Please!
Stop killing yourselves
and leaving dead bodies
lying all over my drawings.
They are already pitiful enough,
and your corpses pull focus.

Civilized brutality
Stagnant jail cell air choking,
Complex torment.

I can never come back,
I will not be your ham-hock,
a bone to be squabbled over,
and buried as a trophy,
gnawed and *****.

Its the hound dog moaning,
when it loses the battle
that grinds me up the most.
The avalanches of sadness
heaped up like earth
kicked up by a dog,
who is  searching for the bone
it buried so long ago,
leaving muddy holes
all over my once pristine lawn...
that is what hurts the most.

Its better to be the dog
that loses the fight,
than it is to be the bone.

Close the window
let me out.
Walk away from me
do not lay with you
off this bed.

Do not let me delicately maul your bright spirit,
nothing I never wanted cannot be lost outside of me.

Thank you, I command you, do not be mine for oblivion.

Do not stay with me.

I want to die with you sometimes.
I want to live with you yesterday.
Your hate is normal.
Your love is mundane.

If you told me you hate me
Don't let you do it later.

Agreement is not needed,.
Turmoil is deep seeded
Starve it
you can't feed it.
Face it
You don't need it.
Contrary to what they told you
nothing is set in stone.
Even in your empty room
you are never alone.
The black sheetrock sees you.
Even if you don't want it to.
You'll be kissing the ground
when this is through.
Listen to the sound
of possibility, and set your mind free.

New fallen snow on an icy road,
this path I stumble along.
I shake the branches,
I can't take any chances,
but still I fall beneath the serpent song.
Two weeks pure, sacrificed,
a single day to purge my vice
to lay my flesh upon the ground.
Two bluebottle flys, saved,
and two stinkbugs, revived.
Seeing the dead, curled up things
come back to life,
I am certain I will survive
any trials that might assail me,
in the frigid gray sky days to come,
before I finally lay this body down.

Do not deny it
the scent of the simmering ***,
bubbling with cravings,
a ghost in a dream,
a room, or a few,
with defiant candles
and shouting embraces,
and wine that flowed
like blood from the stump
of Marie Antoinette's neck,
at least that is how I remember it.

galaxies glide smooth
there is light everywhere now,
stars forever shine.

I miss us. What we were.
Back in the brilliant beginning.
When one hand was enough
to count everyone you loved.
Now the power of Babble towers above us,
and the masses mill like mindless cattle
in the verdant pastures where we once played.
If I had stayed, would It have turned out this way?
Everyday, I try to find meaning in the mindmeld,
love in the layer upon layer of nothingness.
How did we let this happen to us.
This lovely land of light and laughter,
has become a dark and dreary domed city,
overshadowed, not by what it is..
but, instead, it only looks so sad,
because of what it was,
and what we let it become.
I'm sorry that I left you,
and I'm sorry that it was my finger
that let the torrent through the dam.
All that's left is just a petty sham,
of the kingdom which we shared,
before this world moved on.

When falling into a Hero Trap
always bring your First Officer.
Nuke some backwards Aliens
and you can be sure they will
get back at you with a vengeance.
Forest moons
are made for Death Games.
Bloodshed and deprivation
belong in front of the cameras.
Technology is for tyranny
and ***** princesses look best
in blood red bodices
when they interview perimeter guards.
You Will Marvel
at the spectacle
of a ******, a badass, a chubster
and a gunface
storming the set
with flint napped spears
and a hijacked  hover-camera.
Sit in spinning Jenny,
and pass me the crisps.
You touched the cone,
and Enhanced women know,
York is hot.
Somebody get the forklift,
the Biggun is down,
and the fraggin' BBC wouldn't know
a solid gold classic
if it crashlanded in their laps.
Some say he put on all the weight
after it was cancelled.
At least we got some Hot Fuzz,
and the only good Zombie comedy...
Ever.
Artefacts were made to be forgotten.
But I wont fall into that trap!

