#surrealist
Leaden beasts, faces stricken.
Left grieving amongst their kin.
Mobs of silent atheists passing through solemn lands,
Dare not tread.
Citizen militia running up numbers on the east side
Let the stone castles on the hill fall into the sea
There is no need for them now
Let wild horse run free
Hounds with coats dark as night bounding through an empty and stark land
***** by warfare
At the end of the ancient war,
Is there humanity to be found beneath the bodies of child soldiers and sacrifices?
Daughters, learned anew - unavenged
A brutal dictator overthrown at a cost to the people
Is this the cost of freedom in the New World?
Our souls sold off for cheap goods and quick solutions
We are no longer ruled by the divine
Wake up young one
Wake up
Screaming, a mother falls dead before our feet
As we trudge on towards illuminated TV screens in the distance
Nevermind that life came before fame
A handful of young girls dance at his feet
Tears leaving marks deep like canyons on their soft faces
Grant us one more day
One high
One night with a faceless woman
Before we are eaten by what we praise
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 3:40 AM UTC
Love’s a splinter, a shimmer, a shiver,
A quiver of gold in the gut of a river.
It’s a thief in the rafters, a laughter that lingers,
A bell in your chest rung by merciless fingers.
It slinks like silk, like milk on a wire,
A flick of a wick set to shadow and fire.
It gnaws at the edges, it etches the air,
A puzzle of pieces that were never quite there.
It’s honey and venom, a rhythm of stings,
A tangle of feathers, a choir of wings.
A howl in the hollow, a swallow of sun,
It’s begun, it’s begun—and it’s never begun.
It’s a lock with no key, it’s a sea without end,
A ripple, a riddle that you can’t apprehend.
It’s ink in the veins of a dream you can’t write,
A fight to the marrow, a flight through the night.
It’s a scaffold of sighs, a cry on the wind,
A hymn for the lonely, the holy, the sinned.
It’s the orbit of chaos, the storm in your chest,
The claw of a hawk in a silken nest.
Love is a hive, a dive into flame,
A shape-shifting shadow with no face or name.
It hums in your bones, it moans, it conspires,
A waxwork of whispers, a cathedral of fires.
Jul 14, 2025
Jul 14, 2025 at 5:39 AM UTC
“There’s a cow at the table,” I whispered, not wanting to be rude.
It’s horns curled like question marks, which seemed quite Apropos
Now that I’ve been to college, I can tell you, there’s a lot that I don’t know.
But a cow at the table, no matter how well dressed, left me, well, confused.
“How do you Dooooo?” I offered, friendships should begin straightforwardly.
When it didn’t answer, I thought, “Well this friendship’s starting off awkwardly.”
Was it hard of hearing? I wondered. “Have you mooooved here recently?” I asked, loudly.
Again, nothing, it just sat there proudly. Did it take my attempt at dialect, as a sign of disrespect?
“Would you like some fooood? I asked, “Some hay maybe?” I was guessing, but it was a guest.
Some friendships start out slowly, but holy-moley, was this livestock trying to troll me?
After some aggravation, and impatience, it turned out to be an elaborate, fraternity initiation.
.
.
*Based on Leonora Carrington’s painting “Then We Saw the Daughter of the Minotaur.”
https://www.moma.org/artists/993-leonora-carrington*
Apr 17, 2025
Apr 17, 2025 at 11:04 PM UTC
The dull gleam of the setting sun,
Thin and feeble like feathers of birds-
Maybe of a tired avian who has forgotten to fly.
It paints the woods in the weakest shade,
Shades of yellow and shades of red.
The leaves fall, dead and dry,
They break the sacred silent peace.
I stand and hear and I shiver in fear.
It is not the fear of the blind future,
It is not the fear of the things unknown.
It is the dread of nothing
The terrifying thought of,
Absolute, dreaded, pitch black null
It haunts my truth, it strikes my mind
It molds my sanity into a copy,
A perfect copy of the dark deep space.
