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Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Looking over the parapet
gawking at the Sagrada Familia
built by God's architect
almost makes me
                        want to believe.
Started building in 1882 in Barcelona by Antoni Gaudi, will not be completed until 2026. The straight line belongs to men, the curved one to God.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
Behind these eyes, insanity
a slow permeation of a voice
screaming truths and half truths

I just don’t want to listen
so I flood the head
just to drown the haunting

but it is ******* immortal
every night I send an eagle
to gnaw on the larynx

every morning it’s there to greet
disguised as a fictional friend
                  fiend. I meant fiend.

it’s kudzu it’s ******* kudzu
every day is a mid spring day
even in winters delicate palms

I spend the nights soaking in a bath
last night I let the water ******* tongue
soon it will feast on my lungs

I can go out like Plath
except my poems are bad
and my novel is only a paragraph

I will not
     let the inner
          demons win.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018

This depressive choreography
                                     of flames
                                     f     i      k     r     n
                                         l    c      e     i     g
consumed in the geography
                                 of bodies
                                 b   i   c   k   e   r   i   n   g
                              
Tongue's embers  licking  
                  the innocent cheek
words like poniards
                     P   R   I   C   K   I   N   G
leaving this dance at its
                                                          piqu­e

Now left  a  s m o u l d e r i n g
             soloist on the stage
                            a dance so sobering
                                     watch this fire's rampage

burn his own pyre
              I gave into the rage
burn his own desire
             another illegible page
tossed to fuel the bellowing fire
              the end of our golden age

Brandon Conway Sep 2018
I will slither my venomous tongue
into those tender ****** ears
until my intent is well and hung
after bottles wash away fears
my genteel words only a facade
to feed my carnal desire
my affable countenance only a fraud
to cross the threshold of your attire
tonight we will worship fermented grape
my little maenad
in ecstasy my hands follow the shape
  of your curves, driven mad
my charm
your curse
my arms
your hearse

when the sun shows his face
I'm but a ghost
your conscience defaced
my next egotistical boast
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
I come home again and there you sit
On the couch under the tvs grip

You never move, complain when I leave
I have asked you to come and join me

No you say, you're to tired for that
You rather go take your daily nap

So you escape to the room with bed
There you are laid now resting your head

Off you go having those horrid dreams
Keep this up, it'll be reality
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Boundaries pushed for lights and dance
America so eager to imitate gave you no chance
So you moved to art nouveau France
Where you twirl, spin, ignite leaving crowds in a trance

How that silk captures the flame so bright
Tricks of mirrors and stroboscopic lights
You strobos angel of the night
The crowd watches as you twirl in dizzying flight

The silk rose opens and morphs to flame
As you spin and dance your way to fame
All those impostors you have put to shame
The opera house now pronounces you a grande dame

All that training, all that tiresome work
Damaged eyes and mind driven berserk
Has created a new form of serpentine artwork
Exploding luminescent colors, a dancing firework
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9u5afkEInEg
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
With just a click
                    the wick
absorbs the flame.

A gossamer light
                      that ignites
into a beacon of warmth.

A temple blessed
                       A mess
My own desk.

Wax starts to melt
                       And pelt
Into the ocean of its own creation.

A flame so soothing
                     Hand moving
Page a field of snow.

Enough of this kitsch
                      Flipped switch
A flame confused and sputtering.

The fan spins and calms
                           Resting palm
A flame vanishes.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Dreaming while dying
Is the only way to catch
Immortality
Inspired by The Long Dream by Junji Ito.
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
When I first passed the gates
into the metallic garden
stamping out seeds
                      for the junkyard
with its infinite cardiac output

I gazed upon the eyes of the creatures
that inhabited this oily soil
                            of steel and chemicals
all I saw was a cry for help
to escape
          to be away
                just one day
they cry, just one day

I got caught in the claws
and it scratched
                       and scratched
the wounds heal but the scars stay

I have become a trapped animal
                                     with eyes of dismay

There's little chance of escape
I can dream
           I can pray
one day, I echo
               one day

Now I am just taxidermy
for this godforsaken industry
and they call this
quality.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
There was once a poet from long ago
Who stories told of transformations
I shall tell of one that you may not know
Pyramus and Thisbe who loved through a cracked foundation

Whose houses were connected, neighbors were they
Families ensnared in rivalry and outrage
Oh how did it so weigh
On these blind lovers left with lips to assuage!

