Waking in the stagnant syrup, viscous in its compound, molasses for the profound
Met Anne soiling the jar as Mouschi and Boche wage war
Diary held in the family name, passages removed for the sanctity, of a lonesome father’s sanity.
Voided bowels kept in masonry, cemented, to the back, weeping out portals of light held through a crack.

Seems prosperity can be found in imposed seclusion, though not maintained until conclusion.
Turned over for turnip change, imposing on the Frank family a need to estrange
Left off to Poland to fumigate the air, stripped of the yellow star one’s required to wear.
Thrown into death in motion, avoid eye contact, and most kinds of commotion.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The voided track clicked into a closed lane.
Hennessy held as operators quiver in alcoholic splendor.
Rolling thunder, click clacking for no gain.
Stationary tumble, fragments of ice kicked up from the blender.

Mrs. Garrett went to town on all the *****
Traded for at cost.
Pulverized **** gifted for a glimpse of ****
Snorted out with assembling frost.

Cannibals hidden amid the train car
Stored in S.S uniforms, to be smelted in coming years
Vocalizing incendiary bigotry meant to sour
Relieved transgressions…being deemed a response to fears.

Cruel, burnt ash floating from the cinders
Red-lit skyline resonant before sleep
Slave life held in mines, and retrieving timber
Sole remaining heirloom, the cloth from their feet.

…………………………………………………………
Red lip
Bled for a tip
$6.00 grip
Retained and placed at the hip

Felt the caustic eye
Depicting a senseless lie
Seemed like a simple guy
Dressed elegant in a suit and tie
……………………………………………………………
Liquidized assets in a fortune 5 hundred
Cauterized wounds for the plundered

Sipping on blueberry wine
Breaking bread, dinning on banned swine
Luxuries overgrow the jewelry box
Scotch overvalued, yet on the rocks

Locked safe, cold-clocked combination
Lost in a dream, trapped enumeration

Unwilling to sip soda as a pauper
Social stigmatisms holding him proper
The man bears arms
Coy as to avoid alarms
…………………………………………………………..
Muzzle lit
Puzzle refit
Hands up, dinners sit
$6.00’s retrieved after the handle hit

Red lips crashes to the floor
The well-earned man heads for the door
Attendants pause, awaiting more
Empty wallets, patrons left poor
…………………………………………………………….

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

Caught myself in a cart wheeled stance, gazing fondly at a soiled sky
A homeless man calmly rants, preaching to every passerby

Follicles dry up, flaking off bits of skin
Wayward into a cup, stuck in teeth, accompanying the grin

Inferences read by a measly pauper, picked up after a quick popper
The fuel fed, deemed improper, drained from the canyon by a local proctor

Repeated references to a world of old
Stored on dust filled shelves until sold

Spoke too much fancy for one to understand, blindly making it hard to comprehend
Lack of knowledge for the reprimand, timely practices seem to suspend

Going to try and be still, maybe close my eyes
Sleep on the lull of a hill, quick to rise

Told of Grimm lit tales of horror and abuse, held in spectrums casting light
Reordered for disorderly misuse, clouded by traces of spite

The jabberwocky speaks before the crowd, shrouded in the misconception of a dreamed up word. Hastened into speaking loud, the message soon becomes absurd

Words are falling out in a cyclical lexicon, adjusting themes to fit complacent lives
Illiterate Satanists sit in their hexagon, purging everything that thrives

A final thought implies just that, I have more faith in this thieving rat

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

Heretics lost their way in the glare of divided philosophy.
While soaking up the rays protruding from their diluted progeny.

Individuality cursed the lot, a painful conclusion hardly sought.
A triptych constructed from passing sand, blown across mid-western land.
Panel one, a fools thought. Panel two, elongated plot.
Panel three, an outstretched hand. Collectively composing an image banned.
Words for the flock corrupt the soul.
Removed thought perched along a grassy knoll.
Heaven revoked all notions of vanity,
While tenderly clouding the wonders of individual sanity.

