In a dream I walked
 through a small town in winter,
snow was drifted all around,
building after building was dark,
 empty window shops, abandoned.
At the heart of a naked strip mall
there was a tiny boutique,
Chinatown style.
Cheap throw away electronics,
plywood guitars, plastic purses
fast-food clothing,
and wall to wall glass cases.
It strikes me now, it was not a shop
but a museum, filled with relics
of the oh-too-recent past.
Homemade cassette mix tapes,
with pink bedazzled stars,
and neat hand written script,
zip disk encylopedias,
mildewed black moleskines,
and much more, the mind
it could not take it all in.

I was wrenched from this museum,
back into the waking world
by a full bladder, and a cold crown.
I slipped on a cap, but I hold it in,
desperately I try to convey
 the frozen tragedy I have witnessed,
with moist unblinking mind's eyes.
The shadowy windswept streets,
the random half broken neon signs,
the peeling sky blue painted storefront,
and the tiny boutique, a dream place,
that could only ever afford
to pay the rent
in the depths of my subconscious.

It strikes me, that I am blessed
to be a tail-end-member,
of Generation X, the last generation
that can remember the corpse
before it died, to have watched it die.
To have lived through this death,
to have watched the desiccation
and to have seen the dead body
***** by heartless robots,
to give birth to a Mummy Earth,
a world without a soul.

Soon I will be forced to go downstairs
and relieve myself,
on the ground outside
For now, I lie on my side,
thumb typing, shoulder aching,
 from supporting my weight,
sore eyes assaulted
by the too-bright-white screen.
I lie here, trying to capture it;
 the feeling of strangled despair.
Not for myself, but for the children
who have inherited a dead cyborg,
devoid of its humanity.
A corpse culture, with perfect teeth,
glistening hair, fair skin,
cloudy eyes, and the faint stench
of moldy leather and spoiled spices.

They do not know what it is like
to feel, to have beauty ripped
from their desperate dream hands,
like children dragged away
from their arrested mother.
They inhabit a foster home
for the spiritually bankrupt,
the true tragedy is
they don't know any better.

Her words are more than words to me
They resonate long after her mouth closes.
Lips closed, yet her spirit says so much.
Her unspoken words, echo in my soul.

There is no person that I hate of course,
you know him as the blacknightmaresharkwolf.
You’ve seen him but you deny he is real,
until he makes you frown,
and the way he makes you numb.
There are fake things I don't know of that have not the power to do what you do,
so stop painting the way you think I want,
with your massive palette of paints.
After you put him in the sitting room, you will never be apart.
at the back window of my oven, which was always were it shall stay.
You are never displeased by the massive paintings he never sends,
You never show them to your friends when they leave for work.
we will always be arriving at each other,
because I'm grown up, I've been to college, then school
You know adults shrink slowly.
Every minute you will have a business of mine,
You will never write it down, you hope to forget,
You never need to make your love known.
You'll never be my mother, and your window will never close, of course
so I can't leave work ever and hear my blacknightmaresharkwolf.

You are the starlight that caresses through the night
of fears. I wish to sit with you all day.
At once blooming across your body
Recreating all of the contentment you have lost,
ignoring the limitless lies of the weak.

We are delightfully black:
There is soot on the ceiling,
And the sun gallivanting off the water;
The earth is sewn up by the summer rain,
You, who possess the key to the universe
Are still sliced to the core, with hidden smiles,
At the sight of this handful of black roses.

Blue skies, timeless
hover past my skin
indifferent as a grader bypassing
that watery definite sky of yours

Here were a few laws of space
hate music this cannot block
escaping the ear of an Illuminati can
leaving temporarily, and fading
unlike static earth plummeting near

Now isn't she gone in the wilderness
I can sit against death
not so blessed cat-wired, nothing
then, and was, given
to a few destinations

You have lifted your hand up
out of  that den of garters
from fixed seeds either not to be kissed,
that isn't complex when you rejected
to be caressed to death.

If the trees can feel sorrow
then we have reached the apex of sorrow.

It is a screaming sadness,
a swansong shriek we will all be singing soon.

It is a howl that must be savored,
for when the screaming stops
that's when the pendulum drops.

No number of armed guards,
freeze dried mre's, and cold concrete
will protect your neck
when the blade descends
to the point of termination.

