fuzzy
glowed frozen
plop in the mind
like time
doesn't matter

picture on the wall
halls hollowed in grey matter
echo surreal
can't feel
but know

secret calling
soul's longing
wishing to away
to tomorrow
where nymphs
and the mythic play

malformed music
made not for ears
be fear that grows
deep in mind
and dredged in remembrance

spacetime slip
through wrinkle
dripping with dreams
and lustered lies
as we know
you don't

get out of your head, kid

crumble
stumble
shin bones resonate
then part ways
walking razor edges
in descent to
the underworld

so sink I
under the waves
of Gaia's fury
roiling through my veins
overflowing, spilling
pouring out my
drunken offering
in shame

descent
deeper--center
subsumed in doom
saturated with ultrablue
blood not mine
penal lineage incongruous
with divine

my sole salvation
is empty
my soul empties into
Tartarian depths
and definitively
denied access to
heaven and hell
I'll sleep with the
vacuum
sealed, entombed

forever frozen crystalline carcass

upheld

facing heaven
facing the music

angel choirs are nothing like the devil
down in Georgia
far above the level of
love
into a stratospheric stratification of
hope
and seven levels of adrenaline beyond
dope

dopamine dreams drip
slow
soothing control
like a lighted window in the
snow
glimmering like gold
but so far gone
the meaning is
lost

and I wander
through my own house
wondering why this isn't home
wishing to the stars to go
away into the unknown

but I'm snatched back

and I switch back to passing
myself in the mirror
and screaming ****** Mary
because I'm home
but gentle hands
know

how to love while being played like a fiddle
how to sweetly play it off as
close enough to god to
know

yet I am home
and the stars align so I do find
refuge in the music
and make a home in
dreams made doped
coaxed by my own
two hands

too late to come down

I can call upon myself
but it's just a shell

bones break surface
offering quilltips
for forging poems
with
graduated cylinder-strained
diluted-air grade
not from concentrate
ink

the mechanism's safe
as sealed secret tombs
are safe
an echo of disdain
for which I apologize

aquiver with paste-
like listenings
replicating histories
foreign and estranged
to taciturn gaze;
functional, but
glazed

shells function as people
but not as well
words wish but don't tell
what awaits ingrained
in bones broken
for blessing

pop! but distressing
echoing, echoing
pain empathetically parsed
but cannot relate
it's too late

I'm walking
but not talking
I'm listening
but not communicating
I'm dead
but not yet down

entombed in my head;
all that might have been
still can, but
a refusal to bend
is found
in my own pen

I've built a prison for myself

fragile as an egg
I crack my skull over the page
and astral project my discontent
in order to witness my disconnect

the black oozes out
and takes its sweet time
to reach for the sheets
of paper to rhyme
my disillusionment
with suffering not mine
it speaks to me
all of the time

grasping the page
black eases in
to fill the void again
in vain attempt to connect
the patterns perceived
by my hand-selected memories

filed all orderly
they spill out in a heap
and soak in paper-deep
it's not enough
and it will never be enough
but blood must be spilled
in order to keep
my gods alive

they wane with the tides
sanguine and weak
I give all I have
but it rarely seems
to have an effect other than
a brief reprieve
for myself
it doesn't help
or decrease
their suffering...

so I weave words together
to spellbind the weather
from washing away
all I've worked to achieve
and perceive with augury
and sorcery and poetry
all scratched in the earth
so the world might hear me

vocalizations and invocations
fail to sway the rocks--
stone-faced, anthropomorphic rocks
--that just stare at me
secretly laughing
they're happy
their suffering

my gods are dying!
and I'm trying
to find a cure
but it isn't working
and more and more
I'm sure that

a congregation of one is not enough

god's plucking petals from the sun again
and his sister's spinning something new;
beads and burs into silver strings
as only gods may do

the Great Aunt sings sordid smells
like scents spilled from the jewels
of little men of the stone tools
no magic for mortal fools, no

the Wizened Father flirts with Death
just to scorn his mother, the Lover
and she in turn ***** his skin off
just to feel it burn going down

the Kettle Kids quip about adult ****
that ought be kept out of the room
such nonsense makes goodly gods grim
and sentences us all to doom

rebellion!--cast down idols in scorn
lashes! many and long as millennia
spent idle in heaven's tomb
break the womb of spirit stew
that cesspool what begot these fools
burning stakes into hearts awake
with the fire of bothersome issues
destroyers and usurpers, curse them!
cut them down two sizes smeared
cream their corpses into copses
of deep and dark and buried fears
forget, forget, good children
about whatever you may hear
coming from the brimstone basement
we locked up just for you, dear

