#loft
It shakes beneath me
Crumbling
Aging
Decaying
But I climb ever higher
A void sits above me
Open
Dark
Empty
But I climb ever higher
The weight on my back
Heavy
Significant
Important
But I climb ever higher
I must
Because you can't make this journey anymore
Jan 2, 2022
Jan 2, 2022 at 11:31 AM UTC
Furious as possible,
He set out, avoiding each obstacle, seeking
An answer, stamping out all he would
That kept him from being able to
Be in question or be skeptical.
In the end if all went well,
She came down to him and let
him out of his minds cell.
He'd been rusting away in thought,
A lolling image sitting high in a loft.
Then but to any despite his anguish,
He couldn't explain how he got there.
Once he had a grand vision,
His life on the go, simple, peaceful
Without and within.
But there was this strange force that
Would never stop following him,
It was beyond a river, it 'let the fear in.'
Giving in to temptation was his new name.
She brought him vegetables on plate,
With a strange piece of meat that was quickly
Thrown away. But he ate it all in spite,
They turned him to the door, he said good,
Keep alive. You never know when they will
Come to take you away. A vision of a sort,
Is it worth taking a chance,
Setting wild, or rather to slow decay?
I curse that person angry as can be!
It is this version of which I can never
Be free. Yes I take nothing light,
Tossed aside without a chance because
He'd never fit in, he had nothing but lack.
Turning away, never to return or do
This ever again or be so, she and I made a pact.
One thing I know is that we're never going back...
Feb 11, 2020
Feb 11, 2020 at 3:15 AM UTC
The midnight air is filled with
fetid sewage
the city block houses
yards of gravel and broken bricks
decorated streets of graffiti and *****
roaches skitter across sidewalks
A homeless woman sleeps on the sidewalk
a hundred yards away from the lofts
where I am safe
And I think where did it go wrong?
You lie here every night
with a casted foot and crutches
covered with the remains of a blanket
wondering where the next meal hides
Do you beg or play the raccoon?
This city never slows
sirens howl to the light polluted sky
constantly
like a coyotes staccato bark
Cranes reach toward the heavens
with a question to ask God
Can we build to your home and charge a fee to view the gates?
The nightclub below full of drunks
or to be drunks,
bellowing for attention
before riding home with a stranger
and waking up to another mistake
of empty emotions
With a hunger for acceptance
one will venture out
with one of questionable honesty
if the drugs are cheap
And here I am
walking the ***** streets
at one in the morning
in this menagerie of a city
because I can’t
Sleep
absorbing the sights and the smell
of sick and disgust
but in the morning all will be
Different
The sun will hide the dark
the sky will add color
the homeless will be camouflaged
with the busy crowd
buildings will look alive
bustling with people
the crane will be building
looking for an answer
And I still will not be able to
Sleep.
**** this filthy city.
And yet, I wouldn’t call any other place home.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 1:54 AM UTC
Without sinking through the spheres. Hymns betting, still hands crisp under the wings. The wind slumbering, stays in the dark spaces. Eleven invisible pages, over. Any other name- Lux Arabesque, Uuqui Haratas, Preset: 117, and the foil.
The mirrored valley’s strangest flora, sifts the decorated thriving trails. Then it can all become an infinite weave in this world where lazy whistling sand dunes beyond, claim the rights to a juried Spring. Then somehow it may recant this glorious history we’ve only barely known. The potent eyes starved by madness, waxes seas and radio fields, slimming the loops that rip into hinges and dispel a tryst.
Toward Earth’s serene prelude, this pageantry of standard masks make ascending towers just and stately. Then come the planets we’ve always loved: Mars, Neptune, and Jupiter too. Barefoot and staggering through the modern coolness of a colossal spring, aching mental itching grows. Until the fruits have fallen into the cloven shadows. Until buried stones alit with day consecrate these omens and conceive such lucid strings to break these quiet thieves into song.
Then the diary belies this affair. The steins upset the tales where pungent fleshy working minds coalesce. Observe the horses play in their endings, upon the wild mountain rivers where felling human eyes wander amidst these cleaved and sun-drenched desert mounds.
Pt. II
In origins uplifting diets foretell the escaped seams of darkness whose lofty tongues of nature’s prose lift the veiled hours’ wraith. Never pressing bells nor raked by shivers, it occurs swiftly should the marbled rushing master call. Above the sound of narrow whispers, comes the wishing hands to shout.
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 2:28 PM UTC
The acute sun was setting,
And the air was still and soft.
Here I would contemplate the day
And enjoy the calmness oft.
Over the rolling dotted hills
And through the wavering trees,
Would I stare silently, lifted in my toft.
Admiring the daydreams of golden fields
High amongst heaven's loft.
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 10:17 AM UTC
Loft for the weighted memories still stuck to earth by way of highways in mind deciding worth lost to the odds just might light your best and not the worst to leave you burned and make you hurt with a hole left mid breast so the whole heart started at first sight turns wild in flight and down to depths of stress plumbed once per month while you cry out little droplets blessed with time passed and spent at life's expense, listless and bound to recollect proud moments of ownership, passe notions of leadership, the one who leads and was led is nondescript, if it's turbulence or asphalt smooth to speed in sleep in place of days waking, walking two by four recede to dream where you toss and kick fears and pain away under thick rain you'd rather dry with orange rays and haze of heat, one mute mouthed faux biker writer always at the call though no admittance, transmits recognition of what feels like martian love at collision where no rocks were hit but rifts roared and wracked the soaring sky, pyres and stars reflected in moist eyes at night with even gentle wind or slight breeze, these fragments of us chipped off at cycle's start darkness whether live or lie, do not comply to be cautious when the very thought, though heavy, brings loft for the weighted bevy of ties that chain what happiness we weep to celebrate.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 6:55 AM UTC