A year ago still seems like yesterday. how precarious this existence, as we float through this life never knowing which direction the currents will take us. You look around and recognize nothing and wonder how it happened that you are so lost. The anchors gave way and you drift meaninglessly and mercilessly. Struggling to find a way back to where you belong, realizing that the ocean is vast and indifferent to the desperate beating of your arms against the cold blackness of its waters.

The folly of youth and time wasted. How I would run down the halls of my past and bleed the corpses of yesterday. A chance to feel pure once again, thou I never did at all. We waste the present with abandon and never consider the challenge of tomorrow, until it's far to late. Still there are flowers that bloom, women that wither, and people that take themselves to hell screaming the woes of beauty found in a self imposed mediocrity. ~a.c.

the behemmoth distracted misanthropic lens falls wayside for a moment, i saw you beautiful in frail light as it dimmed to a dullards thoughts again, you could never catch that distracted wandering thought, never put your finger on the distant far cornered cry, bewildered you wept for it, still a blind beggar in a land of evil seers. one morning you awoke unshackled and having a drunkards clarity you spoke, but you spoke too soon, no one heard you and no one cared.

She made me want to tear my eyes out. Burn myself in the streets in effigy to her beauty. I was left beaten and broken after 5 years of love. The mornings are as unbearable as the screeching of a child you cannot comfort. But lo, did I not know of the contempt in heart for me. How a person could feign affection for so long and to what end. There is no putting these broken lives back together. In a far away land I sweat profusely without the comfort of a friend as tear ducts become dried up lake beds. New horrors await and children grow up far to quick. What lessons did you learn?, tell me one day when you look back and wonder about the ghosts you left in your wake. Promises evaporate in this stifling heat, remember that person stole more than your heart. Irrevocable is the course and distraught is the compass. Fascinating speed of change as compared to the dull minutes that constitute an existence without love. Bloated are the content ones, merrily do they become sloths and gluttons with undeserved love and loyalty. Skeletons they make out of the discarded, drained corporeal beings. So with a glance we can discern what should have been and what will never be.

In the small desperate hours just before dawn, I wait there, amongst the fading memories and shadows. Doleful and tired I find no rest within or without. Strange revelations flitter in mind pulling me away from the last significance of the day. I never recall the moment I fall into sleep as I awake to remain, always looking for the next evening and a peaceful nights rest. So it goes each day until one day it won't.

Irrelevance
        Endless patterns & bright blue window pain eyes.
I doubt I'd recognize happiness if it settled
the smell of rain, cemetery grins
       -euphoric
        she laughed out loud in the presence of insecurity
destroyed the hope & childlike deities.
Roman aesthetic, industrial faun
         implicate vigor and false pleasantries.
Water can no longer clean your skin, natural imperfection.
Seething arrival into endless mirrors of red
         imperious revelation, spare me
                           -Consistent Smoke-
spherical sun beam with a nervous smile
beautiful facade in a strangers last gift to uncertainty
          glass silver speck, on the edge with a grin
Follow suits: witty confounding  leather strap of righteousness
Open late in case of mistakes
film the photographer & capture youth
          you're a sick little girl
          golden wet lust mild with love
          Wind chime
          Wind crime
          Sing song
                              Somber solitude
low hear, little plants grow
No need to feel
She is not here
We are all alone.
  
-Alan Harley Clark

To blame her all would be a lie. As I spit blood back into this cup that is mine. Dispelled countenance swells discord amongst the woven machina.

feels like trains whistles and that old stink of forgotten byways, sometimes it itches. sticks in your teeth and takes up residense, peculier needs, we laugh, though we know truth, how it irks and twindles. finds euphonisms and weepy sleeps, murky bound delusion, disillusioned quandary, early morning waifs, always abundantly clear.gotta get home., as the parlance goes';'to mine"

i doubt the impossibilty of attention, words fall thru the cracks of easiness, and melt in the thighs of lack luster gorgeous caverns.

time. is on my side. yes. it is. i have an unfortunately great recall. supose all you people are there, and you know what i know, then you scream like mongrels in outerspace, how can i absolve thee? lest we best ourselves like animals, i will not record the absolute strife of existence, pleasant though, the valleys stalk, the familar ground is weak, how can it be so  miscontrived and willingly wrong? tangent. tangerines? i hope that maybe i am not speaking alone. or you are ******* hair, and thinking of me.

the year was 20 11, and there was pretty angst, it floated and lingered in the air like cigarette smoke in the winter, of course we ignored its insistence, still the rumbling was amongst the least of the peculiars. i said, momentarily it stopped as easy as it had become, i wrenched, things were not changhing hands. we faltered again into obedience.

as your evening slowly and tumultuously withers and absconds into the frivolity that is existence, grant favor to old friends , peculiar run-ins, dodgy runaways, haggard souls, beasts, and saints alike.        
~Alan Harley