I had forgotten
the sensation of
painted lines
adorning my face,
weaving tales
of secret and sacred things
that would otherwise remain
undocumented and guarded.
As I scrubbed
off those caked layers
of primal mystery
before leaving the riverbank,
I couldn't help
but wonder...
...If I never returned,
was I washing away
my only chance
at something authentic
in this life?

In frozen terrain
with ash set ablaze
we stand together
through chilling nights
and searing days
Two forlorn war torn refugees
cribbing messy illustrations
of listless ****** creeps
hanging out on the back balconies
watching aimless graveyards
where cyber-gridlocked dissidents
reluctantly go to die
But we remain
and through the strain
the wrong side of history stares us down
with viper haired stone sober gaze
We ignore their judgement
and thirty pieces of silver
and instead scrape together
fists full of dollars and hopes
of change
to guard against
their pointless mutual choke point
when they absurdly perceive
our attempted dignity
and fragile windowsill garden
as signs of sinister takeover
Even as it all collapses at their necrosis
riddled feat they
diminish and return
Assets freeze and insults burn
threatening to bring forth
the death part
of that 'until death do us part' line
before we ever had a chance
to make that pact
Still
in the grim twilight of anguished
frostburn soliloquy
whispered by a tired world
begging to expire
You will always be
a godsend
and my reason to survive
against the fury
of a planet besieged
by endless storms
of ice and fire

Hyper reality
torched our dreaming eyes down
to charred empty sockets
and you should know
Like all the nasty swirls
wormholes swallow everything
because they aim to please
There is no what if
as it is apparent
we will -
in increasingly reductive fashion -
eat it all up
:remade rebooted recycled scrambled
deja pay-per-vu:
until
void
conquers
all

X.

We should pick up some
flowers

Why

Because that is how they
did it in the old days
fresh flowers on the table

Roses

Yes roses

Then I will pick some up on my way home

XI.

The roses died again

I did not say I would be very good at keeping up appearances

Oh

I know you
needed someone
who is willing
****** flowers for you
and present them
with thorns all removed
but
here in the shadows
of the gnarled bramble
I'm still wild and unchecked
as I will never cease to be

Light plays throughout the room
where the blinds were pulled off the rails
Slams and screams in the units
surrounding
grant a brief illusion
that I am not sealed up
Down to half a twelve ounce aluminum can
I can exchange for change tomorrow
to do it all again
For now though
Not enough to black out
Silently watching the light play
until the sun recedes
will have to do

The decay
you've wrought
with your doubled up beating
and distortion assaults
gives me no choice but
to fixate on new sonic romances
and I'm in love
with the way she cradles me
in that sedated groove
and the caress
of those faint record scratches
I need to
get through new time signatures
as I grow older
and apart from you