stars and stardust fall to freedom
from the press corpse,
from the incessant demand of chemical crises.
crowds ache for love or a substitute
and false amore is what they have.
love is folie a deux-
[the shared madness of two.]
attachment is an affliction,
infatuation is disease leaping from remission,
with deadly symptoms.
red roses lead to black coffin doors,
roses dropped on floors
from vases shattered,
and life is the water spilling from the stems.

golden hair won't keep me docile-
blue eyes and a smile
are weapons of mass destruction-
cities sunk and flags risen
from the depths of inhumanity.
it's all for you, Helen, and humankind will never
perceive its aftereffects,
its hangover headache
sprawled over the world on a bad day.
little city partylights and shiny beer bottles
broken upon the concrete
covering the grass.
reflections of insanity upon the glass.

devilish, the temptress,
the succubus, a mistress
sent by Him, to spin doubt into
the spiderwebbed life of family trees
split in two by axes, divorces
to fifty percent, no-
no wedding band-aid will stop this flood.
abandonment.
neglect gets to a child's head-
can't help but wonder if
they were the cause of this.
little anchors,
keeping the heart in one place-
an anchored rubber band that demoness
stretched and snapped.
the relapse gave her whiplash, and
the stepdad whipped the boy's back, and
the boy grew up and
found a girl to take his pain to.
she gave him five stunted children,
with eyes hollow and glazed,
a mechanical response to a command.

lack of emotion only seems cruel
to those on the other side.
lack of flourish means nothing
to those who grew up to grey skies.

chains and handcuffs keep stardust grounded,
remains from a nebula which
birthed a black hole.
straight razors and pinky nails
teach fledglings to reach for the sky
and never fall back down.
glass ceilings never seemed so
breakable- tiptoe upsidedown
and reach the other side
before you fall back down to the real world.

angels have no eyes.
angels have no souls.
angels judge and leave the helpless for below.
cliffsides crumble and clouds dissipate,
and the devil lends a hand-
he is helping sinners make it up to him.
in his face sit eyes gleaming brightly;
there are teeth grinning, off-white-
he is human, though sadistic
and he understands your plight.
the devil is forgiving,
and you understand nothing, because you
are nothing.
you are nothing.

stars and stardust fall to freedom, and the devil takes in all.

a halo of expanding hopes, dreams, and life

a crimson teardrop, tribute to the fallen one's strife

encircles the head of an angel without wings

a splash of color to these dark streets it brings



porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss

spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist

this angel was once a most beautiful thing

bright cut emerald eyes, hair black like raven's wing



the angel in past had lived, loved, and laughed

how tragic this scene, that it could not last

for the angel dreamed flying, to touch the moon

but these dreams awoke jealousy, plotting, and doom



you see, in the city where this angel did live
i
t was mechanical, heartless, and did not forgive

run by the hateful human machine who could not fly

confined to the earth in a rage it would cry



"who is this angel to be different from us?!"

hate did consume it like mechanical rust

it sought a way to grind her into the gears of the machine

"since she is not like us, we'll **** her will to dream"



with that they commenced to wicked dark things

captured the angel and cut off her wings

broken and torn, they left the angel to the dust

content to proclaim "she is now just like us"



but the angel could never assume human form

unable to fly, she could not weather this storm

the moon in the night sky, silver and fair

taunted her mind, dreams turned to nightmare



confined to the ground, humanity rotted her mind

great beauty now gone, with decay left behind

lost to the madness, driven to the edge

the angel, a mere shadow, stepped to the ledge



porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss

spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist

the angel looked to the moon, once loved, in the sky

stepped forth, and though wingless, for a moment could fly



for though the hateful human machine

had taken her will to live, love, and dream

it could never break her call to be free

the angel found an escape from this cruel place to be

a halo of expanding hopes, dreams, and life

a crimson teardrop, tribute to the fallen one's strife

encircles the head of an angel without wings

a splash of color to these dark streets it brings



porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss

spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist

this angel was once a most beautiful thing

bright cut emerald eyes, hair black like raven's wing



the angel in past had lived, loved, and laughed

how tragic this scene, that it could not last

for the angel dreamed flying, to touch the moon

but these dreams awoke jealousy, plotting, and doom



you see, in the city where this angel did live
i
t was mechanical, heartless, and did not forgive

run by the hateful human machine who could not fly

confined to the earth in a rage it would cry



"who is this angel to be different from us?!"

