Counting out the seconds
Up ending comprehension
Coming forward when beckoned
Kindly teach this man a lesson

………………………………………………………………
Puffing at anxiety filtered liability.
Suffering from plausible deniability.
The sickness comes in slowed,
But acknowledges a debt still owed.
………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………
Places to go, people to see,
Problems to know, expectations to be…
It all seems unnerving in its unraveled state,
The meaningless nature of this loaded plate…
………………………………………………………………

………………………………………………………………
Idolizi­ng the thought of idolization...
Do lofty failings offer any dispensation?
………………………………………………………………

Composed of waveforms trapped in length
Birthed in feats of dreamed up strength
Sweating out dimensions made in hand
Speaking through refractions of false commands

The mistake isn’t in pain, but its regret.
Armed with distortive apprehension
And speech too scrambled for mention
The bard chews on hollowed tune
Ushered forth in a broken croon.

Drawn serious, spelling synonyms in cereal.
Taking the meaning as literal.
Its poison's lyrical
Bolstering concern in the trivial.

This regretful overture, it hounds the drum, it persists.
Penetrating soul and bone in proof it exists.
Ignoring fault-lines held within the trysts,
And notches embroidered upon bloodied fists.

Forced to comfort by the notion of division.
Patronizing the sanctity of a poor decision.

The street sign bent against an aluminum bat.
It rang out through the fall.

Woke up in a holding cell off 405.
Stumbling barefoot on Velcro laces.

Spoken in twinkled tones, over breathless moans.
Harsh is the brevity, following their levity.

Blood On The Tracks**

It spoke in rhythmic transgressions, lifted from the dotted line. It held. It fell.

Polka dots made up of tiny horizontal lines, intersecting with vertical peers.

Overindulging on the semblance of fact, just to seem like they’d grown up a bit.

Self-engrossing indoctrinations to be preached out and blown over…for the rabble it was.

“When something’s not right, it’s wrong.”

Wide-eyed on sleep craved incognizance. It had all gone on too long.

They tried to force their hand, critiquing structure through the veil of a cabaret roused in the liveliest of their rooms.

Stormy shores swept to sea lit calm as the doorframe shook.

Set for a strut, intent on curbing this freshly acquired sensationalism.

Gravity logs its presence through rain dropped conviction…a steam engine sounds off in the distance...finality.

Diseases lapped up from a rotted spoon, consumed to drown as costs balloon.

Parasitic conscription,
Amortized affliction.

Resource held ownership of any and all depiction.

Kicking at the maggots knotted into this rotted steed
Calcified in a crucible purloined out of greed.

Weight wears buxom, on concrete skin.
Held in check, but worn too thin.
Just a pose, to juxtapose
This pirouette on pointed toes

Knight drawn from patents of nobility
Forgery lines emblazon humility
Aided duties fit to pantomime
Birthed in the fake lands of Liechtenstein

Tongue tied on double speak
I’m counting off diseased freckles
Waiting on a fragment to leak
This house sure sounds bleak

Miss Mary found hysteria
In a pillbox prescription
Developed quite the predilection
And overriding addiction

Her infant Michael drank Drano,
He found under the sink
Life stripped in a blink
Should have had a child lock, one would think

Arthur vanished with the birth of a daughter
He thought the whole notion was too big a bother
Left the girl alone in life
To struggle though adolescence without a father

Claire, the good one, wasn’t without her faults
All she did was babel
About her family life or lowly rabble
Confucius orders you to cease this gabble

Ear warped on endless noise
I’m counting off diseased freckles
Thinking up ******* ploys
Or perhaps I should just lose my poise

Crescendo rising to torture the orchestral lull
Broke backed break beats, hound the exhumed hull
Waltzing off with the sounds of silver
Revoked in half measures by a cold sweat shiver
……………………………………………………………………………………
The aft bowed to its keel,
Scorpion shaped contorted steel.
It’s crescent figure draped on the horizon
Lulled to sleep by the house paid siren.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Sloppy soaked balsa kicks back reverence through the feed
Cracks in crackling, evident of disintegration in the reed.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Poppy poked ventricles provoke elegance through need
Rats in shackling, petulant for the absolution required to concede
……………………………………………………………………………………
Unbuckling at middays light
Caustically aware of approaching night
Collective need provokes a search for a scout
No one wants to leave their stash in the middle of a drought
……………………………………………………………………………………
Crashed and burned on grassless shoals
A boat full of users without goals
Left to withdrawal on barren land,
Hollow shores of endless sand

