The idea of making love to her
- or to simply watch her smile/laugh
- or to hear a solemn gasp of morning air
   when the dun sun creeps through the blinds of our room
- or the idea of spending just an hour in a thrift store with her
- or a car ride with her
- perhaps a midnight walk or trip to Walmart with her

is only a fleeting notion of the incontestable bounds of the human soul
and the all encompassing adoration I (personally me) have for her (actually you).
These weird disconnected nights are leaving me sleepless in wonder, as to how we fit
and when you smoke to escape some inscrutable sadness it leaves me cold and lonesome as the endless drone from the [I don't know where]
but and so, I'll sit or lay with you
and think of you
and confess to you
that I am madly devoted to you

In ways that transcend physical bounds
(a spiritual lust)
I want to embrace your aura
to kiss your soul and be warmed not by the summer heat but by the radiant glow of your incredible mind, as you read self-help books in some dark corner of a library weeping but only internally; as the facade you guard stays raised like so many bridges for passing ships into the harbour of eternal truth

Try and pose some grand question to the innocuous universe overhead
Or run and fall on tired tread train tracks, flailing arms and legs, screaming
This Elysium falls over broken skulls and your life is shattered too, screen-door glass shards
Pompous waterfalls of the soul crash on a vacant rock, and you sit crying to imaginary songs
Take walks through empty towns and fantasize about some crumbling bridge
Or even smash vending machines in anger
Or kick at tenement building walls, and hope to God that they fall
Like you did when the spirit left your body
We were too young to understand, the slanging match of the soul
And how the doors that slammed were representative of a larger being
The ever present societal constructs that they were bound
And now even in adulthood we too scream at one another
Wishing we were not them
Praying we were sane
So you wash dishes by the grease fire, moonlight faded curtains
And I sit by the table, grinning some unfathomable grin
Because just yesterday I stood there too and washed in the same manner
Fighting urges to lunge and fall at the humming beast in the corner
Or so and you make eye contact
And but I am lost in trains of thought
Or thoughts of trains
And just then the kids come crying, from the upstairs rooms
In the house that we grew up in
Or perhaps, the house I lived in and you grew up in

Her eyes are in the skies
of the town I grew to despise
The appetite of the mind, seems sublime
but over time...
it all faded, and so the mills stopped turning and like so many machines in the lace houses I too became a sedentary one

The gentle hum of railway hydrogen bombs bicker over sounds of birds in the morning beams of a British summer morn
but along the tarry scarred roads of every little town lay a thousand lonely suicides aided in deeds of governmental scorn
and the requisite notions of sanity are held only to the regards of glossy magazines stacked high in a disappointed dazed newsstands and corner shops
where young kids once stole *******, and snacks, and milk
where lonely old men buy scratchcards and lottery tickets
where the mothers of the young hide their bruised faces in soup can solipsisms
and where the working migrants use ticker-tape guns to price the worthless and mourn their homeland

I saw you, walking lonely as a cloud
William Wordsworth of the wonderful beard
and I saw them laugh and point and deride

I saw you too, in vagabond virility
stalking the girls in summer dresses
down on bended knee, at the bus stop in the heat

I remember the old car, burned out shell
under the bridge near the shops
that I passed before school

who was it too, that I recall
stood by the wall
with eyes to sky, and in some cosmic free fall

and you, who read Proust by the canal
listening to birds twitter
and the gentle wash of ducks paddling nearby

I am all your faces, divisible by none
when the exasperated winds of some folly of the season
comes rushing through the alley by a brick house
and in some provincial moment in time
I believe we are the same
I see you as myself in simultaneous existence

but soon we leave, and in the proverbial ether
my soul will forever be intertwined

I
There was once a room. In that room was a deadened fireplace,
beautiful in its marble stature
In front of that lonesome cavity stood a sturdy but small round table,
barely enough room for the slightly oversized candle that sat atop it
Beside the table were two tall sturdy wooden chairs
On one chair sat a tall thin blonde haired man, the other was occupied by an equally tall, equally thin black haired man
The candle was lit and burnt mightily but still failed to light more than two feet in any direction
This meant that neither man was completely visible to the other
Perhaps they intermittently appeared to each other as they adjusted their position in their sturdy seats or as the candle flickered from a phantom breeze
The rest of the room, while rather large, was fairly nondescript, and even less distinguishable when the brazen darkness saturates the walls like a plague on a nation

The black haired man stifled a yawn. “I concur” uttered the blonde haired man.