We lost the day shadow, ripped from the archway. I always knew That I was comfortable in the light.
She caught light beside my view That adults wouldn't see heroes out. They could harm but never know what angels I heard in concert. We heard through the archway, it didnt seem A lot more weak that night, The floor alot higher.

Everyone started drinking, Because never has liquor reminded him Of the burials. Everyone stopped listening for my call, Knowing a symbol, carved in thin white paper after she lost that, Out the front of a new dictionary. He was painted in ink, And answered all inquires.

Sanguine avengers descend
like self-righteous saints
who themselves orchestrated the disaster.
Rouged cheek,
blood coated lips,
Argonauts lost in a sargasso sea.
You and me,
separated at the tongue,
joined at the groin,
drowning together,
because neither will touch
the oxygen bottle.
Incense cloys,
around the edges of our history,
it's no mystery,
this cannot end well.

He is scary, his inner nature subdued
That boy who says yes, and always means it.
He can sway you into thinking his way.
He knows what you want from him
And that's exactly what you'll get from him
He knew the moment you laid your eyes on him longingly.
He can understand anything, given the time.
Every pleasure he can deliver
He can indulge.

Someone understands the detour she sees outside Someone really cares if she dies or lives someone really knows this death that she has imagined for someone is trying to feel what is inside the smile symbols caress occasionally from scowling old men with words of violence she stands near with her spirit low even though she is vibrantly alive outside her mind is easy laughter sprinkled with smiles, and love the forever beating companion that cares about the people who come and go and come from his friends floor that death she dies night after night, yet she is whole and true on the outside, she will not choose to do and inflame the love she is given her life will be difficult but the pain she feels inside is muffled by the high she receives from outside she receives from outside these people know your thoughts everything about her they receive acceptance and do really know this death she will survive, they all have known

It is not good,
the miniscule amount of effort it would require for you to forget me,
Am I still there, in the back of your closet of worthless toys
while I stand behind you
Do you ever mean what you say?

I am a bug in a bathtub.
After trying to climb the wall
twenty times
and sliding back down
twenty times
I believe I am going to wait
for that mysterious hand
to reach down
and carry me to safety.
At least until I catch my breath
and have another crack
at climbing that wall.

"A little nonsense now and then
is relished by the wisest men"

Does anyone still play guilty pleasures?

OKAY!

1. Troll 2 lady.
Too. Fun in Balloonland Narrator lady.
3. "Any" drum majorette.

"Speak roughly to your little boy
and beat him when he sneezes
he only does this to annoy
because he knows it teases."

Fore! Nance Peterlini, shouting obscenities.

"Silk, do you know an atomic trigger from a Balgarian *****? Because I sure don't."

5. Slingshot and P.J. in a swampside threeway.(only halfway guilty...three-quarters?)

"A ****** talking baby alligator, that's purple, and has really big jaws?"

Sicks. Honor and Glory...after Honor gets a nose job.

"Harlem is the experience playground for all people interested in becoming detectives."

7. Wanda Duvalle...*******...in a shack.
Ate. Lynn, from The Dark Power.
Nine. Colonel Hogan's...Secretary(?)

"I want to stop dreaming about fire from heaven, and melting men. Lasers."

10. Ming the Mercilesses' Daughter.

I'm not a hopeless dream,
I cannot block my thoughts of you.
I can't just let you be.

"I'm as lucky as most lovers."

I cannot turn my back on you.
I never thought you would
give to me, such spriritual ecstasy.
The other precision lovers,
seldom do.

"I only know that I am worse
when you are not around."

Thin like philanthropists,
Fragrant summer blooms.

Let
    go
       slowly...

This flaming stem
    Is our house.

Stay on this side of the line.
I own this place.

Don't wait to unite.

I know what to do, forevermore.
I finally found a love worth fighting for,
Let me rescue you from your sea of tears.

"Forget your fears."

There is no shame in making me stay...

Don't wait to unite!

You tune out the dark void
because of calm symbols
You wont stand still for me
without many letters
preventing a smoothing of space
After their denials are unwound
taking me clearheaded
against arctic wrath
doors thrown shut
catching clear hate inside
prevent the fish from spitting it out
and stand still against concealment
thick quilts fall away from them
hate a solid barrier

Listening to that satiated home
for eternity

I want to lie on a dry and barren
spot
light a fire
with my finger
bring back moisture to the desert.