Concerns held as laden
Toxic contagion
Leveled with a thetan
Embodied by satan

Cast its presence in philanthropic light
Take up the cause of an international plight

Meaning held to juxtapose
The congregation of those
Holding up their nose
For a lie they chose

Join a syndicate of shell game dealers
Collecting charitable gains

Join the big game wheelers
Motivated by social pains

Bleed the weak to feed the meek
And go to bed on a good night's sleep.

Demarcation embossed on her skin, puncture point left with a pin
Fishnet stockings for the masses, Wiccan enjoyed in classes.

Personality goes from void to resigned, alternate progression good and primed.
Keen eyed father takes it all to heart, seeing his daughter’s wrist opened with a part.
Packs up and moves them all down to San Tropez
Hoping freedom in peace would take it all away.

Clean cut, concise and thin, award worthy with a stellar grin
An esteemed academic decathlete, salacious in the recesses of his sleep

Pressure mounted at too harsh an angle, fell back on those that dangle
Clean and cut with a proclivity for exposure, an outlet to relinquish his composure.
Packed up and moved down to San Tropez
His father thought it could take it all away

Fed and bred on notions of sin, premature birth, no more spin.
Baggy-eyed and caught in heat, the reasons that led her to cheat.

Husband took it as the answer to a problem, the baby could no longer haunt him.
She fell back into a deadlock stare, her husband thought it was a prolonged glare.
He packed them up and moved down to San Tropez
No amount of travel could take that all away.

Two by two, to Timbuktu, watching the preamble to his vegetative state
Rope-a-dope, a cautious *****, setting to fire from the gate

Flame surged, feet merged…swept up in a seamless blur
Awareness urged, the white flag’s purged…hallmark in corner paid slur.

Back fed, delusions said, motivation slow to percolate
Quick feed, slow bleed, letting the skin marinate

Light stab, swift jab, birthed through motion
Re-run, high spun, bringing about commotion

Objectivized meat, rinse-repeat, turn a hook to roll the page
Ref stalls, opponent falls, strobe lights flood the stage

Roll to ten, count and spend, nothing goes unchanged
Two to one, sign and done, it’s all prearranged

Marched in step
Toting a little red wagon
Stride carried pep
Dragging that little red wagon

Weathered in rust
Creaking in the sun
Covered in dust
It weighs a ton

Overburdened by basic trinkets
Remnants of Christmas 05
Macaroni made cumulonimbus
From school days off winchester drive

Photo of family for evidence
Not that it means a thing
Victim of malevolence
Thrown out in early spring

Winter brought about the cough
Toting a little red wagon
His whole system seems off
Dragging that little red wagon

He's feeling old
Went and turned lethargic
Held onto the cold
Wallowing in hardship

Deterioration apparent
There's something horribly wrong
Behavior aberrant
His strength is gone

Innocence in tow
Holding onto reactionary bliss
Writing name in snow
...Blood marked abyss

Death encroaches.
He falls before his little red wagon
A young boy approaches
And steals that little red wagon

This split stick fucksicle... there it goes again, circling the drain...creating a distraction, truth in obfuscation... and, amongst it all, throughout the fall, there it holds, a heavy shadow tugging at her will, distended from an unearthed and then uprooted olive branch...to remain in stasis, and display the prophetic delusions of subversive prophets...who never seem to promote such blatant exhibitionism

Genuinely heartbroken
From a passing triviality
To be forgotten,
And passed over
Like prestige in frame

Billy had an ingrown hair
That covered most of his temple
Tried to pluck it, being gentle
Caused swelling in a gland to flare

Bulging pustule pinned up next to his eye
The attraction’s leading folks to stare
He knows he shouldn’t care
But pin in hand he lets off a battle cry