II
The black haired man leaned back on his chair and rocked forward
The blonde haired man leaned back on his chair and rocked forward
The black haired man leaned further back on his chair and rocked forward
The blonde haired man leaned further back on his chair,
he fell backwards and split his head open

III
There was once a room. In that room was a deadened fireplace,
beautiful in its marble stature
In front of that lonesome cavity stood a sturdy but small round table,
barely enough room for the slightly oversized candle that sat atop it
Beside the table were two tall sturdy wooden chairs
On one chair sat a tall black haired man, the other chair was empty
The rest of the room, while rather large, was fairly nondescript, and even less distinguishable when the brazen darkness saturates the walls like a plague on a nation

The black haired man stifled a yawn.

She reminds me of a girl from a Godard flick

The promise of life
                                  spread over Sumerian scroll
                                                                                    surprise prose of the soul
like when the stream of water bursts through trickling riverbanks and turns to behemoth gushings of clear and conscious life paralleled only by man-made train tracks through these green pastures and serene hereafters

So I wrote a novel
and named it after her

"With great dissatisfaction we propose to you a truce,
and further too, we relay to you, the lands of proof
In return all that we ask of you,
is to burn the land through,
and accept our lies as truth."

It was a lonesome room with little light
Men in suits, talking business and the like
Arab desert bombing, the news is very trite
Lack of remorse for families needing to fight
And the old men in suits care not, tonight
After bank statement perusing,
there's little left for sight

Cathedral bloodied, baron and besmirched
But by the hands of holy men that walk this Earth
We needn't look far to find the dirt
of deceitful white men, with desires so perverse

If you want to watch, she'll dance again
Your drugs are expensive today
everything was cheaper before
and life is beginning to bore

If you want to **** again, she'll go another round
bring her down around town, smile and frown

So if Heaven is full, I know a place we can go
Let me know if this seedy city is too much
if her face is pretty much muck
I think you might be stuck

But she still dances, and you're still watching
from the balcony and the beacon

the lifeless girl drowned in the Mekong
where was she escaping to, or from?

She is so many poems
Words in an endless sky
Reading her, and getting high

She is riding alone in a car
I am feeling so far away
Today, clouds drift away

Disingenuous words fall flat
Insincerity, your friend
Abandoned

Dusted lungs, bizarre psychotropics
The birds are chirping
the ground is hard

you lay, I was lying and lying
and madcap laughing
and the rest was drifting away

It's in the way the mountain breathes
or how the wind shakes the leaves from the trees
It's how the mirror reflects your truth
or how the existence of proof could fall from the roof
Don't listen to the radio antics
or the romantic notion of semantics
Instead please, you could play in the leaves
splay through the breeze or lay with trees
who shake their leaves
as the mountain breathes
and the war ends, or the world pretends as much

I saw you, and your children days before
Your son's stomachs were distended and your girls were emaciated
The track marks on your arms betrayed your neglect
Pungent family, poor and alone in society
I saw you today, with bacon in your trousers
My boss saw you too
Undignified the way he forced your hand
and you protested the soap in your pockets also
I see you everyday in the faces of my family
and I see you in my dreams, falling from Capitalist trees
I was told to stand guard of the door, in case you ran
I wished you had, I really do
Would you have ran if you'd have known me?
For I would have stepped aside and held the door

Fifteen days in that prison, I spent
Laborious in pursuit of pennies for a millionaire
While I scrape the bare minimum wage
Fifteen days because I'm a good worker
Fifteen days with no break
Fifteen pounds worth of soap and food
Stuffed into a filthy tracksuit
For your family, as they starve
and they continue to pang as you are processed
The police uphold the law, but I often disagree
What would they do, to feed their family?