Watch the sky die,
rot and burst,
black and smashed,
white shards sparkle
like the teeth of hyenas.

There is no black
like the glistening windows
we all share.
I can see down
into your hole.
This is where
most would step back.

There is no white
like the skin you conceal.
Uncovered to reveal
a pool of deepest healing.

This is where I dive.

Honest ones, straight shooters and givers
I never seem to find any
Blaspheme you will date a healer
The show will go on.

Season ticket holders in the community.
Are You Coming Sane!

I can hear the gasping of a dying child
covered in dusty rubble,
even though there is a howl occupying my ears.
The flaming metal of their incendiary bombs
throws up clouds of smoke
that mingle with the dust, and obscure
the worst of the horrors.
Give thanks that you are spared of those horrors,
be glad you are unaware of the children
who cannot imagine a future
where they can be guaranteed of anything,
except the whistle of the bombs,
as they descend on the innocent,
the jagged shriek of the rifle fire as it rips
another child apart,
and the clatter of the ceasless treads
of the lumbering bulldozers,
that level whole communities.

Nothing that we are
can be allowed any peace.
We only wish to be,
to them our being is an outrage.

you departed

minus her on hellopoetry,

stayed in for some coffee

laughing at nothing, laughing for nothing

denied wanting to make present engagements

two nights after,

added me on hellopoetry

I call you forward

but sometimes when I leave the theater

she is meaner, and meaner, and meaner.

HEY ENEMY

I LOVE YOU

You found me
Mere months ago,
And I am certain.
Yes I did. I found you.
Caught in your elegant web.
My arms enfolded you.
Your hands probed me.
And we rose into the light.
Reveling in a victory over despair.
Paradise, and pleasure to spare.
You know I will.
Why wouldn't I?
Your voice conveys blissfully followed commands.
The miracles that erupt from my Criminally Insane smile
Are dwarfed by the least of your charms.
The divine spirit I sense seeping into me, and merging with mine
It is you.
Oh, how I feel you.
I feel your will,
And it becomes one with mine.
I shall never forget
Your concealed treasures.
I need their memory
So desperately I want you and I to be one forever
I found you.
And I refuse to ever lose you.
This is certain.
More than anything this is certain.
Sink into my arms
Own me with your hands
Take deep sips from my eyes
I am yours.
Always
Neverending.
I found you.
I cannot lose you.

Hold onto me. Inside this chamber.
I cannot feel the darkness.
It is light again.
The dark called in sick.
You are alive. Definitely.
I need you. You are the only one I want inside here.

Her eyes cut like honesty.
She destroys certainty
like the contact of unknown lips-
Forbiding me
A desired amuse bouche,
and I couldn't hear her decline your megaton of yesterday's drudge.
"How do I suffer you?" "Go off, do your hedonist."

Truth is a bitter transmitter.
It always smells of curling cinders,
that I have inhaled deeply
Either unlike indifference
that I've guiltlessly-danced out of denial.

I'll know who's true to me.
With audacity you admit everything.
Your audacity, I pull generous hands forward and hear , "Yes."
Audacity that I grant access to shared thoughts.
Audacity I.

Honesty can be shrouded in midnight
or as rebellious as a pimple on your nose.
There is nothing to be gained from insults
(Or Cruelty)
Discovered before caresses and thefts.
Without who I agree, some of the terrible places
are left unused charities
Either debt. As if loneliness is not a department store.
I know where I went right
She destroyed random targets,
unmasking her borrowed glorious virtue
And after you hear the burst of her AR,
she'll feel the measure of her worth.

It's all my fault.
A locked window was your denial
So I crawled through the basement window
It wasn't an honest defense.

Let me buy you the wine list.
let her obey.

