#klee
(sonnet #MMMMMDXXXVIII)
Now moonlight glances in to splash from hence
My silent comforter, then floor, its pale
Eye keener than aught voiceless notice, frail
Calm frozen in reply with snow's pretense
Beyond these darkened hours, as if the sense
Ere waltzing through a pegged load on th'exhale
Which fingered jonquil nubbins like green's bail
Is gone as swiftly as our love's defense.
Oh Tyler! I could never dream as twere
Of all you held in soulmate, bashert to
A breathless fault, whom none compare to, poor
As saying is. You were all and more, aye knew
Me better than I dared to think, and your
Love in my veins, though dead, I love you too.
22Mar16a
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 12:14 AM UTC
Eddie had a print of
A Paul Klee painting
On the wall by the door
And when he brought
***** home from a night
Out hoping to get her into
Bed for a good night’s ****
And maybe more she staggers
In stares at the wall and Klee
Print and says who painted
That? Did you paint that?
Yeah sure Eddie lies pushing
Her forward along the hall well
You sure paint **** I hope you
Make love better pretty boy or
I am out of here before you can say
Jack Johnson yeah sure Eddie says
Giving her a little shove I will give you
Plenty of *** and love but did you
Really paint that ***** asks pausing
In the hall the stink of ***** on
Breath and ******* yeah sure Eddie
Lies once more trying to get her
Through the bedroom door well
You’re a useless painter I’ve puke
Better colours in the pan and do
You know what? She pauses and
Leans against the wall and stares
Into Eddie’s eyes and says is your
Name Paul? Yeah sure Eddie sighs
That’s me the painter guy Paul Klee
However ***** closes her eyes watching
Inside her head the room go round
With a queasy sound and doesn’t make
It to the bed but pukes a flood of
Pretty colours on the floor instead.
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 2:05 AM UTC
I'm not good at keeping
Radio silence.
Pink little friends
Help me stay senseless.
Eternity's furnished
For little people,
Drawn loosely in crayon
In nineteen thirty nine
On blank piece of paper.
I'm venting the anger,
Devouring time,
Run thoughts in a circle,
Hordes, herds of joggers,
Clouds of lime.
NO MORE EVENTS
In my agenda
Nothing
Demands my attention
No one's requesting
Immediate presence
Not even
Your Majesty.
A flurry of worry
Gone with the gong.
Paris, le 06 mai 2016
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 8:18 PM UTC