The words are cement that stick to my tongue and the roof of my mouth
Molasses is the apathy that oozes from every pore of my beaten body[1]
I watched a man enter the bus, the same time, everyday, his wife waited
Today she was not there
His ring too, was gone[2]

I grow tired of writing, as I grew tired of speaking years previous
Semantic satiation of my everyday life
and I lost the will to live

There is no form, or rhythm
A shame considering the beauty of language[3]

She sits and stares through the wan window and wonders[4]

I avoid eye contact, physical contact
I refuse to acknowledge your existence
Solipsist *******[5]

What does it feel like to **** a man?
It hurts.[6]

Fiery orange hairs slick with diamonds
Palms outstretched for a tender touch
Oh stable stalk that holds you tall
And your heaven sent pungent scent
Fresh cut grass of the farmer's field
or the hill I would sit upon before school
with you, sweet Mary Jane

For you were love when love was disparate
And you were there when I was desperate
A comforting touch from my budding queen
Waking me from my daze in the mid afternoon
With an heir of liberation from my solitude
So I shall reap my crops, with love for you
And savour your taste as I lay in your luminescence

Dear friend of my Mother and Father
Joint matrimony of the empathetic soul
You and I as he and she, earthly glory
and your all encompassing embrace
For I am but a lovelorn soul,
and you were always there for me

By the canal in British summer rays
Talking a lot to waste away the days
In your black leather reigns
Adolescent growing pains
You exist too loudly today, pull away from the sun
Tight starry wristbands, and you've only just begun
You've read Proust so many times, you believe it all
From the adjacent garden, you hear your Mother call
There's insects caught on the updraft
Floating away, you see the life-raft
With heavenly swans on board
Some alabaster hooting hoard
And the boys in tight vests
Run away from your pert *******
You would give chase too
Only if you caught them,
what on Earth could you do?

Down
Midnight shoreline, down
Where the horizon meets the sky
We go down

Towards
Meager but eager, towards
Forever inching away from the lie
Moving towards

[The cold shower wakes you from slumber land
where the clouds were only vapour
and their atom bomb, shell casing suicide shitstorm
was but a nightmare in the mind of the Monarch larvae]

You could buy stocks in Halliburton
make a cool mil
Profit from the prophet, manufacture more than hate
Hollow tips, shallow hipped ***** on the pixel paradigm ***** site
Third eye magistrate, legislation of the pallid nation
Awe-struck in a hazy daze of bullet hole days
Don't ******* play with me, sunshine
David still has his **** in the mouth of a pig
and his own mouth on the great **** of Israel

{REDACTED VERSE}

So we go

Down
Midnight shoreline, down
Where the horizon meets the sky
We go down to baseline loneliness of the soul
and tear our clothes from the vessels we sold

Down we go, to watch the world end

a special kind of succinct sadness
toil the night long, until day breaks
and eyes water in mourning windy gusts
the river froze over, lose control of you
carried over thresholds in collapsed houses
feeding into tributaries of the soul
through the trees that kiss the sky
or past placid cars in aluminum nooses
needing more

but no end.

Passed out cold by a grungy bathtub on the floor by a damp blue towel
Did you know the devil is on his way
Stumbled up the stairs, beer spilled over the red cup lip
and dilated red eyes pounding in the dark
Until he sees her, Passed out cold by the grimy bathtub on the floor by a few damp green towels
The lock works well and the room feels hot
Bare naked steam that rises to a precipice under the mirror on the wall
condensates on the frosted glass window above the cistern
CIS white male sits and ponders, thinking man statue
She groans lazily, twisting her body on the **** stained shaggy rug
And so he sees up her skirt and desires to reign down on her
and also she probably wants (t)his(...)
and she is moaning, yes, yes she must be moaning

In fact, maybe she moans no
or maybe they're both drunk
and who's to blame really
Since she willingly came to this affair, with eyes for indulgence
The alcohol and molly, the addys and the xannies, Oh, and too the **** and the speed and the **** and the Ket
Young lust, young love, youngsters all crying, from rooms up above
Also, that he was invited by friends under the stipulation of "his choice of *****" and there he was, dear reader, making decisions
(as all men are trained to do)
because his parents lied and his country lied and our society lies daily
When we/he are/is told that we have freedoms, freedom of choice, and, speech, and not... speech
But anyway, the story remains, or more so, the stories remain
Since obviously that is why we are here
To judge the guilty party

But I put it to you, ladies and gentleman and non-binary people of the jury
Should we not first judge the mirrors and pristine plate glass windows
or the spoons in the cutlery drawer that bear our reflection
In that moment that only we exist
In that beautiful sin of vanity
Should we not judge the confines of the rigorous prejudices and fear that we call society
Should we not contest the very notion of civilization when we act,
in ways described in this court today or in the ways,
you very people have acted or will act
Should I, myself, the writer of such a contrived, pretentious piece of...
Should I not judge myself
I put it to you, whoever you are
that
That today, you can change the world