A crack so small only a desperate lover could see
A whisper only could dance through to ease
Two star-crossed lovers crouching on hands and knees
Expressing words that warm and please

To bring to light
Their love they did agree
To meet late at night
By the white mulberry tree

Thisbe first to show and await did she
Until a loud rustle filled the air
Frightened she ran off and hid thee
So fast her veil escaped the grasp of her hair

A lioness fresh from feeding
Paraded on passing by,
She went sniffing and licking
Veil now red left under the midnight sky

Pyramus, with the white specked tree in view
Sees just an empty sheath
Just a mulberry tree under a blanket of moonlit blue
With a crimson soaked veil underneath

Thinking he lost his heart's desire
She the cure to eternal strife
Life now nothing but mire
Wishes to follow her in afterlife

A sword he did reveal
With both hands set and firm
Fell on this stinging steel
Left as food for the callous worms

Oh how his blood did gush
Painting white mulberries incarnadine
Thisbe returning in such a rush
For Pyramus she did pine

A lifeless corpse awaits for her
Under that maledict tree
Blood soaked veil she did incur
So she dropped to one knee

Life without him she hated
A breast she did beat
Cried to the gods, fated
His sword she did greet

Forbidden love changed white to red
The berries we have today
Ill fated lovers left dead
To embrace in rot and decay

Together on the pyre
Rivalry has come to end
Lovers cradled in fire
Ashes in one urn, together again.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
Squalid off-white cube
fluorescent buzzing hue
water stained tiles
tribulation from digital files

dilapidated symbiote
invisible hungry parasite
optimism capsized in the abyss
tedium tongue french kiss

five hours a month
forest bathing in the sun
a cure they say
nature is a gateway

shambling down trails
languid gait sails
fractal patterns surround
tweets in background

head starts to clear
wondrous frontier
five hours a month
soaking in the sun

not enough time
to melt away grime
five hours a week
leaves a happier physique

summer sea breeze
rolling over unease
basking in the heat
leaving is so so bittersweet

return to human farm
pray for fire alarm
nature is a gateway
natures my getaway
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
Soaring over the idyllic fields of poet's day dreams
an opening exposes some endless blue
the sun cast's his golden rod
and waits while humming his bright tune

Suddenly submerged
for his bait we had chewed
turbulence drops yellow bags
and white fog blinds our view

The sun is toying with us
letting the line out farther and farther
the old sun and the sky
a departure within a departure

Finally the sun pulls the line
screaming, we steady then ascend
are we going higher now?
better make amends
                                 via amens

Look all the fog is gone
this isn't the suns pole
the light is fleeing and
this cabinet grows so cold

The air thins into non existence
yet somehow we can breath
in these celestial waters
watch as the earth takes her leave

Reeling faster now
how these stars pass by
what's beyond the celestial sphere
this fisherman sure is spry

Finally a golden gleam approaches
splash through the pearly gates
into the net of heaven
pietistic fingers embrace

An omniscient voice speaks
NOT AGAIN, ANOTHER USELESS CAN?
and he tossed this metal heap away
who do I eat and who do I romance

It's going to be a long journey home.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
fulfill      painful
unify      placebo
cultivate      shiv
kind         abjure
Brandon Conway Aug 2018

The words that
                               d
                                  r
                          ­    i
                            p


off your serpentine tongue
dissolves the flesh            r
                                     u    n      n
                                  b         i        g
my lungs

breathless gasping at fetid air
reckless in this never ending nightmare
derelict and disrepair
death wish traveling nowhere
except
            D
            O
            W
            N


under­ a mound of stone and flowers
twirling aimless in  buffet showers
leaving flesh devoured

by passionate winds  
soul left caged in

self-indulging bones

left to wither to dust
this is the final price
of a wandering lust
a real fool's paradise
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
The midnight air is filled with
fetid sewage
the city block houses
yards of gravel and broken bricks
decorated streets of graffiti and *****
roaches skitter across sidewalks

A homeless woman sleeps on the sidewalk
a hundred yards away from the lofts
where I am safe

And I think where did it go wrong?

You lie here every night
with a casted foot and crutches
covered with the remains of a blanket
wondering where the next meal hides

Do you beg or play the raccoon?

