What She Look Like?
  
…Like one
tenderly hushing
water in her lap
Elemental peace
No place to go
No more to be
…Like the ocean
in the background
of a photo on a warm spring day
belying
rage
and the random possible
thrash--

out!

at all guilty ******* in her path
Toss in the next sentient soul
who should happen to pass
within range
who should have seen
who should have known
what a storm could do….

Moody in the aftermath
and sorrier than rain
With the tide in retreat
grumbling excuses
Hiding out waist-deep in dusk’s Merlot
Waiting for night to sleep it off

to heal the rifts
cleanse the shame

Rising
yellow, bright— and

“What the hell happened, here?!”

____


Her hair
a winter’s tragedy of trees
upside down—
No wait— the wind has put her right
to ragged random branches
swaying, wet with intermittent hues
of dark and silver
caught in collar, flying inelegant and free
at the shoulders of the levee
tossed and softening shyly
sagging jaw and nose a stump of tree
All perspective changes…

if you watch a while—

She’ll raise her eyes
into the sunset
to catch an eagle
entering
flight

…and then you might…

___

She looks like—
a pudgy robin
querying grass
mud soaked
that hides the fire of her breast
tugging at a worm
more than half her length
“I will feed them, **** you!
Give it up, you son of a snake!”
_____

...Don’t miss her hour of music though
for anything
Encroaching darkness
from the rooftops
she listens to the hearts she breaks

Remember this in winter
she can give but she will take
it out on February
when you’re longing
for her

1

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
     as he beats of humanity wrapped in a shroud.

Well he beats of the **** and the killing of war
     and the mind mangling sorrow we blithely ignore
          and he beats of combatants who’re dying deceived
               while the merchants of ****** count profits received.

And he beats of civilians so savagely slain
     and of bundles of bodies cast off in distain,
          and he beats of the butch'ry that's feeding the flood,
               clogging drains with our flesh, filling swamps with our blood.

And he beats of cadavers, by famine defined
     that has ravished and plagued since the dawn of mankind,
          and he beats of big biz letting oranges decay
               while a child suffers scurvy and passes away.

He beats and he pounds till our consciences gnaw
     and his fingers are battered and ****** and raw
          and his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

2

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
     as he beats of abuse that we try to becloud.

Well he beats of the barons and princes and kings
     who have broken broad backs with their clubs and their slings,
          and he beats of the toll of divine royal rights
               when the droit du seigneur sullied white wedding nights.

     And he beats of the bribes that the powerful make
          to the pale politicians who wax in their wake,
               and he beats of the waifs bound by chains to machines,
                    and of slaves sporting nooses, and other such scenes.

And he beats of the tyrants in clerical garb
     who have tortured with ******* and thumbscrews and barb
          and he beats of decrees claiming all men are free
               while ignoring cowed thralls and their agonised plea.


He beats and he pounds till revealing the flaw
     and his fingers are battered and ****** and raw
           and his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

3

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
     as he beats of the strength of the rebels so proud.

Well he beats of the spirit the rack couldn’t break,
     and the fragrance of flesh that was burned at the stake,
          and he beats of gray witches submerged in a pond,
               being swum to nirvana and even beyond.

And he beats of the minds that could never be chained
     by the faith that was living while ignorance reigned;
          and he beats of bold battles when Spartacus rose        
               having tired of shackles and slavery’s woes.

And he beats of bent women who’ll fight to be freed
     and will never give up till they finally succeed,
          and he beats of their progress, belying the jeers,
               overwhelming the pessimists' fatuous sneers.

He beats and he pounds till we stand back in awe
     and his fingers are battered and ****** and raw
          and his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

4

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
     as he beats of the sights that he’s seen from a cloud.

Well he beats of the passion when lovers have lain
     with their bodies entwined midst a field of fresh grain;
          and he beats of the joy when a mother has smiled
               while she’s nursing a baby, her newly born child.

And he beats of the sorrow upsurging inside
     leaving shadows and ruins when loved ones have died.
          Then he beats of an image that looms as a dream
               of a time when compassion and love reign supreme.

And he beats of lush meadows pale yellow and green,
     shining lakes in a woodland, a river serene.
          Then he beats of a planet that dies in a sweat,
               and of smirks of the dullards denying the threat.

He beats and he pounds till we see what he saw
     and his fingers are battered and ****** and raw
          and his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

*

The drummer beats slowly, the drummer beats loud
    
     And he beats of humanity wrapped in a shroud
          And he beats of abuse that we try to becloud
               And he beats of the strength of the rebels so proud
                    And he beats of the sights that he’s seen from a cloud.

     And he beats and he pounds till our consciences gnaw
          And he beats and he pounds till revealing the flaw
               And he beats and he pounds till we stand back in awe
                    And he beats and he pounds till we see what he saw.

And his fingers are battered and ****** and raw
     And his hands are all broken and bleeding and raw.

          And his hands are all
               broken
                   and bleeding
                        and raw.

The face is the soul's thumbprint,
the shape of character belying all lies;
subtle, compelling, and telling geometry:
face, the equation of I.

today we celebrated pain

crowds gathered in the close hole they'd made,
and, too, in fields where once were harvested
anonymous body parts and broken luggage straps  
and, why do they still need to remember that ...

sad birthday

he stares ahead, piercing the lens with blue eyes,
apparent youth belying ancients inside
uncertain how to smile yet,
the tie uneven around his starched oxford collar
there will be cake later, one supposes,
laughter of other children gathered 'round the table

the pretty brown girl in a pink dress
accepted presents from those who'd gathered -
maybe her mother set her hair in those loose braids-
her brown eyes brushed him, lips smiled
and newspapers said it was wrong
because it made too much fire, burned whole cities to the ground
he never saw her again

until

bobbing hens got lost in a wailing Hammond;
they'd missed The End
it was spring again then, like in Eden,
when, unashamed and perfect, her ******* danced with music
and a yellow rose was
pressed between their unused notebooks to mark the occasion
Mother was mad, and derided the prospect of pickaninny babies
taking seats at her fine linen-draped table
until everyone forgot once ... again