I. Tune Out The Traffic, Just Listen to the Crickets

Throw your phones into the sea
  walk away into the night
  fall asleep beneath a tree
  burn a candle for your light

Don't pretend to be in love
  only say it, if it's true
  pray to nothing up above
  the only person to trust is you

The manifesto wasn't long
  the words were not obtuse
  it rhymed just like a song
  but in the end it was refused

II. There Is No Metaphor Here, So Please Stop Looking

Big 'ole spider on the wall
To where is it that you crawl?
I'm sure today you've seen it all
A dog without a ball
and humans walking tall
The leaves of pretty whorl
and a lonesome bathroom stall
Oh
Big 'ole spider on the wall
Do you have someone to call
When this stranger has the gall
              to crush you

III. Algae on the Riverbank

They dragged a corpse from the river
it was bloated and decaying
They pulled a body from a burning car
it was charred and still smoking
They took a foetus from its mother's arms
it was slimy and cooling
They shoveled a person from the sidewalk
it was shapeless and splattered

Everybody dies,
but every body mattered

IV. The Untruths of Poeticism

Tear pages from your books of poetry
and throw them to the winds
They become falling leaves in summertime breeze
- fills the sky with pretty rhymes
Butterflies flutter by
look away from the shutter sky
The stutter lies
and so do I

There's a dark road near, see it, just there
No lights, just despair, see it, here
Two deer limping, see them, smell the fear
There's a dark road turning so cavalier
That's a compound, there, lives a seer
The despotic cliff face is too sheer
He falls like a tear,
and wearing his bandolier
The fight is over, until the next fiscal year

Waif-like drifter on a fading cloud
the saddest sound makes its rounds
The outer limit of this town
She speaks to herself somehow

How her life turned around
after hearing a siren sound
Oh, the wolves abound
As she stumbles from that crowd

And so her rueful mind aloud
split the seam and scheme and shout
for whatever worth she receives in clout
or any mirth that fuels her doubt

By the bracken broken, beaten paths
through trails of time and solemn laughs
she finds herself alone at last
In lonesome graves of her lovers past

Arkansas skies, endlessly wise and wider than the bluest tide
Dam closed so **** close to the edge, bullishness of the blueish hue
Borders of the borderland shuffles eastbound,
walls get built and torn back down
To see a thousand sunsets, grows tiring
Turn my back, decision made to see no more

What mysticism is this, that the bluebird fly by my window
  and wake me from peaceful slumber
That the apathy of a summers day can be repulsive to the few
  who fail to appreciate the eternal beauty of rest
That juggernaut engines rail by the sidings of the city
  and shake the Earth that mothers our day
Or that persistent devices buzz and ring and beep and cry
  on the tabletop by the window, as the bluebird fly by

The ants were lied to
As their wooden homes burned down
Foolish little ants

Stood at the precipice of the world, a shadow cast
The oceans were dry, no greenery was breathing
A button that ended the lives of billions, pressed
And since that time the people have all been leaving
The cosmic family, their neighbours, were all grieving

We are the ants now
Our homes are catching light now
We can stop this how?

It was six AM and it was one AM
We spoke in silence
and whispers from the sheets
She told me she felt disgusting
I held my gut and buried my head
Oceans...
She called before and I slept poorly
a thousand iterations of her voice
That swarmed my painfully ****** mind
Oceans between us...
I mentioned puzzle pieces
and alluded to something like a movie
She questioned my rambling
and I closed my eyes, listened to the fireworks
She met other boys
ghosts in the bad dreams haunting
Memories of Jordan
memories of Jorie
memories of Mimi, Annie and the rest
More oceans between us

  I feel so disconnected

I wished I was dead so I couldn't hear her again
but I've wished this before and nothing
Maybe her eyes could pierce my heart
but her eyes wander, and I wonder where she is
She's sounding scared
I'm apathetic by nature, I wish I could wish I wasn't
Are you blinded by the dangerous
because I am too
Are you flailing listlessly into existence
because I understand
Are you feeling better
because I want that

are you
because I am

It's a recurring scene
the unavailable, the broken and the best
I'm drifting away and it's a world in that ocean
You're with me today in hazy faded memories
and I laugh when I think of your laugh