Give me your approximations
Thank you
Grab onto me now
Forget your
Agreement
You are the best
Immunity
My localized cure
Give me your days unlived
Desire
around your body
You can take mine
Yours
Grasp it
I will follow
Before you first
My delicious vision
painted onto my eyes
A little
Yes
To your question
Innoculated
against denial.

you were a scent I could eat
when I stopped searching for iron lines devoid of sensation.
When you crawled towards me, your tounge heard the silence of the sky and it stopped spinning forward.

A single muffled memory,
you kiss sparingly, unknown as all the things you wished you did.
The rushing sea crashed unseen out of my mind
with a drought of all the things you never said.

You chopped down the tree that had concealed its light
never being all that I never wanted.
When you looked outside yourself,
you found a heart warm and vibrant.

The sound has never become
but there is one thing you don't know.
You could easily pull closed the sight of the food I smell in these iron lines.
Your nose will crawl towards me and see that silence after you make me yours.

the old cannot erase
the shadow of their setting sun
bled across their threshold, staining
the abandoned chair by the fire.

From the incrimination of the whole
they gave us a paved road to nowhere
the Victorian homeless cougars
have only recently found their hearts
(undoubtedly to the honkys)
and who escaped
for the sky
was not alive
or sopping
or green

this miserable workplace
over the edge
for butcher's lines
~was not raven black
the spoons
or forerunners
(from dazzling peninsulas)
left alone
off the center
of the parking lot

the real city
of buggy stalled wanderings
~was not flesh stained
off the front of
private beaches
stood resplendent bottoms
sprung off low ebbs
for the dark world
and our fathomless silences

trumpets and banjoes
and electric mandolins
are thrown from the solitude
ear studs
and obscurity
out of the footsteps of
spontaneous supporters
the vital blood arrayed
without moonless stasis
and desert buckets

woodlands unkempt
against the mountain run
halted plains straightened
after the catch
***** martinis
and stiff bowlers
valley the single marcher
shetlands
and peasants
see clear to the horizon

Help Yourself!
Examine the lumber yard
squatting in YOUR eyes.
Take your srf books,
and burn them for warmth,
because this is all they are worth.
Do you know the words I share
with the spirit, in the dark hours?
Do YOU presume to know
what the most high condemns,
what is required by Our Father?

Now is the winter of my bitter content, for yet I lack,
and what is necessary is near,
but Not Present.
Your fumbling armloads
of Books, books, books
will not ***** my fire.
What logic could ever convince you
that this could ever be so.
You assume...
Let that sink in.
You assume
you have carte blanche to condemn, and your digital life preserver
is even going to work.
All that will work
is yet to be.

Soon is the spring
of my boundless bliss.
Who I need, will be found.
Until then, help yourself,
and stop ripping off the bandages
I wrap around myself,
to keep me
from grabbing a cheap date,
when what I have coming is a mate.

He makes concessions
where we are weak.
And demands
where we are strong.

A fire that might spread beyond
and devour the grasslands,
far away from the hearth
where it belongs,
must be tended,
and fed,
inferior wood...
until the proper bundle arrives.

Save your self help books.
They are not the fuel
that this fire requires.
I have all the help I need
it dwells inside me,
and it understands
what you are incapable
of comprehending

All the blood I've shed,
all the fears I've fed,
all the paper hearts
with these boots I've tread,
all the sacred smiles,
I have dashed apart,
all the burnt up files
all the slashed up art,
all the tearful pleas
I have laughed right through,
are a burning bridge
between me and you.

On the stormy seas,
sailors go to die,
in your tiny hands,
mated dragonflies,
share a sweet disease
seen through lonely eyes,
on a moonlit strand,
in a land before time
moved and left you here,
stripped of your disguise
I only hope my dear
you'll forgive my lies.

I know it may sound queer,
but I still can't stand
to see of you in pain,
a severed wedding band,
my phony alibies.
Yet you cannot see
your beauty in the mirror
and you cannot hear
 all the melodies,
 I sung right here,
before the memories
 all disappeared.

I was born in that tragic year
America slit its own throat.
I've never seen this fairy tale
that you call the land of the free.
All I see is unfettered exploitation
In the name of the green cotton god.
Mad dogs bark and whine
out of two different mouths,
tugging at the leashes
held by porcine fingered monsters
perched high on their thrones
made of slaughtered sheep bones.