Counting hopeless dreams stripped from the sandman’s grasp
Kept waiting, left chaffing  
The restraining corset equipped on daddy’s farm breaks a clasp
Worth stating, more berating

Left in transit as thoughts collide, drifting off on that one once relied
Envision ghosts, stagnant at posts, awaiting the toast, at Greg Giraldo’s roast
A passing cloud, it’s well endowed, the screaming’s loud, daddy’s proud
Broken bones, the girl moans, the old man groans, salacious tones

Nursery bound departure of a beloved mother, swept off by a younger lover
Father time awaits the clock, chairs rock, nurturing his flock, displayed ****
In speechless rage, on a well lit stage, chalked up to age, comes an averted cage
Nothing’s going to change my world. Nothing’s going to change my world.

Billy found, what he thought to be, a wise old book.
Turns out, it had been written by a wretched crook.
Without this knowledge, Billy read it all.
While sitting down several lunches, in a high school hall.

The pages were pretty haggard.
Though, the message within wasn't staggered.
The cover and introduction had been ripped out.
Leaving its title a matter of doubt.

This was one of the first things Billy had read.
Little did he know, through its author, many were dead.
The contents of this book, filled with hate.
A diary written from behind a prison gate.

Teachers, who saw the boy reading, told Billy they were proud.
And did so in front of his fellow students, aloud.
Billy was told he was well on his way.
To a good job gifting him hefty pay.

Then, one day, Billy punched a Jew,
In a tempered assault witnessed by few.
Teachers asked about what had caused the act.
Billy held up the book as a matter of fact.

He spoke with a hatred unknown to most,
But believed it righteous as he was quick to boast.
One teacher plucked the book from his hand.
Seeing Mein Kampf, he was quick to understand.

They ****** incessantly in bathroom stalls.
Reeking heavily of forgotten Paul Mauls.
One day they both caught *****.
From one of the porcelain slabs.
Or so both believed.
Making them relieved.
Since there was no extracurricular fun.
Committed on either one.
Problem was, they both were wrong.
Each had been a ******* for far too long.

This ragtime band of crusading heroes, called upon to support the crux of contentious plot, designed to be ridiculed, ridiculed to be designed, holding the proportional strength of a thousand independents in their clutches as they march haphazardly onto silver screens, reimagining through a stencil the works of yesteryear, paying homage to homely men long unaccounted for, and damning the spark of imagination held at their conception.

Crows swarmed over Bourbon Street tonight.
Blotting out the moon through synchronized flight.
They plummeted down and out of sight.
Blanketed by the cover of night.

A jewelry box gets picked clean.
It belonged to a formerly wealthy teen.

A town terrorized by birds.
They’re all at a loss for words.

Within a week, every household had been robbed.
Mementos lost: people sobbed.
Woeful over trinkets taken.
Believing their eyes to be mistaken.

Men ran at the birds with loaded guns.
As the flock attacked, they got the runs.

Not before pushing them across state lines.
Where they **** upon passing signs.

Down a road long and winding
They plucked up everything shinning.

Forced back to the home they knew.
Housing everything that belonged to you.
The birds held for their final stand.
Exactly as their master planned.

Dive bomb from the sky.
Pluck out a wayward eye.

The force of an army had been pushed back.
All remaining birds formed a pack.
Flew home to their pied piper.
A man who was a retired army ******.

His lair was filled with gold and jewels.
Packed into sacks on dehydrated mules.

With everything stored.
The man stood before the hoard.

He spoke a few kind words.
To the flock of birds.
Then set fire to the room.
Culminating in a nitrogen…boom.

With no evidence in sight,
Or witnesses accounting for the plight.
The man moved on without a fight.
Staring at his earnings in a new days light.

The walls lay in ash.
Soldiers stood brash.
A southern army torn apart
By a Yankee driven heart.

A national wake.
Honor burned at the stake.
Men of like birth,
Forced back to Fort Worth.

Unity broken.
Idiocy outspoken
Maintained holdings in an old life.
Grasping onto a bigoted knife.

Division formed over pride,
Childish remarks seeming snide.
Violence comes with few delays
Sparks up through debate about gays.

No one ever likes to lose.
That doesn’t mean one must corrupt the news.
Accept the nature of a simple mistake.
And end this 149-year wake.

