Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Mike Arms Mar 2012
we smoke and talk
of unbending gravity and **** negotiations
while cobalt tombs whistle

we perform joke executions she
exclaims as we howl naked freedom

it is my bargain of captives she *******
after salt, French and bayonets

August breathes absinthed
in careless expressions where wind steals September

Famous and blonde now
because you crashed your car where

Lights Burst Mozart
Mike Arms Mar 2012
a quiet story
before the locked doors or
three way mirrors
a spider whispers

a lesson from a devil on hot
pale scales pipe high virginal
ballads in black smoke broken
by smiling Poussin

bells plunge down towers
sweetening prisons with
spiders clenched recitals
and 24 carat bourbon
Nicholas Poussin was French neoclassic painter.
Mike Arms Mar 2012
The excavations on serpent scaled cliffs !
Close to the cirrus !
Here
Blind wings must labor for
****** adventure
They spin like silkworm into language holes.
Mike Arms Mar 2012
Dark hands and Blood legends are
paternal engines stolen from
the memory of women beaten by
mouthfuls of silent lead secreted
from blurred civil wars names burning
from snakes tongue borne into
nameless wine cork
beneath the bloodmyths

The women behind the machines and
morphine webs stroked
numb in theatres

Whose skulls are like stone bowls
Whose hands are like straw
The names of their murdering children
are as old as the names of rivers
One of the themes I touch on is the history of American slavery.  Yeah.  The kind the "forefathers" were pretty keen on.  Further on is how women for most of the 20th century were household slaves.
Mike Arms Mar 2012
I was a teenager
My heart was loud

I owned right now
You held my hand

Don't dance
I know you can but don't

Defy time
Since we all burn
Mike Arms Mar 2012
I burned at the stake
each witness is a note
that sweeps through deaths
chill toward my feet

Here in this sky
the ecstasy of saints is made clear
I burn in music
every voice tried by fire
Mike Arms Mar 2012
A revolver bangs a silk bull
bucks her hanging

tactic steers away a million tongues

The nearest to heaven is your ****
that dances on a detergent blood vessel
Next page