It's loud.

Violet, Blue, and Green lights
scatter across the floor,
across a canvas of house music,
echoing back into itself.

She crawls towards me,
wearing only poorly inked tattoos
and the lights that kiss us all.

I touch myself,
wishing it was her.

- I leave the room,
the music fading away,
like retreating from
sound-carrying-birds -

The smoke that comes from the cigarette
forms a skeletal web, reaching for the moon.
With rain slapping the dark brick walls,
hugging and creating an alley reminiscent
of a salivating, crooked-cement mouth,
I stand drenched in silver forgotten.

I drop the cigarette in a petrol-colored puddle,
watching it sink, become hard to distinguish,
and fade away.

- I reenter the room,
the song has changed
and is more mechanical. -

It's loud.

The lights are now
Bubblegum, Aqua, and Tangerine.
She lays supine, watching dollars
drift down, slowly, almost frozen.
Then the splitting of the air.

Fat-Man's body does a half-spin
as I lodge a bullet into his obese shoulder.
The music still blares, almost meaning more, now.
Regrouping himself, Fat-Man is weaponized,
drawing a greasy, inky blaster, desperate to spit.

A supernova erupts and quickly disappears--
like the aftermath of blowing birthday candles--
as his black speckled, crewcut scalp peels back,
letting fragments of chalky skull and pink penne
***** out of his square, boxed head.

Blood appears black under these lights
and instantly whips across
Samantha's still supine body.
The remaining people in the room
scatter like light exposed roaches.

Haunted, she is a toppled statue.
My steps move with the rhythm of the song.

Fat-Man's leather jacket
holds more meat than some mouths.
I plant my hand inside all pockets, find $6,480
in greasy, bloodier-than-usual presidents,
and move towards her, with the music.

Crouching beside her, I wipe the blood.
I clean her pale, tense torso
and help her up.

On two painted feet, she looks detached.
Silence exists, now, despite the music,
while she studies me with the same brown eyes.
Her lips quiver, she remembers
and wraps me with much thinner arms
that used to exist in nothing but memory.

five minutes can fit
a magnum opus of sound
between them
so believe me when i say
this
five minutes can make
a shotgun out of our two
glances
like the thickness of honey
squirted into a glass
five minutes are viscous
slowing time into drips that
entrench sweet shrapnel
of this miracle bullet
in our hearts and our
heads.

five minutes
between us

we're in love and we're
dead.

i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****,
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.

I’m wondering and worrying
Am I blundering or wallowing
Do I swallow all my fears
And forget about the years
That came before today
And hope they go away
And never bother me again?
When does that start, when?

Grumbling and mumbling
Stumbling and bumbling
I learn to stifle my tears
And through catatonic years
I forgot how to play
And locked myself away
From the fellowship of friends.
I hope to survive until it ends.

Itching and *******, I switch
To calling people a sunsabitch
Because they don’t guess
Why I’m a big freaking mess
And help me to recover
Maybe come be my lover
Because I don’t know how.
Let that part start right now.

Smoking and toking every day
Won’t make the blues go away.
Huffing and binge drinking
Means I’m not really thinking
And too often these days
That is what I have prayed;
To be blissfully unaware
That I am going nowhere.

when i hear your voice
i feel like smoking a million cigarettes
and drink tens of bottles of wine
i see pictures of your smile
i hear you protesting in wise words
and saying all the things
about people who are not heard

the way your harmonica sounds
and your guitar strings
they lift me to heaven
and bring me back to earth
a vision of love and hate
your voice
something so strong,
my ordinary ears cannot understand sometimes
your words

some say you don't have the voice
but the way i hear it
i can't compare it to anything
not to angels
nor to demons
you have the right kind of soul
the kind they will never get to know

i wish you'd never disappear
never go
i know
a stupid illusion
but in my heart you are the one
making my rainy days bright
your songs they make me smile
every time i hear them in my room.

i had a dream
you were sitting next to me
typing some words
and as much as I deny it
i know
it was the most wonderful image
i'll ever get to see.

playing with words is your best game
a mystery
a lost soul
a rough voice
and gentle touch of strings
a mad voice in a world
with nothing to believe in
to you
i'll drink a glass
and in my heart
your music will be
the only thing that will ever last.

Flickering candle light, braving wanton winds,
adds an unexpected melancholic twist;
a losing battle against formidable odds ends.
Though meant to make us feel romantic
even at the worst imaginable end chapter of it,
a doomed love that made moon beams burn,
itself bogged in morass, caused volcanic burst
in callous minds that walk backwards in time
who did everything to stop us dead in our tracks.

I am not blind not to see the quivering,
drops of tear, in your once much adored eyes,
I won't see any more after crossing this point of no return.

Doesn't this look like the perfect **** they had,
a story, in the middle brought to a deliberate end;
we can't stop it anyway, except acting out our parts
that we didn't see us doing  til this moment.

All we could do is this, give a loving burial
to this doomed love, let romance be the theme ,
in candle light we'll quietly cremate it, may the  remains of it,
ashes wind scatter,be the salt of the earth, for ever.

sudden downpour,
on repentant shoulders,
licks clean.
As if weather knows.
As if weather sees.

rain forgives.

The sun forgave itself
long ago, for burning too bright,
it scorched our touching palms,
cheek to cheek, it burnt.*

That night we whispered
A song to the reeds,
Let it drift down that
Wayward line of memories,
Let it settle in the graves
Of each bed we slept in.

We let fate colour our
Hearts recklessly, like a
Child who can't stay
Within the confined lines
Of their drawing book.

Until the dawn began,
And we let our skin simmer,
Melting on each other's lips.
Until we are only skeletons
Embracing through a
World set in flames.