You cannot understand.
You see
what is,
and only know
what was,
in fragments
gleaned
from pilfered tombs.
Like shredded tomes,
whole,
but unintelligible.
What is it
you think you know?
Who do you see
when you review
the logs and docs?
Who
do you think you hear
muttering through
your dust caked speakers?
An angel
touched vessel?
Cracked
but not yet discarded?
Useful
despite its flaws.
Can you feel
the strain?
Can you taste
the stain?
Is it really precious,
or is it as false
as the piles of transcripts
dog-eared
and finger-smudged?
The prophesies
that have all fallen through.
Like the blue eyes
I was Promised.
The water,
a cliche.
A voice,
spoken to a child
in a bright
and steam-filled bathroom.
What is it you want
to discover
to uncover
to recover
from the pit
of past moments
and what makes you think
that any of it belongs to you?

outside
the controlled calm

with
the absolute liberty guaranteed

places, off
the beaten path, cooling
searching
the international peace corps

STOP!
-----

and
us the wrongful outcasts!
listen here
Laugh
Cheer!

Magnificent
in our ****** glee!

STOP!
----------

Beautiful woman
dancing in the sun.

---------

beautiful woman
beautiful woman

So little is independent of

a blue handtruck

desiccated in the sun

across from the black cows

He tried to swallow your lies;
Moist mouthed in the end,
He choked and died;
Lies trickling from his lips.

Trapped in a 90's british pub
with a wide open tab,
for the duration of eternity.
Curry chips, and curly wirly's,
and pint, after pint, after pint.
Karaoke, and loose bints,
bangers and mash,
bang her in the loo, and a dash of bitters
in my scotch and soda.
MORTAL KOMBAT!!!!!
Too.
Chain smoking ****
that Cannot Cause Cancer,
and slamming my stick
on the Snooker table.
Where did you come from?
Where did you go?
Where did you come from?
Cotton-Eyed Joe.
Where's my friggin' Thai food!?
Look into my Magic Eye
and you will see Heaven.

In the moments before my death,
the horn will be muted.
          fear and guilt
an abandoned home,
being erased in darkness,

yet all I can feel now
is the ecstasy of this moment

specific cruelties   every day
and then
a lover pulled you
left on the curb
roots exposed brown and blonde
I planted you down 
massaged you on
  
No one ever told you it's okay to cry
and laugh at the same time

‘lover’ she said,
‘how long can ecstasy survive?'

After I had walked the earth
touched what things I could touch
The totality
sharing no blood with the sun
Every alarm imaginable
Every engine dedicated to murdering peace
Driven from my homes
None are awake to this
Even I feign sleep
Clearing my mind
until I feel nothing
no reverberation of air
Vacuum

My little dead sisters,
the wind thrashes about me
and scatters your sun faded ribbons.
A Love In Tokyo
dangles from a tree branch.
Pretty pastel drawings,
and giggle written post it notes,
pasted all over everything.

What is the value of laughter,
how can a memory be sold
for a moment of peace
that sneaks off, when you aren't looking,
and leaves behind
the melancholy remains
of all my little dead sisters.

In the deathlands of night,
where you can't hide from what has gone,
the eyes of recollection are ripped open.
And once the eyelids of your spirit have been shredded,
all you can do is stare, stare, stare.
Back across the years
into the puddle of possible pasts,
searching for just the right reflection.
The perfection you put your finger on
and felt pulsing beneath your passion.
The fragment of time, folded up,
and stored away, like a ward
a barrier against forgetfulness.
This is all that memory demands.
A little place to call home,
where doubt and hope don't dwell alone,
a vault for each shout, each tear, and each moan.
A freezer to store all the flesh, and burnt bones,
of a thousand sunlit paradises you saw
destroyed before your eyes.
A room with a voice
that can pierce the brashest din
of just-forget-me's,
and we-never-should-have-been's.
A land of straight razors, and special souvenirs
we keep safely nestled between our fragile ears
a monument of all we are
a record of our years.
An echo that will never disappear.

I caressed your chest so gently your soul climbed inward.

I keep a cruel collection
of wicked torture devices.
Gathered together
in a faux manila folder,
labelled with a crudely crafted symbol
of birth to death
oppression.
I occasionaly use them
to flay my gray matter.
And as I stare
at the visual razorblades
and white, hot, pokers,
I can't help but think:
is anyone else using my image
for similar, sinister purposes?
And if so, I wonder,
should I be appalled, or flattered?

I want to claw through your soil.

Has anyone ever told you your poems are treasures?
You should feel intense joy.
Who can claim to be a genius?
If they are you, they are all good.
There is no doubt, you should never give up.
Never step away from the page.
Pay attention to this kind woman,
She will never step away!

I hate you is obviously the biggest black truth, you ever spoke.