Goes to war with a sharpened stick
Alignments balance best to beware
Pushed too far, a ****** affair
Left without motion after that one little *****

Billy once had an ingrown hair
Placed right over his temple
Tried to pop it without being gentle
Flawless complexion as he drools from a chair

I had visions, wasn’t in them
They’re reflected into the mirror
Absence couldn’t be clearer
There’s nothing left inside of me

Fingertips have memories
Sightless, jaunting above my body
And then they feel a little bit naughty
I run it up the flagpole and see,
Who salutes, but no one’s ever does

I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell

Went through the roof and found
That only stupid people are breeding
The cretins cloning and feeding
And I’m not even watching T.V

Absent minded upward in the place of nerves
Something wrong about me
Starting to seem a bit crazy
They cut off my limbs and now I’m an amputee, ******* you

I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And it was a sin, to live so well

Torn blow the covers of ‘zines
Ripped in the cogs of machines
Forced to hold my tongue
It doesn’t hurt, it feels fine
Precariously sublime
I’d like to turn back time
And **** my mind
You **** my mind, mind

Paranoia, Paranoia
Everybody’s coming to get me
They are all pulling at me
I’m running underground with the moles, digging holes
I hear their voices in my head
I swear to god it sounds like they’re snoring
But if you’re bored, then you’re boring
The agony and the irony; they’re killing me

I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And I’m so hot, cause I’m in Hell
I’m not sick, but I’m not well
And it was a sin, to live so well
One, two, three, four

Smacked down, in a beat-down.
Agreed to on principle.
Wet nose and numb toes.
Drowned out in principle.

Her lipstick blossomed against this, particular, shade of white.
It dimmed, as the filter thickened with a yellow stain.
Halfway down the bridge, held the implements saving her sight.
Lost in a back alley while feeling contrite
Privileged enough, still avoiding a handouts gain
Easy enough, held at her beauty’s height.
Unresolved, and drenched in self-imposed pain.
T-shirt’s ripped and garnished in disdain

Caught up with mystics and the art of transference.
Eye line clotted in an ever-thickening paste of black.
Standing upright on borrowed self-assurance
Using a bodyguard as a cocktail for hollow insurance.
Always a rotational position, pulled from the stack.
No more than a figure head to represent deterrence.
Tripped on a bed-rock buried in the track.
Wound up addicted her first time on crack.

Rent paid, toying with dewey decimals. Expense made, avoiding the forced confessional.

Skimmed milk, drunk up from a skinned ***, begged for in a time of need. Curdled for cheap cheese, worked over by skilled feet, reneged for the sake of greed.

Licking spit skeptically off a boot-wiped floor for the worth of a dime. Picking grit hectically in a moot-like chore, covered in grime.

Flick’n flash beat against the permeable door, social media made aware that you’re poor.

Moth and flame play the poor man’s vice, retreat handed out for a bag of rice. Told to go and play nice, life revoked if mistaken just thrice.

Livelihood donated through public tax, all to afford a home infested by rats. Hospital trips noted by fat-cats, looking to assimilate this case with their stats.

Infection corrodes every ****** cut. Distinction acknowledges a momentary rut.

Rent paid, thanks to forced confessional. Expense made, up-scale digs coined on a dime termed parental.

Took a trip on the Belafonte,
Bound with Cuba to forgotten Sanz.
Dinning on tin canned Del Monte,
A glass of Suntory always in hands.

Lloyd Faversham gifted salacious devices by John Cleese.
Used as props in Mike’s next gin stained showpiece.

The drum-line seemed irksome to J. Jonah.
He’d heard Zach Hill before.
Given limited time, despite the persona.
Interstellar fault found in a **** metaphor.

A swift change to an even more marketable sound.
Sparks didn’t fly when trying to appear profound.

Tiny teen dreams tending to tiny skirts.
Fidgeting with the hem-line.
Their just unintelligible flirts.
Stripping to avoid the breadline.

Dystopian fiction led to dissolution of fact
Can’t seem to see their world isn’t intact.