This city never slows
sirens howl to the light polluted sky
constantly
like a coyotes staccato bark

Cranes reach toward the heavens
with a question to ask God

Can we build to your home and charge a fee to view the gates?

The nightclub below full of drunks
or to be drunks,
bellowing for attention
before riding home with a stranger
and waking up to another mistake
of empty emotions

With a hunger for acceptance
one will venture out
with one of questionable honesty
if the drugs are cheap

And here I am
walking the ***** streets
at one in the morning
in this menagerie of a city
because I can’t

Sleep

absorbing the sights and the smell
of sick and disgust
but in the morning all will be

Different

The sun will hide the dark
the sky will add color
the homeless will be camouflaged
with the busy crowd
buildings will look alive
bustling with people
the crane will be building
looking for an answer

And I still will not be able to

Sleep.

**** this filthy city.

And yet, I wouldn’t call any other place home.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018

This side of paradise                                                       ­                           
                      located just across the threshold
                      of those delicate clothes              
                      underneath that soft pink skin  
                        stretched over those lovely bones
                      Rosalind, how those eyes hold    
                     the constellations of my love    
                       hold me close, dear
                      and let go our fears
 of class
    of money
                       let us not go hungry
                                                eat the plate that feeds                     
The other side is looking greener                                                        ­    
                                               like the color of money,
                                                      a serpent hissed in your ear
                                             what a fitting surname
                                            Ryder, on the coattails
                                               it's not love, its security
                                for your family
Thank God for prohibition                                                    ­                    
paradise was starting to look hazy
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
Am I too early
or so so very late?
Time is but a smudge
of mixed acrylic paint.

My history, the canvas
and my pen a brush.
Time is but a smudge
dripping through my clutch.

Dreams blur into nightmares;
nightmares into day-time thoughts.
Time is but a smudge
of profits and loss.

When the end comes
my journal will be passed.
Time is but a smudge
that my children will grasp.

They will both read
of my love for them.
Time is but a smudge
in this infinite realm.

They will both know
how much I love them so.
Time is but a smudge
and if it weren't for them I would of let go.

Time is but a smudge
in an never ending orbit
time is but a smudge
and they have made it euphoric.
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
A grizzly man just sunk a stripe in the corner pocket
Another bought himself company in a glass
One pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips
Soon a spark ignites and a spirit starts to rise

Over head the hum of jets fly by

Across the street sits an old rusty park
Two kids are there, who knows from where
They look happy to be free
A dog squatting just behind a tree

The flying angels left their halo

A block down the street
People gather to watch the lighting of the Christmas tree
Some in the coffee shop
Sipping on sugar and caffeine

The halo starts to whistle

The town is lit up as to say thanks to our lord
Instruments take the stage
Rock around the Christmas tree begins to play
Children yawn and parents laugh as it’s getting late

The whistle shows his face

The festivities stop
Screams of panic fill the night
Kisses and hugs, loved ones holding tight
The smoke in the bar has risen ceiling high

The face opens his mouth and laughs out loud

Silence overtakes the night
Just for a split second before a column of bright
Cauterizes the flesh and melts the bones
Once a joyful town, now is gone

This was the third one tonight
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
Everyone needs a vacation away from home
so I trekked out to the crumbling temple
of your soft skin and fragile bones
welcomed with the promise of being gentle
a beautiful landscape for me to roam

Checked into your vacant room
visited the museum of your hall
dined on wine and roasted shrooms
danced the town in a hazed pub crawl
slept in the arms of your perfume

Days swift by into weeks
weeks begin to breeze
You grab me by the cheeks
and tell me that you love me

Babe, I am just a tourist
Its time for me to go home.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Loving
Excited
Joyful
Happy
Good
Smiling
Life
Frowning
Fine
Lying
Ennui
Melancholy
Forlorn
Death
Smiling
­Good
Happy
Joyful
Excited
Loved I hope.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
As I turn the page
Thousand births and thousand deaths
None affecting me
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Tick

In the tyranny of the measuring clock
Death is but a tortoise in this timeless race
With every slow tick and echoing tock
Forever keeping its careless pace

With so much to do I stay awake
With one foot in front of the other
Running with knees and feet that ache
Time feeds worms a salutary supper

In the end we must lie and nap
Embrace eternal slumbers deadlock
We are just hares caught in times trap
In the tyranny of the measuring clock

