Empty your heart
of its heaviest clay,
so I may build a road
that'll carry us away.

It's just me and a crow
on some backwoods road,
face to face with no where to go;
a staring contest for the sole.
Hold on, let's go - Slow motion control. Switchblade rotation, high noon,  
Sun down fashion and
we packed pistols for questions.
Yet, we say nothing.
It's stiff lips in either direction.

Let me put down the kaleidoscope.
Okay, I could plagiarize the moon
and they still wouldn’t give it a look.
I could literally hand them the sun
and they’d be there looking like,
"Are you ******* dumb?”
As a matter of fact, yes.
So that makes sense.
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. The rain.
It was there in the trees
beneath one dr0p-
my beloved bliss.

I wear my sweater
in ninety degree weather
Not a S.o.S, more a testament
to the hell I'm shepherding
Whether you care or not is irrelevant
The rain drops even If a bow
shows up to lasso the loose ends
Remember that the next time
you go to quote gold at the far end

Go ahead and plant
your flag into my back
Giddyup the chains
dangling from my neck
Archaic cannibals
fist fight over other's flesh
as long as the local mystic
nutritionist gives the consent
So grab your blackjack and
swing as hard as you ******* can,
you neanderthal scallywag
It's best to behave on behalf
of the priest's commands isn't it

Chatty-Cathies with hunched backs
munch on thick stacks of flashbacks
like giraffes itching for their next fix
but only finding the next branch

Little wooden piranhas in gas masks
laugh as they set fire to your mattress
bet their noses will grow like Pinocchio's
though when the questioning takes root
and the water is sold to a thirstier throat

There's white sharks in my cereal
all teeth no breakers straight visceral
Iceberg crowns cracking surface tension
thirsty, circling veteran victims
Beating down doors like witnesses
No wonder Santa mass produced
guns this year for Christmas gifts

If Xerox Xanax couldn't handle it
what makes you think someone
off planet planning planets could

I'd hold the door open for you
but on the horizon is a battalion
of electronic contraptions
trying to syphon the passion
from my canyon of Jasmines

I've idolized for some time now
the stone altars which lie numb
Countless sums found their way to zero
for no other reason than to become some hero
Maybe I'm just ******, but something tells me
I'd treat that **** like it's my do or die pillow
I can hear the beat of their drums
running a marathon towards my tomb
Help me help you
I bleed dumb, I bleed young
take me before the night comes

Lock me up and throw away the key
It's kind of ironic the way red compliments
the rocks only when the sun is hung highest
Death to the tyrants I will not be silenced
I'll constantly ***** this corrosive lifeblood
til it crashes 'cross the cosmos like some defiant comet
I do not need a realignment my mind is it's own climate
and I'll keep heading for the highlands
like I'm climbing for the brightest
Forgive me, I'm just farsighted and this here island
looks more like a diamond than confinement

Bring me the bottom of a bottle.
Any old dusty, decrepit glass will do.
Stiffer the poison the better.
I've run out of ways of spelling s.o.s
and I want something real to last.
Love comes when you least expect,
but I've long since given up
and haven't found it yet.

They say to grab life by the horns,
but I've always approached it
like a second rate matador.
I stay with the cloak like
any good Dementor should
Big Bad in Little Red's riding hood
Spouting off at the mouth
'til these words turn into clout
akin to a caterpillar weaving it's crown
Cocoon doom blooming in a room
all he knows is to breathe
in through the tube

I'm commanding a komodo.
--Lord of the Dragonflies.
I'm scraping my belly
against an utter like sky.
-So close you can fang the rainbow.

My enemies look like kangaroos
equipped with brass knuckles.
-USELESS-
But they don't know this.
So they keep swinging,
thinking, "Please! Let just one hit."
Little do they know,
you can't hold a candle to a ghost.
**** and I'm up in smoke.

I'm fishing in a fissure.
Fighting off the seizures.
Flinging my gorilla mitts
at them cowardly lizards
like look, this is my tower.