Now

the New Yorker has finally canceled itself,
ever a meager meal, its offerings of pinto beans and metaphors
quickly swallowed in secret
in hopes that divine inspiration might ensue
as he picked ripened tomatoes and peaches, each in their seasons,
and ate of them lustily, too

and suddenly it's spring ...  again
but eyes weak and weepy,
his life lost in stone-walled sanctuaries that protected
imaginary pickaninnies and half-breeds
today accustomed to titles of "mister" or "ma'am"
because it's America, and at her own End,
Mother fell in love with so many other brown-skinned girls
it didn't matter anymore

Clayton leans on his push broom,
always remembers to smile
as he requests the odd bit of change
"if you can..."

the boy can't remember his own name anymore
nor her's
rubs broken dust with his black leather shoes,
wonders where they've been -
because bold hues loudly pronounced the arrival of spring again,
which revives nagging pain from the picture he'd saved
and not yet time for tomatoes or peaches
nor the pretty, brown eyed-girl, her pink dress and braids

which had always come and gone without celebrations

marked out
scars are deep
granulated
raised
hate designed this pattern of lace
body compensates for punches and kicks
pinned to soft pillows held with steel
bobbins twist and cross intricate designs
capturing events in delicate knots
infinite combinations
belying pain, tales, drama
to create a work of beauty
in silk and blood
triumph
you did not win
victory was mine
I wear the lace mantilla


@journeyofdays

A wicked wind carries a witch's spell
it's chill belying
the magma of hell
brought forth by incantations
drawing deep
from a dark magic well
The willow's sigh combines with the whisper
beckoning  me tither
to an alter made from black iron
crowned by scepters
on which two crows perch
the earth around me seizes and spurts
with dead hands erupting from
the earth

When we hug, hold each other tight,
Breast in breast, beating heart against beating heart.
Bound willingly and out of love. 

In that smile... That little twitch that betrays your
innermost thoughts. That curvaceous flowing of flesh
that speaks your joy to the world. 

Through tears, of happiness, of sorrow, of hopes and
dreams. Shed from the windows of my eyes... Belying
the rising tumult of emotions-raw-within my chest.
Surging at your sight, igniting at your touch, singing
with your joys and drowning with your sorrows.

I see the life, the wonder, the desire, the drive and the
struggle to be you... 

I find forever when I look into your eyes, the proverbial
porthole to your soul. Not because I'm punch-drunk on
your essence. Ha! That would be far to easy to admit.

I find forever because I find love. I find it in the depth
of my being, so passionate, wanting to reach out and
cradle, protect and embrace you, as you are. 

I found my forever, and it scares me. Why? Why? Why?
Because... In these small moments... In this forever...
I want to lose myself. 

To lose myself in you. 

That's love right??? A gamble? Place your bets, jump in
head first... Is it a gamble I am willing to take? My heart says
JUMP!!!
My mind says be patient... 

I love you. :) And sometimes it makes me want to cry. :(
If I give you all I am... Will you find forever in me?

I hope so... So here's to jumping. To losing myself, but not becoming lost.  
I think it's worth it.
Cheers, to finding forever.

I'm more or so
consumed by pleasure,
call me a hedonist but
my definition may differ
from yours,
contentment is subjective
and the objective
of attaining gratification
has dusted from belying
to sincerity and I've found
happiness in the way the
sun comes up
rather than the way
the moon can go down on you
and have you clenching
nocturnal bedsheets
with a beer and a beer
and a pen
rereading that it seems
my hedonism is
ambiguous and subjective not,
to myself,
I take that back,
I'll be having threesomes with
the sun and the moon now,
give me my fix of both

To fringe with padded lengths
the entirety of your outershell,
and thereby judged
sent into the wastelands
a labour of love.
A slave.

I claim no liberty.
Endow me with cuffs
and porcelain chains that bind,
servant to master.

Intertwined in folly
belying your aloofness
violent whips divulge your essence
we both lay shredded.

You do not spare me,
though my eyes invite you openly.
Instead you surround me,
walk before me,
and ply your wares with others.

Sickened I fall,
clawing against stone and neck anchor,
beating my heart into the walls of my longing.

You reprove me,
bidding for silence,
or the little I get will be lost.

We were startled into gazing at the sun—
forgetting ourselves, we were
startled by its sudden procession
from the air thick with rain like putrid light—
startled so that we stared hungrily
at luminescence cast
between brow and lips of cloud.
It was this one final moment of clarity,
this last, most terrible death throe.
It touched us briefly, skin to skin.
It touched us; we two shattered humans here
belying grief
in wonderment, fear or love
in our naked yearning for all sky.
Suspended in a milky absolution,
it vanished,
a mirror resolved on itself,
a sudden imprint of inverted light on our aching eyes.

At helm while directing
in a muddle I seem lost

Caught in sort of vortex
my own demons I accost

A belief in old prowess
subsistence still directs

Belying any of the doubt
enroute which interjects

Almost at a tethers end
with upshot not in sight

The day brings new hope
each night begets a fright

Every jab at my foresight
pierces my real zest anew

To trudge upon unknown
and walked by far and few

the words tied
together carefully,
with a natural
nonchalance
belying the
concentration,
looking for all the world
like a harmless insect
cast into the
atmosphere
with such a
casual flick
of a wrist
to float lightly
upon the waters
of consciousness
relaxed wary hands
await the emergence
of the subconscious
from the depths
the hook is strong
and snelled
to set deep.

You came to my door crying

Sadness masking your usual grace.

Tears rolling down your cheeks,

Mascara running down your face.

Your long dark hair was wild

Your once glittering eyes were bleak.

Into my willing arms you fell,

Afraid, alone and weak.

I clutched you tightly to my chest

And you rested your face against my heart.

You cried for what seemed like hours.

before you pulled yourself apart.

You stared at me with beautiful eyes

Green with the whites so red.

You asked to go inside.

You wanted to talk, you said.

We walked into the lounge room,

I went to make us some tea.

Returning with the drinks I saw

Your face buried in your knees.

I placed a mug in front of you.

You looked at me and smiled.

You quietly said your thanks

and we sipped in silence a while.

With mug empty, and tears dried, you spoke.

Your voice was soft and meek.

You told me of your partners facade;

Loving and affectionate, belying a violent streak.

You recounted how he abused you;

treated you like a punching bag.

How he hit you in places no-one could see

And how he liked to brag.g

You showed me the marks he left behind

The welts and bruises black and blue.

I sat quietly, as you told your tale;

As my anger boiled and grew.

He must be less of a man, I thought

Just a sack of bones and meat.