hate did consume it like mechanical rust

it sought a way to grind her into the gears of the machine

"since she is not like us, we'll **** her will to dream"



with that they commenced to wicked dark things

captured the angel and cut off her wings

broken and torn, they left the angel to the dust

content to proclaim "she is now just like us"



but the angel could never assume human form

unable to fly, she could not weather this storm

the moon in the night sky, silver and fair

taunted her mind, dreams turned to nightmare



confined to the ground, humanity rotted her mind

great beauty now gone, with decay left behind

lost to the madness, driven to the edge

the angel, a mere shadow, stepped to the ledge



porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss

spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist

the angel looked to the moon, once loved, in the sky

stepped forth, and though wingless, for a moment could fly



for though the hateful human machine

had taken her will to live, love, and dream

it could never break her call to be free

the angel found an escape from this cruel place to be

i used to get this feeling
that the world was really great
i remember playing hopscotch in
the driveway with the
sun shining
like the most
beautiful
thing
a beacon of
light
from god himself
i remember dancing
in the backyard with
the sprinkler on
water
flying
skirt
jumping
neighbors
smiling
i was
happy
i used to climb that one
tree at the
park
i called it
mine
one day they chopped off the branch i
always
sat on
not mine
i wanted to be a
dancer
ballerina
enchantress
mom said
no
not
good enough
not enough
money
do something
practical
i just wanted to create
magic
and touch the
stars
that was when
the sky got
blacker
and
the world got
bleaker
then i looked
at other girls
long
legs
thin
arms
soft
hair
pretty
face
me.
thicklegsfatarmstangedhairuglyface
better
o­ff
dead.
pale skin spiderwebbed
with red
red words
red lines
pink scars
dead eyes
all of a sudden the
world
wasn’t that great
then came
the pills
the
tears
the bed
dead

i have an ongoing
love affair
with words
that roll around your
mouth

luscious, langourous
lilliputitian letters

sensual syllables
slick- sliding off
the tongue

ecstatic explosions,
erupting, erogenously
exciting, eager exclaimations,
of enraptured exualtations

organic, original orientations
of teeth and tongue
producing oodles,
of apogeic anomolies

my affair
accomplishes much
for little

it is you see
just a not so secret love
of letter, line, jot and tittle.

a casting eye upon a word
and i am set rushing
down a path
reserved for those
with terms, descriptive,
and names.
that in themselves,
decry
wordlove.

lexicographers and bibliophiles
phoneologists, linguists, polygots,
jonguluers, wordsmiths scribes
poets.

all possess this
heartstringed
tangled knot,
spiderwebbed
feeling,
for words.
which, we then,
endevour to spin,
into inkstained beauty,
to ensare
ourselves ...and others.

Broken bells that chime like thunder
Sing to invisible birds
Like magical trees of lullaby
Under your magenta skies

Can hopeful cries undo a dreamer's heart?
While tangerine clouds kiss
My candy dreams go by
So laugh with me over dilapidated angels

With spiderwebbed notes of belligerence
Can't you see them love?
While my ecstatic tears yell to the heavens

My candy dreams, so sweet
Are they mine?
I fear I am nought.....

it's almost like when Vincent van Gogh ate yellow paint because he believed it would make him happy
i want to engulf your passionate fury and turn it into something we can both share
trying to spin the wheels on your spiderwebbed heart and watch the cogs rotate around a new start
swallow your inhibitions whole like a hunter and his prey
stare into the hearth behind your eyes and wait until my desire reaches the logs resting in your chest, igniting them with a flame so rich you lose all consciousness
wake up and find your hands searching for mine

I got a tingling sensation in the soles of my shoes
it has spiderwebbed up through my toes.
Flowing right through the depression and news
it's taken control of my nose.
A feeling so sweet and euphoric almost
but I cannot accept it's control,
so I fight it, I'll fight it until it lets go,
lets me back to my feeling of droll.
It feels so great, but I won't let it win
cause I know that I'm better than that
this feeling of "happy" will not win me over
I'll stop it before it's too far.
So I turn on the TV, flip back to the news
settle in to watch stories of ****** and ****
I let it wash over and then go right through
till my soul will submit and sedate.
Then that feeling called "happy" will go, pass me by
It will fly with the birds to the south
I'll enjoy corporate life so cold, cut, and clear
let society take both my ear and my mouth.
But that happiness still in the sky to the south
looks out for new people to hold
it seeks out simplicity, individual thought
and someone to let it take hold.

Someone not caught in material things
someone to let it take hold.

Someone who loves to keep those little joys
someone to let it take hold.

Why is everything disintegrating beneath our feet?
This paradise we built up in our minds
stands like a destitute skyline of skyscrapers
and all of the windows are cracked.
No more perfect reflections in unmarred glass
enter in my reflections,
and they're replaced
with spiderwebbed shards that entangle me.
Trapped.

We wanted this metal and rock declaration of our stability.
The infrastructure was mapped out in advance,
and its precision is admired even now,
with all the disappointment and shame.
This monument to us
Mocks me by not being completely torn down
And I see no poetry in its ragged existence,
but the stark reality of failure.
I cannot picture our wondrous city
without the smog
and it's a fog,
and a burden on my mind now.
Straight as city streets
my thoughts follow each other
but I can only seem to find the alleys and slums.
It was going to be so beautiful!
You and I upon the tallest rooftop
of a utopian place greater than ourselves
and yet our plaything,
crying out with the joy of being.

But the tallest building has crumbled,
and concrete proven a fickle friend.
Walls designed for beauty
turned out cold and inhospitable,
and the best of our plans never reached fruition.
Perhaps we should have built an orchard instead.