Cooling air, the senses assault
Done is the day, I’ve earned my salt.
Daytime light has turned on me
On moonlit streets such trickery
The pleasant splash, those leaves on foot
Make drunk these nostrils, nectarous soot
Pensive mood floods the mind
And of their beauty I’m truly blind
I do not think of Autumn whole
Only alms within my bowl
As you’ll see I’m leaf inspired
Though their rudiments I have mired
Autumn ring, the chilling tenors
Rejoiced and played in earthly manors
That icy rush makes cold the spirits
Yet conflagrates ye adherents
That festive smell, incense the air!
No motive o’yours ever err
And though the day leaves more hastily
These changing leaves get the best o’me
Transient seconds plump and inspir’d
Of your natural portraits I’ll never tire
The mountainside, my most treasur’d mosaic
Whatever great works, it’s more archaic
Falling to the ground, like listless colorful rain
Whether as the nemophilist, or seated behind a pane
These little souls returning to earth
Fill me with the greatest mirth
Though they exemplify an age ended
Verbiage they have transcended
I’d fill my days with gallery mileage
Gladly glut with their splendid sillage
As they flit, the stuff of dreams
In their midst, pure sophrosyne.
Day or night I’m overcome
Eyes wide open and stricken dumb
Overcome with words and tune
Bursting forth, this ideal plume
And like a flower, complex in bloom
Can’t be captured, hemmed and hewn
Vapor these words, though fall inspire’d
No due medium, pen or lyre
Untouchable this golden essence
Wealth of ideas, gone in seconds
Appropriate, it seems to me
My head, my thoughts a leafy tree
Arrives the autumn, gold and dun
Thousands escape when I reach for one
So I’ll just watch in quiet awe
The beauty whole, no hem nor haw
Not try to make that art my own
Won’t reduce it to rhyme and tone
I’ll simply revel their naïve lull
Ephemeral, yes, but never dull
Shout out happily in leafy halls
Marry to words what return my calls
Leave thou ******, in pulchritude pall
And question not what comes of fall.

These ides have kept me thus far
Sustained, am I, eternal
By their food of self-sacrifice
The jester’s tasty wine
Imbibing insults wrought by fool’ry
Again, reciting the dirge for pride
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Despite the ru’nation
Hoist! Ye ru’nous hands
My repute in mortification
A fool by their and my demands
I see my shame, long shadow cast
In light of sobriety
Ignominy and truth of me
Divorc’d n’er they be
Still taste of cheap liquors, distilled society
But the ides have kept me thus far.
Full knowledge, have I
The disservice I do
Only time will heal the wound
To shy away, acceptance is
A lovely balm on par
My image in tatters, though brazen I be
The ides have kept me thus far
Let them laugh, for I know they do
Not to me, but within and among
I am your entertainment
The source of all your jeers
My life, a blund’ring show
I am an actor, my blight for years
A part to play, it’s pleasing though
To thrive upon your mocking and time
Comforting knowledge, that
A fixture, am I, your Thalia
The ides have kept me thus far
Erected austerity, enigmatic walls
Fortifications around me
Charged to keep the chaos in
My heart, it truly calls
I am not so noble
As the sun will attest
Know me as the ascetic,
See the shrieking eccentric,
Know me as the philosopher
See my wit pathetic,
Know what is outside is purely for show
See that is internalized, is
So ******* antithetic
Each and every time
I hide my face in shame
My pride and my name, my actions did thus mar
But I will heal, I always do
The ides have kept me thus far
This is my mantra, an empty cadence
A mist to latch on to
With every refrain of wretched debauchery
Each weekend played anew
Though I stay to bear the howl
Of my dissonant, ugly hymn
I listen to the hardened ones
Their failures but a din
I wish to change the thing I am
At least to those who know
I’ve heaved the chance to the icy mar
Onto the cracking floe
I feel the daggers of humiliation
Plucking at each stitch
I’ll just smile as though I like it
For in effect I do
But it’s becoming unbearable
The walls beginning to bow
Imperceptible, if my resolve she lasts
Though this is nothing new
But I’ll just grin and carry on, for
The ides have kept me hitherto.

It seems so far away
My youth preserved that precious little thread
Convinced a price I’d never pay
Convinced I’d never be dead
I thought my skin iron armor
A shield to all the shifting forces
The forces that nature threw at me
Until I saw life at its sources
And for lasting life, was my loudest plea
Never before
Have I seen so visceral a scene
Until I witnessed life escape, stripped to its very core
And on that pavement, so impressive a rouge sheen
Tears shed from my iris
Like I could change the horror
And shrieking like my efforts pious
Calling life, to my side I implore her
For him, I beg her company
For me, I’m no source of council
Though I cry, don’t trouble me
For I’m not the one that woman killed
I can’t express my grief
No petty conglomerate
Could afford me relief
For I’m not the one that woman killed
His blood was steaming
On that September road
By the sidewalk, dun and grey
Like life between its anti and node
I can only cry so much
Before it no longer matters
And it becomes another event, such and such
And its significance becomes a thought, to the floor it clatters.
Don’t cry for me, though I’m rife with ill
I don’t need it
I’m still alive
I’m not the one that woman killed
Think about that body rushed away
On determined heels
To the hospital, on precious time played
His fate, despite man, sealed
I’m not there, no fruit to give
My presence not by his dying side
Though he screams to the empty, futile air
My efforts can’t discourage his departure nigh
Though the sun may rise
Thougt the babe born
Though the shoot will rise
I will still morn
His loss, the rotting human soul
That sits in a wooden box, rested in the solemn hearse
Carried off by the bearer of palls
And buried deep beneath the earth
I’ll lament the loss, I’ve lost it
So very suddenly placed, without abet
This event so caustic
I’m face to face with death
But I’m not the one you should morn
Despite the tears streaming from my face
I’m not the one with the greatest of ills
I’m not the one you should be praying for
For, I’m not the one who that woman killed.