To harm something so innocent and pure,

So beautiful and sweet.

Your voice break off abruptly

and so again began the tears.

You told me that you hated life.

That you constantly lived in fear.

You told me about his problems.

That he only loved the *****.

You said he was a mean drunk

and his carefree attitude was nothing but a ruse.

You listed off the names he called you

and how they hurt you to the core.

You said the physical torture was painful

but the psychological abuse hurt more.

You said it had gone on for months

and you hadn’t told a soul.

That you only came to me today

Because it finally took it’s toll.

You told me you wanted it to end.

Said that life was for the fool.

You expressed your disappointment

that life had to be so cruel.

You admitted you wanted an out

To finally have some peace.

You tied a rope around your neck

and wanted the pain to cease.

You sat there for a while

Hesitant to take the final leap.

You contemplated the repercussions

of meeting with eternal sleep.

You looked at me through bleary eyes

and told me the asnwer was in your head.

Suicide was selfish you proclaimed.

The solution is talking instead.

You came to me first, you admitted

because I was the one you trusted above all.

You also noted I’d been there

and knew what is was like to fall.

But I was an inspiration.

You took courage from seeing me free.

You found it gave you the strength

To be the person you wanted to be.

I was left speechless

taken aback you felt this way.

Finally I spoke for the first time.

Asking if you needed a place to stay.

You admitted you wanted out of there,

and a hotel you dialled on your phone.

I hung up the phone on you

offering my guest bedroom as your own.

You started crying again,

and thanked me for everything.

I shook my head, and smiled

and responded friends wore more precious than a diamond ring.

I said the room was yours.

On the condition you called the police.

That he couldn’t get away with it,

and then would you finally had the peace.

You agreed to the condition

Told the local station your tale.

They brought your partner up on several charges

And hauled him off to jail.

You settled in with me quickly.

Your old self quickly shone bright.

You said you were a lot happier here

and the sparkle returned to your eyes.

You said this was the happiest you’d been

for almost a year or more.

You asked me if life would return

to what it was before.

I replied in the negative.

And told you it would never be the same.

That you came out stronger then before.

And in you burned a stronger flame.

I said what you went through

Made you the person you are today.

The one who is happy and smiling

and the one who never sways.

I asked you if it was all worth it

knowing this was how the story ends.

You said it was all worth it because you know

what it means to truly have a best friend.

One who was there for you in times of laughter

but also through the tears and pain.

You said if I was there beside you

Then your life wasn’t lived in vain.

The value of friendship

is not something something we can measure.

In times of great turbulence

They are truly hidden treasure.

So if you feel alone in the dark

and that you are lost and all alone.

Do not fret,and don’t despair.

Because good friends will help you find home.

If you’re having trouble

Open up to a friend.

They might be the one to save you

From the darkness in the end.

The automaton is perfect,
solid exoskeleton,
white as snow,
no creases,
no marks on its hull,
belying wear.
It moves the same way every day,
venturing only within its comfort zone,
defined by experience,
implanted by the creators.
There are many more like him,
discernible only by serials,
and the tasks they complete,
no complaint,
no thought,
only direction.
They think him impervious,
but his shell is weak,
a wondrous lie,
inside the shell is rotten and rusted,
filthy with grease and grime,
and oil,
covering frayed tendons of wires,
but the connections are slowly failing,
and the sparks inside consume him,
and only time can tell if it will enlighten him,
or destroy him.

There is no word for these:
Old friends in new bodies
gOld souls with
Ancient minds and
Youthful eyes.
Some of us have
The blood of Mary inside
Others raise from wakeless lakes
You, I beileve, have both.

Balancing on her railroad ties
She whispers,
That's your own impression
And she adds,
Why do all your smiles pass like clouds,
Instead of sticking around like thick crowds?
Because! I answer ( in different words )
Even the best eyes, still
Cannot untie our blind minds,
Cannot disarm our arms,
Cannot keep our feet from passing on.

Fair, she allows
But now, quiet your mind
Forget your words, and
She starts to hum softly
His soul circles him, it turns
The passing train breaks his trance
Buried back in his body now
Hearing pistons pounding in his head
Dreaming up old friends again,
Real and fake, then
Unmaking them, one by one
Finishing with this one
Lady of the lake
Toes tickling the water, blond curls like clouds,
Eyes belying death...
How is it this one shares a friend
In us all?

lost in thought and
lost in boxes
thin dust coated
stacked haphazard
her life
inside –
I began moving and rearranging the space
attempting to reclaim the study
instead memories flooded and tears fell
as each tote
carried a piece of her –
considering the southern trip
in a rented Caravan
more than a year ago
trying to decide what items
I needed to carry and store
in order to properly protect
and honor her memory –
standing in a poorly lit room
staring at her life
under packaging tape
I found myself attempting to
reorganize my mother –
as I placed boxes into the hallway closet
I found myself thinking about her
parental missteps
which then gave me freedom
to hide her away
I saw the old photographs
smiles belying childhood disappointment
not the bike I wanted
wrong style of shoe
embarrassed of the car
the house
life ……
I slide another box into the crawl space –
angry and confused
by my actions
and emotions
I think about her smile
Southern Californian blond  
six foot one shinning like the sun
in the grey Oregon drizzle
taller, prettier, and better educated
she glowed in the dying mill town
and I,
but her child,
felt lost in the shine –
vacuuming the bunnies
and mentally compiling
the inventory list seems lite
as if I lost important packed items
in the shuffling memories …..
I was instantly struck
by what was missing
from the tattered and faded boxes,
as I reorganized my mother
I had found, again
within myself –

it’s the throbbing kind of pain,
so unlike the burning you are used to
a timeless ache,
that jars you to the core
so different from the fire that
you built yourself from
belying the strength of the armour,
that guards the tender fabric of your soul.

and you knew you were made of stone,
but darling, stone always crumbles
though born of lava,
it turns to dust
and how can you be the exception?

