Before the world calls again
We must make amends with the wind
Look not towards, turn around
Learn to challenge your mound
The world is erupting in earnest
Pearls rim the bulletproof vests
Another bay of mammals
Stripped of their enamel

Watchful eye, clockmaker
***** hands on blood bakers
Stagnant relics of the past
Wailing worms on salted masts
Crowded church, bullet tears
Limping for the flaking fears
Mountains bring a gilded path
For the saints, a shallow bath

Handcuffed legs, boarded hands
Folded on a calm command
Rotting hope, livid arms
For the magnate, no alarm
Bracket helm, grainy green
Swords are drawn on gabardines
No God will eat a tear
And dead they flow, winded pier

Dead they crow, winded pier

Billowed fire, riverside
Cower under thickened hides
Excess arms upon the dock
Sandinista on the rock
Triggers sold in tragedy
Lilting light, youth will cease
Leaders sleep in padded wells
Suffer mother, drink from hell

Here’s the hero, banner flown
Ruby paper, nature grown
Skeptic in the eye of rhye
Naked comics sing to die
The site is exiled from the shore
Stricken by a fiery pore
Steel-laced curtains, hesitance
Infidels in happenstance

Here is fortune, there lays war
I have sold a solid car
Husband creaks, mother moans
Children bred to take a bone
With a blonded, slanted eye
Astronauts will learn to fly
All the while, a preacher seeks
A pinstriped caddie and a freak

I am born and I am weak

Walking alongside the horizon
Of the striped tie trees
And living for a trump card
Wasting in patterns of living lard

New melodies that caress me
With colloquialism cascading over the sea
It’s what they’re born to do
Do not add it to your mindstew

Link the speech diligently
Live your dawning belligerently
And don’t run out of too many words
Don’t flutter your mind over spells like a bird

My sweet greatness, give me some bones
Nothing else is holding them still
Would it be trite to watch my tone?
I am as flippant as a burning windmill

Help me here, it’s easy to be a stranger
It’s easy to stay filled
It’s easy to ****

Help me stay deprived
It’s better than needing more to be alive

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

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 *****

My thoughts have become excruciatingly apparent, achingly transparent. The soil-scanned pores are presented in all their vainglory. To my eyes, I am left stifled and cruel, undeserving of the fruits of my godless labour.

Don’t have a laugh now, ******. This is no entry of any sort, nor am I looking for divine affirmation in the ink that I lay down. My umbilical cord to the heavens is severe  and grotesque, buried under the soot of history’s accords (abandoned scripts, all they are).

This room is cold but I am not, you see? I used to be the stoic; the unabashed abuser of generosity. My shoulder used to hold seven reigns by its lonesome. I should do so well to be fragile, much like I am now. Is it not easier to love this way? Parsimonious as my kindness may be, is it not so pure at the moment? I believe I love, greater than I ever have before.

I should. I shall not sacrifice the gilded mechanisms inside my head for love, no. Perhaps I will love, though superficially. However facetious my care is, is that not what love is portrayed to be? A lover is soon made a loser, for their misfortune or complacence. Stay my hand, dear. Do not let me morph into that lover for you. We do not deserve such a prognosis, not even the thought of one.

The sky shifted out of excitement, malforming into the menacing child of blue and indigo. It inspired the apex of one’s thoughts, yet promised stoic impotence; a blasé response. Besides a burning Nissan, I was perplexed. Something taught me that I should be emoting, and the glove should be reading into my vortex of encumbrance. If no one acknowledges that I must be freed, shall I retain the visage of a captive? I am but a stifled, trembling man.

The mind is- oh, stop. Stop!
My mind is swirling,
Leaking profusely.

Ah. Ah.

Help the deranged.
And the lost.
Amen.

I cannot see my ears.
I cannot see my ears!
Oh, weary wing.
It hurts.
A great deal.

Contrived? This is not contrived.
I am a facade.
Canvas..... canvas. Where?
Where did my brush lie in the moment that has
Escaped me?

I wish: that seeking help,
That, it could be so much easier.
Help with a craned hand.
I spit at myself, for how little I've provided!
To anyone, yes
No one at all.

I. I don't belong! Hey! Heed! I! Don't belong! Here! Anymore!

Breathe again
We want you to breathe again
Acquiesce into our please for life
Your life

Never regress
Into the sick and standard mind
Breathe again
We want you to see again

Breathe again
Spark your mind on dopamine sticks
Just look and taste the eye
And rest to find the sky

Do not be sure
Of the temporal gust of life
Touch your brow
And withdraw from your grievances

Cry again
Learn to be human for a time
Love again
We just want you to function

Lead our way
Ignore your birthing days

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.