i am become as ignorance,
i am the one who refuses mathematics
to save myself the death of beauty.
i am my fathers’ lackadaisical prodigy,
i am the one who plans for plans
and never follows through –
maintaining self-controlled anarchy.
destroy myself in paradox.
i am my souls’ awakening,
i am the one who lingers in
the hindbrain and find myself
never questioned – never analyzed.
look’d over with lack of repetition.
i am become laid bare upon
your chest of bronzed censure.
i am become as isolation.
i am become as words that linger.

Long for a pure existence.
Safe inside the comfort -
Of my own mind.
Contemplating this idea
Of throwing it all away.
Head for the hills,
           for the mountain peaks,
             for the coast.

Content of my wallet is fitting-
No paper,
No value to the plastic.
So, whats the point?
Working towards working towards dying.
**** all that, I'm out.
You cant buy clarity,
At least I dont think you can.

Grew up in the country.
God I miss the birds.
All the birds around here look sick.
I think it's from eating so much fast food.
Miss the stars too.
Miles and miles, stretching -
Pin-points of untouched hope.
Thats gotta be pure, to think -
That star is a part of everything
And everything a part of it.

- - - and i have been thirteen years out,
thirteen cast out, in it to
impress with some congress
and break a rhyming scheme
with some unrelated information
that could – and would –
ramble on and on, trapped in a
roundabout and listless format
pressed upon from birth in
mimicking action of that conception.
of anyones, of graphic denial
to linger in bliss and in blind
parasitic servitude.
- - - and i went for a cigarette,
and basked in the sun on a
November-ending day.
and i thought
of my plans, and how i am
pathing myself; and i thought
of my writing, and how i am
advancing myself; and i thought
of my life, and how i am
fulfilling myself; and i thought
of my death, and will i be
able to accept myself. and in on
in repetition, once again
in haste, in waste, in mending
of past-lives and weaving their
threads into this greater fabric.
- - - and my **** is constantly hard,
and i try to be shameful of Sin
on the long winter nights.
then there’s a point in exhaustion
when the mind stops. stoic absence.
“what brought you to this town?”
a bad decision, a woman.
“mind if i pray’d for you?”
if you want.
“mind if i pray’d right now?”
one hand grasped in both of his,
‘oh heavenly . .’
kindness out into the world.
and my ***** constantly hard
and my lungs tarred
and a harsh word traded for prayer.
- - - and perception becomes skew’d
with the last drop of sanity
cryin’ forth to ride the snake,
to nip at Apollo’s heels in
his retreat at the end of night.
and to wail from my place of rest
at the loss of the Sun’s mistress,
to the loss of a lover given.
logic null’d by the body of another,
inert love, nothing more than
a little friction.
we press’d against each other
with hopes that we could
impress upon anothers physicality.
venial sin, so long as confess’d.
congenial sins we are bound to regress.
- - - and i beg to be set free,
beg to be loose’d,
to have the notch that is me
relieved of a taut string.
to feel my force release’d
through the heart of another.
to be witness to a love
called ones own while Ross
wails on with his epic poem.
we fail as the red and white
haul us to a stroboscoping stop –
intermittent breathing and panic.

Heard the moon from under a blanket.
Wrapped in silk she rapps on my window,
begging in the most patient manner - to be let in.

Hello my lovely Margret.
How I'd like to sink my teeth into her tonight.
Should we have a smoke?
She trembles in her luminous shimmer.

Takes my hands - Margret you  devil.
Never an audible urge,
but an ethereal curtain becomes us
and I hear the cry - dance with me, she says.

Not tonight Margret, we must behave ourselves.
God she's a different kind of tempting.
I really should kick this nasty habit, I know.
She snakes those legs around my middle.

She's no pioneer - not a ****** innovator,
Just a crutch, but a beautiful one at that.
Will you stop it, I said not tonight.
Dims a bit, start fearing  I've been to rough - but she's back.
Just a passing cloud.
Eager as ever, tonight, to bathe me in radiance.
Dance with me, she cries -  and I falter.

exchange me
in your sight.
let me grow
and soak in light.
my shadow's got me
trapped inside,
words crumble from my lips tonight.

admiring you, admiring me.
my actions are subconscious and timid,
not enough action to get a reaction.
I'm building mountains to destroy them:
mountains made of flesh covered drums,
vibrations of thought, and honey dipped bones.

I crawl to move forward because sudden movements make you flinch.
you want me alone
and you're alone
and I'm wrapped up sweetly
wanting nothing but to sink so deeply into my wrappings
that I become the wrappings
like a bird in the cage
that soon becomes nothing but feathers.

kiss me
taint
my lips.

eat me
absorb
my sin.

ink is on the page to reveal this sinking stage
and the time that it takes
to change from bad habits to new ways.
self-reflection is the stitch that broke the
dams that built up through neglect.
now the flow is aching for a record
of it's mass accumulation, only through this process
will it provide sweet stimulation.

you carry a heart of sand,
and you left a grain
inside my brain
to cure the pain
of a smoldering flame
for what remains
in my own sand crusted box of feelings.