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Do you look down at me?
Oh, I look up at you!
You! You! You!
Look down at me? Me?
I am nothing, by Ezekiel!
Shut your vagrant mouth.
You close it, like a confounded swine!
My God!
Stop looking down at me!
Not me! Not me!
I am feeling violent today.
Oh, very severe.
You, you, you.

I am feeling like a ruffian.
Today, and other days.
It is not like other days.
Want to be gone today.
Pick at my brain-
Oh, be gone today.
Ah. Ah ahhhhhh
Gone, gone, gone
Go go go
Going to a-go-go
To ****** row
Sweet baby Jezebel
Orange crooner Mimir
Take me to the sempiternal nest
Rest rest rest.
Lounging load
On a backseat toad
As the sky corrodes
O’er the Titan of Rhodes

Sanguine smile
Immerses the child
And leaves him beguiled
By a life so mild

I was born
Without a doubt
Heeding scorn
Through paper pouts

Destitute *******
I only sell tape
Twofold swords, crass salutes
Deep heart and minds agape

Losing the point of life
To a sleek carbon knife
I am not saddened
I will be hardened

Cheer for whatever comes
And you will be deloused
In the swaths of kingdom’s sums
Amounting to a mouse

These days float on
With nary a thought
Marmalade veil on the dawn
Keeps me from the rot

Nothing will keep you
Don’t marry your hands
In a prayer so shrewd
To be as small as sand

Easily blown over
Into aloof waters
And sent away sober
Into the mile-old clotter

Perhaps I am a child
In the way I was defiled
But I was not soaked
By time’s stalwart cloak
Christened on billiard paper
Lo and fro, oh no
Love comes to the town again
And I am rendered spent
A recalcitrant pen begging,
"God knows when,
He'll hurt my beard, rest me deep under again"

Mother! Mother!
Hear my forlorn screams
They are inauthentic
They yearn to be redeemed

Father, you, sister!
Watch this cold hand
They were born spastic
Neutered with a brand

A brand that loves to burn alone
A brand that seethes, kiss the bone
Take me to a walk in your grove
I couldn't do anything in your cove
Just a lover's weary shove
Until you take me above
There, the night will reign with a shadow
Derrek Faraday Dec 2018
I've bent my mouth up to my ear
Believing in the stuff belief is made of
Milk replaced by silky biers
Losing my fingers to the Barren Baron Dove

Hurts to admit I'm stealing away
A curly knife held to my ear
Simple, crimpled, waning days
Throw unto the heart of the pier

Lark and tumble
Bark and fumble

Still those tired eyes of dust
I have found the beveled rhythm
Among the pristine clouds of rust,
Entropy's daily rhythm

Wake away the roaring morning
Rising heat in fuchsia dawn
Spend the many days adorning
The beating pulse of the lawn

Stupefied, nullified
Numb and in crumbs
A stump to the vein
A lump of sweetened pain
Derrek Faraday Dec 2018
Nothing but a forlorn pain
Phantoms of art
Snake charmers
Larva tamers
“Free Me from the sun”

Helicopter steed
Blaring Gjallarhorn
Crystalline ammunition
Shrub-like heads
Civilian militants

Snake charmers, take my hands
Sting them once again
Render me strong and heartless
Tend to my obsidian horn
It grows longer as the sun subsides

Blood on the papers
Christened for television
Whitened crusade
Negotiation for control
Count your blessings

Arm the hangars
Send the reserves
Whip the cavalry
Watch the nation
Watch them bleed again
Derrek Faraday Dec 2018
False- on flying feet
Shawls of holy bleats
Call down his mighty fleet
Callous men of twelve defeats

Truly of the uncaring dawn
Lies the stiff, porcelain doll
Green and red, the pawns of the lawn
Our World-Collective Greenwich Atoll

This nomad collective
A messiah of glass
Aren’t they so selective?
Aren’t the brass so crass?

The caveat of the cavalier:
Gold is so brittle
The loudest ears of golden leers
And how they change so little

The nomad rejective
A Pariah of sand
Aren’t they so reflective
Of once-golden land?

False on flying feet
Tall: the new-world sleet
Call down the mighty fleet
Callous men of greater feats
Derrek Faraday Nov 2018
Translucent, red traffic light
Belongs so comfortably
No one made a fuss over its colour
Just an instinct for the shade
The perfect pigment
No hustle, no alarm
Being the man who ponders this
Am I not allowed the breeze or the brevity?
Are we blessed to fidget the cigarette?
Cursed to be tense
I imagine a mellow, white man
Prancing on a set of traffic lights
Naturally pristine and silky
He plays in an explorative band
Rock and roll on scalpels
So smooth, that breathing
Not a single itch
I’m going to achieve such a feat
One day
I’ll be a queen *****
Derrek Faraday Oct 2018
The sun and its veil drags along the humdrum path, like an old dog’s broken tooth, lodging itself into a decrepit chair. Right up its ****; where it belongs and longs to be loved. It suffocates, coagulates, and discombobulates the bowery citizens within the pearl atolls. By the rims of the gates, Moses receives ******* while a sojourning sheik blasts the radio. Meanwhile, the teats of Atlas are duly pounded as the mortals are aroused and grounded. Never beholden to ecumenist beauty, life lives on, defying questions. It festoons its lexicon of self-defeat and the synonyms that we waste sun on; A halcyon is redacted before long. I am left at the teeth of a sycophant and a broad-shouldered man who I adore in dangerous elan. Epigrams foist themselves upon the masts, the masts that sail us o’er the soot of the ocean, and land us flippantly onto the crystalline concentration line which is a-gaping wide.
The orifice of a primordial awaits us.
Derrek Faraday Oct 2018
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.

Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
Edward Coles Dec 2016
We were together
Staring out at the black sea;
A void in some backwater alley
Of central Bangkok.

You were laughing at its beauty
And like the stars I stared blankly,
Looking for everything I could not see.

Alternating undercurrent
Of raw sewage and street-food spice,
Alive in the shadow
Of a searing neon skyline,
The moon made of bone;
We blacken our lungs
Six thousand miles from home.

Set in greed for *** and company,
The familiar lilt of Latin tongues.
In a dream I still need to breathe,
Still need to feel the heat of love
Or at least the touch of anyone.

I lean, habit-ridden
Over the railings of misspelled lovers
That carved their names half-drunk
With hotel keys
Into the dandelion paint,
That with gradual loss,
Succumbs to the traffic
And falls in the breeze.

You wept at the sentiment.
I baulked in their loss.
I drew you in closer
To keep hold of this dream,
Before the night fades,
Before time has forgot,

Before life pulls us apart,
Before love loosens its knot.
C

— The End —