"catatonia" poems
A wake in coma,
Dystopian dreams,
. . . Gilded America.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
She drew an s shape on my foot with a stick
I lay there, paralysed with fear,
thinking was this the subtle beginning
of a programme of torture.
Her white coat and stethoscope
glinting in the strip lighting.
She asked me if I knew where i was.
I lay there, frozen with fear,
not able to open my mouth.
I could read letters on her name badge
I read it as Dr Helliday
So that's where i was
I thought, that confirms it
along with her snake charming smile.
She tried to get me to drink
But I lay there stiff with fear,
not wanting to open my mouth
in case it was poison.
She placed a wet sponge on my lips
my eyes widening in terror.
Can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?
She said gently
I lay there tensed up with fear.
I thought it must be a trap
I couldn't open my mouth
and fall in.
I was seeing things around me
that pinned me to the bed with fear.
Patients pouring blood out of windows.
shadows of nurses in nooses.
I screamed inwardly.
But could not open my mouth
for fear had clamped it shut
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 7:41 PM UTC
You used to say my eyes were beautiful right before
splitting me open, groin to gullet.
*(Do you still think I’m pretty, baby? Don’t you wanna tell me how
sober I look? Don’t you miss my mouth?)*
Eyes wide shut, I watched April disappear in a
blur of bite-sized catatonia.
*(Tell me how good I feel. Don’t you miss my blood
on your sheets? Pin my arms back, baby, just for old time’s sake.)*
The last time I saw you, you avoided my gaze.
I was lucid for that much.
(Oh, I know you can’t help yourself, baby.)
Tell me again how beautiful my eyes are, love.
We both know how much I like it rough.
Jul 20, 2021
Jul 20, 2021 at 7:47 PM UTC
Chasey calls them the dead mama blues.
There's sadness, she says, mine has a scent to it;
Despair, a shabby **** who mugs me under my covers
On winter days at dawn,
Catatonia, which only a messy bed,a bong,a bag of Cheetos and a boy can cure,
And then way down from there,
Squatting *** close to the ground,
Smoking Gauloises in the dark,
Live the dead mama blues.
The only cure for the dead mama’s, Chasey explains,
Is a blood rare steak and Etta James greatest hits on vinyl,
Played quiet through the sweet spot of the night,
All the lights off, the dishes done and dry.
Helps if a sister has a slim hip man to dance with, she said,
So if you ain’t runnin’, the grill’s on me.
Come by sober any time after moon rise, Chasey yawned,
Cause this girl could use a shoulder and a polite hand.
And bring your slippers, she said
Easier to shuffle over **** in sheepskin, plus
We might go up on the roof later on
And smoke some of my cubans for a while.
Door will be open, so please don’t ring,
Hell what am I saying, you know the path.
Chasey yawned again, a big one,
Waited a few seconds because there was nothing else to say
And hung up the phone with a sigh.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 9:33 AM UTC
Catatonic expressions
On a
Schizophrenic adolescent
Bipolar bearings
Helping ‘em stand
On both sides
Of the argument
Arduous Amore
The Mental Asylum
Silences me
If I speak
I’ll show how weak
My will
To not spill
Crazy thoughts
Is
I remain thoughtless
My conclusion
Signifies delusion
I hypothesize
My hyperactivity Is a hyperbole
Constructed
By psychotic psychiatry
Sigmund Freud
Prescribed *******
And left
The remains
Of white dust
On the brains
That trust
Like the kid
With ADD
Who adds pills
To feel
Emotionless
If too much emotion is
Not a enough
To be a human
I’ll alienate
Myself from
You men
Few men
Understand
The acumen of Wisdom
They fear
What they don’t know
I’m unknown
Anonymous
Synonymous
With the Question Mark
Who am I?
This question marks
The beginning
Of most journeys
Mine began
With
I know who I am,
But how can I show it?
I became
An open book
That was over looked
By the minds
I tried to reach
Read
As comic relief
For
The Intellectually Elite
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 4:26 PM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Sep 30, 2012
Sep 30, 2012 at 12:53 PM UTC
The calm was worn out of her.
For decades, jesus **** ---tens… of … fucking...years,
She had abstained, held back, postponed and missed out.
