rising from asphalt in magical mist that transforms the day into a test of endurance
even dusk offers no solace in frozen watermelon bliss
smoke permeates fabric hair and every surface with peace and grit wafting over the crispy edges of predawn
begging sleep to the most stubborn insomniac
rotisserie style dreams till morning
there's less death today waiting in line in candy store nightmares begging silence from the jubilant
but the sky turned up a dream state
in that beguiling beauty is brilliance
in shadows the earth falls silent
rustling through tall tales the moon births
images in hidden corners
evening strolls turn adventures
and every day burns quick to be reborn slowly
the weight of hell in short tempered bites **** will with a proficiency unseen outside a viper's silent hunt
ready for war with fists losing responsibility
breaking triple digit pressure
Incessant banging through walls built faster than I am strong enough to demolish, cradling lace so it won't rip on my forked tongue. There is only so much care left to handle perception just trying to breathe through a smile.
Then it was a time Of moving on As fast as Now Seems to be When Lives are filled With what we all want From a world littered With things to Have
I'd hoped for tacit Reassurance Not to be found out Lacking the necessary Context of words Considering the more I borrow from myself An Emperor with no clothes
I fear it won't be Now This time around Yet another self portrait With no raison d'être Yet another diatribe Penned with thin ink Bleeding into the screen Nothing but pixels
We write don't we To move the Future on Doubt though now As the battery fades Frustration With the lack of flow With such meagre Vowel movements
I would have to say if asked this poem owes so much to my loyalty to the Poems & Ideas of the American poet, John Ashbery. His Art and use of words has beguiled me for many years - and though I aspire, I continue to fail.
I am emulsified. Painted onto shingles of glittering rooftops Where the weather abrades me. Fated observer from a distance Ogling people and their things People and their things Feeling feelings inside me and all around me People and their things Passing past. But I am empty windows full of images and antique furniture. Never looking and always seeing.
I AM THAT HOUSE the one you are always running from yet never entered
I AM THAT HOUSE full of old-things well-loved crooked and cursed by the neighbors
I AM THAT HOUSE the white one rubbed grey paint peeled away sighing at the crossroads
I AM THAT HOUSE my creaks and groans so familiar you know exactly where to step to go unnoticed
At the crossroads I AM THAT HOUSE Paint peeled to grey Never entered I AM THAT HOUSE Always running away Unnoticed I AM THAT HOUSE Of familiar steps Crooked and cursed I AM THAT HOUSE Well loved by the neighbors Ablaze I AM THAT HOUSE In recurring dreams
I am that house. You're back here again. The door is open. Won't you come in?