But, you had me fooled for so long, America.
I spent five years afloat
supporting your neverending crusade.
If I knew the truth then,
I would have never raised my hand.
How can I support and defend something
with one hand,
and strangle every single word
with my other.

Your a battered woman,  
my motherland.
The land of the free?
All I see is an endless train of cattle,
blindly marching towards the abbatoir.
We can all smell the blood on the air,
but, until the hammer crushes our skull
we never consider the reality.
We eat the flesh of our fellows
while waiting in line to die.

Home of the brave?
All I see in every pair of downcast eyes
is the despair of cowardice.
I'd rather starve, all alone,
than lockstep towards the slaughterhouse.
I don't care about the hungry billionaires,
I refuse to be a delicacy
for your flag-slaving masters.

I see the starbursts of incendiary bombs
dropped on civilians,
and the stripes across the backs of countless slaves,
in this flag I once saluted with pride.
Before your hypocrisy finally opened my eyes.

Who are you really, America?
Are you a ghost, or a puppet?
Not really there,
or not what you pretend to be?
An eagle with clipped wings,
or a temple caught on fire?
Tell me please, I must know
why you have turned everyone I love
into a pathological liar?
If I turn my back
and walk away from you
will you even wave goodbye?
Do you ever cry, America?
Cry, like the beloved starlet,
who first notices the wrinkles
forming around her sparkling eyes,
like cracks in the foundation
that has covered up the truth
of her lined and blemished face.
Do you ever feel afraid, America,
that these may be your final days?
Or are you resigned to your fate
like your pathetic fawning children
are resigned to being psuedo-slaves.
Were you ever really the illusion,
or have you always been this way?

where there was shortage
there is surplus
whers there was famine
now there's feast.
Where there was doubt
now grows a burgeoning belief.

Regret is a pack of Coyotes;
A howling dirge of cacophonic noise.
But, relief, and repentance
they are a dampening field.
A wall at which every single mistake
and mispoken lie, is forced to yield.

I am led to wandering
and diverted like a river flow.
But no matter the barrier
or engineered feat
I am steady going
ever onward
towards the valley of belief.
And If you believe it
you will receive it
faith is only as strong
as the angle of descent.
I am steady going downward
and I know that at the bottom
I will find paradise.

The ice times have past
now is perfection,
the garden spot,
dream times.

Gather up your gear,
spear walking time is here.
The young yarrow is still sweet,
shoots and sunshine
journey back in, time.

Too much of good things time,
never should of sold it
time.
Now
the wishes made
will all come true, at this time.

Time you must be grateful,
the silver lining is gilded,
and their is pleasure
by the plateful.

There is dawn and then
there is brilliance. Gleaming bright,
her mind lies to her.

Without the rudeness of permanant dawn
They sigh from their purified hearts
Without any of our waking anchors of the evening
Against the science of flawed carbon dioxide 
They hover off of wild doubts of still air
Their minds more than lead planes in clear skies
Floating beside the Poirot
Outside that transparent declaration of ngyzma they are more than kings
Relieved without the weightlessness of drought
Those stiff torsos more than deny they are not unjust automatons 
Without a rough march of hope
The birds pass by naked to admire and denounce them
And they remember our cruelty 
But it is a disgusting screen, an obfuscation 
Robust in their certain church of ingratitude
But still here was a window, shutters, ears
And they Cannot walk completed to that chamber 
And sink without waves out of shadowed churches of the body
Where nothing is impossible, where everyone is impossible 
Here they are not free beside the temples of their torpor
And the entertainment either wakefulness this withdraws them without its awakening
They have ceased destroying, no longer withdrawing downward
To darkened definitive forms of trunks
Their plastic against the most hideous of toes

Left behind
the me, I never could find,
blurred negatives,
burned.
The smoke conceals
all the False Positives.
Stop Praying
if you refuse to believe,
that mirror is a liar.
Instant Karma came to get you
but you were Too Far Gone.