we teach our children unknowable fear

black

like birds in gray skies

black like
the horizon when it dies

black like
flies weaving through the night
in search of light
shown down from
our artificial heaven

black like
a sea of forgotten things
buried beneath sickening
mounds of fresh filth
dredged from our
materialistic dreams

black like
my mother's eye
in the middle

like my father's lies
far from white
like the corners of my room
where I'd contemplate my doom
and wish for things
I shouldn't

black

like the soul at it's lowest
worn down to Tartarus
with all the little
demons that make a life
worth killing
and moreover
make such a thing fulfilling

black thoughts
sown by black deeds
give rise to evil things

evil breeds in
black ravines
where light's not
shown to these
forgotten
lonely
dead
dreaming things

deceased because you ceased to shine

teeth and scissors
slicing and grinding--designing
downfalls of detritus
deemed gross by us
stamped and sealed in blood
the typical shumck
undone

beatin' a beat on bones
breakin' skulls and ****
bemoan piteous tales of sorrow
wish it was different--don't
it's not
and it's nevermore


backroad backstories
backtrack to simple dreams
crushed inevitably by
me
by you
by this boulder in cosmic
volumes of nothing
n o t h i n g

so beat
or be beat
break so you don't
breakdown on the downbeat
beatdown downtown
the show of the modern world
with smog and **** background
ground down into


our raw, exposed blend of horrible

It's (nothing)


✖


personal.

gently beckon
the sweet words with
slivertongue fingers
slowly, steady
'til all is ready

placate them with lemonade
and roses for the sweetly grave
snipped especial so to save
their souls' decay
as it were
in olden day

gaily affair we
singing high and merr'ly
and twirl as tiny fairies
do in mid-summer eves

sprinkled loves
and lists
of hopes and kisses
and corpse-like tenderness
it sickens

so do the sweet words sour
and I alone this hour
do turn the tables paleweak
and weep them
so they sink
into my nothing
I keep
oh so dearly

how sincerely
I do try
to **** them softly
and dry the eyes
of mourners
far and wide
but alas
they always die

the end is my domain

pale pink moonlight
crystalline sanguine eyes
dual drops to paralyze
time before death knells

prepare, prepare the way
down to the grave
laying to rest the days
done and rotten

bury and decay
burn away, don't stay
don't say you wish
things were what they were

☾

let it die and rise
another day to dine
on the fortune belayed
for the moment you wake

reap what's been sown
follow the trail you know
go down the road grown
from your toils

as afore, so before does death yield new life

guilty guillotine
cut the cordiality
decapitate my capital
bereft of debt but dead

sins cashed out
at the redoubt
the readout states
he served the state medium-well
high stakes games
never play out
prime timely

passed the ball before his
(half)time trials in the hall
of Hades' heroes
trophy case cages commemorative
accompanying accommodations
on company A's dime
dyed (c)ammo/comedy gold

commies died in red tape
holding back third wave
tsunamis made by little boys
and fat cats in league
of farms with the pigs
beating b(l)ack the blue
in the faces of pro-testing
human lives in danger of
aborting the right to ask
who's right?

do not collect/make cents/money ☞

unmarked graves
poor marks/low grade
explosive yields in fields of
gilded grain against woods
buying forests by the tree
swaying serenely, at peace
like only broken bodies can be
felled for freedom from failed
harvests, too costly
inflating lives now worthless

revolutionary's revolting; reminding readers
read the red print
for Jesus wept
'cause Lazarus died again
and this timestamp
demarcates the end
of resurrected american dreams
democracy demands your undecapitated capitulation

live free™ or die

coalesce
my essence

DNA clouds rain down
biochemical infection
seeping into new skin
blossoming in the belly
of the beast we are
within

conceive
my dreams

convince them
we have good intentions
we'll spread a
benevolent infection
benefiting everything
proliferation is
manifest destiny

corroborate
my claims

doctors do the same
kings and queens
birds and beasts
breed and bleed
carnal things
beget carnal things

convince
my spirit

our continued existence
is legacy worth leaving
enlivening Earth and
all living things
that pollution
brings pleasant dreams
just the same

that we are more than parasites

grasp what hands cannot
the ***** of oughts and ought-nots
moral compass passed off
as correct heading with ship cast off
towards all and nothing