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

That little trumpet has lost sound
Go ahead and ask around
Picked up in a house I found
Nesting on the burial ground.

Contorted notes filled the room
After a dusting with the broom
False promise joined in soon.
Perched upon a dim lit flume

The night slipped by, no refrain
It blasted on through the pouring rain
Howled on in the excruciating pain
Of having sheltered existence through a life in vain

When daylight came, it was still the same
Brass with no name, playing for a dame
Really quite the shame, an ever-growing flame
Held within a picture frame, was a revitalized search for fame

As darkness came, I grew tired
Felt like it was about time I retired
Set down the trumpet I acquired
And left the shack feeling quite expired

There that little trumpet lost sound
Now there’s no need to ask around
Left it in the house I found
Somewhat near the burial ground.

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.

Catching semiotic holdings from a cow-licked brain ****
Matching periodic scoldings, from a plough of picked-plain art

Filled prescription left for digestive tracts dissolution
Milled conscription cleft as congestive cracks merge in illusion

Temporal reconstruction, as the Adderall seeps into place
Federal distribution, as the admiral heaps the case
Welled as the spineless listen to a cautionary thought
Held as a timeless vision of a stationary plot

Pillbox running on fumes, causing fresh hysteria to solidify
Paradox coming, dawn looms, pausing thresh, staging an area to demystify

Later, new levy forbids pawing fear, spoken rotten, a deloused baiting sound
Cater to heavy lids, drawing near the cotton housed waiting ground

Eve bit into the knowledgeable apple
Unaware it was a scientifically spliced grapple

Pesticides and HGH digested
Bowel track quickly congested

Intelligence was null and void
Good and Evil seem devoid

Laid gently into a tender rest
Bearing the damnations of a faltered test

Prosperity in peace
Retracted lease

Lonerisms handed off with the talent of Phil Simms
Getting cold sick sweats from a case of Pimm's

Trading off the solid snake state of mind
Reverting back to hoodlums Dre co-signed

System shock came before the rapture
Long before Elizabeth’s inevitable capture

Duplicity played off Blu
Talentless Roberts certainly due

Speckled grin the size of a banner
Reverting back to Belushi’s manor

Hey…“Here’s to you kid”
Said as Ingrid’s sold at the highest bid

Lopez licked off the Latino
George and Jen pillaged the casino

Liquid Snake drawn from the grass
Cowering, waiting for Big Boss to pass

Beth Evans lived in a mirror, reflecting something past.
     A severed soul was the first stone cast.
Imagination was all which remained,
                                 As her flowered dress sit stained.

                Two years gone without a word
                               An adolescent voice barely heard
                          Sat in a room for days on end.
       Thoughts for which no one penned.
                                                     ...
                           Robert Glasse, 40 years of age
                                                  A man prone to fits of rage
                                           Lived off the means of foreclosed hope
                                                             No more vile than a christened pope.
          
                                   Robert Glasse knew Mr. Evans,
                                            Before the man moved on to the heavens
                          He promised to treat Beth as a daughter,
                                      To the deceased man who was her father.
                                                      ...
            Colleen Evans was a widowed mum
                                                     Who soon developed a love for ***.
                                                       Addiction came with the greatest of speed,
                                              A battle which she had to concede.

                             Rehabilitation took four long weeks
                                            Completed at Pleasant Creeks
                                      Meanwhile, her daughter had class,
                                                              So Beth was fostered by Robert Glasse.
                                                      ...

                                          For the first few days everything was fine
                                              Then Robert poured the girl a glass of wine
                                                             The haze outlasted common ludes,
                                                                    Then the girl awoke partially ****.

                                          Confused, she pushed the event from her mind.
                              Though, truthfully, it just lingered behind.
                                                      Then, one night came a trauma quite severe
Where the girl saw no choice, but to divide herself in a mirror.
                                                            ...

                                                                  Robert had planned it all along
                                                   And nothing in his mind had gone too wrong
                                                                                   Beth was shown no neglect
                                                       He had treated her with the utmost respect

                                                 He refused to see the blood drenching the bed
                                                 (That could have induced a sense of dread)
                                       He just left poor Beth twitching and battered
        And continued to pretend that nothing in life mattered.
                                                              ...