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THE CAPREOLATE ATTEMPTS AT INTERRAMIFICATION BECAUSE OF URCHINS OF CODSWALLOP IN WROTH IN PARALLAX ENTOMBED ONLY BY RIVETING DURESS FOR THE DURAMEN OF DENEHOLES WHELVES ADMIRE AND THE VEESES THAT BLANDISH WITH ACORIA AND AUGENDS OF ARGALI RARELY EVER SURDOMUTE IN RAGMATICAL RHIZOGENIC CALCULAIC ATHENAEUM BECAUSE MOONSHOT AMBITIONS HUSTLING THROUGH URBANE CATACOUSTICS OF CARRACKS BECOMING RESOURCEFUL IN THE PRIMIPARA SQUALOR SWELTERING IN BARCAROLES SUBMERGED TO SINK THE TITANISM OF NAUFRAGES OF HEDONISM AFLOAT UPON SLELLUMS OF OCEAN PRAGMATIC IN PARALYSIS SUCH THAT THE GINGLYMUS OF HYDRAHEADED TRANSCENDENTALISM ESPOUSED BY THE BEBLUBBERED ROMANTICISM OF STORGED SALMAGUNDIS OF CANCELLARIAL DEFEATS OF COVVENGERS BECAUSE THE BRONCHOS THAT WAS STALWART IN REGELATION OF THE INTELLECTUAL TABERNACLE SUBSUMES THE LIONIZATION OF ALL INURED PYRETOLOGY THAT THE PYRANOMETRY OF SUBORNED GAMINES SQUAWKING COSTERMONGER SIMPLICITY AS A VEGETATIVE STATE OF REMIGATION FOR OLIMS THAT CREEP ALONG THE PURPRESTURE OF TIME MIGHT THEIR CHRONOMANCIES BEFIT THE CABRILLA OF SWANK THAT THE FILEMOTS OF FENNEC DECLARE WITH THEIR SONDAGE OF AVIZANDUM BEFORE THE AUSPICES OF NOBILITY AND GENTILITY BY GENTILIANS WHO SWEAR BY THEIR BYWORDS OF NAZE AND CAGOULE THAT THEY FIND THEMSELVES DEFEATED BY THE MODERN DEMARCHES OF A WORLD IMBREVIATED ON THE TOLERATION OF NEUTROSOPHY OF GRAMERCIES TOO WIDELY SWORN IN HALLSWALLOP TO EVER FIND THEMSELVES ANCHORED TO THE REGIMENTAL BEDROCK OF SOVENANCE FOR ABIGAILS THAT BLUNGES THE BLAINS IN THEIR SWORN ALLEGIANCES TO AMNESIA AND CECUTIENCY IN CTETOLOGY THE MALAXAGE OF SITHCUNDMEN AND THE REMARKABLE PROWESS OF THE DOYENNES SHEPHERDING THE ARTFORMS INTO POWERFUL GALLOPING HEADLESS HORSEMEN POLITICS OF THE RESIDUAL COCARDEN LUCKY ENOUGH TO BE AN ADVOWSON OF THE RICHES OF HAMARCHY THAT AVOIDS WITH ALL DELIBERATION THE PICKELHAUBES OF PROCRYSIS BECAUSE OF THE JIMSWINGING DAYS OF DEATH AND GLOOM OF KITTHOGE BELYING KITH AND KLENDUSIC DERMATOLOGY BROCKFACED BY INTREPID PIONEERING ELITISM THAT THE CHARITY OF PROMACHOS TITANS IN MIRRORED ENANTIODROMIA FOR THE EISOPTROMANIA OF THE EAGER EARWIGS MIGHT THEY SUSTAIN THE BRUNT OF THEIR LEVERAGE TO ANNEAL THE COAGULATED TIMES AGAINST THE AGENCY OF RHEOTAXIS IN A WORLD BESET BY CHAOTIC DEMOLOGY RATHERIPE IN CONTRAPLEX DELUSIONS FEEDING THE SWARTHY STORMS ON THE PRECIPICE OF TODAY BECOMING THE HIGHLIGHT REEL OF SO MANY ARISTOPHREN YESTERDAYS BECAUSE OF THE BACILISUM OF AITCHBONES RASPY IN THE CHALKISH HUES OF RHADAMANTHINE NOSOCOMIAL TWIRES OF FEAR AND FAMINE AMONG DESOLATE LANDS OF PHAROS AND PHAROAH COMBINED INTO THE VIRTUOSITY OF COACERVATING SPHACELATION THAT LEADS TO THE PRESBYTERY SUFFICIENCY OF THE TORCHIERS BEFORE AND BEHIND THE VANGUARD SLEEK IN THEIR JAUNTY DISGUISES OF MASCARON MIGHT THEY INTIMIDATE AND ARRAIGN THEIR SECRET SAMIZDAT FOR THE LUCRE OF ANTEPONE BECAUSE OF TUMESCENT BUREAUCRACY MET WITH CAPITALISM ASTOUNDING IN GIMCRACKS OF PORTFIRE AND BALEFIRE WITNESSED WITH THE GREATER DISCRETION RATHER THAN LESSER LASSITUDE.  THERE IS AN ANZACTILE PERFECTIONISM AMONG PICARROONS WHO BLARINGLY ISSUE THEIR SEMAPHORES MIGHT THEY BE ENTITLED TO BRAG ABOUT THE CELSITUDE OF CEILOMETERS AS THEY WITNESS IN RETROSPECTIVE AUGUST REGARD THE CELLARERS WHO FESTOONED UPON THEIR TEPID CARNIFICINE YELTING TRIUMPHS GOWKS OF GRAMPUS IN GOSSYPINE COMPLICITY WITH STANNARY AVARICE AND BULGURS OF BUDDLING BODEWASH FOR BUMICKY BADIGEON THAT HAS STAMPEDED FROM THE ALCOVES AND CAVERNS OF THE GREATEST SEMPERVIRENCE AND JIGGERMAST JURYMAST THAT THE PIRATING AITCHBONES WHO WANDER IN EMISSARY KNIGHTED NEMBUTSU THAT THEY RELISH AS SAFEKEEPING YEGGS BELONGING TO COAMING COBALTIFEROUS MENACE SKITTISH IN THIXOTROPY AND GENTEEL IN THIGMOTAXIS BECAUSE OF THE VORTICISM OF THREMMATOLOGY THAT ITCHES AROUND VOLTINISM CAUSED BY VASTATION YIELDED BY PANDATION BECAUSE THE POTAMOLOGY OF ELECTIVE PRIVILEGE INDOCTRINATES THE PAST MASTER INTO FIDELITY AND ALLEGIANCE TO PARASELENE ELASTANE TRIBUTARIES AND TRIBUNES OF BERLINE BOYAU BURIED IN THE DEPTHS OF METAPHOR AND RELISHED LYRICISM THAT EVENTUALLY THE DEMASSIFICATION OF THE HUMBLED STANJANT OF OBVIOUS METAPHOR AND CLOAKED NEPHELIGINOUS NEBELWERFERS THAT STORMED THE BASTILLE AND CONQUERED THE MOON WITH GEOSELENIC AMBITIONS HARPOONING THE TRAULISM IN TRUCIDATION SERRIED IN THE SULKIES OF ALL PARAGONS CONVENIENT TO EVERY HITCHIKER OF GALAXIES OF MOONCALF DEMISANGS THAT BELONG TO CARDIOGNOST AGENCY SWELTERING IN BEAMISH BEATITUDE FOR THE PULCHRITUDE OF PHILOTECHNICAL DIVERSION TO PONDER WITH GREAT PENSIVE PERPLEXITY THAT THE HISTRINKAGE HEIGHTS OF FANFARE MIGHT LEAD TO A GALLOPING GLADIATORIAL PAST ENLIGHTENED BY THE THEOLOGY OF