Somehow she had become the Mother Theresa of kind gestures,
The one who helped
And healed
And hovered
And hoped,
Oh god how she had hoped,
Until standing in front of the mirror
In Bloomingdale’s basement,
Her lips chapped and her mouth parched,
In some obscene sort of spiritual dehydration,
A pre- catatonia,
And sensing the up swell of a hurricane of self-hatred,
So overwhelming
That it numbed her fingers and made her nose itch,
In this instant she could not tell
Which side of the mirror she was on.
Was she looking at herself or was she the reflection of herself.
In this messiah moment,
When a massively disinterested sales clerk asked her
If she had found what she was looking for,
In this exchange with a stranger with a name tag on,
Her life stopped.
And for the first time ever she responded, yes I think I have.
So she bought the dress which showed way too much cleavage,
Wore it out of the store and into an uptown bar,
Where she surveyed the 5 o’clock crowd,
Found the face of a man she had never seen before
And walked up to this stranger in a suit
And offered to buy him a drink.
He accepted, Jesus was it really that easy.
They exchanged maybe twenty words,
She knew exactly what she wanted,
And she shivered twice,
At the end of a dark corridor,
Bent over a cold aluminum beer keg,
A fistful of her hair in his hands,
Her ******* wrapped round one ankle,
The dress now a sash about her waist.
And so her secret life began.
She didn't tell her husband,
Or her priest,
She took a part time gig
At a massage parlour with the happiest of endings,
And she felt powerful and a little insane.
Sitting at Sunday dinner, smiling and engaged,
She wondered if she was a sociopath, a closet ******
How could deception and promiscuity
Bring her happiness,
Where honour and fealty had failed.
She worried about others finding out,
It would destroy her life if they did,
Disgrace was a terminal disease at her stage,
Her heart would panic each time she entered the salon,
Each time she had to parade nearly naked,
In front of a new client,
The moment before she entered the room,
Would she know the man on the other side of that door,
Was the risk worth it.
Time after time she decided it was.
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
The end of the road behind
The step from the cliff above and behind
The swirling of smoke and no fire left
The bottom of the whirlpool twisting from sight
The emptiness after the slap, before the welt outswells
The end game of every philosophy: ab nihilo, entre nihilo
The logical declension through insanity to catatonia
Thought leading to the nth degree without the subsequent, "Oh!"
Critical thought without foundations
Building without bedrock
Runaway locomotive, off the tracks
Leaving home without good-bye and no way back
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 2:38 PM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 2:41 PM UTC
In this day and age
It's 2014
That's fourteen years
Past 2000
Yes
Count them
F o u r t e e n
Years into the twenty first century
The century of space
According to film and literature
The century of progress
And the century of new ideas
Keeping this in mind
It's a wonder that everyone
And everything, by association
Seems to still be hypnotized
In my country at least
I love where I live
And I believe it's one of the greatest places
To grow and to learn and to teach
But I think more people ought to start thinking
And thinking about old ideas
And the concept of materialism
And the ideas of progress and prosperity
Hate only creates more hate
No?
Just look at any hate filled person
To ever exist
They hated
And then people hated them
For, in turn, hating them in the first place
It's a never ending cycle
Of persecution
And devastation
And extermination
On the other hand
We have love
Love plus love
Equal?
More love
That's right
And the only thing
The only power
In this world
That we all have in equal measure
Is the propensity
To love
And with love comes progress
And with love and progress
Comes
More love and progress
And things we can't even imagine
Because the whole world seems to be
Hypnotized
By this age old idea of hating
And limiting their own beliefs
To the point of catatonia
And never ending
Nonstop
Progress-halting
Dead ends
So I'm just saying
And that's all I'm really doing
Writing this right now
For nothing more than to perhaps get someone to read it
And say
Hey
Maybe this is the truth
Maybe this is he way
Maybe if I do something good
I'll start to feel a little better?
Maybe
If I try to do the best I can
Every day
Breaking free of whatever gains may lay in wait for me
And just embracing the power of whatever it is that guides us
That keeps us spinning on that mysteries axis
Floating through space at blinding speeds
Will help us out in the end
Because
In the end
At the last breath
And the last drop
And the last time we close our eyes
All we'll have
Is love
If that's what we choose
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 12:28 PM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
My
life blooms
in stunted fractures
stuck in
a lightless
concrete ghetto
of shade fingered
catatonia
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
The patch of plaster at the bed side
I hear the cries you cannot hear
For I am cursed or blessed to be
The architect of my own fate
If things were not so heavy
If the veins were not so deep
The shadow of my doorway is long on the floor
I sleep curled beneath the barred window
My back against the wall. Do not let those shadows touch me.