Broken and battered my battering
ram was sacrificed to the tatters
They say it's just another chapter
plastered to my purpose
Yet I can't shake the feeling that
Rapture surfaced for the hermits
And these circus serpents that slither
like syrup worship the wordless
I've got a turtle's curtain on my back
It's only a matter of time before
the surgeon becomes lumberjack
I'd mount a counterattack but
I know for a fact my zodiac
wouldn't allow it

Each letter I've built with brick.
Mortar made of my night's lament.
Every poem littered with soot
and tattered footprints that skim.

I've bellowed over the valley's forge;
indeed on through to forever more.
Still, the hours draw with no return.
The phantom's vigil is all for naught
when a crow roosts upon it's jump.

I shall be done akin to the fallen king
who so heavily bears his mangled crown,
with quill in hand pecking feverishly
away at the hourglass's quick sand.

My final few words will be that of a book
reveled by many yet thumbed by none,
"I've finally rid myself from this contraption.*"

He's backwards - impractical, practically
snapping from the woefully composed laughing.
He's properly combating the raft of phantoms
bathing in his atoms; at least that's
what he tells himself when the
rabbit breaches the furthest fathom.
It's a rerun he's now seen some obscene sum.
The captain is a mad man and refuses to fasten the cannons.
Life lines turned into talons and punctured his rat lungs
leaving him breathless in a land of gasping rascals.
There's no need to speak when factions keep acting
like fractions; can't you see that classes are shackles
meant to keep you distracted via splashes.

How come the only time
I feel real is when I cry?
Stick me in the freezer
and forget me for a while.
Let me perpetually die
via frostbite til my colors
go from blue to a darker hue
you wouldn't recognize.
Maybe then I'd find the piece of mind
I've long denied.
Maybe then I'd feel alive.
If I told you I loved you
it wouldn't be a lie
Truth be told I wouldn't
get the words out fast enough
and by the time they came your way the earth would have turned
and your world changed.
So I sit in place with this
dumb look up on my face
while my heart beats itself
to death inside its cage.

I wanna swallow a hook
and direct it at the cork in my gut
conveniently corroding the courage
I mustered with a dump truck
Bottle it up let it fizzle then pop

Hello, my name is
The Turn of a Door ****,
The slam that comes after
when time runs faster than
your little legs could master

Nice to meet you
Don't mind my standoffishness
It happens when I feel threatened
A Defense mechanism assembled
by twelve children in a tantrum

I walked into the store today,
saw single roses on display
and thought to myself,
"This would look good on her shelf."
But then the gravity of the situation
hit me and sank in like quicksand;
I wish she was by my side
so I can show her everyday
just how much more she's worth
than a single ******* rose
on some stupid made up day.

I live my life like
rock, paper, scissors, shoot
**** I got both hands on the steel
double ******* like a monkey
gripping two banana peels
I'ma land urchin lurking
the muk, thorns up
Demeanor screaming like
a tea kettle's whistle that's stuck
Or dynamite hissing through
a canyon's sawbuck*
Mastered peasantry so
when I overthrow the kingdom
I can bring the real family with me

This isn't art it's poetry
Emotion disguised as prose
Letters poised with potency
Hopefulness freed vocally
This isn't art it's honesty

My thoughts became a ball
bouncing over preordained dialog
shuffling from end to end
leaving hoofprints condemned
A scattershot of expression
tickling the back of my skull
For the sentences I spoke
fell from my mouth
like a rabid dog dripped foam
and within hung the beat
of a foolish man's sunken soul

I wore a smile
crafted from negligence
A paper-mache heart
burning at both ends
You asked of the things
that make me tick
to which I replied
The simplicity of it

Is this not death?
The souring of bolus settling its
way into the fringe of my gut.
Air hanging like the noose that it is -
Baptized by morning dew as if to say
"Come on in. Have a little faith"
Street lights take on demonic shape
It's the forever hunt of spotlight eyes
in heat for a soul to mate.
And the faces;
The countless mazes that have
entwined for far too long to form
an improbable labyrinth.
One shoe over the next
Once again today and tomorrow
for as long as the eye can wonder.
Is this not hell?