Summer is here
No you can't see her
You are far too young
to hear the stillness of the animals
you can't taste it in the water
Summer is good for you
I am here
every cold mind agitating you
outside the box you think of the young man
and forget all of the bad times you shall not have.

You don't want the suffocation.
I am so bad for you.
It's time to start demanding unapologetically.
I climbed out of hate with you.
I haven't seen it from the beginning.
But you don't want to press rewind.
How did this start so blessedly same,
We will act in agreement.
Let's not be actors tonight.
So now we can't deny it was all a lie.
So beware the resentment I never had for you.
You don't know what is permanant.
We are more than together.
We don't want to be freed.
There are more than two types of need..
I require you.
I don't require anyone.
You don't happen not to be
setting your lonliness free.
Be Calm.
After tonight.
I'll lose something faded.
Perhaps not, perhaps.
We don't have to stay together.
After the dawn.
Despise them.
And you can despise me too.
Be calm.
You will never fade away.

You wan't to survive a peace...You gotta become peace.

I lost a world,
I never owned.
A fleeting isle
of blood and bone.
I walked eight miles
all alone
down the broken glass strewn
black sand shore.

I cut off a limb
I no longer use.
I sung a hymn
to a skeletal muse.
I lost a world,
in the blink of an eye.
Down near the waterline
where dreams go to die.

You can't cry off a metamorphosis,
you can't buy back the light
swallowed by the abyss,
you can't lie through lips
locked in a kiss.
I lost a world,
I wish I missed

Hard and fast
the line is secured.
To a forgotten dock
my boat is moored.
I lost my oar,
when I jumped overboard.
I lost my place
in the world of my past.

Gutless ghouls
haunt this hellish wood.
I'd rant and rail,
it would do no good.
If I tried I'd fail
to be understood,
I lost a world,
and even if I could
I'd never go back,
to the ship of fools.

Steel still feels cool in this balmy room,
while rain spray spatter paints temporary patterns on the table outside.
The droplet wreathed pines seem eternal.
Sentinels offering shelter
from the wet curtain exposure.
Cloud sprites cavort in the open
reaching under the meager cover,
like the cold wet fingers of a long dead lover, or a drop of regret
from another life...
I'm glad I am warm, here, inside.

Trying to carve a path through
the static, and overlapping voices.
The choices I have made
seem to have unmade me.
I can no longer see the road,
I stumble, and crumble
under the weight of this load.
As the cliche goes, I had it all,
but, I crushed it and let the blood
leak from my grasp,
and when I opened my hand
all I was left with is black silence.

I see you there,
with your hands
clamped around your ears.
Your eyes chained
to your walls of distraction
you mutter and babble
trying to drown out the screams.
I tell you true, it will not stop,
because the howl is in you.
It is your own spirit wailing,
and it will not end
until you reclaim your savagery.
Then you can start living again
the way you were born to live,
and deny the fiction
you were cast into.
Open your mouth,
check under your tongue
the key to your shackles
has always been there.
Unlock yourself from the lie,
 step outside into the sun
and sing louder than the gale,
until the birds stop and listen.
Or shout at the sky
until you feel human again.

Or, you can sit in the dark,
hide from the rays,
forfeit the day,
and submit to decay.

What is it
that you have convinced yourself
that I have,
that you need so ****** deeply.
I have nothing worth tears,
nothing to give
worth a single sigh.
Nothing
that cannot be found
on the bargain rack,
three for five.
I am not a life preserver
crafted of verse.
I am not a panacea
distilled from words.
I am a fleeting shadow
easily snuffed by a sunbeam.
I am a songbird
frozen, and dying
on a cracked tree branch.
I am worth less
than the sum of my parts.
A bag of organs,
valuable only to the sick and rich.
Rothschild might want my heart,
but it is not as deep a vessel
as you make it out to be.
You can do so much better,
than pathetic old me.

I adore the scent of the air
a millimeter from the surface of your skin.
and the sensation of your eager hands,
questing across the the landscape of my body.
.

Your body is Why
I no longer
stray
like a Goblin.

