This addiction to cogency
is holding me back.
We can snap our fingers, and
tap our toes
in different time but
the results would be the same.
The Pride of Saint Vitus
has a name, but
there are no parades
because, well, can you imagine?
I have little to give but
you are welcomed to it.
Its been said that cynics are disappointed dreamers but
as a disappointed dreamer
I say cynics are *******.
There are judicious uses of time and there are
beautiful wastes.
Its a shame that
I need to lay down in the evenings
when "good" T.V. is on and
the sirens wail a little bit less down on the boulevard but
there are these echoes, see, and
they keep me from reading that book I started in the winter of '77.
Let me rest a minute.

a giant orange rolls over the horizon
propped up by the skeleton of a titan
dripping citrus flesh o'er the land

as it's adversary ascends the briny depths
a colossal sushi roll, avocado and yam tempura
the battle of the senses begins

the apocalypse never looked so delicious

This sin refuses to part from my skin
I wear it well
It wears me thin

Everything heavy
settles
accumulating
as I go about
my external life
like my inner one
doesn't exist

when the tide
recedes
on my knees
in the fetid mud
I will dredge
meaning from
the layers

A cardboard bonfire and a Newcastle
I spend a lot of time alone
But loneliness only creeps in
When I'm around people with
Nothing important to say
If there's one thing I miss about my youth...
Is all the dreamers...
The dancers
The poets
The painters
The sculptors
The writers
The singers
The musicians
The believers....
What happened to all my dreamers....
Or is it what happened to me?

The upper crust.

The top of the pie
or just
flaky?

In the coven’s cavern
Dark and dusky
Wart and Weird
A potion are planning

Boiling and bubbling
The cauldron they caress
Eye of emu
Finger of fiend

Mutter and mumble
Hair of hare
Claw of cat
Splash and sparks

With a wicked whisper
A **** and a poke
A whip of a wand
Silent strangling smoke

Covered beneath her cloak
A vile vial full
The murderous magic made
A dead baron as bade

If I had $12 I'd
buy a bottle of whiskey
to ease the pain of poverty.
I don't.That is
exactly the definition
of poverty.

  ~mce

At times weird sounds
                     turn me on,
Like crying,
                     don't always mean I 'm sad,
or eating too many cotton candies
             does not always make me bellyache,
I whine!
         Big Heart just aches
and ain't always
           beating on time!

This place;
It's full of the weird and the wonderful
This place;
It's creatures are more amazing than I've ever seen
This place;
It's got the style that got its unique tag
This place;
It's full of the weird, the wonderful and *us.