I'm losing my mind one
misplaced thought at a time.
The negativity of endless possibilities
surround me like a crowd of zombies
foaming at the mouth with doubt...
as if I ran out.
A misguided soul, fresh outa high school,
too young to know about the real world
and all the people in it
who'd rather see you out than in it.
I must of missed the memo
back when my parents
were still trying to keep things simple.
That was me five years ago, full of hope,
wanting more outa life than a 5 x 5 cubicle.
Time flies when you're contemplating suicide behind fake smiles and white lies -
hollow hellos and forever goodbyes.
Days turn to faces you don't wanna meet,
so you try to run 'n' hide, but can never
get more than a mile before realizing
you're still trapped inside your own mind.
I think of you a lot and all the promises
we made when things got rough;
the **** we said to each other
when we were truly free from thought.
Raw heart beats and ice cream
going together like
peanut butter and jelly...
I used to love you... I used to love me.
It's funny how life can change
due to a simple exchange,
an insignificant display of atoms
rearranging their state
to escape the pain of decay;
not knowing tomorrow
might just be a better day.
I stumble over these letters
like they were I's
connected at the hip
which formed a ladder
and no matter how high I climb them,
all I ever seem to do is blabber.
I can't help feeling like i'm going about this the wrong way.
Am I the molecule out of place
or the simple exchange?

His life's an ice cream catastrophe
executed
with cannon-ballistic mastery

A sidewalk massacre
specified
to the likes of a child's book

Riding the fine line
between
chalk-lines and cloud nine

Face plant, change lanes,
gain pace,
reiterate... over and over again

His mind's the wonderland
of a maze
guarded by a Minotaur's embrace

No chocolate for deep space
he prefers
the aftertaste of chili anyway

I'm not here for the fame,
you can keep the lights dim.
Tighten up the chains 'til
the night buckles to a bend.
I'll sit and listen to the crickets chip
away at this cellophane tomb
in an attempt to insulate the walls
with a billion little brutes,
like a pack of rabid dogs deliriously
chewing on the moon.
God forbid the covenant ever
summons this slumbering specimen.
He's Megaman turned Neanderthal
via one too many Super Mushrooms.

**** the early bird
Long live the worm
The devourer of dirt
The inheritor of Earth
Peel back the ozone layers
and you'll see no difference
between us and the ants
stuck playing the clone's dance
A mouthful of worth
no matter the curse
The type to land feet first
even when the hearse swerves

My life's an anagram
scrambled on the daily
by the toddler tendencies
of a **** drunk humanity
Single handedly scribbling lines
into the sands of my sanity
like a sapling wrathfully
thumbing it's hancock
through the dew drops
atop my glass canopy

We waited with that
white porcelain cat patience
for what seemed like a generation
of, "Here, take this."
Passing notes through the ozone layers
In a grand game of cat and mouse cadence

Empty sheets even though
the headcases reminisce
remnants of a commendable place.

If it's half past twelve, well that means
I've been slumbering northbound
for a giant's leap, ouch.

Enough blank face
to chase down a zombie's eek
and still I fail to assimilate
this wool pouch.

Suppose Fury's fangs fixate
on inanimate veins
that would explain this
werewolf gaze I'm harboring.

Too real for the pondering;
A Subspace Wanderer.
You can find me in between
the lines conjuring.

I could
topple these towers
a thousand times over
and from the gathered rubble
they would emerge;
faces spun like webs
dancing among the branches.
And you being the only one
there ever was
would collapse against
the wayward sky of my choosing.
But all that I see along the shore
is trees upon trees
laid neatly like the silhouette
of a thousand smokestack corpses.
No, my love, I will not feed you
to a pit of absolutes.
For you, nothing but my death
would ever do.