I really shouldn't fall in love
with somebody who
can't love me back
because...
It's so far to Missouri and flights are expensive
So I'll sit in my sadness
and dream of you

All your fading smiles
In the cities in her eyes
and all you broken memories
and all your jaded lies

Did it hurt when you died
or did you not notice
Only, we missed the countdown and so we fell
out of
                          sync
The beginning was a false start
Chattel hurriedly march onward to their demise
Maniacal laughter from the radio chatter
and the afterthought master, pulled strings faster
Cloning programs in the desert
Phone record credit

(your birth certificate is just a receipt)

This year, the year of somebodies lord
many facts come forward
many facets of the reward scheme
of institutionalised regimes
Your terrorist masters in the government houses
mastermind crises or create all these lifeless..

Sing it two times for the slaves in the system
and their families that miss them
The Queen's Christmas manifesto
Ghost written in a conference in Austria
This is your controlled system
But you'll try not to listen
Unless there's a fire beat, something to make you move your feet
Unholy march of the lonely,
Masquerade of the only...

...and when the end finally rears, when the years stop, drop
pop and lock
We'll be dancing
and the lights will be dimmed

The masks all burned by the chipped paint backdoor
Pick her up from the floor where the rug is a solace
She'll never be as old as the men she loves
Where she goes to secret clubs in order to find love
the black dress torn

And they all stood motionless on the bridge on the river
Feeling the world move below them
(and the turquoise fish glimmer, sun streaked, reflective beauty)
as some wild cosmic dance spins onwards
in the blackness of something or nothing

Where are your moonlight serenades now
or when do your flowers run dry
and how did you survive on these streets
as all these monsters pass by?

I'll ride the old phantom route 45
that runs right by this broken house
Her ghost roams still, and I get no sleep at night
So I'll pack my bag and grab the howling dog
and hit the old phantom 45

She plays the old 45s, on a record player with no platter
Oh phantom 45, she speaks to me at night
Stains remain on the bathroom floor
and so too, they exist on my heart

So to hit the old phantom 45, they call the 70 now
I'll hit 70 doing 70 and never look back
to the old phantom 45

The road sign still stands on the softly swollen ground
Outside the home we once shared
Now her restless spirit wanes in dusky drizzle
Since I hit the old phantom 45

Where else but eastward, they lay
Onward by the pine tree felled
How sullen the moss
how sudden the loss

Oh but the grass is still green
and the feral badger still mean
Where golden odour wisps o'er head
or cattle gather to be fed

This meadow makes giants

Faded lights fall on frozen grass, under the floodlights on the field
outside the window of a fifth floor dorm
The lazy hazed days were long, amazed at the songs, they lay
all along the bed frame and where the mattress touched the wall
Where he ran hands across her perfect thighs
and she reciprocated, biting her lip
Between the sheets the warm air permeated, to the cold room
and these young bodies melt, or drift with each other
or perhaps it's fire, perhaps like water
There as lips caress lips and as eyes watch eyes
and as wordless reveries become satiated seamless scents
of two stars nestled into each other
and as creaks of the bed springs turn to shrieks of pleasure
the whole light disappears into a crescent one over the horizon
They two, moaning together, playing together
Some wild innocence with animalistic tendencies
they bite and clutch, bodies bunched into *****
falling over each other
and into another
till kisses turn to licks
and he raises his head from between those thighs
and smiles in her eyes
and asks if she is having fun

Since I hugged you on that train platform in Illinois
I know that love can slow the passage of time
and that I need to hold you again

Since we listened to La Dispute and swayed lazy as ghosts at midnight
I feel connected to you in a way unparallelled before in life
and it hurts to be oceans away

Since we kissed under the Arch and fell heavily into bed that night
I am just a love-lorn cliché, composing poems in my head
and never writing them down for fear of embarrassment

Since we lay writhing on trembling beds, as people passed by the door
I am infatuated with you, and everything in your mind
and it scares me sometimes

Since we ran in open fields with dogs at our sides, laughing like children
I have had you in my own mind like bank vault doors, unmovable
and I don't see any reason to even try and move you

Since I left you at that Chicago departure lounge
I finally understand how dying feels
and how bitter my tears truly are

...and they told me that you were to die within the week
I took your hand in mine and held you ever so close
Setting a bed for you to lay with your weary head
Your muscles are trying, your heart is sighing and you body is weak
I read your beloved poems and adored with you your favourite prose
But before the day's end, in mine arms you were dead.