Tock
Brandon Conway Aug 2018
A person goes out to town to cure
Boredom or loneliness
Often looking to conquer both

Even an introvert wants company
It’s taken six years to go search

I found a coffee shop
With a black box room

I took a seat
And waited for the host
To start the show
Improv comedy
Never been to one of those

The host asked
What’s inside this invisible box
Answers came out from the audience

I said a can of worms
Not loud
I hate attention
But the host heard
And chose that can of worms

Someone listened to me
And now they are making
Me my own personal joke

I got to admit
I was jealous
Each member has conquered
The fear of people
Of being in front of people
Of speaking to people
Acting crazy in front of people

The show was great
We all had a laugh
One day I will thank them
And maybe one day
I’ll join on that stage

Just one foot in front of the other
Next week is a poetry reading
And that’s where I’ll be
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Oh luminous blue
First laid eyes upon you
Just above the treeline
On a warm spring night
Caught in your gossamer sight
A beauty to rival the amaranthine flower
I will be your Adonis
If you will be my everything.
6/7/2018 I laid eye upon Venus for the first time and connected in body and soul to her.
War
Brandon Conway Jul 2018
War
Rapacious hands give
Covetous demands, cities
Built on genocide
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
I have a friend, he's mostly made of pain
He wakes up, drives to work and straight back home again
He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover
And I tried to tell him he had a sense
Of color and composition so magnificent
And he said, "Thank you, please
But your flattery
It's truly not becoming me
Your eyes are poor, you're blind you see
No beauty could have come from me
I'm a waste
Of breath, of space, of time"

I knew a woman, she was dignified and true
Her love for her man was one of her many virtues
Until one day she found out that he had lied
And decided the rest of her life from that point on would be a lie
She was grateful for everything that had happened
And she was anxious for all that would come next
But then she wept, what did you expect?
In that big old house with the car she kept
And, "Such is life," she often said
With one day leading to the next
You get a little closer to your death
Which was fine with her, she never got upset
And with all the days she may have left
She would never clean another mess
Or fold his shirts or look her best
She was free
To waste away alone

Last night, my brother he got drunk and drove
And this cop pig pulled him off to the side of the road
And he said, "Officer, officer, you've got the wrong man
No, no, I'm a student of medicine, a son of a banker, you don't understand"
The cop said, "No one got hurt, you should be thankful
And your carelessness, it is something awful
And no, I can't just let you go
And though your father's name is known
Your decisions now are yours alone
You're nothing but a stepping stone
On a path
To debt, to loss, to shame"

The last few months I've been living with this couple
Yeah, you know the kind who buy everything in doubles
Yeah, they fit together like a puzzle
I love their love, and I am thankful
That someone actually receives the prize that was promised
By all those fairy tales that drugged us
And still do me, I'm sick, lonely
No laurel tree, just green envy
Will my number come up eventually?
Like love's some kind of lottery
Where you scratch and see what's underneath
It's sorry, just one cherry
I'll play again, get lucky

So now I hang out down by the train's depot
No, I don't ride, I just sit and watch the people there
They remind me of windup cars in motion
The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions
And I want to scream out that it all is nonsense
And their life's one track and can't they see it's pointless?
But just then my knees give under me
My head feels weak and suddenly
It's clear to see it's not them but me
Who's lost my self-identity
And I hide behind these books I read
While scribbling my poetry
Like art could save a wretch like me
With some ideal ideology
That no one could hope to achieve
And I'm never real, it's just a sketch of me
And everything I've made is trite and cheap
And a waste
Of paint, of tape, of time

So I park my car down by the cathedral
Where the floodlights point up at the steeples
Choir practice is filling up with people
I hear the sound escaping as an echo
Sloping off the ceiling at an angle
When the voices blend they sound like angels
I hope there's some room still in the middle
But when I lift my voice up now to reach them
The range is too high way up in heaven
So I hold my tongue, forget the song
Tie my shoes, start walking off
And try to just keep moving on
With my broken heart and my absent God
And I have no faith but it's all I want
To be loved, and believe
In my soul, in my soul



(This is not mine, its from my favorite singer/song writer Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes)
My favorite song that has been with me as my motivation for quite some time now. Thought I would share it :)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q77-ggkzWRI
Brandon Conway Aug 2018