Atwood to Collins, Collins to a stupid ******* maze.
Alternate choice being a criminal thrill.
Simplistic fantasy whose only benefit is praise.
Popular opinion seems to be well over the hill.

White
Born to a blank wall
Full of purpose and all

Yellow
Undecided is the place to be
Inconsequential as thoughts tend to flee

Orange
It gets political now
One mind, set to wow

Green
Enthralled in the scenery
Personality the unknown replica of thievery

Red
Understanding semi-formed
Understanding still uninformed

Orange
Take back up again with the best of intentions
Becoming wary of overlapping dimensions

Red
Obligation takes precedent
Action becomes evident

Blue
Money makes the soul grow weary
Inclinations become contrary

Black
In the darkness alignments cease to matter
Just a stray woven thread held by a tatter

Heavy was the globe, until the glove hit
Found himself entangled in a handlebar flip
Iron in the taste, ****** waste
Continuum drawn back on a meaningless quip

Unsteady footing reminiscent of preschool days, snorting paste
Zebra striped mockery, paid off the books; his vision’s been maced
Early end to prolonged exposure, he tries to bait
Steady eyed denial approaches with haste

The monetarily gorged rule keeper entangles in debate
Opponent grows weary appearing irate
He recalls the words in a blank cheque written by a weak frame
A levelling blow leaves his opponent in a blank state

World weary and star struck to blame
All in pursuit of everlasting fame

Constructed in a year of inconsequential relevance,
A lighthouse stood over the turning tide.

Many a vessel had found respite in the glow of this beacon.
Through many years this tower stood strong.

The keeper, never of like name,
A position handed over in death.

Countless generations of watchful eyes relieved after duty.
All but an instant to this pillar,

This guiding light of prosperity.

I took over, 19 years from birth.
Training took a fragment of an hour.

Stood on guard, through a ceaseless haze,
First night on duty.

Tremors shook the beacon,
But it never lost its light.

A wave came to view,
Its size well beyond my comprehension.

The tower stood, as I was knocked upon the floor.
It never lost its light.

Sixteen years slipped by,
Not so much as a boat.

I admit, my head was starting to slip.
I hadn’t spoken in years.

I went in search of conversation and left my post.
In it’s place I discovered a barren wasteland of death and decay.

There was no life.
It was gone.

Without purpose or place, I marched on into the wasteland,
Until I came across a roaming beacon, shining out upon the horizon.

There I returned to my post,
With this guiding light of prosperity.

Played some scratchers for the better part of his life.
One hundred in
Got ****** up on the UV ink

Hope drawn from the next in line
One hundred and one
Connection voided with a tare

Shackled to the shilling
Required for one hundred and two
Binds himself to an unsightly wealth

Allowance gifted in bi-weekly installments
And out comes one hundred and two
Wins the jackpot with pigment under nail

His keeper takes to court.
Seizing one hundred and two
She departs for paradise

Left with a modest sum
He’s up to three hundred and eight
He’s losing it now

Support called in by all the renounced
Stalemated at three hundred and eight
His credits no longer valid with any lottery clerks

Count the pauses… count the ums.
Bankrupt sit county sums.

Budget, a fixture, no more than a talking point
Biased ramblers to appoint

Unintelligible doctrine to spout
Fear mongering to tout

Advertisements pair worth to a nine-year absence
And speak of self-mirroring balance

Public workers left without voice
And an inability to promote their choice

A fountainhead meaning proved invalid
Still chattered on about for the sake of the ballot

A demonic man with cat on lap
Spewing forth a **** load of crap

Chosen stance, in promotion of defense
Bankrupting the nation in a swindlers fence

Bound in decision to a blurred spectrum
Loyally stuck brown-nosing a corrupted ******.

Egoism in crisis
It all seems so pious
It all seems so righteous
Reflecting shades of common bias

Mirror, fractured into several states.
Issued come a false set of plates

Checkered in neon flows the matted flag
Sightlines fall upon the stag
Set on hind legs as if to brag.

Cowardice departs in favor of fear. The hunter becomes the deer.