navigation without stars
only with the beating of the heart
and the interpretation of the head
makes for black nights
holed up in bed

thinking and dreaming and believing
that capacity is in my grasp
and I've capacity to carry
my oxygen down, diving deep
into subconscious abyss

subcontinental, underground thoughts
dredge up awful oughts more than not
and like demons from the depths of hell
they tell me what's wrong is well
and I'm stuck in this well I dug myself

so claw my way out, with hands that grasp
the dirt and world that exists outside my head
and dig up truth and upwards towards
something lost in youth
and the daydreams that died with it

climb and climb until I see the stars
until I am a star and so shine for the world
holding onto heaven with a mind of gold
mined from the earth I know
to exist at least to my hands

these instruments of will will see me home

within lifetimes from now
what will we be

what achievements might
twist us into something
beyond imagining, but
what if it's worse than
we could think

the future is
a foreign place
with untrod ground
and dark woods
and dark seas
boiling with possibility
for great and
terrible things

where will our feet lead
what paths will we
go down
descending into
a world which won't
recognize us for
what we once were

what happens when
we lose ourselves
to eternity
and the many millions
of possibilities
that might possibly
turns us into
nightmares
built on
foundations of
well-intended dreams
do

what if the stars revile us
and god turns his back on us
and we come to the point
where we deem ourselves
unworthy to continue existing

what if we shouldn't be

what are we

and what will become of us?

know this
that dark matter makes up most of this
that the here and now runs on dark energy
and dark forces stalk our collective conscience

my child
you come from a legacy of darkness
born of men with dark hearts who, thoughtless
thought to make a legacy in darkness

night falls
down into the depths of the soul
where, shrouded there, lies the shadow
your dark twin you'll never truly know

stop this
end the sad story penned in inky blackness
it leaves a darkness in the subconscious
better to bleed out the ink with water

drown out
the thoughts inside your head, better off dead
better to not exist than to be blackened
marked with that dark stain of the abyss

unconscious, look into the light

☼

glistening, golden leaves
under the wide sun
casting (spot)light upon
innumerable atomic bonds/blondes/bombshells
reflecting/(re)fusing
what we wish to see (beauty)

crunch... s l o w l y
leaves wrought in crisp [mint condition(ed)] lemon
hues so offensive to
the blue, the down-trod
bring down the sky gods
bring down gold leaf d e s p i c a b l e s


hated hues
hatred for god-enthused
gold (rush) diggers
the richer(darker) they are
the sicker to stomach
them going down

✝

fall from towers
of go$d
trees of go$$
(leaves off g$$$)
with teardrops of old sins
greed breeds molded
statuesque *******

glittering, but not golden ruled
measured by money
not toil
blue (lambs)blood (soft)boiled
away in soiled
soul vaults (sepulchers)

We/us(v. them) are not ruled by gold

exsanguinate the surrogate
splinter the soul-bones
and work with it
needle-nosedive into fretful
twitching and switching severance
for fours in swords inverted
serving the Devil with the words
required to birth dark squirms
burrowed in womb-pores

pours out like death-herds
dread sires and banshee curs
cutting the air with knives
meant for draining knaves
walking through the woods
in waking nightmares untouched
by skies and sun and fires burn
in furnaces composed of sores

scores of men and their biological processes
spill terror into the streets of dawn
ringing the bell with the hammer
spreading the cure with corpse dust
carried in coffins made of stone
engraved with chasm-rune ruination incantations
deeply echoing with horror and doom
but they press on through the throng and windows

organize the organisms in your mind
then let them slip through the gray matter columns
slick with poison thoughts and psyche slough
muggy and mushy and oh so ugly it hurts
making morose musically intoned implorations
temptation is drinkable brain dew
that's best sweetened with salt from the womb

life from that tomb reduces all in its path
relaxing the children into wrath-ringed halo teeth-
chattering torture boxes maintained by the state
of uncertainty we knew and do in the dark
behind closed doors to knock out the cork in the floor
and drain down the rumors of war
and the failed diplomatic drug legislation
instigated by poor boy and girl peoples

this physical form cannot keep concluding
the world inside is made of door-wood forests
where the corners contain everything imagined
and the scene is imagic and spelled
u c now how it works here?
because I don't

cannot identify my identity
cannot conform to society-symmetry
try as I might I cannot die on three
or four swords inverted by
the Devil's hands of cards
holding the keys to card-house horrors
locked in the tomb of the womb
where demons assemble more
and hell breeds its herd
so we all can converge in bloodbath...

