'She arrived today,all wintry smiles,
the weather seems to have accommodated,
I would not/could not feed her sadness,
so she left still hungry
with veiled threats of aloneness at christmas.

I built a fire to take the edges off her goodbye.
Divinely aromatic,
but still a chill in the air,
and a slight taste of cinnamon.'

She was held so clumsily in place a long time ago,
until she stepped into a bubble,
a clutter of personalities,
come out,come out wherever you are...is what they kept repeating.
when the 27 came storming,raging,loving at them,
the horror in those made up eyes, burned,
she was aflame with life ,tormented and screaming,
left with no cover,raw and broken,
she clawed her way back,(did she?)
with a soul ripped open,
spewing forth truths that never abated.
She still chokes on those times.

Dug up from the sand you have been buried in
held aloft
squirming
blinded by heat and intensity of visions
mucus runs across your face
dripping with guilt and chemicals
the aftertaste of corporation food.

Fevered dreams held together with floyd moments
rings around you
raw,hollow,retching as you cough up self disgust.

No softness here
tears too ashamed to cry,too bitter tasting
no conversation here
only prattles and pity,unsure
body squeezed like a writhing grub
flesh and water
swollen
unpretty.

mismanaged prostitution
barbed wire kisses
telephone breathing
hands on white thighs
digging fingers
hardened
crows feet
crones cry
another drink
something hard to drown a sorrow
to **** a cigarrette in
lick my lips
******* revulsion..

Looking at our photos.
What does she see in me?

Then I remember: Don't put
Your gift in a horse's mouth.

It'll only chew it
To pieces.

on the crowded quai of inception
   gilded minutes ornately revolve
time is measured in tranches of soul
   transporting moments of his essence

never versed in the outside world
   an innocent daughter of imagination
boarding a train of transfixed reverie
   her departure held fast in sistine release

such a private exhibition on public display
   their affection left open to interpretation
a tearfully expressive and inspired farewell
   within a shrine devoted to the art of the muse

they say a watched *** never boils
but my mind certainly does
and i watch it all the time
it's never out of my sight
yet it's constantly spilling its contents
in a roiled turmoil
all over my consciousness

the result is a reduction
of my state of mind
of my perspective
either a concentrated awareness
or a flavorless sludge of grey matter
it all depends on the heat applied
it all depends on evaporation

a proper chef would be attentive
a saucier of good stock
choosing quality ingredients
maintaining a simmer
avoiding a seethe
controlling condensation
distilling even pabulum to perfection