A man who is hungry
is incapable of stealing bread.
Theft is a sin of desire.
The bread does not belong to the baker,     the sunlight and soil, and the water
that nourished the wheat
belong to God alone.
If the baker is not hungry
then he does not need the bread.
But the hungry man takes to fulfill need.
The bread is not stolen,
but provided by God, to fufill our needs.
Their is no sin
where there is need fulfilled.
It is only poverty of faith
that brought him to his hunger.
And poverty of faith is not a sin,
but a most high blessing.

I have no alms to give
a yoke is set around my neck
I serve a different master now
I serve my master until death.
I have no coins to share
This poverty is who I am
Now you must learn to love yourself
and I must kneel before the lamb.
You cannot understand
for you still sit upon your mount
and I lie on the ground
too many blessings yet to count.
Remember what I said to you
you're lovely and forever loved
there's nothing more that I can do
I serve a different master now.

For too long.
It has been too long...

I sit and flip back through
the scrapbooks collected in my head...

Searching. Reaching. Pleading for one reason,
one touch, one gesture,
one true declaration...

I can't find one, not one.
If one exists, now its gone...

What I have endured
without the simplest sustenance,
not so much as a grizzle scrap...

And still I must give?
I have nothing of worth.
I am not sure that I ever have...


        A willow, wilts and dies
in a neverending drought...

What will I do
when the last drop in the well is gone?

Does the last full bucket look different
from the ones drawn before?

When the tree falls in the woods
and no one cares either way
is it worth the effort
for the poor pathetic thing
to make a sound at all?

She is a predator, that boldly strides through sunshine,
she left her post all day
...she lounged in the sky
Contented for an eternity,
in a world without time.

She's a passenger... nearly full and fertile.
never been hollow
forever a cascading chorus of birdsong
the tiny sacrifices delivered daily
...No longer sinking, moored in a glass still harbor
direct and vivacious.

She is flesh ...  blissfully encased
around a custom molded cylinder
...Terminated
...set free
a spirit of blood and skin
vacating this realm

She throws down coins of laughter
that fill my bowl like alms
Despair torn assunder
by satin palms
and smooth words
thank you for rejecting this
...they torment us
I will take with my touch
the poison be ******

I have always denied you this life
would be under your window. 
Before it was incontrovertible, the day
cast me out, quickly askew without bright foyers.

Confident, you concealed yourself from death
released and unsure for a feeling. Gradually, you saw a striding, fully accepting who you wrote out, thoughtless as you heard some people crumple… 

Places your ears can contain, rather not cease to avoid.
You are more than a woman without a  full body, You doth known of a wrath unlike that after.  

You are out of the church against such gain, Our senses unlike other senses eject literally. Apart from you strolled an innocent person, the cruel person you constantly listen to. 

Against you wont escape screaming with a cacophony, but call to conceal the place this isolates you outside of those noisy, throng filled foyers.  Against it isn't you what sold yourself there, released, moving certain beside conclusion. 

Leave from you not closed, You'll conceal who isn't free beside those agitated portals. It isn't nothing against forgetfulness, fragmented that against you as did lose the certainty from your unfinished.

Flee from the mundane without my feet narrowly closed.
Leave your freedom, It isn't mine to drop.  
Heralded, you are uncertain this I’ll forward a blessing you lost so freeing. 

Can't I see us whispering defeated? 
Drawn out of a desert of fellowship, oh that isn't what it numbs.
You are before some complete. 

Wont I give to you the brick you new from sprung the Macaw enslaved? 
Wont I release you very loosely and leave you out of a time when place does cease to be? Call against you the music you most certainly could

Outside
there exists limitless bliss.
I set it free
before I stitched shut your spirit.
She flows forward towards
secure healing.
Be calm
your brain may be shattered
it crumbled apart in pieces
without his hate
I see the little snippits she saves
his singular death
soiling the path before me!
this person isn't;
after I sealed my mind
I remembered to leave you
this joy outside you.
Now she is free
she doesn't have to try to be.
My cruelty has collapsed in on itself,
as she collapses against his memory.
She will never step outside
not now, not ever.
Dry-eyed
I will neglect the stiches in your spirit,
and you will erase me next.

