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 Apr 2013
Michael W Noland
Ambiguously, he was boggled, beguiled by garbled goggles while giggling out the squiggles, to wiggle the signals free.

Deliberately dallying in the Plato piety of proprietary philosophies, he, dastardly deemed, disaster to be, damaging, to the laughter in the chatter of the baggage handlers to another plane.

Manhandler of a plastered paradise, partly in slices, of silly little vices of sacrifices, that shall suffice with vice grips on the lips of the negative with the spices of nicety.

Lavished in lividly living uP the misgivings of lesserly lessons, blessing the blasphemy, in passionate tuck ins, snuck in, upon drunken hunkering in the bunkers of spunkier spiels.

Languid longevity's of luscious lettering, lest will we, count our kills, never ever to leave a life festering in lectured structuring, besting the busy debuts, of flukless frugality, lucidly, counting the calories of calamity, and randomly rhyming without reason in season-less rain clouds, only allowed to put the umbrella away, and fade in play to the part, where we impart patience on the persona from the coma of commonality.

Immaculately conceived, perceived as a ***** who adores hollow hearts, as we, haphazardly heap on the hilarity, in hepatidal waves, through fazes of the common wealth.

Smile in stealth, love no one else, but self and end up in health, at a lonely age in staged stimuli, reminding me why i'm alive, and not allowed to die, while on rewind through the hard times, to smile on the last lines of laser driven lifelines, laughing at the fragile signs on the finer wines, as they break on the bowes of holy boats in bouts against the sea.

Spewing randomly, he, finds satisfactory solutions to the strengthening of his constitution in loosened blue spells, to dispel his ruthless tendrils from your ears.

The fears fueling the finality in his fractured mentality of maniacal travesties laughing at me.

Its just me, unjustly adjusting for the combustion of the build.

Its lovely here.

Laughing in the lashes.

Signing my entrapment's.

Lapsing out the masses and forming from the ashes of smashed happiness, as it unclasps before my eyes.


It just feels right to be alive.
 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland
I want to carve my arms in the pantheon of gods, inhale flames, and exhale smog.

I want to breathe in acidic dreams, in ping, to the great unclean one.

I want to blot out the sun, in the shadow of the one, and only enemy.

I want to eat the flesh, of the brilliant, and the best, resilient to the test, of monotony.

Fill me up, of all the stuff, that dreams are made of.

Drain me out, in the altar of doubt, and arm me with the love of your deities.
 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland
I saw a lust in her pauses
Before she spoke

Weakened stops
Where she seemingly thought
Of which words to let go

As she stroked my ego
From her pro perspective

Her clues to give
As I elected for another drink

Her street smarts
Met by only her intellect

Her wits intersecting
The infectious reflections
Of the world we knew

On the brink of a kiss
Our faces
Increasingly grew powerless

In the shared haze
Of conversation
Tethering our connection

Nothing could stop us

As i slowly caved
And laid my hand
On top of hers

No longer hearing
A single word

Our eyes lazily locked
Blurring the exterior
Field of view

As it attempted to
Press through

With flashing lights
Electronic riffs
And melodic drums

From the ambiance
Of the room

A love was groomed
And it grew

We just knew
Exactly what
Was what

Inching closer and closer

The force between us
Had proven to be too much

As we stood up
And walked to her car

I grabbed her waist
And lifted her to the trunk
Where we kissed

And we kissed
As the world slowly sunk
Around us

In breath-less-ness

Then Suddenly this
Feeling of pressure
Presses on my side

She had stabbed me
Then kicked me back
In my surprise

Then I was hit from behind
With a flash light

Cracking my head
In flashing colors
And regrets

I hit the ground
To a parade of feet

Two men kicked and stomped on me
As my blood was spilling
Into the street

Firing nine times i rose to my feet
Slowly walking over my victories

One was limp
The other convulsing

As the girl was crawling
On her hands and knees
Away from me
And toward a tree

She cried "please"
And "I'm sorry"
Over and over again

As I kicked her
Onto her back

And pleading
She raised her hands

And squeezed
Her eyes shut

"Love is not enough"

And with a flashing thump
I slumped away to my cave

Wounded in multiple ways
Reflecting on the mistakes i made
As i turned back toward the scene

Of proper release

I returned to see
Investigators and yellow tape
Draping the stage of her fate

As she stared back at me
From the tree

Still possessing
A beauty that was
Beyond me

A beauty
That only
I could see

And it Sparkled
From her peace

She wanted me
And got me

And under the shadow
Of that tree

She looked as though
A pixie in the hand
Of a king
pending another rewrite, as per all my work really.
 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland
I went from liking things to just clicking like on things.