Colleen came home after four long weeks
       Finding her daughter, tears drenched her cheeks
                  Beth lay stagnant, blankly staring
                             The torture she'd been through was more than glaring

                                   Never again was a word spoke between them,
As Beth appeared in constant rem
                                 Realizing that her daughter was now nearly catatonic
                               Colleen had no problem returning to being an alcoholic.

Tremors held in the young girl’s face
Quaking in exquisite lace
Pulsing in place
Hip locked base
Ejaculatory race
Spermicidal mace

Thoughtless porcelain dolls
Shatter as bedposts hit walls
Reverb in the halls
Landlord calls
******* stalls
Waiting on drained *****

Thick housing in a fat cat’s den
Seal on the locked pen
Revolving door of men
Seems to break the Zen
Memorabilia of Cheyenne
Windup to go at it again

Shower sprays flakes of gold
Washing off latent mold
Rubbed off in the hold
…These men are old
Temperament’s cold
Cost of being sold

Fat people canes
  They buckle and break
Fat people canes
  They smell faintly of steak
Fat people canes
  Always arched
Fat people canes
  Holding up the heavily starched
Fat people canes
  Struggle down the street
Fat people canes
  An aid for battered feet
Fat people canes  
  Support poorly distributed weight
Fat people canes
  Caught within a sewer grate
Fat people canes
  Can't handle the load
Fat people canes
  Easing movements slowed
Fat people canes
  Used to skewer crumbs
Fat people canes
  Used to butter buns
Fat people canes
  Prop for a hefty handicap
Fat people canes
  Can't fit within a taxi-cab
Fat people canes
  Deserve a wage
Fat people canes
  Traded in for a Rascal with age

He’s watching, but she’s not looking
In this new form of modern day hooking
A golden transaction
Creates an instant attraction
As the two meet in a binary realm
With a computer screen at the helm
One stares dead eyed
Completely fried
The other separates mind and body
After all, it’s not quite a hobby
Allowing a fiction to take hold
Making her actions more bold
She quells the urge
The other desired to purge
Once it’s all done
He stops calling her ‘***’
Reverts back to the misshapen dialectic
Of a right handed epileptic

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

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

Gazing warmly at a freshly set pearl necklace
The source for which was wholly reckless
A girl sheds tears of convoluted joy
Wondering if she’s just a manipulated toy
A body, gift-wrapped and sold
For no more than half her weight in gold
The new in search of old
Grasping at a material hold

…

Passive thoughts draw him away from the hummer
He was gifted in pursuit of slumber
Light breaking in through a window pane
Illuminates developmental strain
The man pounds back a bottle, or, what little remained
A bit trickled down, leaving his shirt stained
Looks over to see a girl ashamed
Of all within her which had so recently changed

…

He wasn’t handsome, but the girl didn’t mind
Through gifts, he showed himself to be overly kind
The man was a bit heavy set
But that didn’t stop her from getting wet
Innocence, a forgotten trait
Her consciousness told it straight.
But the action bared no weight
It was just a simple twist of fate

…

Age cripples all who care
Leading youthful eyes to wander and stare
Desperation hunts with the worst of intent
For a youthful soul in search of dissent
It lasts as long as it can
Which isn’t, truthfully, a long span
He leaves a concrete man
While the girl’s just a flash in the pan
…

From the twist
Came a fractured wrist
It was a fragrant tryst
Lived through a clenched fist
As an abhorrent cyst
Ambition was ******
Opportunities were missed
Told to desist
That they couldn’t exist
No need to resist

People came calling
Through suburbs sprawling
Temptations galling
Or, better yet, appalling
They tried stalling
Conversation crawling
Speaking of balding
The inevitability of falling
Then came the brawling
From memories they were hauling.

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

Losing yourself to someone new,
Looking down over a dusty pew.
Only by the knowledge of slim to few,
While they wait lined up in a dingy cue.

An uprising in a whailing line,
At the exodus hoping things turn out fine.
The collection of vibration,
From a rastaman's creation.

