Soft curdled interior now at its eutectic
Holds a bifurcated square of gluten
Equally carbonized together
In an **** of ill-advised but sensual nutrition

We were entranced in gold
gold painted
gray like the
Aircrowns of clouds which
died in the sea and flooded
clocks in time.

In time we see wine-flood drowning your veins.  

In the light,
echoes cross your chest
and ride your face
pasting the evening names of
all the alnames
building a pillar of floating memories.

Memories float in wine-blood
like all that’s lost
in the seconds between
blinking, the images
in light are carbonized

Could I see in their eyes, as I clean up this momentary
lusting, for their inner demons to released this way.
I had visions of them shouting "4,

That was going to need a ladder and I hate heights.
Well up I went in slow motion, I saw the spaces between the
claret splashes in frozen moments of nothing. Now just a coat
cold and unwarming. From up here it looked like an
abstract painting I called it "echoes of relentless madness,

It was another call out this place off a million lights  
only a fraction were braking into havocs grasp. But when
their final instant came, till it was a single moment or an
eternity in seconds, the end result was the same.

I wore a fresh suit, each being deflowered within
moments. Others lives were centimetres from mine.
They were with me through out these moments, then I
threw them in the bin like a one night stand. I left them
behind , no reason to remember names.

This  one was different, the other one was just like a
water balloon of finest red had been tossed around the
room, this one...  Charred shadows of where like a wick
They had become a light in the darkness and consumed.

Not as much blood, just dry lumps of god knows what.
I breathed quickly, a hand print on the table slightly
scorched, but the hand print still visible reaching out.

This was more a scrap and polish like cleaning spilt
cheese now carbonized on the bottom of the grill.
A hot mind is not a good thing specially when a vent
of release givesthis pressure a release. I look at it and
think to myself? I called this one "charred thoughts ascending,

I once again leave them behind, this is beyond the
ordinary job. Knocking off for lunch i see the next
piece off where my work will take me. I see them
walking and in quietened haste I lunge and inflict a
flesh wound so some may think, but an artery I have nicked .

So gently I  grazed, wouldn't want then to bleed too quick
or to slowly for that matter. I abscond in my van, knowning
the call will not be long versed just another clean up
so many in this city of lights where I calmly change
each one. As to be repetitive there is no art form in that.

To be a cleaner and to see art where others only see death
or tears. I see a deeper visions the latest in the collection
I called them "Life running dry, this was an easy clean
up, but ill have to give it a rest i earned enough from the
clean ups to sit back and watch the world move by.

Till next my artistry is mused I will think of others that
have twerked my needing a suit hangs up, each with
the name of that creation. I can admire them anytime,
and just think of the anticipation that was needed for this
depiction of my thoughts and how they bled out.

you turned me into ....
into an anxious person
passive aggressive

trembles at your absence
screaming your name

now I'm a scary puppy
licking my wounds
going around in circles
waiting for you to return
... your words
a gesture of love in your eyes
... to throw the ball

i wait ... and waiting I get weak
dehydrate me, I'm getting carbonized
my eyes are dry watching the window
my lashes fall
and my hands wrinkle

this time is cruel
makes me feel anxious, awkward, desperate
is like a tunnel crowded, which I can't leave
as tying the laces without hands

falling limply to the floor
without intermediaries
Here I'm

We all struggle,
Yes even rich kids.
But, its the perspective that makes the difference.
Gold, run through the flames, destroying impurities, is needed.
Oil, and water do not mix.
If one is not purged from the other, the the vessel is literally "shaken-up"
Im being metaphorical here obviously.
I guess what im really trying to say is,
Don't let ****** situations define you.
Its just fire. Its just pressure.
So, let it purify your golden heart
Let it turn your blackened carbonized soul into diamonds!
Believe, believe, only believe.

It’s too delicate to touch, but beautiful to behold.
An Illuminated prayer book, from Bruges, I’ve been told.
The unknown artist carbonized vellum taken from a sheep,
Into a thing of beauty that is not mine to keep.
The images are beautiful, a celebration of the Divine,
a testament of faith from another place and time.

She was half a woman
and half a forest on fire,
you'd either die by her soft hands
or carbonized by her warm breath.

Condensed like a summary.
Carbonized no need to listen to his muttering.
The way he thinks is troubling...
His room keeps on cluttering, he started working,
but refuses to move on to another thing.
Sticking to redundancy and slacker tendencies, he's dark matter and to say that is flattering...

FLYING DIRT, harder to fly than 21 wild kittens, easier to fly than
Kobe's helicopter of eternal death. Young Toby wanted to be just a
carbonized copy of Kobe, so he lit himself ablaze with purple haze.
Dirt flew over the craft, of course. “I'm slightly injured,” Kobe said
to the pilot who was handsome, white & normal. “This chopper's a
hunk-of-junk even though it cost 25 million dollars,” Kobe's young
girl observed, who was just as dead as everybody there in the burnt
wreckage but didn't know it because she was separated from reality
while the mystic transference from mortality to ether was on-going.
“All things with God,” she cried, as her mortal departure was near.

FLYING DIRT, harder to fly than 21 wild kittens, easier to fly than
Kobe's helicopter of eternal death. Young Toby wanted to be just a
carbonized copy of Kobe, so he lit himself ablaze with purple haze.
Dirt flew over the craft, of course. “I'm slightly injured,” Kobe said
to the pilot who was handsome, white & normal. “This chopper's a
hunk-of-junk even though it cost 25 million dollars,” Kobe's young
girl observed, who was just as dead as everybody there in the burnt
wreckage but didn't know it because she was separated from reality
while the mystic transference from mortality to ether was on-going.
“All things with God,” she cried, as her mortal departure was near.