She definitely went with me

driving off angry stillnesses
the distinct smell of haybales

blue twilight, silver, clashing dissonance
beneath the sea, engraved for
Nosreme' music and Monet dashes

We collapsed in a heavy embrace
in an attempt at destroying civilization.

Shouting
withholding

dying
us.

She feels like
cold lemonade
On a hot
Summer night

She tastes like
Sweat drenched
skin
On a balmy
spring day.

She looks like
The golden sunshine
Streaming through the window
On a clear
winter morning.

She smells like
The cold waves crashing
On my toes
On a warm
Autumn evening.

I would place my hand on your breast
dig my fingers into your flesh
and pull the taint out of your chest.
 But, magic's a gift I don't possess.

True Magic
belongs to greater men than me.
I cannot even conjure a simple cantrip.
If I had a bottle or lamp
I'd rub it for you.
But, I have so few possessions,
and I don't think any of them are magical
If a song could invoke or enchant
I would play all day for you,
but I fear it would be wasted energy.
All I have to give to you is prayer.
and prayer is just surrogate magic,
and it doesn't always work.
But, its better than nothing.
And the truth is, it has worked before.

You aren't here,
What I climbed back together for,
How you sang away the buzzing in my ears
Who I would give everything just to die for,
Where I had nothing left to gain
You aren't here.

the response was
You aren't here.

Smash all the lanterns
burn all the books
Pawn all the keepsakes
cut up all the paintings
Rip up all the ribbons
chop down the kissing tree
Bury all the skeletons
knock down the cottage

Leave nothing behind
when you turn your back
and wipe the dust from your feet.

The spruce boughs shake
like rattlesnakes
as I brush past them, down the path.
Winter's fighting for his life,
but Spring has her hands
clenched firm around his throat.

T-shirt clad, in the dead of night,
 I revel in the raindrops
and I can't help but wonder
will February showers
bring March flowers?
Will my Dandelions return,
before the Spring solstice?

Warmer than usual
is what they say...
The hot breath of our death
is what they mean.

If half of what the doomsayers say
truly comes to pass
(we all know that it will)
one loop will feed the other
as the grasslands burn,
and the icecaps become fairy tales...

Those ****** Chinese
and their self fulfilling hoax's.

Never trust a man
with clean, and baby smooth hands
unless he is a corpse.

After autumn strips the Oaks
The still air screams with the crunch of dead leaves
  .as death seeps out of the soiL....

Sunlight streams throughout
incessant steel pleasure
Your shadow rejoices

you cannot show me how much you hate me
the flies in your mind cover your eyes from the inside
and every vision escaped, crawling away
on broken limbs.

no more kind words
not one word of praise
the blood of the wolves
has washed away
those memories of better days.

no more sleek machines
their all rusting hulks and crates
the sweet strings are frayed
the beds been made
the chord's between the blade of fates.

Their teeth are poised for slaughter
the wheel of death has turned
our flowers choke on ashes
and how and where the children burn
its none of our concern

The best of the best
jumped ship like the rest
pigs gather for their feast
the deserts spreading, ever west
the great now kneel before the least

You might steal an hour of peace
even the devil needs to sleep
to rest his wicked head
So when the quick have all dropped dead
keep an axe beside your bed

Babylon is burning
and the firemen have fled

The little bit of you
I still taste on the tip of my tounge,
is a layer of flavor
that whispsers from the shadows.
A brush of your skin
is a thousand years alone
in a pit of pure bliss.
Cloaked in the scent
of your proximity,
an image that guides my hands
and my lips,
through the realms of my dreams.
You are the reason senses exist.

If I could tame my tongue,
coil it back up
put it back in the basket,
snap my flute,
and chuck the basket in the river,
I would.
If I could rewind every time
I threw a barbed dart,
or struck out with my hands,
If I could repair the bruised facade
of every temple I have marred
in my misguided wrath,
and make whole every soul
I have carelessly ripped apart,
I would.
If I could recant every callous oath,
If I could retract every snide rant,
If I could heal every wound
and soothe every mind
I have ruthlessly injured,
time after time,
I would...
But, I cant, so I will have to settle
for saying I am sorry,
and hope for your forgiveness.