I merged my reality to my online identity, but something was lost, not just in the translation, but inside of me.

 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland

There is
A certain fear
In your promise

A foreboding
That lingers

A hole
Of emptiness

That opens up
As your light


My life
Beneath you

From a million
 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland
When the fog lifted, i watched the forest sway where the rain began.

It was as though a static born, when the thunder turned to storm, and formed puddles under the street lights that would dim, as i walked beneath them.

On the path I had, a cliff side view, of the wrath in waves, as they ravaged rocks, in watery quests to carve the caves, for the tide to drink, of sinking thoughts, that patiently passed in my peripheral.

Spiraling vacantly, receding back to sea, in hollow moans, toning to another side of me.

Traversing tranquility, in the sanctity of spacious seas, seemingly of me, the emptiness of swallowed shores, drifting unto shallow swells, of surrendered swamps, to flooded lands, my emptied head, unto empty hands, to grasp the darkened clouds, of shrouded amens.

As time slowed, the thunder closed, on the lightning, as it lit the trees, summoning silhouettes over the shaking streets, that dance before me, smearing the tears, and the burning defeats, until withered away, as the sun breaks, in spectral hues, that washed away, the dirt.
 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland
Both hands in her pockets
She stared toward her feet
As she walked away from the bus

Her dark hair
Parting in the breeze
As if to gesture to me
To breathe
Before hooking me
In temptations

As i tailed with inexplicable ease
It was all beyond me now

And with the park
Coming up on the left
I closed our distance
In a frantic persistence


Only by blind vigilance
All else from

Her shadow
Upon mine
The light
Between us

Her scent intoxicating
Causing my blood to thin

My strength to diminish

So i sprinted in
And grabbed her throat
With one hand
Jerking her back
To my chest
The black
Pulling from her chest
As i stepped
Into our place
In time

And with a Pinch where
Thumb meets finger
I recite the loss to the letter

As i whisper her name into her ear

Pulling her nearer
To the darkness of the park
I punctured her heart
As she disgustedly starts

Her legs

Inside she begs
Attempting to pry
My hand away

As if to say
Don't stop

In lustful froth
I had found
The one
And none
Could stop
The sound

Of her silent shuttering

As i eased her to the ground
She weakened

Falling softly
Into love with me
Sinking into me
Serenading me
In weakening
From her being
And into me

My one moment
Of ecstasy
Was her infinite

But the park
Will always see
Will always taste
The iron soil
We have made


She stared blankly
Back at me
In the blackening
Of the light

Then the shakes began
And she lost all her fight

Loosening my hand
In the captured sight
Of first contact

As i gently laid her
On her back

Resting my lips
Upon her eyelids
I released my grip
To the fluttering
Upon my
Lips and
Rewrite of "Spider to the fly". At first, i only wished to tweak the end, but now, the end is all that remains.
 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland
I don't always feel you

nor do i care.

nor shall i fare

the weather of your temperament.

I am exempt of the pettiness, and of the nervous fetishes, in the indifference.

I try not to be presumptuous, in the perceived ignorance, of the plunderers of my wealth

but am more alive.

More willing to die.

More willing to try

anything but sigh

in feeling the mediocre hand of my health.

So high

doling out the breathless help, in the restless stealth, of bland demands, felt,  in the smoking stacks of hell.

I survive off the glean, provoking, glass from sand.

I act,  as though i give a ****.

Evoking ash from hands, in the defiance of no mans land.


in the trampled giants of the black.

Sampled, the compliant hacks in backless, tackling of the stance.


I cracked.

and cracked the cast, in blast powder, compounding the flames, of the flounder flamed, in profane name calling.

Never to dodge the calling ..

Feeling the falling of doubt.

In the Tao,  of mauling my malevolence.

Thought i bled it out, as the stalling turned to insulting rebukes, in the flukes,  of lands never lived, but shredded in repulsing lingo, with a flute, to do away with the kids, I mingle, in wait of the sedatives to kick in, than,


Nail it to the cross, of the intended loss, singling and wringing them out.


amid, the somber slayings of bombers praying, for fire to rain from the sky.


of the calmer makings of alarming sayings, for desire to feign from the cry.


The reciprocation of a social spy, trying his best to comply to the prize, and smile.

Its been awhile.

Been a while in exile of thine own heart.

Heart of gold in denial.

Denial of the trials where i shone the brightest, in the mightiest miles of defiled lights.

Lights igniting the nights, in my first rights of passage.

