1048

Reportless Subjects, to the Quick
Continual addressed—
But foreign as the Dialect
Of Danes, unto the rest.

Reportless Measures, to the Ear
Susceptive—stimulus—
But like an Oriental Tale
To others, fabulous—

One need only look to the four winds
to find four frowns;
eight sad eyes
straining to see
through stained glass tears.
The man said "I die daily" but
he didn't have a constant stream of
status updates
to maintain.
I define myself daily.
Being special has
thus far
not protected me from
the unbearable weight
of today.
All of the analog cigarettes and
old fashioned daydreams
in the world
cannot save me now.
If I'm not seen
am I really here?
Heavy hearts and weary heads
reside respectively in the chests and on the necks
of everyone I encounter.
The gas station attendant
feels empty and
is bereft of a sense of irony.
The world ends
not with bang OR whimper,
but
with a deep and baleful sigh...
with a deep and baleful sigh...
with a deep and baleful...

She was nature, beautiful
But deadly, her cheeks as
Scornful as a rose, the smile hid
The thorns underneath.

Her presence though unseen,
Could be felt, like the sun's warm
Breath on bare winter skin.

She led him somewhere secret
As the night lures the stars,
As clouds gorge on the
Fragile light of the moon.

Over the crumbled bodies
Of leaves, into the alien
Land of tranquility.

When he woke, hands burning,
There was nothing left to see.
Only a faint feeling glistening
In the air, a failing heart and
A tongue full of dreams.

There are fewer things
beautiful than ugly,
I know that stars are most
bright when they fall
from impassioned skies,
That when your skin
meets mine, I am like an
amnesiac being returned
a lifetime of memories.

I hate few things,
except, perhaps, the murky
lakes of your eyes,
The misty beaches we
explored until sunrise.
How you pressed your lips
to mine like a death wish,
that it was deplorable,
but we wanted more, more.

My body was a map
you tore apart when you
got tired of exploring it.
The ancient psalms of our
tongues cannot silence.
Ruins of ancient Rome
survive on your lips, yet
you still live, breathe.
You call yourself mortal.

No meaning
except what we choose
so do as you will
let chaos rain
but rain always ends
order will be imposed
at least as much order
as can ever be
a new meaning will come
perhaps something nicer
maybe the sun will explode
I never know.

my head it resembles a revolver
My mind the spinning wheel
Loaded  with thoughts
ready to shoot out
hoping it catches someones eye

Dreams are a fiction reality
Where sometimes it brings you to a wonderful place
While other times your left in your own hell.
How You wake up and take it is more important.
Are you happy?
Left in a confusion?
Or just get up like nothing happened
because, you know it didn't.
For myself,  Dreams follow me all day
Eventually until they're either forgotten
Or the next night comes and a new dream appears.
I find it funny that a good dream
Can now be left as a nightmare
And a nightmare isn't so scary anymore.
Although tell me this,
When you know it's a dream
Do you wanna wake up
Or just see how it goes?