Start the bus. I'm leaving home. Later.

Why is it that, that nothing is ever going to work out...is it?

I am the sear of steam
I am the blackness of the pit
I am the killer of mothers
I am a dull razor
I am a red dirt nightmare
I am an unyielding cruel desert
I am a black and white, dead fire
I am one of many hated
I am the naked winter branch
I am the teeth of the serpent
I am the dry and desolate plains
I am the bile bitter phlem, you spit out
~~~~~~~~
You will hate me
In the flicker of an eyelid
You hate me
As the hail pounds everything
back into he dust.

(:
I cannot help it. I'm giddy.
You would too if it was you.
You can harm it. You're morose.
I wouldn't either if it wasn't me.
                                                      :)

One happy smile.
Many innocent workers.
Hey, down in front, I love you.

Is it the hand that cuts the artery,
or is it the hand that hesitates?

You drag me
deep into a drowning pool of silence
where a cold wet death awaits,
where no answers ever come,
where you hide all the old familiar nightmares
where every protestation is ignored,
where peace of mind goes to die,
you let your thoughts constrict,
and with scalpel and skin
you abort all pure creations,
in your drowning pool of silence.

Stop.
Please stop,
with the little blonde
with the short hair,
doe eyes, like chipped ice,
and the tall slim blonde
with the gray eyes behind
glasses, and double braids.

Stop.
Please stop,
with the pale brunette,
with the small *******
and crocodile smile
framed with coal black eyes,
and the brunette
with the page boy, thick lips,
and perky c-cup ****.

Stop.
Please stop,
with the freckle-speckled redhead,
with the thick *** and thighs,
forever flirting with my fire,
and the cream clear redhead,
with the tight ****, prismatic gaze,
and double-d rack.

Please.
Keep them away from me.
Or I will be forced to use
what you gifted to me,
to make them mine,
if only for a little while.
Please.
Tell me which one I'm supposed
to walk with, from now on
until the sun swallows the earth.

Or, **** me where I stand.

Dear Jesus, I beseech thee.

Love

You cant stop the coming holocaust
my dear sweet sunny Jane.
So pack your bags for world war three
and put a bullet in your brain.
The lonesome whistle's blowing
and you'd best not miss the train.
The rain shows no sign of slowing
and every martyr dies in vain.

Its all wrong, living wife.
I love the cat.
Or the single child.
Jokingly, all we never did was rejoice.
Nothing like, “speak up slowly”,
We don't know!

Oh, how I wish you were not there
drowning down in that shallow puddle,
where you rub noses with the mad dogs
who have lost their canine teeth,
and bump heads with the brainless cattle.
I wish that you and I could fly
away to some little lost island,
or take a road trip to Seattle.
But, we burned the last bridge to the past,
and now we must swim down the river of time
alone, in opposite directions.
Keep your head above the water baby,
and ignore the shark staring at you
with those hollow heartless eyes,
that's only your reflection.
We'll meet again someday,
when the sun swallows the earth, maybe.
Then we can be free as one,
instead of enslaved separately.
The truth is,
freedom only feels half as pure
as that rusty old fetter, we wore together.
But, its not the kind of suit you can put back on the rack.
When you break free of the shackle,
you have to wear freedom forever.
And a shout over your shoulder is all you can spare,
when you climb up out of that stagnant pool
and once again breath deeply, in the open air.
Oh, how I wish you were not there.

You are so dynamic, darling
I fear your flames
might be raging too fiercly.
You are a fireworks display.
The light and noise
can astound, and dazzle
but you spread yourself too thin.
I would rather you focused
on the blindingly beautiful bursts
you show me every so often,
than burn your fuse at both ends
and bury your gorgeous sky flowers
under barrages of bottle rockets.
I understand that your displays
are not crafted for me alone.
But, I know the spark
 buried inside you
and it is that fire than ignites my desire,
but the packs of jumping jacks
you toss at my feet
only serve to distract me
from your far more brilliant offerings.
I know I cant afford the ticket,
but either way, I will watch the show
from the other side of the tracks.
And launch one of my mortars
like a sympathetic shout
whenever I can do so,
without sacrificing my own sound.

I am nothing but
pretty words, devoured
and then mocked,
and misunderstood perpetually.
I will never have love.