Passage granted in the damaged dues of diligence, where i pursued the villages of my virtue.

My virtues perused the innocence and matured.

Matured in the final words of old birds, dying with dimes, and bagged wine in hand.

Never to understand the last laughs from young chaps blowing off their stacks, just to collapse, in their own mess.

I confess to paying homage in the calmly delusions, of my intrusive self abuses, to the ruthless seduction of my bitterly bitten bruises of seclusion.

I try to loosen up a bit, but instead run this gambit of bankrupt belligerence and hope for the best.

******* in the blessed wishes of the test.

Tested in the vetted nutrients of an institutional bowel movement upon my chest.

My chest giving in to the stress.

I often wake in duress as tears flow through the forgotten, as i brush my teeth of the remembrance of dreams, and clean the dumb away.

Clothe my flesh, and put my gun away.

Locking the front door, I journey into my day.

Every day...

One day.

One day from the mundane

I wont strain to change it all.

I will make the call

but never answer.

Instilling the hollowed cancers

to end it all

I shall befall,  the null.

The No.

The land.



The unseeable.

In unbelievable hate.

Conceiving the inconceivable, and cleaning the slate of my faithful fate, in which i ditch the mares of my dared intention.

I concentrate on the beautiful view from the deliberate limitlessness of my vivid visions to another place, that closely resembles the one that i hate.

Consumed of blue suns, and water breathing.

I bloom

in anger activated guns, and painless beatings.

Marooned from afar

I dare to bare the battle scars of taking it too far, and fainting.

Tainting the waters of life with the ****** knife, of my,  positivity.

The imagery of my imagined city

ssscattered across the tattered remains of my naivety.

Sssteadily holding fast upon the mass of men, even though i readily hate them.

In a single flash of rash decision, i forget it all, and go to work ...

smirking in the murky fog, that marks the facade,  where i lurk in shirtless shirking from the cold.

The shaking of the folds, in time, in space, in the told, telemetry of the mold



In the boots that birth, the same old, hold of the complaint.

Applying force in restraint

In pursuit

to unearth, and loot

the saint

in broken wings, and painted words

that twirl, in the spinning ink

on the brink, of the blur, that births,  this sleeping male

to a world, encroached, by mundane flames, poached, from the slain trail of the ordained, tales of Mikha'el.

As others entrails line, the pale comparisons, as mine, are shell shocked in monotony.

i signed with the autonomy, never talked, and marched blankly into the day.

Every day

but one day

to stray

from the mundane

and make it right.

I will get out of my head

and fly

in light.
 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland
She was so alone

filling the oceans of my heart

as it turned to stone

lay her down

atop the moonlight

drain her out

absence of light

so ******* cute when she fights

and i still feel

the echoes of the tide

and i still kneel

to her strong side
 Mar 2013
Michael W Noland
born of blood
from a thorn
of a beautiful flower

from the love
of the horned
in power

in the vicious
of the constituents
in the deliverance
to my ridiculousness

twisted shapes
and contorting faces
blurred words
in hateful slurs
of aggression

and i cannot count the cases
in my tasteless confessions
in my reluctant concessions
in my brutal perfection
of my obsessions

imposed against my will
you're supposed to feel
what they do

opposed to killing
for the thrill
but it sometimes
just feels right

shanky gone unscrupulous

his shimmied
blood on the walls

stuttering stanleys
still silly stringing
calling for candy
but missed last call
and fell to the floor

as Bruno butchered the boar
in a deplorable fashion

a crime of passion

we were hungry
rubbing our tummies
for the honey
of bee hives

jive turkeys
turning to bunnys
for good times

but we were alive
while others were not

fraught with darkling majesty
sparkling at the seraded points

in Freudian

self anointed
as god

standing over
some butchered
brod from abroad
wiping the fog
of dislodged
eye sockets
from my grog

how you get
from there to here
isn't really a fair mirror
on my intention

i meant to
suspend her
just enough
to face f--k
and with luck
strangle her

but she prayed to be ripped down
in her own way

my f--king way

stripped her
of dignity
in little cute sounds

who am i?
but the guy
who spaced

hit her
too many times in the face
and replaced her
with ***** toiletries


still in search of a fairy
to take the helm
and ferry me
from this film

just spare me
the tragedy and grief
blaring from the TV

as i mock
their expressions
in my lessons
of humanity
before the flock

to shelter
my anxiety or not

gonna be
a real boy one day
and conform
to the
wayward ways

the way
of sheep

in decay

blue fairy
marry me





a rewrite from a couple months ago. there some effed up lines that were driving me crazy.

— The End —