The cap only seemed to fit,
While lazily working the night shift.
Crazy baldheaded men going to war,
Feeling possative vibrations on the way to the store.
Pleading someone "cry to me",
Because the rat race was to hard to see.
Johny was, Roots, rock and reggae,
Wanting more of the things on display.

Pimpers paradise seemed so long.
We and them singing reemption song.
Coming in from the cold after work
After the zion train with a subtle smirk.
Pulled the bad card,
Made things quite hard.

Tripping on the fumes from an oxygen tank
Loaned out from the local lenders bank
Grass lit dreams of focused thought
Drifting off, apparently, on the spot

Confidential whispers while waiting
Reverse synesthesia heard in a painting

Chivalrous misconceptions of past life holdings
Spruced up to latch onto misplaced moorings
The intake pulsed with the remnants of entombed regrets
Final draw, for a flattened pack of cigarettes

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.

So they say that you can walk on water
But, what's the point when it starts getting hotter?
You can't cool yourself by plunging in too deep
Instead you'd find yourself hanging by the skin of your feet.

Waves lapse in on a hollow shore,
creating an intelligible roar.
In the distance stands an hour glass on a hill,
filled to the brim by poly coated prescription pills.
With time seeping through the cracks,
the object seems void of facts.
Staring down into the oceanic abyss,
as though there was no element of life it would miss.
It seems blind to all that's going on.
Can't see there's no point, it won't be long,
until he's overtaken and shown to be a pawn,
placed upright as a cautionary tale on the local churches front lawn.

Lucy’s lost lipstick
Is wrapped around a thin ****
Applied halfway through the flick
Ruby lining a tasteless *****.

The rabbit haunts from a distance, patrolling fields for one to bear witness.
Gracefully the tenderfoot stalks, keeping a watchful eye out for Mr.Fox.
The creature walks with a slight limp, other animals often call him a gimp.
This way, that way, it all seems wrong, keeping time with a lost robin's song.

His home constructed as a single story wonder, located within a large tree laying asunder.
Family life wasn't right, as fleeting an image as a wayward kite.
A field mouse, left without spouse,
Stumbled upon the home in a tree, accompanied by a group of songbirds filled with glee.

The field mouse was asked to go, the creature in response, simply said no.
A man stumbled up, as mad as a hatter, his portly girth made it hard to imagine being any fatter.
He spoke of intrinsic right, boundless visions beyond sight.
Told the rabbit he had a duty to the mouse, saying it immoral to deprive him of a house.

The rabbit, reluctant to accept , found out from the man of the true evils in neglect.
He was told that he didn't own the home, it had simply been gifted as a goodwill loan.
That meant it was as his as much as the rabbits, regardless of any perspective habits.
With that the moused moved in, and brought with him his prized snakeskin.

Over a meal the mouse spoke of danger, coming in the form of a wandering stranger.
He told the rabbit, this creature travelled light, but usually shrouded in the cover of night.
Said the creature was not large in size, though his methods of thievery seemed quite wise.
The rabbit recoiled in his chair, as the field mouse offered up a demonic glare.

The field mouse grinned from ear to ear, sensing this rabbit's new grasp on fear.
Pulling the snakeskin from his sack, the dried shell was quick to crack.
The mouse spoke of a brave duel, between him and this monster, which had downed a mule.
He used every ounce of his cunning, and sent the legless beat running.

It wasn't good enough for the mouse, who was certainly no louse.
He tracked the snake for six long hours, through a field of partially bloomed flowers.
In the end he killed the snake, then took its skin so listeners knew the tale wasn't fake.
He held the skin, I mean the mouse, and said he'd hang the shell within the house.

Mr. Rabbit was found dead two days after, his body lay desecrated next to the snakes, hanging from a rafter.

