me, is a precious beauty,
For only a moment sometimes.
I could close my eyes and hold on tightly,
As she folds within these thin arms of mine,
From somnolent nights, till the end of time.