The screams are unholy
Words inhuman
One night I will fly from here
I will walk through the locked doors
Above me flourescent lights will shatter
I will leave scorched footprints
On the white tile
I will sleep among the unworthy again
And when they find deepest sleep
I will take them from their beds
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:57 PM UTC
One by two they passed me without regard
In a state of catatonia drenched with regret
They moved towards the obstructions in their path
Like flies do towards bright lights
Marching like ants in a line
All holding their ticking time bomb
Unknowingly anticipating the explosion
This isn’t in the instruction manual
What do I do now?
Dec 21, 2011
Dec 21, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
Brew tragedy tea
and drink without
tasting it.
Keep checking the meaning of
'forever',
in case it's been redefined
in less absolute terms.
Shiver through the heatwave and watch
the colour bleed out of the summer.
Dig a hole that won't be deep enough.
Shower off the crazy sweat and grave dirt
and pretend like maybe
you'll do the dishes.
Rupture your inner workings
as you scream at the universe
for ******* up so badly.
Lapse into the cold, sterile embrace
of catatonia, grateful
to feel nothing for a while.
Cry so long and so hard you forget
why you're crying,
then remember and cry
longer and harder.
Try brokering a deal with fate's
Appeals Department: offer
your organs, your eyesight,
however many years off your life,
to get him back.
Search for meaning and find none.
Rage against the perversity of it all.
Howl that death shouldn't feel derivative.
Remind yourself that this
isn't just a sick joke.
Hate Elisabeth Kübler-Ross for being right
and yourself for being so generically human.
Realise how little
knowing helps.
Reacquaint yourself with anhedonia.
Try not to hate the blue sky
or the birds who have returned
to sing in his back garden.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
the stupor is pulling at my feet
like the strings of a heart
hoping to be saved
but instead becoming dull
the subdued mind washes itself away
into a pond of longing and shame
yet the lily pads invite you to play
and somehow everything will be okay
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 5:36 PM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 2:40 PM UTC
Cradled in the dark, encompassed in lies.
Accompanied with the wonderment of despair.
A wooden effigy looms over me, an accusing stare.
A lock of hair, a piece of clothing, a drop of blood…
A creature carved delicately with a scalpel of hate.
Its shadow watching over me, crying in my heart.
Screaming in my head, a cacophony of silence.
A technicolor dreamscape painted over my eyes.
A horrified soliloquy my only respite.
Memoirs of innocence long forgotten.
Wherein lies my salvation?
Love dies, and I along with it.
Broken hope, shattered dreams, scars unmended.
Fields of pain harvested in my soul.
Catatonia takes precedence and I follow it.
May 1, 2010
May 1, 2010 at 7:35 AM UTC
She was a very sensitive girl
so sensitive that
between her calm, sensuous eyelids
over the deep penetrating ,brown eyes
resided permanently, pearly lenses
of dawn dew tears, unflinching.
Her world was flowing ,colorful, well different
we call it fantasy, for her it was reality.
So real , that world gave her a title
Crazy.
She was never alone, yet lonely
People laughed around, they would bully.
No one , not even one
could understand, her sensitive vision.
She sought refuge among
mute animals, birds and wise old trees.
Millions of abandoned beings, weaved from her thoughts
took shelter under the ever expanding canopy of her heart.
Little unnoticeable incidents crept into her eye
tremors crept into her soul, it made her cry.
and yet even though her inner self, appeared weak
she did not let her exterior, creak.
Love overflowed through her, to anyone in need
like the affectionate rays of the sun
caressing tickling the earth, expecting nothing in return.
when rivers of emotions, merged with the sea
she became the dust, forming clouds of passion
raining drops of love, respite to the heat of hate.
Fear yet eclipsed, the anxious minds
and they drove her, to a doctor.
Medications mingle with ,the beautiful mind.
Infiltration occurs, only side effects unwind.
Catatonia appears , she is always asleep.
Eyes wide open , no one can get through.
Conscience slowly fades into oblivion
To stop this, self destruction
Higher dosage prescribed, not a word of assurance.
now forever trapped, no way to break free.
Now worm of hate slowly slithers, into her veins
A sudden urge , **** , **** **** echoes in the background.