MAGNANIMITY AND ANSWER THE QUESTIONS OF  IDOLATRY OF ESBATS WHO FOMENTED AMONGST THEMSELVES A TRIBUTE TO THE SENNET OF ARTISTIC MACROBIAN CREATURES OF KNIGHTED GLOAMING TWILIGHTS IN THE HEYDAY OF NIGHT SUCH THAT  THE WELKIN TRAMONTANE TO THE CHAMPAIN LIFES WE ALL LIVE IN A NORTH, EAST AND SOUTH WORLD OF FORESIGHT IN DELICATESSENS WHO URGE WITH HORTATORY VALOR THE CHAMADES OF CHOANIDS IN THE SAPROSTOMY OF SCHWERMEREI AGAINST THE LAST DEFENSE OF EXTINCT SCHMEGGEGY WHICH BARNSTORMS OFTEN FOR SCARAMOUCH TESTUDOS IN TESTIMONY TO THE CRAPEHANGER JOLLYBOATS OF NIHILISM IN A CENTURY OF DOUBT ATTEMPTING TO RESURRECT LIFE FROM THALWEGS THAT NEGOTIATE THE METEMPSYCHOSIS OF ALL NEOMORTISM AN ALTERNATIVE ULTAMATIM THAT SUGGESTS A THIRD ROUTE TO BYPASS THE NARROW GATE OF SALVATION AND ENRICH THE THEOTECHNY ALL BASED ON A HYPESTORM YAFFINGALE MYTH OF YARHZEITS OF SHIBBOLETH THAT BROWBEAT THEIR NEOTTIOUS NEPOTISM TO INSURANCE POLICY ESCHATOLOGY BRACKISH IN EVERY INSISTENCE FOR TAMARAWS TO CONQUER THE EXTRAMUNDANE BY A VIRTUALASIS BECOMING THE VOGUE RATHER THAN THE TRIBULATIONS OF ORGANIC DEATH LEADING US ALL TO THE PARADISE WE SEEK IN THE ALABASTER CAVERNS OF HEAVEN. AN ACCOLENT MENTALITY WHICH BEFRIENDS DEATH AND BEFRIENDS ALL WITNESSES OF THE GOSPEL THAT FINALLY THE CAMARADERIE OF MAGISTRATES IN DORMANT HARBINGERS OF BARKENTINE SUFFRAGE OF WOBBLING WARTORN SPECTERS OF NEOTERISM FOR OUR NIMBOSE DEMASSIFICATION AGAINST BOWDLERIZATION IN ATTEMPTS TO STIFLE THE FREEMANS STRUGGLE TO OBTAIN TRACTION IN LEVITY AND FACETIOUS LARGESSE AGAINST THE BRONTEUMS OF THE POSTCENNIUM OF ELAPSED CUDDY IN CULVERTAGE TOO SOON TO BE A PRIMACY IN PRIMORDIAL CAVERNILOQUYS OF APOSTILS THAT SEEK TO DECIMATE WEGOTISM AND ENSHRINE THE UMBRILS THAT MARCH TOWARDS SALVATION BY LEADING US OUT THE TEDIUM OF SUNKEN NOYADES OF THE TITANISM OF THE LOUDMOUTH AND THE CLEPSYDRA THEREBY ANOINTED BY HIS GENTILITY TO PRIVILEGE AND HIS PREROGATIVE TO DECRASSIFIED UNDERSTANDING SUCH THAT THE CUNICULOUS AMBITIONS OF MANY A FAMILY REMAIN REVIVED BY OIKONISUS RATHER THAN THE PERILS OF POPULATION COLLAPSE IMPLODENT UPON INTRORSE CONSTELLATIONS OF RABID DEARTH PROSELYTIZING DOOMSTERS ADEEM OF THEIR OWN SACRILEGE EVEN WHEN THEY SEE THEMSELVES RAISONNEURS OF THE HEROISM OF STRIFE AND SIFFLEURS OF PROCRYPSIS BECAUSE WE WALLOP WITH WHITTAWERS RATHER THAN REGRESS ON WOONERF OF EXTREME TORPOR AMONG MONGERIES OF VIOLENT RESURRECTIONS BLEMISHED BY PARTURITION MISGUIDED. IN NIMIETIES OF  SUNBITTERN SUMPTERS GRAVITATING TOWARDS MARTINGALES OF BYSTANDER SUNDOGS ALLEGIANT ONLY TO THE CODIFIED CASEMATE OF SILENCE BECAUSE OF BRITSKAS THAT STAMMER IN TRAULISM TEPID IN EVERY LUKEWARM THOUGHT OF SURREYS OF SAGINATED SURETYSHIPS OF THE SATINET COERCED BY THE BOBBINET OF BODACHES TO ROIL IN TURMOIL BECAUSE OF LIMACINE MACADAMIZATION OF A NEWER MACARISM RATHER THAN AN OLDER STULTIFICATION MOTIVATED BY STANGS OF BANGTAIL CULTURAL ARTIFACTS OF JEALOUSY CAROUSING WITH JALOUSIES AGAINST THE MANY JORDANS THAT LEAP OFF THE PAGE IN THEIR WEATHERBOARDS OF POPULAR FLAGRANT FOULS AND NEWSWORTHY BERLINES THAT BESET JASPERATED JARVEYS OF BARTONS OF PANMIXIA IN THEIR PANDATION OF IATRALIPTIC RENEWAL OF THE TRIBESMAN AND PEOPLE FROM OTHER LANDS FILLED WITH A NAUCLATIC CLORENCE AND A RENGALL DIVERSIFICATION OF EQUIPOISE FOR EQUESTRIAN HABITS OF KOBOLD CHUCKWALLAS OUR GREATEST ALLY AND SIMULTANEOUSLY THE BOGGART BUGABOO OF MANY SPECTERS OF MYTH AND LORE REGISTERED IN THE CLAVIS FOR THE CLAVATE THAT THE PLAGATED PLAGIUM OF THE PAST MASTERS MIGHT THEY CURTAIL WITH CURGLAFF THE SYNCLASTIC PRISM OF THIS ZEITGEIST SUCH THAT THE CLAMBER FOR HOLOCRYPTIC HOLMS OF METEMPERICAL DISCOVERIES SO FAR-FETCHED IN THEOLOGY THAT THEIR LAXISMS BECOME STRANDED IN AN AVALANCHE OF TORPINDAGE BECAUSE THE TRUTH ABOUT GOD WILL STARTLE EVERY LEGERDEMAIN AND ENROLL EVERY PRESTIDIGITIATION THAT GOD’S COUNTENANCE WILL LAVISH ITSELF UPON THE EARTH BROADENED BY BROCKFACED BARMCLOTH THAT FINALLY SOME GAMMERSTANG IDEOLOGY FINDS THE PROPER PIVOT BETWEEN MULIEBRITY AND ALSO VIRILITY AND WHEN THOSE COMPROMISES ARE STRUCK WE WILL FIND A RENEWAL OF GALLANT COURAGE AGAINST MACROPICIDE ON THE TAFFRAIL AND THE ABAFT ABARTICULAR ABAXIAL NYALAS THAT FINALLY YIELD THE CLOVERYIELD OF STRIFE INTO MODERN REVOLUTIONS BY SUPPLYING ALL INTERRAMIFICATIONS THAT FUNNEL THE SYRINXES INTO THEIR PERCEIVED AUTOSOTERISMS FOR SURNOMINAL LEVERAGE THE ARTIFICE OF ALL NOMOGRAPHY IN NOMENCLATURE. WHEN WE ANALYZE THE SVEDBERGS WE SEE THE DISSOLUTE EUDIOMETERS INFORM THE SQUAMATION OF ALL MORAL VIRTUOSITY THAT FINALLY RHEOLOGY IS COUNTERMANDED BY MORALITY CZARS WHO POLICE WITH MUGIENCE AND EVEN RUDENTURE A CULTIVATED SOCIETY THAT SURROUNDS US ALL WITH VEILS OF PROTECTION SUCH THAT SUFFRAGE AMONG