Pit knocked hard
On the long way down

Tumbling aimlessly
Jaunting amongst thin air

Flesh ripped and torn from bone
Silence leftover in a screaming moan

Billy wore his shirt too long.
And was told by most that the thing smelt wrong.
Years went by without a clue,
For the facts that others knew.
One day, while dropping the Huxtables off at the pool.
The boy realized the back of his shirt was covered in stool.
Turns out the fabric kept getting entangled.
Leaving the shirt toxically mangled.
He’d gotten caught up in the t.p.
Leaving streaks for all to see.
Billy wore his shirt too long.
Leaving poo smears from wiping wrong.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

Dust flies from the rotation of an oscillating fan
Its pale fragments coat and clothe the semblance of man.

Wake up, broken dreams, bounce forward out of stasis, collectively dropping down to the focal point of races, all they see is shades of grey, a blurry bunch of victimless prey, spectrum free skin, to make all akin.

In the midst of all that spin, they packed fiberglass in the tin. Walked out last, a fetish for the past. Drooling blood, it’s a wretched flood. Life’s passing by, wrapped in a papist lie.

The winged are envious of a capability to fall; they haven’t gone high enough to pivot and stall.

Diluted folks talk in statured forms, learning off of intelligible norms. Baptizing a culture of youth, in the blood shed by imagined truth. Cultivating a guilty conscience, in those stuck with the deceit of providence.

His name is hollow and shrewd; in fact, it’s quite misconstrued. Supposed valleys jumped in leaps and bounds, factual evidence’s show only bodies left in heaps and mounds.

Where the broken lay, you may be sure He paved the way.
............................................................­.................................................................­......
"Clouds and darkness round about him: righteousness and judgment the habitation of his throne."

Apparently I'v been going through something of a phase,
eye's have become clouded by a sweet smelling haze.
Certainly not the child parents want to raise,
seeing their son indoors all day with an endless gaze.

So in a swift move at the end of the year,
Shipped off to a cottage with no one near.
Except of course the squirrels and deer,
maybe even an apparition created out of fear.

Believing that in my isolation I would find,
a personality more resigned.
Perhaps it was supposed to sooth my mind,
and prevent the regression of a life lived on rewind.

She saw her life flash before her eyes
Even the dark chapter containing a swift demise
Fury sank in
As she grew uncomfortable in her own skin
Everything was supposed to turn out alright
Not flutter away like some unhinged kite
This man was supposed to be the epitome of desire
A person others could admire
There shouldn't have been any indecision
They were to merge in an act of pure fission
And So it appeared for fifty long days
Then in disintegrated in the reflected glimpse of a ****'s  cruel haze.

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

Drowning in the sorrows of everyday life,
due to a fight at home with a rotund wife.
Things are never as bad as they seem,
...Well actually that depends on how much you let them mean.

But still with mildly corrected vision,
and possibly an unplugged ear to listen.
Things can sort themselves out,
before you go finding a noose to hear you pout.

I swear the chord offers little bounce,
as your life will be quick to trounce.
You'll be left to dangle in pain.
As you realize it was for no gain.

The flames branching upwards in a spire
It's cruel twists never seem to tire
A dark soul comes from the fire
It's Sam, a kid they all admire
Fables try to claim thee
Through stories of a tree
Branching upwards in a plea

A widow stares at a stain, left by the rain
Constructs a local fane, all in her saviours name
Caught between the fear and guilt
Of living off someone's fame
Knowing the day it all stops, she'll be engulfed by a flame

Abaddon is calling, Ezekiel is balling
Babylon returns
Mathias saw the world, while Belial just watched it burn
With immense follow through
The path becomes true
As he watches triple 7's disciple scamming for a buck or two

Out on a past due lease
The Man Of Peace

I met Mike while standing on a peer
Plucking up food when people got near
He wandered up to where i sat
A portly belly made him seem fat

I gave him some leftover bread
Which I brought for the pigeons I had recently fed.
Mike seemed stunned, reaching over
He couldn't grasp it so I brought my hand lower

Peckish, he ate
From my palm, which had become a makeshift plate
Full, he sauntered down the path
To an adolescent boy toying with wrath

Mike, with his stomach full
Couldn't resist the young man's pull
Reached out for the food in the boy's hand
Not knowing the act had been planned

Mike flew off and quickly imploded
The food, within, had alka-seltzer loaded
This is what happens when life gets dull
Young boys blow up my new pet seagull

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