how is love
what is love
who am I to love
if not my wife

she is all that is love
she shows what it is to love
how to love
what is love
is her

I stare into the mirror until the light (life) goes out
don't worry about the fly

 I am thinking about two paintings by Gustave Klimpt

Eve undressed
Adam undone 

my mother the ******

I still suckle at her ****

and worry about the larvae

truly one dreams about floating down a river
and emptying into a lake
then the wind whistles
and the lake freezes over
now there's no chance of swimming out alive
or floating to the top
just sink to the bottom 

ice cap crazy, I say
he never wrote me after that frigid stare
(when Art died I got up and left)

a frozen lake, a frozen stare (start), who dreams like that?
maybe this won't come out right
the end is forced 

you see I don't have much time
and I don't give myself much time

a life no one else can use
must I?

it's like people who complain about the sun

complain about the sun?

yes, the sun is at fault
further, it's the sun's fault
not who complains

what is the complaint anyway that the sun shines or shined and is now gone?

no, stupid
that it rises.

ESCUTCHEON:  Tuesday September 17th, 2019 at 09:41 PM writes:

oh please…no more fluff for the stuffy…blah, blah, blah

REPLY:
its so dank in here – do you mind moving over?

ESCUTCHEON:
have to go anyway, its late and kinda artsy for fancy yum yums like me ... so derivative like.

REPLY:
ha, ha, ha ya mean so loosely fitting that it ‘palls me *****’.   cheerios girls, as the Telegraphers say

ESCUTCHEON:
cornflakes, potatoes, silk chiffon ribbons, any french layer cake will do for you lot…btw working me times table

REPLY:
since you (men)tion it, hee, hee, kah, kah, (cough)(spits out loose tooth).

ESCUTCHEON:  
rolls around with five men until sparkling clean.  Just like all the men *** known, T. Hee (she wahnts five x =’s 45)

REPLY:
leave it alone pal (3plus10)

ESCUTCHEON:  
yeah or just leave. this restaurant is for invertebrates and finger stats and rind rats

cafe french is stupid. and quit pointing that thing at me
it feels like two flutes in the back

i **(p)e everyone just turns out to vote (for me!) (aside to self – how does one thought supersede another (self to aside – withering like self-replicating worms - it's sequential, isn’t it?))(parens within parens)

huge thugs. good work all. take 5 (6-1=3)

REPLY:
he's drunk.

ESCUTCHEON:  
blood everywhere

meh, just on the napkin...thank g-d

Geesh, Im surprised he could keep (alive) that long  (plus 0 minus 0)

Comment awaiting approval.

LEAVE A REPLY

this is the way that you sigh,

a leafless branch
wavering helplessly

between tides

waving goodbye to some great memory

exhaling depleted air.

Sloping beaches
roman snails
slinking deeper
into my pail.

on a hillside a log topples downward

showing a fungi of colors
in millet-seed sized scales

a devils cup
curls up

under the dark undergrowth

a mat of mossy sponge
    too lichen thick

drains its
blistering-ulcerating-soul
into an inner memory with as many folds

where are we now?

us,
a wandering tribe of black eyes.

The People cry out
  Who will save us?
We are buried alive with deception

Dwelling like beasts in spoils of luxury
Creeping around like blighted scarabs
    growing ever stronger with rancid mouthfuls of cheat.

King of neither world
Hurler of hopes
Admonisher of dreams
Do not silence our awakening

You must save us!

I am Ha-ha
  am I to be loved by you?

It is I alone who can strike
a single chord

[though strumming with puny hands I too have limits]

Like so many drops of sweat
trickling down your spine, I caress.

In my kingdom fear reigns
   each of you
a harnesser of the means

know that I have not come to fulfill but to destroy

******, killing, stealing
Mankind will be churned underground to be reborn with burning flesh

consummate death
thy liberty is dead!

So decrees  Ha-ha

The People whimper
  do we even deserve you?

I was dead during the day at the office
It was I who followed me home for dinner
I left me feeling empty in the evening
Still I thought I could be slept off over night

In the morning I prayed to God never to leave me
for forgiveness can never be redeemed

Yet nothing was done
So forgetting the night before I carried on as usual
Tardy for this, too late for that, too quo kid to care
Scratching my chest
With a bliss this small I'd stop
But
Each day's the same

death followed me
empty  
over night
awake

Never redeeming
nor ransom free
In the morning
I never left me

I did end up writing that letter to Kristen Stewart
the letter that my sponsor said may not be a good idea to write

he said it escalated
my acting-out
by writing her

I can see what he's saying

it’s like writing to you
to write to her
wait (as if I’m KS)
I’m a little confused
if you love her
how can you love me?

my sponsor
my sponsor
wherefore - don’t forsake me on this one
you'd think he's my Lord and Master
God
or something

though if you should meet him
he'd talk some sense into you.

who am i kidding?
if push came to shove
I’d choose KS.

I mean c'mon
she’s a fractured heart

she is
vulnerable
and open
and takes my breath away
I die
For her

Maybe we like being held captive

the need to feel victimized
reigns supreme
in love poetry

like troubadours singing,
'a hey and a **, what about me'
'am I chopped liver, nonny, nonny?'

then, say I, alas like:

end this pain and stick a knife in me
so at least it will be the last honest feeling

(your eyes cutting deep into mine)

we feel.