Why am I always bereft of the thing that I seek the most?
I always seek a willing soul
A soul who would entreat my own
And I the same
I, the slave of my nerves
A slave to the pulsations of my skin
The very thing I’ve always hated
I want hate
I want to hate myself
I want inspiration
That comes from the hate that flows
So freely from my finger tips
So beautiful a thing that passes by
So ignorant of what I could say
What I could appeal to
What drunken emotions accentuated
By the feelings of night
My pointless words
My sickened intellect
What I perceive as truth and the right way
I’m sorry to everyone
All those with the displeasure
Of hearing my obtuse
Faked heart, faked mind
I’m sorry
But I’m not authentic
I’m a replica
I’m not genuine
I’m a thing so pinioned around
The thought of ***
It clouds everything else
I want this false notion of love
I want a distraction
Something that keeps me away
From the emptiness of existence
I don’t want to face it alone
There has to be someone who thinks my skin worthy
There has to be an individual
I didn’t trick
Someone with
The very fantasy of love within them
Someone as foolish as me
With fake blood pulsating through their heart
Like me
Someone with the raw, acknowledged beat of lust
Flowing through those impermanent veins
Like the worthlessness
Extending from every extremity
Nothing is right
There is no light
Goodness has gone beyond me
Genuine Morality
Only the flame of passion
Ebbs in my matter
Not that story
Not that fantasy
Only a lie
One I can’t even abuse
Everyone is gone
I feel like life
Is but staring into a mirror:
Nothingness
Abstraction
Distance
Let this failure,
This over interpretation of a life
Die in the obscurity
Of the night Time
Good night all
Enjoy your lives
If only I could distract myself
From the awful reality
Like you
I want to be like you
Where life has meaning
Like action has sway
I am nothing
And never will be.
If only love could find me.

Come to me, Lady of Summer,
Hold me fast with blossom’d arm
Kiss me like a lover
And whisper floral words like I’ve known no other
You’ve given me the strength I seek
To grow my spirits vernal
To flee my love, all for naught
No union e’r eternal
And yet you linger to torture me
Witness me mortify
To shrivel up in your callousness
Let to air to fin’ly die.
With each passing
Of every hour
Your embrace grows cold’r still
Still am I to find the vitals
Which you try to ****
You’ll succeed because I let you
I long to feel your touch
And pray to false gods, the gods of hope
That you will feel as such
When that lonely woman comes
The Lady of the Snow
And blesses me aptly
She’ll show me you were just a phantom
Without I am truly happy
Yet she will leave
They always do
And abandon my love once more
You come again, my love anew
Yet again I’ll grieve
Resultant of my petty wish
That I’m your only lover
Though disenchantment is my blessing
To see beneath the lie
I’ve always wanted to enjoy your grace
Yet void of sky awaits me nigh
No normal man would grovel
And incense your waning passion
As I do
AS I do
As I will always do
For you abandon me
And give my gifts to better men
To those I call normal
And leave me leveled like
Foot of crushed hill
So now I retreat
Into my head, my hand
My eyes I blind, my mouth grows dumber
I spurn thee
I love thee
Oh, Lady of the Summer

I will walk a road
Of rimed old men and invisible children
A barren scape, all uniform and erudite
A scene to some, so meaningless and sullen,
But to me, I crave such to behold a ****** white.
Corrupt, it is not, despite my trek.
At Peace, my soul, at rest.
Baptize this ailing body, come the advent of night.

Put this matter with trowel and ***,
Into the dark and fertile ground,
With each hit, he loosed the soil
A once happy man thou condemned to uselessly toil  
His claws, cracked and broken shells
Jaundiced with the duty long days that did require
Lamed by grief and forced to work
Here, till the end of days, within this garden, this mire.
Deep does a ****** live here, past the clay and bedrock
Like the pride and valor and resolute spirit of the domineering ****
Or so her mien, it does beget
Or some other erroneous sentiment
That she, not he, were to bear this labor.
Within the ground, he did remember, in his spritely youth,
He planted, and thought none of, but a seed,
Into this verdant splendor, which bore that infernal ****.
And, thence, thereof came a fruit,
Of malignity infinite,
All the while it poisoned the ******’s white and water’s pure,
As its eerie little spines proceeded to take root.
Her garments poised to emulate white, instead
The ******, to him, had lost her white
Or never had white at all,
The ******, to him, had lost her white,
To him, the ****** was dead.
The fruit and seed, effulgent and pretty, to those who saw them bloom
Attractive were they so to them, irresistible to behold
That they, to him with great chagrin, did immediately consume.
“But the ******,” he cried. “The ****** has poisoned them!”
Yet they continued to eat.
“We do not believe you,” they replied, and slept ceaselessly on their feet.
One by one did they all collapse from the toxin of its juice.
The ****** watched and laughed, of caution was there no use.
Powerless and sullen, he stood, for remedy was far passed.
The ******, now regarded with delight,
Has he, poor, poor man, to tend to his blight.
The garden gone, its cleanliness perverted,
His words were ignored, and thrown wayside,
His admonition he so heatedly asserted,
The ******, her words never to be trusted
Had won over the people, whose homes she sought to entreat,
And with her rite, so treasured, so adored,
They enslaved and force him to his mire, to tend to the rag and filthy lands
Where he would remain with the garden
His words, his skin so like the sands