Babel-rapped righteous words worked into hurting ourselves

clear as the empty sky
and deeper than the soul of mankind
all
the.
way..
down...

fathoming further than soundwaves
reach their molecular-minuscule hands
into the bluest abyss
below
so far below

but nothing grows
not in holy-bleached waters
baptized in plasma extracted
from our darkest hearts
invisible ink
leaving writing in the sand

walls between
underwater things and we
kings of the continent
shattered like
so much broken glass
ground and tumbled into
beads for our children to
choke on

drowning in empty seas
reaching, never believing
it could happen to us
burning acid dreams
diluted to seem
clear as can be
but we still can't see

the water we drink stinks...

rotten fish/rotten flesh
polluted streams/polluted seas
waste/wasted

death death death
drown drown
down

going.
going...

g (d) o n e --

undone by recycled demon-dreams
money for destroying everything
profit on the apocolypse
prophetically pathetic

(we deserve to drink these sins 'til we drop into the nothing we created)

Solomon rides his chariot of fire
the sun, sky-high and singular, eyeing
his war waged in the dirt
with ant soldiers carrying banners
of men who trade blows for love

patrilineally doth the crown fall down
tumbling from head to head
'til two heads beheaded are consulted
as double-minded words of wisdom
make the world spin like unwise heads of state

molecular clock ticks and talks until
the ancestors come unglued
and the ancestry unravels into
yarns of pride and dying for
tales of glory, written only in blood

prehistoric fathers sacrifice daughters
before the mothers could file complaint
of double-edged swords in the house
where Hammurabi's word in etched in stonewalls
but falls on deaf, stone-hearted heroes

deforestation dreams destroy wooden wands
and depeople dozens of homes; magic gone
the holocaust costs more than halos and crowns
'cause caustic causes contrived by the man
make the world burn twice over

and there's only so many do-overs 'til it's truly over

unbelievably
I am without

I don't know how
it came to this
but it usually does

years passed
like fallen forests
and burnt toast
and leftovers of a meal
made for
those who are hungry

empty tin cans
can't hold sorrow
like a crow can

caw like there's no 'morrow
cry because
people hold hollows
in the places where
we should be woven together
but we were never

ashes and sawdust
remain like revenant
cockroaches
creeping into the ceiling
seeing us as we sleep
as we dream

tell yourself it's all
adream
adrift in what may seem
serene--but instead
it's dead
like carrion in spring
a terrible thing
what rot

rust covers every
once shiny wish
we made upon hinges
hoped the floors
would weather the storm
but they don't
"the wood ain't true"

and it's like nothing is right with my world

crystally sharp
in clarity
azure and opally
bright with so many
hundred hues and mirth
twinkling fiercer than
the fire in the earth

and to hold in hand
that so ephemerial
essence of life
as known through lens
childlike and purer
than the world
at its burgeoning

time is liquid
flowing through it
and feeling like
seven thousand voices
ringing with heaven's
lightning gaze incarnate
in the words we speak
when no one listens

fully detached

released of inarticulate
yearnings
desperate and disparate
each a golden claw
a pale tendril
reaching, but now driven
from my lands and I

kingdom shouts and
kingdom cries
and on my ramparts
the mourning dies
and I aspire to greater heights
in spires
inspired
effervescent, sanguine
devilry

and I, the devil king
do degree my fellows scorned
my love, retracted
my kinship dethroned by
kingship
and sequestered away
in spires of delay
I belay the order to
sink
the ships have sailed

I burned the bridges
when I got to them
each different one
kindling for funfire
popping with the excited
stardom of one
myself

and in myself I lie
inprisoned
in dungeons far too deep
to wish in vain
it's in my veins
in vein of bloated volition
ruptured

overflowing with
god-spurned
self-destruction proverbs

"what is anything if not its parts?"

stitched blades
encircling 6 second-
degree sliver-spaces
silver-bright to the eye
burning like freezing fire

cyclical in nature
and silent as the grave
signaling beyond the veil
into the world that awaits

summon soon, the ***** of doom
soak into the soil
sinister will, brought to boil
and bring to bear
against evil unto evil

redirect the arcs of energy
dark and wroth and my enemy
to receive in full
6 thousand times his due

may my malice, and his
channel through points six
a hex to rival Death's kiss
and the universe's callousness

reap what you sow, 6-fold, b‡tch