And next day, she lay on the bed dead finally free.
An old leather back book, A journal I suppose
When the world read its contents, Uncontrollable
bouts of blood tears vaporized and sky was red
the whole day.
Within the contents, were worlds
Worlds without countries, Worlds without disease
Worlds filled with love, worlds with liberty
respecting diversity evolving into equality.
and in the last page the following scribbled
" My love for you all is not enough to ****
But sufficient for me to die."
Book was published with those writes
and this was written in the beginning
" Are you ready to , peel out your fears.
Be prepared to, see through the veil of tears"
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
i summon and conquer your dreammind
with ghosts of aborted foetuses
and we rampage through the corridors
of your indoctrinations.
knock on the doors and you answer
with your deadmind ex nihilo,
manifestations of deeper fetishes,
like the one where you
want to fuckkids and have that power
because you have nothing.
your life is nothing but a bookend
waiting to fall off the shelf.
n u drag ur naked body thru the blood n the glory of a fight that still has some losing left in it. u lick away ur bruzes n sleep in catatonia coz ur mind fuckedya. had enough but it was pillory n stocks n u swim on the back of a nightterror. still u drag that useless body thru gravel n rocks n icecold water, washing off the dust n the silt n the beggared belief of the siren call of a dream u had when u was young but now its gone n ur left grasping at the pebble of a memory that was once a mighty boulder but time has weathered m worn its face n peeled away all the best parts until now it is smooth n useless n small, an insignificant little morselpiece of what it once was, and u turn it round in ur hand n bury it in the silt.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 5:47 PM UTC
There is no awakening. Outside the cave
Light shadows in the sun, a blinding
Muck veils desolation in the vein-bled,
Good men, stumps of the naked forests,
And bird song drowned by the droning dead,
Ignoble, this is no country for old men.
In the open, all lie freely, lacquered clean
Sunning social graces, shine pornographic,
Know truth is real yet, embalmed by speakers,
Pages, their flame a cross, churning in a mire,
Our glass cities run time mendaciously silent;
The euphony of the untruths, the bent sign.
In Catatonia words are watered but never
Change, sapped of meaning, seasons fall
By the handy green, the spring leaves, tipped
Off balance scaled to autumns teeming news;
The barren shores, breaks, bless the vacuum
Tubes, and pray a curse, fawn the head lamps.
In the homeless land anxious creatures divide.
The concrete utterance is picked to rubble.
The stones ground into sand and we ringing
In delight, moving mandrake, mobile cadavers,
Orbit to satellite are digging babylon down
In the false hood, ****** by the mortar.
The ruin architects mark, fork millions
Of tongues in tributary, as does a great
River from a stony source. The sterling
Feed their stock with tainted food, plants
Regenerate the mangled codex twining-tare;
Throws the babe with baptismal waters.
In the soulless land children peak abandoned,
They fall on temple steps by the golden mean.
We pattern the sky in the bold fabric of pity
And mercy but the strands fade out running;
Our cruel and only kind would rend the stars,
Would fallow Elysium, bleed gold to the vein.
How did we end mortal under the divining
Sun? Down base our provident ways watching?
We wave in fealty to the dominion of spins
And shadow, gussied Gods so proudly made,
Desolate, vain, air escaping to whisper;
We are sailing from Byzantium.
Sep 12, 2012
Sep 12, 2012 at 1:44 PM UTC
Little Audrey is lunatic , clutching an album , a photo of her Mother , in Knoxville , excited and free she said ! .Audrey is falling again , without friend or flying high enough , encircled by vultures that portend her future , a downward spiral , catatonia that paralyzed her little wings ! Poor Audrey is gone now , closed doors , back on the spoon , peanut butter in her veins , borealis visions made her cry , to be the apple in Mom or anyones eye !!
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC
You made my pain disappear.
And I, after.
It held me together like a twine.
- I fall to straw pieces.
I’ve got nothing else on my card
miserable blank on my personal resume.
I get gone to find me,
when I am a waste.
I have no anger
like a wet pile of hay.
The source of my power
is only my muscles.
My brain cells saved me.
Word on my retina. My fingertips move.
My hunger attacks me.
And you, eventually.
The realness escaped me turned on me.
I drink Jameson and it burns my lips.
I dream of scream and tears.
I fear.
The world tires me.
I am flat.
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 9:45 AM UTC