I see the slow approaching mist,
Deathly white and wildly soothing, like a dream,
A dream dreamt many years before.
It mutters words of darkest comforts
And sings the melody of chilling joy.
The tune of it, slow and soothing, Calls me closer.
Just like how a lullaby, uttered by a mother's lips,
Takes a child to a place of solace,
How it takes him to the caves of sleep.
I walk possessed, I walk towards the call
Cursed by the desire for warmth,
Some final warmth in the cold arms of death.
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 5:07 AM UTC
They fed you ghosts, called it breakfast.
You swallowed bone-dust with your milk,
it settled deep in your ribs—
grinding, grinding, grinding. Yet they said: grow.
Outside, the trees towered,
but inside, the walls learned your name.
Soft hands became knives,
small mouths learned silence.
The mirrors cracked,
but nobody asked why.
Lullabies were hunger songs,
bedtime stories always ending with:
Run, little rabbit. Run.
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 10:19 PM UTC
hope ferments
a sweet berry
intoxicating
as the patient table
tending to the wine
bottled blessing
blood of a saint
gently rippling
in silence
and indifference
a crutch to hold your will
the black dog sneers
growls in your ear
Apr 10, 2024
Apr 10, 2024 at 3:49 AM UTC
twined,
grey & silver sing along
the edges of consciousness,
bolstering themselves
in the still
life of subtle breathing, the ear,
caught by midnight’s velvet
blue, drinking muted honey
dark’s elixir, a blanketed embrace
technicolor mind dance, coupled
with the gauzed feet of presence
these are Nox’s symphony of arms
wrapping awareness inside her
primordial soup
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 12:49 PM UTC
They paint red
She is happy
She is a great artist
She draws a pattern
She thinks it is the finest
Gaza's streets are filled with red
It may be surrealist
You must blind your heart
And say as the world told
Thanks thank God
As you created like that
Israel killed these animals
As they do not deserve to be lived
You must solid your mind
And dance, dance very fast
And drink barrels of highball
To see the world's talk
To see how it is so having tale
that Israel is doing well
it may paint of realistic
it reflects a view of fact
telling Israel is the master
Arabs must bow and worship her more
It may be line
And see how Arabs are awful
They don't deserve a1ot to be wonderful
**** , **** with your powerful
To destroy Arabs at all
It may be a cartoon
they tell Arabs doing as Tom
Who looks stupid and will fall
Doom to undeveloped persons
****** over that world
Which encourages the unjust
And she will **** ****
As the baby does with his doll
Nov 15, 2019
Nov 15, 2019 at 2:58 PM UTC
Let's not make any bones about it,
For I have no bones to pick.
Ah, and I've got you there,
for I am a sack of meat.
O, to live amongst the squids!
and be so jubilant and jiggly,
why, no pleasure's ever met my eye,
as that leathery wriggling beak.
Am I to blame for my misfortune?
Surely so, but of you I must ask,
what misfortune? Am I to assume
that because I have agency, I must fail?
Nonsense! And how fitting.
American manifest. Living
in a land, for himself, most befitting.
Laugh with me, for we live in Clown World.
This is the power of
the untamed duffle bag.
Vicious! O how vicious, his maw,
his all consuming zipper unzipped.
But my zipper, too, is unzipped.
Such a faux pas passes not
in our society, unforgiving,
unforgivable.