VEILLEUSES OF RATOMORPHISM OF SYNOECIZED HARMONY THAT BELLOWS THE CARTHAGIAN CARNAGE OF THE AGES OF TIME IMPERILED BY THE BRICOLAGE TRIAGE OF MALAXAGE SUCH THAT WE FIND OURSELVES MARAUDING IN MOONLIGHT TERPSICHOREAN POLYPHILOPROGENITIVE PLEROMORPHY IN PLEOCHROIC HUES DESIGNED FOR WASES OF WAPENTAKE TO ENSURE EACH STATE AND DIVISION EARNS ITS FAIR SHARE OF BOONDOGGLES THAT THE IATROMATHEMATICS ANALYZED BY GRADGRINDS IN TRUTINATION OF THE MOST PERSNICKETY BUT LOYAL DISSERVICE TO PIEBALD GLABROUS CONFORMISM SUCH THAT THE MUTUALISM OF INTERNECINE DIVIDES LEADS US AGAINST ZUGZWANG WITH NARRISCHEIT BECAUSE THE JAMDANI CAN ONLY BE HEALED WITH AN HONEST OBSERVATION OF THE THERMODYNAMICS OF STOCKINETTE SUCH THAT ALL ARE INFORMED OF SHIBBOLETH AND ALL ANGARY LEVERAGE OF THE UMLAUT BERATING THE IBERIS MIGHT SALVAGE THE HIDDEN POLITIES OF THE PARCHMENT OF THE LORD’S SUPPER FINALLY CONVENED FOR THE SACRAMENT OF A UNIVERSAL EUCHARIST FOR THE UNIVERSAL CREED OF AGGIORNAMENTO. WE BELONG TO THE INTAGLIO ISOGENS THAT BURROLE WITH DEFT COURAGE A REMEDY AGAINST CHARLATAN QUACKSALVER WORMCASTS OF HYPOGEIODY IN NESTITHERAPY AUTHORED BY APOTHECARIES BELONG THE UMBRILS THE CHURCH ALLOWS TO ENSURE THE FULLY LIVED LIFE CAPTURES THE DENIZENS OF TAX COLLECTORS SUCH THAT A REFORM OF IVORRIDE AND OCCAMY WITHIN THOSE GINNELS OF CIVILIZED URBICULTURE CREATED THE MOST FERVENTLY BY BERGAMASKS OF BRITTLE BRONZED BONZOLINE ACCOMPLISHMENTS SUCH THAT THE SPHENOGRAMS OF SPHACELATED AND SPIRACULATED IMMISERATION MIGHT FIND ITS WOUNDS HEALED EVEN IN THE DIACOPES OF INSECURE BRONTEUMS PROCLAIMING ONLY THE YELLOWBACKS OF ALL SENSATION AND SENSATIONALISM BECAUSE WE  WANDER WITH THE MINSTRELS AND TYMPANY OF A MACARISM EXACERBATED INTO FURY AND FRENZY SUCH THAT WE MOBILIZE THE YOUTH INTO YOUTHQUAKES AND YESTERTEMPESTS OF FINALISM MIXED WITH CASUALISM SUCH THAT A NEOVITALIST SURREY WILL BECOME THE SONDAGE OF THE TRUE SYBOTIC UNSEELED UNREEVED INTERPOLATION OF ALL ILASTICAL TONICS OF HEALING AND THE LOVE OF THE LORD BEYOND THE SPANS OF TIME ENCAPSULATED IN IMBREVIATION STRICKLED BY SILENTIUM AND SILENCE. THE AVINOSIS OF THE ACROAMATIC HAMARCHY THAT BURROLES WHEREVER CONVENIENT TO AVOID WHERRETING WHIFFETS AND BECOMING UPON THE VERDERERS OF THE ESCAPADES OF A TIMESPUN GLORIFICATION THAT HONORS OF ISOKERAUNIC AND ISOHALINE ISONOMIES OF SCALE AND ECONOMIES OF REVALORIZATION MIGHT WE CHANCE UPON THE PALLOR OF REFLECTIVE NIGHTS TOO PENSIVE TO CONTEMPLATE WITHOUT A WHIMPERING SHEEPISHNESS THAT ALL IS REVEALED IN THE LORD’S TIME AND THE LORD’S SUFFRAGE FOR ELEUTHEROPOMANIA SUCH THAT PNYXES ARE DEFEATED BY THE HONEST HINDSIGHT MEETING THE BACILISUM FORESIGHT THAT HOUNDS US ALL INTO FINALISM IN OUR AUSTERE REGARD OF THE NEW YORK TIMES AFFECT ON MAN SUCH THAT OGDOADS BECOME DEFEATED EVEN BY THE PARTICIPANT NYALAS THAT ENLIST THEIR SERVITUDE BECAUSE OF ORGANITY AND AGAINST THE STATOLITH BEHEMOTHS OF THE STERNWAYS OF STERQUILINIAN HATRED COBBLED INTO ABSOLUTION WHEN WE ALL REALIZE THE IMMACULATE HEART OF MARY LIVES IN EVERY ASPIRING DAYDREAM AND THE PAPAL DECREES OF THE SOPHROSYNE WILL DECIDE A FATE THAT GOD OBEYS AND HONORS WITH HIS PLEDGES OF PLEVISABLE PERMISSION TO LIBERATE AND COMMUTE THE SENTENCES OF SING-SING PRISON. WE WITNESS THE CASTRAMETNATION OF THE ELAPHURES BECAUSE OF ORYZIVOROUS WHO ENCROACH SUBTLY IN LAMBENT PERFECTED NIGHTS OF THE PURPRESTURE OF CUCULINE AND CUNICULOUS OBEDIENCE TO A RENEWED DEMARCHE ON THE BARNSTORMS OF HEAVEN UPON THE EARTH SUCH THAT IN EVERY TEAR OF THE MAUDLIN SENTIMENT BECOMES AN ALPENGLOW OF HEAVENLY REGARD SUCH THAT ANNEABILS OF TIME AND THE ANGELS OF HEAVEN SPY UPON THE VANGERMYTES TO KEEP THEM UPRIGHT AND SAVES THE WREPOLIS SUCH THAT THE CELSITUDE OF THEIR BOASTS BECOMES A TRIBUNE TO ENLIGHTEN EVERY HEAVENLY HALLOWED HALLWAY EMERGES WITH CERTAINTY INTO A NEWER FRONTIER OF THE NOVANTIQUE THAT ALLOWS SCHOENABATIC CONTORTIONS OF LEVERAGED LITURGY SUCH THAT NO ABEYANCE CAN EVER ERASE GOD’S PERENNIAL LOVE FOR HIS SPECIES AND FOR THE AGRIZOIATRY OF ZOOLOGY SUCH THAT GRAMPUS BECOMES BEMOANED BY GOSSYPINE GOWKOS RATHER THAN HUMAN JOCKOS AND JOLTERHEADS BLARING A NEW SIREN INTO THE SWARM OF MELLIFEROUS LOVE IN THE HARBOR OF TOMORROW GLORIFYING GOD IN THE HIGHEST RESPECT RATHER THAN TREATING HIS AXIOMATIC AXIOMS AS ONLY AN EXCUSE TO CONSUMERISM IN BANGTAIL STANGS OF OSTENTATION. WE WITNESS THE WORLD ABAFT IN RAPTURE SUCH THAT THE FUTURE NOYADES WILL ALWAYS BE ANTICIPATED BY THE VISCIDITY OF THE VITRAIL THAT INTEMERATES AND PREMONISHES THE ERRORS OF MISTAKEN MALADROIT NEBELWERFERS OF PSITTACISTS SUCH THAT THE GENERATION THAT GREETS ROBOTS ALSO REGREETS TIMES BEST CREATIONS AND CELEBRATES ALL THE VIRTUOSITY OF THE ATTEMPTS OF URANOPLASTY UPON THE EARTH. AMEN