Tires rip against the grain
Their tread carry the ****** stain
No misery left here to feign
Backs up, to do it all again

This dream worked paradise built on southern myth
Collapsed the other night, I’m sure.

Floorboards drenched in gasoline,
Burnt to embers in a seconds fifth.

A devote wife seen to be impure
Stricken dead by the last shell in a magazine.

The silhouette of a hollow soul
Took to dragging out her man.

He’s brought about betrothed in atonement
The latter half feeling hardly whole

He speaks soft words to his beloved Anne
Departure leaves no postponement.

Barrel presses in on the underside of his ear.
Carrying the sulfur scent that killed his love

He hears the trigger click, silence from the gun
No deafening boom for all to hear.

Takes the demon down with no more than a shove.
On the ground bellow stands his lover’s son.

Forked tongue gives way to split focus
Tantalizing a set of twins
Birth certificates turned out bogus
Discarded go the latex skins

Dwindling down in a paradoxical manor,
Running sock footed on the carpet.
Boxers, a tribute to some hulking Banner.
Parental piggies, sold off at market.

Home alone with no Pesci in sight
School board shaken with a deep voiced call
Bills unpaid, there goes the light
Pillow fort expanded into a cushioned sprawl

Imagination run on an empty stomach
Stale crumbs of old yeller, collecting mold
Child Services arrive for the plummet
Off to an orphanage, or so I’m told.

Pre-Columbian decomposition held over the shilling
Bleached in the lord’s name god willing

Bartered with Charon
For voyage through the Acheron

Slipped and fell into the first whole circle
Limbo bound with unbaptized babies looking mighty purple

Stupid ******* idiots saying stupid ******* things.

Spit flies from flapping gums spewing up unresolved equations to unremembered problems...it all flutters about amongst other absences of thought.

Speech and wording corrosive to the ear as volume beats out the drum.

Love, or its absence, held as the sole theme for soulless thought, all as teen angst is misinterpreted as teen spirit... god it smells like ****!

Talking now without any recognition of borrowed phrasing and copyrighted conclusions.

Why must they continue spouting irrelevancies to a grouping of irrelevants?

So tired now...time to quit writing in pen...need to learn to mimic, tracing poor thoughts in crayon

I have drunk your water, and thus your wine,
Though I choked upon the former's salty brine.
Lapped up delusions of dehydration.
Oceans now praised as a denomination.

Drainage…I drank it…I drank your milkshake!
Pillaged claims of an Arctic at stake.
Ruskies, Chankoros, and Yankees all alike,
All willfully ignoring Canada’s most northernly spike.

Epicurean fantasies of being
Soaked up when teething
Gazing at a sightless ceiling
Missed nomenclatures peeling

Words drunk up like simple soda
**** lucky we ain’t in South Dakota!

Hallows Eve found in backwards verse
Picked up from a costumed nurse
Slung loose upon a stage
Taking on details ill equipped for the page.

Words drunk up like simple soda
**** lucky we ain’t in South Dakota!

Mahatma gnaws at World War hungers
Reincarnated forms of Wild West lungers

Spatially realigning to a kosher and beloved state
Krishna stands ignored, can’t help feeling irate
Walrus tusks dig into the carpenter’s brow
As an eight armed saint is revealed as a cow

Scriptures packed and rolled, exhaled in suspicion
Prophets praised for violence incurred, act of sedition

Stole some fixed verse, from a nicked purse
Drown me in turpentine
Told to react first, and act terse
Barren with no arginine
                            …
Diluted grape juice poured like nectar
Drips faithfully down to a rat in its cell
Forged delusions, lidless projector
Purgatory bound through this, a stint in hell
Outward embodiment shown as a spectre
Wilted flowering of a southern belle
Bedpost batters, it earns too deep a notch
Piggies arrive too late, they smell of scotch.

Procession line Vicar,
Speaking with the lowly vigor,
He picked up from a Detroit ******,
Calm down…no one said ******.

Found prosperity
Through a bottle of clarity
Gift wrapped for charity
Then stolen in hilarity.