One tower falling
We all gazed, boss yells at us
"Get back to work!" CRASH!
Trying to combine dark comedy into haikus.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
True love is:
                  A waxwing bird feeding
                  A cuckoo who was left in her nest
                  The starving cuckoo is pleading
                  The waxwing is doing her best.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
When she dreams
She’s always running
There’s a malevolent monster chasing
That’s always ravenous  

When I dream
I’m always running
After my pulchritudinous Daphne
I’m always ravenous

When she dreams
She’s always falling
From the cloud penetrating building
Screaming all the way down

When I dream
I’m always pushing
People over their boundaries
Laughing as they fall down
Brandon Conway Sep 2018

Dog days of summer
How doth thou steal
Sweet blackberry plunder
How will I ever heal?

Cars passed fast
breeze swishes trees
As if spirits
Floating so free

A whisper they hiss
run faster than fastest
to grocery store produce bliss
give those blackberries
                                  a little kiss
Brandon Conway Jul 2018
When the dead look up
We are their constellations
Until we burn out
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
I have weathered the anger
of many gods and men
But none compare to the ferocity
of a
heart
   broken
      woman
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
Sleeping is a contract
I keep signing
Waking is a contract
I keep breaking
I just want what
Kumbhakarna had
nidravatvam
six months isn't much
so I can sleep this
sickness away.
Brandon Conway Sep 2018
Foot meets the metal of a cold shovel
with a sun beaming down
booted foot pushes the *****
into the soft and rooty ground

one mound of dirt
sweat forms above the brow
two mounds of dirt
salty bead slithers down
three mounds of dirt
tuned into the sounds
four mounds of dirt
birds chirp all around

stopped by a thick root
extra force must be used
give that shovel a pogo of boots
and we are at the fifth mound

six and seven are easy
as the hole starts to round
eight nine ten eleven twelve
a tomb has been found

carried your sheet covered corpse
laid you in the hole
cover you with what was uncovered
creating a man made knoll

Six years of memories
laid underneath this red dirt
many years missing
that time gone subvert
Brandon Conway Sep 2018

The blood in the bottle usurped
the blood in my veins
I love you I burped
but it was in vain

You're drunk again
why do you cause this pain
it's fuel for my pen
and I cannot abstain

I guess I am weak
with no self control
with a future so bleak
and a shriveled dried soul

It fills the page
can't you see,
it fills your rage
and that's fine with me

Today you left for good
so I bought a new notebook
and a bottle of wormwood
laid out in a small nook

Watch as these pages like feathers
fly off in the wind
lets get back together
so I can do this again
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
This is a haiku
about my last thought of you
it is just as short
Brandon Conway Jul 2018
Xenia stands for
Guest and stranger, why did we
Separate kindness
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Chryseis, the plague
Agamemnon's lust returned
Slave traded for rage
Just realized I messed this up, originally I had the last line as Briseis traded for rage that would make this 5-7-7 so I had to fix it.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Do you remember when we were fearless
I would jump in the lake
Swim shoes lead to a shirt to not even swimming
Do you remember when we would go to concerts and I would body surf
Back row to ear plugs now we never go
Remember when we were sociable
I would have friends and conversate
Phone calls to text messages to not even talking

Do you remember when things went wrong?
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
if I could                     forever                  be turned to
      art                              immortalize            ­                    me in
   ceramic.                                my story                                       have it
  submerged                      at the bottom                          of the sea.
    forever                       eroding                   ­         waiting
to be discovered and studied. Forever capturing the minds
of the historians the poets the dreamers and the ones
filled with curiosity. Have my painted life chipped
away shielded by salt and grime. Leave them
questioning and wondering filling in
the missing specks of my life.
Let them display me on
a pedestal left
to inspire.
Formatting on this one breaks on a small mobile screen
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
When can you call yourself a poet?
When you write down a word?
When do you let yourself know it?
When you are finaly heard?

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you get a like or a love?
When do you show it?
When your confident, sort of?

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you get a sunshine?
When do you let other people know it?
When you reach a headline?

When do you call yourself a poet?
When you are published?
When do you flaunt it?
When you are considered established?

No.

You know when to call yourself a poet.

When your hands are always moving
When your writing about even the kitchen sink
When your mind is always turning
When the white becomes stained with ink.

— The End —