Original sin.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Chariots spinning on snake wrapped wheels fly forth through his fiery shins
The horses have sitar faces
Ancestor voices vocalize with ethereal hymns
The imperial rims shall want but have no get
Flung forth into hypnotic dishes of nets
Gasping for water in heightened air
Trickle with spirit and deadly measures
With morality a broken metronome
A boulder smeared with clumps of pulp of mango
Flamingo bends in the fiery knees
Seven arms
Nine heads
Existed from oceans beatings
Lightning of wrathful suns
Tears shed skinned and dappled face of brimming whim
Orangutan spiked fur
Perfumed of jungles’ musk and fleas
Pinkish hand with crevice knuckles
To no king he bends the patella gates
He leads the ravaging conquests
Endless horse and bird
A Danube of feathers
Sterling melting herd
To no king he hands the scepter
He is pouting child
Devil wig and fist
Sprinting in red abyss amidst the hands of slaves
To no king shall he relinquish the ribcage trophy
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 11:12 AM UTC
Once upon a whispering moon, I rode a star unto Africa.
The land was hot & covered in ice.
My eyes were glass,
Ready to shatter at the notion of ugly beauty.
A duality that would cause the sun to tear itself in twain from fear of metaphorical & metaphysical asphyxiation.
Atlas of the world turned grey as dreams turn dust to shards of crystal liquid light.
Grinning inanely & insanely for the serpent spectre sceptre is in the house of sonic devotional Kirtan emotional Islamic Jewish conditional faith & faith no where but here.
No fear.
The sky explodes
When crying gods do read their own
Stories in nothingness & apple seeds.
Cyanide & Suicide.
Doves, black, rain, ride.
Release. Release. Release.
Aug 11, 2016
Aug 11, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
Winter wizards dancing around my forthcoming saliva dripping tongue,
Desire for the frozen, dead landscape.
Like dreams that end and never start and like skies that are nothing and all at once...it dances around me forever and ever and the night is forever.
Yet, it ends when I look back upon it.
Yet, it ends when I look forward to it again.
The snow of melody falls and crashes.
The snow of love it burns and ashes.
The snow of life it lies and snatches.
The snow of faith it tries and thrashes.
Behold, the gate, in the northern light.
Behold, the wall, made of floating ice.
Behold, the shoes, covered in ice.
Behold, the pipe, wet with Christ.
Within I welcome crazy light,
Without I welcome sensible night.
Dancing and dancing, donning the cap of trees without leaves and horns from the graves before the seas.
Spinning the sun into suicide for a season.
Spinning the night into seeming forever season.
Spinning the story for the tale-born season.
Spinning the ice for this dead-earth season.
Ritual reborn, I call, into the night. (With thoughts, alone. No sprites of calling with my voice!)
Avast, and awaken in this frozen hill.
I await the spring, and until then....all is well in the endless white.
The endless white.
The endless white.
Oct 13, 2015
Oct 13, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
One morning, I met and ate with Sappho, and
as we watched the baited ducklets come and go
described to her a calming Violet i had found
within where seeded crops of crocuses grow
who strapped the sunlight as its belle bijou
and subtle symmetry that provided words
to break the heart and warm the blush skin of you
I told her of broken morning birds
simple songs robbed by her brushed deviled tips
I cried of endless pages cast in ink
to describe her perfect purple lips
of desperate letters to help me understand how her love thinks
All other stem of Violetta fail to me
to remind of the shadow cast over flowers then
or to undermine those bright pink cheeks i could see
in its petal hues - usual rhythm couldn't convey to pen
this wild moss of a creature that heavn's sink....
a smile, and she replied
"a picked and pressed flower
for a Violet of my own", said the Girl.
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 6:16 PM UTC
A red bird has flown soaring in the great height of the
purple sky. The thrilling scream was as a shrill cry on
the soundtrack. The bird has disappeared into the sky,
and all it could be heard was the sound. That cold sound
became fluid in the ears. A forked green lightning following
a zigzagging pattern appeared from an antimatter space.
The eyes fixed wide-open up, and the mouths kept silent.
A ship has left the dock to disappear in the mobile horizon.
It seemingly disappeared and reappeared based on where
the eyes were looking; the eyes were not able to leave the dock.