Under stone lamp posts he took me by the hand
Walk little boy I'll make you understand
God has chosen you to be the man
God has chosen you to wear his crown

Broken through barriers, the road is quiet
The path that we travel is clear and bright
God has chosen me to be the man
God has chosen me wear the crown

Lectures in the forecourt they gathered round
Come little girl and hold my hand
God has chosen you, it's his command
God has brought you here to understand

The fields turn red in distracting light
The soldiers have arrived to heed the fight
God has chosen them to make a stand
God has chosen me to protect his lambs

Burning battle fields turn to rivers of blood
God speaks to me through the wood
God has chosen me I still believe
God told me that I must leave

God will carry me into the light
God will hold me through the night

Sombre is the morning, dew underfoot
Crying are the mothers, for their fallen sons
God feels distant when I ask for help
God only cares about himself

Ceremony dances in the pale twilight
Cups full of juice for the lambs tonight
God carries me home, I still believe
God had chosen me to take lead

Distant are the screams as I fall to sleep
Distant are the voices that chose me

Self-indulgent panic of the scarring emotion
Blood across a mirror cracked
Where her body lay for days

Disingenuous apathy of a solemn kind
To meet her gaze in the evening din
Lifeless she lay and he laid to

A wave that breaks, in romantic ocean breadth
A breath that fell silent
and so too does the head

White dress, petticoat, floundered folly
Lovers in the summer rain
That never shall see a sunrise again

I saw the asphalt bleed when the dim lit car sauntered to a stop
The dark suited men in the shadows watched
I heard them call the name, words that shake trees in windless wood
Late twilight froze and stolen away, bagged, shaken; lost in so many words
Dark was the allusion of trust, how they let me see when miles out of town
and the road lights were off; some cosmic joke
Would that I could have run, or awake in panic, or die of the same
Would that the arrival didn't seem so tame
Who are you that you know my name and I not yours
and why do the servants wear so many smiles
Come, we see the great pieces and hear the master's song
Said he to me, and I followed speechless in ware
These great walls crafted by our kind - centuries ago, we watched them too
The eye
Great eyes see
Fascination of the mass in drab cloaks, chanted; smoke filled rooms
Centralisation of hysteric suppression in form of communal spirituality
and I saw you there, I know your face
and you see mine, the eye

What rooms! What rooms I saw-
Those that see so much more
And ushered away to the interrogation
Where masked men spoke and I convinced myself of dreaming
or foul play
Instruction became clear, sipped the tepid water
How hazy the memory is
That they made this of me
The black coat, an eye
Seeing

By the shadow of the old factory
Listlessly my eyes scan the sedentary street
To see the secret that separates
or hear the siren song of the society's scene

Running from the future until the sole is worn
into Abyssinian empiric solitude
Where the only voice that speaks
is the hollow tone of history's fatalism

Destined for the furrowed smile
of luxury's unknown apathy

Growth hormone empath
who sleeps frozen under cosmic abandonment
A chancers change of chanson song
that sweeps the windy street

A vignette of turgid stories
that predict the rising tide of paperless bedsheets

Tomorrow I will lay on the floor, adjacent to my bed, and think about the stuffed animal I never had as a child.
The day after that I will bang my head against a mime's wall as he gestures with his feet to 'go away and eat three beans.'
Two days after the mime incident I will cry.
The day before I cry, I will not cry.
The day before that I will rest.
Yesterday I will use incorrect syntax to create a piece of post-modern drivel.
In a year I will be born and two decades ago I will listen to a recording of myself typing an masterpiece.

In exactly 1 hour and thirty7 minutes I will.

She told me to do what made me happy
I laughed and she looked confused
For what would make me happy
Would break her heart in two

My life has no end in sight
My end would leave her bereft
Though I took her words to heart
So I sit and plan my death

I've got **** holes in my ears
and **** holes on my fingers
So every time I drop a ****
The smell, it really lingers

I've got **** holes on my tongue
So every time I french ya
You will get a taste of ****
All over your dentures

I existed[1]