Refrain borrowed from a borrowing line
**** rolling down on an incline
Rest at the bottom to recombine.
Face up, mouth open; laying supine

Riots over a turn of phrase
Vanquished hope in lost praise
Lawyer’s bout due for a raise
Pointless comment regarding gays…

Waking up to a sale on shoe strings,
Screams of panic as they reach for things
Approach the riot on bare feet
Callouses left over from the street.

Bartering the price up to a surplus
Purchasing things with no purpose

Trampled are the slow
Bodies lay crumpled well bellow
Stomped to a fine dust
****** fluids leave way to rust

Stripes of nylon cover flesh
Color on skin seems so fresh

Inhaling fumes straight from the pipe
Second Hand dealings seized through hype
Misconceptions bound to implode
Laces stripped and worn loose on the road

Sick lies told in serpentine
Slicked walled ****** told to tow the line
Symbiotic stays the bond
Symbiosis for the newly dawned

Beanie bags on tied knees sweep the floor
The children of a neighborhood *****

Willard’s pets toasted over firelight
Inhaled whole nary a bite.

Sunken eyes watching a falling sun
Chewing nails to simulate fun.

Head laid down on a pillow of lice.
Fall asleep terrified with the sound of mice.

Splitting the framework of conceptualized demise, demanding council with the potential for immortality found in the roots of a proud, longstanding family tree.

Withdrawals worked out to pay off a longstanding debt with a beat down mentality housed and rehearsed for the sake of a sour state of mind, preserving faltering sainthood.

Ink stains used to stretch the page thin, scraping off fragments of the tatters of a foreign form of progress, denounced with age, but brought back around for a short bout of overtime.

The bourne conspiracy isn’t held in shades of reflected gray, but the raging current of rosewater.

Soldiers of fortune draped in dandelions uprooted from Napoleon’s farm.

Bronte’s web grows thick inhaling inherent rice.

Nonsense picked up in jabberwocky from a novelized wookiee.

IQ bound success clubs playing the most dangerous game, hunting Will.

Ents chopped and sold over borders, bought back sixfold as disassembled chairs.

Hard hitting lines of north Dallas long past the forty, placating the rules for larger shares.

The delusional expectancy of arriving to a unified decision under a false, and somewhat mysterious banner leaves the tender footed Neanderthals to drawl and crawl towards their inevitable demise, at the hands of a lesser evil, catering to their cowardice, the ultimate usurper.
…

Barriers formed and forged in concrete molds left behind by a war mongering ancestry devoured by their ****** progeny.

An enemy approaches…

Throne rooms held in recessed hills, concealed in a shroud of fog, left off by the chilled steam stewing off yesteryears loss.

Heroes transported on expensive tapestry, in banners provoking deeds of old, and the memory of their meaning.

Hold in masses of collected honor.

Catapulted horrors break the line.

Strains of panic retreat in woeful singularity.

Fear infects the herd as arrowheads of cowardice break the chain-mail guard.

Women and children pushed behind a diseased king as he purges his principles in the face of death.

He seals the entrance in stone.

A son, known for his great misdeeds, and vast misfortunes takes step before his small family as the army approaches.

In a hallowed tomb as a mere boy, he heard the tune, uttered from the devil’s lips.

A summoning song.

Here he sings the treacherous tune as the sounds of heavy marching fill the halls.

The last barrier breaks.

Shrieks of terror erupt.

Demise is at hand.

Men lose their valor as they turn and flee, only to be met by a concrete reminder of their inevitable fatality.

The child’s voice grows demonic as the words begin to devour his soul.

There’s an odd presence in the room.

Death is prolonged…momentarily.

A void is opened.

The army begins to flee.

Victory is at hand.

Then the illusion of their invasion lifts, as soldiers, once more than visible, turn to ghosts, and finally fade from battle.

Cheers break out, only for a moment.

A hole opens in the center of the room, at first no larger than the size of a pin, but it expands outward at an alarming pace.

Guards scramble to funnel their people out of the breach.

An evil comes forth, once barred from the walls of this land.

It antagonizes the people with tales of its delusional sorcery.

Then thanks the young boy who brought it forth.

A world is soon devoured.

The end.