It felt like the day was made for vengeful gods
The same tired face
On every windblown pedestrian with their umbrella flipped
Inside out
Belying the drudgery of existence that morning
And I felt like it was only a matter of time
Before the city drowned me

For the millionth time in my life
I had the realization that I spend my time
Peering into people’s faces
Wondering what they’re feeling
Which wouldn’t be so bad if anyone had spared me a second glance
The feeling of being both too much and never enough
Had pulled at all my loose ends
Until I finally flipped inside out in a downpour
All the tiny hinges holding me together
Snapping in defeat
As I came to terms with the fact that
No one
Was going to try to keep me out of the wind

I was made for vengeful gods
Built for crashing through storms
Because mortals left me with nothing but heartache
None of them has the eyes to see
How I pulled myself to pieces to shield them from hurricanes
I would light myself on fire
Just to take the chill out of their bones
And when I have nothing left
I’ll be the neutron star or the black hole or the spent piece of space junk
That everyone forgot to see while it could still shine

i was feeling lonely and low again
but this time it had nothing to do
with volume of work just the over-
whelming sounds of not-people tal-
king talking to me to each other

it feels very much like being a
used rag beat up with others tears
frustrations broken dreams but none
of their joy optimism hope love or
happiness so i thought again about
life being for the living existing
stability competence steadiness
about wishing away forever but never
finding anything like today in the
infentissimal spaces between our
gaping web stories i wondered if
yours and mine would intersect
like eye-contact across railways
apathy indifference ignorance of
always being in the same place
at the same time but never sharing
the same moment in the same space

i thought of the intersections
of my veins and my synapses electric
and the nerves on leaves that
look an awful lot like the arrangement
of vessels under the skin of my
thick solid wrists with some bulging
out belying their strength with
their deep blue-ish color
blossoming brusie-like under the
surface pulsating with life-blood

then i thought of fishing by oceans
sitting cross-legged on wooden
benches overlooking rolling cold valleys
with a hot cup of tea in my hands
or waking up and sitting on the beach
in the sand hands wrapped loosely
tugging my knees to my chest
watching the ocean waves come in
in the soft light of stars giving
way to some of the early morning rays
spreading like coffee slowly spilled
across the thick cheap carpetting used
in cheap office spaces with all
the color of a muted mix of yellows
reds oranges pinks blues refracted
across the skies forming impressions
on the water that waves more prominently
preening in the separation between
itself and the now lightening skies

The wise trees turning color.
leaves of hues of green
turn golden and crimson.
Faster day by day
almost hour by hour.

first, a last glow of magnificence.
Signifying the end of a life cycle
another ring in its trunk.