When the ship could not be seen, a prolonged blast could be
heard. Finally, the ship disappeared in an antimatter space,
where cold could illuminate and beat the heat to burn everything
as we beat the heat with icy cold neck wraps. The eyes fixed
wide-open toward, and red screams grew from open mouths.
The sun lost its strength to become redder than it was before.
In the twilight, its disk disappeared below the mobile horizon.
Its power was in the spirit and the matter of the freezing cold.
The eyes were unable to see where the sun was going. In the
soft and purple mist, they looked like little amethyst stones.
The violet light slowed down in the water much more than the
red light refracted. The waves of alternating strength in electric and
magnetic fields moved around the Earth in the tick of a clock.
The mouths murmured, but the anti-sound made them all be quiet.
From an airplane in the sky, the eyes could see two rainbows with
colors in opposite order forming a complete circle. The eyes could
move up and down to see the red light that refracted out of
the droplets at steeper angles than the blue light. The mind could
imagine another rainbow made of complementary light wavelengths
such as green, blue, violet, red, orange, yellow-orange and yellow.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 10:50 AM UTC
Mud, mud, mud
Can't cha get enuff?
Nup, tuft.
Alleviate normative
Chairtime penalties
Helper Scalper!
Oh, I drew the crucifix!
I must cruise for a fix
and machinate my auto-licks.
Guitars all bent from rotten trips
into acid bath houses of Babylon!
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
Big Sticker Snicker
Get my hands away
from your thigh
brutally change
for trains of people purging
the time
of distempered crises.
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
Geometric Considerations and Nomenclature for Reflectance, U. A march section in B flat minor follows.
Cordelia is nervous about her father's tax position but does not tell the others. Japan's Olympic judo team.
Rehberg married his high school sweetheart, Jan, a water attorney who represents farmers and ranchers. In four games, he had been sacked 23 times and had a pass intercepted 12 times.
Eastern Europe, and conspired to spread communism throughout the world. There are 55 schools in Kortrijk, on 72 different locations throughout the city, with an estimated 21,000 students. Go through all tools, materials, and so forth in the plant and work area.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:25 AM UTC
flailing water wings down by the riverbed
because a sun drought treats you colder
whistle the names of the tight-lipped
ghosts whose hunger pangs
on
and
on
Worthwhile reaching out
Hellbent on riches
No One
Believed
You
and now you believe in nothing.
What else is there to believe?
Smoldering giants in the undertow
thats what!
Draw a gentle rock and pry it from
its gums
flying was the greatest mistake
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Every self defeating metaphor anyone has ever birthed
A mug of orange juice in a giant’s hand
Three tablespoons of soil that you will misidentify as dirt
A motif specific to the reader
The sound of a tree falling alone in a forest
A manual titled Insects in the Garden of Today: Pests & Benefactors
Three redwood seeds in a row without pause
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
I stood
On the edge of the sky
As the Mountain danced below me
I stood
In blanket stars
As the trees sang melodies of old
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
They waltz,
Right around you.
Dancing
In rhythm.
Their costumes
Elegant and flowing.
Eye contact
Is avoided-
Except to their partners.
They twirl
And they spin
And laugh
Right in front of you.
Champagne,
Flows freely.
From bottle
To glass,
From glass,
To parched lips.
And they dance.
They dance harder.
And strangely,
With more ease.
The logic-
Like that of a dream;
The more champagne
The more intricate
Their dances become.
The more they laugh;
The more sober
You are.
The costumes
Appear to grow longer,
As the night
Stretches on.
The elegance fades
Into grotesque
Haunting themes.
The moon and stars
Gently blink out,
One by one.
But the sky doesn't light
The horizon with dawn.
The morning is still,
Yet ages away.
The sky,
Empty and black.
The champagne
Never ceases to flow.
The couples keep spinning
In and around,
This large
Marbled hall.
There you stand-
The only exhausted,
Itching to leave.
The exit hidden
By patrons unknown.
And you,
The only dancer,
Not dancing.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 9:25 PM UTC