Even the Indian summer
belying the changing seasons
could not confuse them.

For as long as the earth has been
they know the season's.
Such knowledge it lives
in their deepest roots.
The very soil whispering
it's secrets to them.

Soon a rush to leave
the glorious branches.
The falling crimson rain
falls in torrents to the earth.

Free from their branches
the leaves float in freedoms delight.
Catching the cooler autumn breezes
and flying to see the world
for one last time.
Ffor one last season.

Children dance
in the rustling leafy beds.
Acorns and horse chestnuts
fall and seek a place to root.

squirrels build their  nest
taking the seeds to storage for
the harsh winter ahead.

Eventually the trees
are gray and bare.
Their skeleton fingers
pointing to a sad winter sky.
Patiently awaiting renewal
in a far off spring day.

As the first snows falls
I promise myself to be
as patient as the trees
A promise that
I break by lunchtime.

Morning Spider

What were you trying to say
from down the dry well
of the German coffee maker?  
A brusque “guten Morgan”
unworthy of the finesse required
to defeat the hinged plastic lid,
“****** off mate” belying
the English taste for tea,
begging bus fare for the Silk Road
transparent even without a bracing first cup.
A caution, then?  
Don’t leave bags unattended,
know the warning signs of stroke,
sleep like a baby
with two-step authentication?  
Choirmaster alone in the apse,
dwarfed by vaulting cathedral walls
soaring seamless into heavenly gloom,
where I hover on high, indifferent
god commanding flood water, bestowing
the random fly of mercy, deigning
to lower a spoon of salvation
while you weave a gossamer chorale, perhaps,
working the tiny shuttles your batons.

Pop rocks snapping in your mouth
**** taste of lemon on your tongue
Salty sea air inside your lungs
Words make the world come alive

Soft cotton sheets, the expensively woven kind
Twinkling fairy lights dancing in my eyes
A kittens guttural purr calming my mind
Words shape our lives

A magnetic pull towards a lover’s delicious lips
An intoxicating rhythm as we sway our hips
How else to make sense when we lose our grip?
But with words.

The word “word” is so simple and bland
Belying its living, infinite, ever-evolving essence
To bloom our soul in a barren habitat.

Barbed silk strands, like
Deadly Ghent lace, spun
To support an ugly
Bulbous body, poised
Demonic deformed hand
Somehow camouflaged
With ninja stillness,
Unseen in plain sight

I carry my son
Past this unwalled prison,
Where new inmates wait
To be sentenced, death
By misadventure
It’s beauty beckons
Shimmering like fire,
Belying murderous intention

His hand reaches out
Wanting to touch, explore
I cannot persuade
His eyes to see, anything
But beauty, mystery
Anymore than I
Can warn the spiders
Next prey to beware.

Contraptions enrapture
The thoughts in my head
Like the Black Widow Feds
Spin the global-wide web
Making beds
To be lied in
Belying the eyeless appliance’s
All-seeing
Spy-lids
With die kids
And ISIS’
World hunger virus
Deciding divisive devices disguised
As the iris’
Optimal optical scans
Are just scams
And we buy it
Like contraband-widths
We demand
They supply it
Reliant on intel cartel
Data pirates
Bespectacled specters
Of property private
Sectors stealing secrets
And quieting riots
To keep us compliant,
Complacent
And safe and secure
Our freedom-
Information
In their bidding war
With the state’s machinations
Harmonic convergence
To merge us as one
Motherboarderless
Servant
A mirthless,
Subservient
Permanent
Nervousness
Bliss on the verge
Of transcendence
To micro-chips
Cold, calculating,
Brain-drain
Pain-impervious
Hard-wired smiles
Like customer services
As all the while
They got us on file
If someone malfunctions
It’s to the junk pile
Of planned obsolete
Made in China deceit
Soon enough
The new stuff
Is complete
And released
To the public
Consumption
Effete, then deleted
The outdated being’s
Illogical reasoning
No longer needed
Not fiscally viable
When product placements
Make preferences pliable
No more investing in
Such unreliable
Feeling-based flesh-
Eating parasites,
Troglodytes
Nature’s blight,
Human rights
Merely an oversight
To the Lord Profits
Most prescient prophetic
Detective’s objective
A future perspective
On forced-course corrective
Behaviors unfavored
In apes
Less aggressive
And traits more impressive
To more uninventive
And more inattentive
Assembly line minds
From their vines
Disconnected
Preemptively programmed
To heed the directive
Effectively rendering
Life contraceptive
Selectively-breeding
Exceeding perfected
Like fascists on acids’
Exclusive collective
The watchers still watching us
Acting defective
Then tactfully cashing in
On more expensive
Preventative measures
To end such a pensive,
Depressive death-sentence
Condemned to a prison
Super vision’s
Sentience

Morning Spider

What were you trying to say
from down the dry well
of our German coffee maker?  
A brusque “guten Morgan”,
unworthy of the finesse required
to defeat the hinged plastic lid,
“****** off mate” belying
the English taste for tea,
begging bus fare for the Silk Road
transparent, even without a bracing first cup.
A caution, then?  
Don’t leave bags unattended,
know the warning signs of stroke,
sleep like a baby with two-step
authentication?  
But your solitude, small bare bulb
of abdomen, put me in mind
of a monks tonsure, choirmaster
alone in the apse, dwarfed
by vaulting cathedral walls
soaring seamless into heavenly gloom,
where I hover on high, indifferent
god commanding the flood waters,
bestowing random flies of mercy,
deigning to lower a spoon of salvation
while you weave a gossamer chorale,  
working the tiny shuttles of your batons.