"crawlers" poems
six lanes
in a sight line
past the cedar shims
and trim tempered insert
past the washed mural
and water stained tiles
covered eyes
fight for focus
over cork strung ties
and dark distant bridges
foot crawlers on lemon pegs
teaming
under clouded halogen light
dreamers contend
in a variation of chant
(throwing it off in a
drawl sequence)
a glimpse of the guard
and warm towel assignment
forge comforting relief
in a task filled day
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:17 PM UTC
In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoners song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago
You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen
There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the ***** Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif
But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey
There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death
But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:
he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
my darkest poems
bloodletting streams
are a kind of ******
fetishy cognitive inventory
malformed denizens
of the subconscious
a well of torments
soup of Salmonella
the souls gut
its cauldron
yet not with out lurid enticements
and voluptuous supplicants
gorgeous
like an eight legged woman
with beautiful feet
drooling **** lips
drunk on sacrificial rituals
of blood black tongued kisses
and hideous contorted pleasures
********
once
exquisite archetypes
gods and goddesses
are now
putrefied
cellar dwellers
moaning in nature bed crypts
of rock, stone
and engraved sigils
because honest pure desires
became fragmentary
and are now gimping amputees
by legions of primal disappointment
while faces blare in the world
like super bright L.E.D.s
shinning paths to others
our deep self
remains patinaed in tears
a black box pox with a lock
the skeleton key lost
in arcane seas
out of utter disgust
for those dark crawlers
that live within us
revealing them selves
as anxieties, depressions
suicides
and myriad quiet despairs
we appear undaunted
to others
and they to us
humanity
muffled ticks
and splintered sticks
my poems let my demons out
yoo who its me
my name is spray snake z
with my hooks and cries
and dark blood skies
in the misty night
i dragged out their earthen coffins
legends of the despicable
resurrected them
fed and loved those darklings
had every conceivable union with them
their healing, my own
ive sexualized them
and found love
albeit twisted
to be adored
in a hidden embrace
i bestow upon you a poetic fantasy
while obsession takes hold
bind it not
nor let it bind you*
Sep 6, 2016
Sep 6, 2016 at 9:32 AM UTC
A slow walk up Centennial
and I still can’t find the place
it's menacing cold, and muted
and the street sweeper and winter breeze
move the Turkish blend and dust pack
A novice mixed duet plays
Brahms on broken strings
the erhu and overcoat
veiling a blue heeler and sphinx
Maggianos is settled in the center block’s
luminance and seasonal drape
it's festive warmth bringing home Bedford Falls;
the flavour and character and social circles
Annie’s playing and the keeper's singing
(his word pool and slander
raising everyone in arms!)
the crowd chants and mayhem breaks
as crawlers and contemporaries
smash their steins
Dark alleys and dripping holes
hold a grim reminder of the pierced underside
paddies flutter and forge their words
with a broad manifesto
Night gardens come alive
(slowly sapping the respite)
hunched figures and ladies in lace
shuffle inside the big orange door
Oct 19, 2017
Oct 19, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
I'm the morning whisper that punches you in the gut
the winning lottery ticket that you didn't buy
an inconvenience with impeccable timing
the drinks you spill on nameless lovers
i'm the giggle when a dog sniffs your hand
i'm a naked water fight in January for no reason
i'm cold pillows shaped like a former lover
your favorite t-shirt when it's lost
and found
the drip drip in the sink when you wanna sleep
the creepy crawlers you can't shake
the colorful wrapper with nothing inside
a no vacancy sign at the end of the road
your vulnerability when you're most tender
i'll call you names when you're not looking
look at you funny when you're not listening
i'm the sense that doesn't make,
the only sense there is
i'm your senses when you want to shut me out
the wrong L-word at just the right time
i'm your second chance when you need a third
the maybe, when you really wanted a yes
i'm what feels your pain
the broken promise that brings you more-
pain
what turns the tide when you're not looking
i'm a moonlit midnight swim
i'm sometimes butt-naked
your favorite shade of lipstick
i am your guardian angel
the absence you hold
i'm the scenic route after a bump in the road
the sunset drive that saves your soul
i'm the texture of wet sand between your toes
the burn in every tear you've cried
i'm the vintage dresser you found on a rainy day
the song you hate, stuck on repeat
i count the palm trees when you're not looking
i forget lovers lost and found
i am the one who messes up your hair,
just to dry your tears
i am the vault of all your deepest darkest secrets
always inconvenient and never around
i'm laughter when you least expect it
the 4 am call you don't wanna take
i'm the mirror that sells you lies
the denim shorts that makes your **** look really cute
i'm the cherry (on your wedding dress)
a joyride and a swing-set all in one
i'm what turns you on
what turns you away
i'm your throne
your downfall
your ecstatic,
uplifting
wonderful
life.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 3:01 PM UTC
LET
THERE
BE
LIGHT
a
fierce
sun ******
vapors
into
a
thunderous
sky
which
wept
sixty
sextillion
tears
creating
a
riddled
calibration:
the river
time
we
came
cells
devouring
cells
metastasizing
into
life
first
cruel crawlers
then
stealthy stalkers
wicked walkers
and
finally
THE
terrible talkers
blasphemers
bending
time
asking
WHY
it
flows
?
we
are
they
who
have
no
shore
to
which
to
moor
on the river,
time
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
I like apples
I like oranges
Apples are sweet with a crunch
Even when they are ****
The rewards are great
They are filled with nutrition
The skin is even good for the teeth
But every once in awhile
One is spoiled or rotten
Or worse, filled with creepy crawlers
Yet the refreshing burst
Of beneficial flavor is hard to refuse
I love oranges, the color alone
Sunshine in my hand
Puts a smile on my face
Before I even take a bite
When they are sweet
Nothing cold be better
They make my life healthy and happy
However, they, occasionally, can be bitter
Or spoiled or not glow so bright
Yet even at their most sour times
Or when they are not the freshest
I love them more than life itself
So it's obvious to me
Given the choice between the two
It is no contest
My love for oranges is rare
Yet I've been granted a special opportunity
I have been offered a bushel of apples
Though they are tasty
I don't want to only eat them
Apples or oranges?
I can eat the apples and still enjoy
The flavor burst of the oranges
The apples may even help me to
Enjoy the oranges even more
And cherish the time I have to
Nourish my bobby and mind
With their sweet nectar
I like apples
I love oranges
I can enjoy both
Without letting any spoil
With the right proportions
I just won't try to
Eat cake too!
Feb 16, 2013
Feb 16, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
In the darkest of night
Just at the same corner
Hours after,
Along the gutter
Camera shutters
In the darkest of night
At the same corner
A body rests at the arms of his mother
In the darkest of night
Records in the daily newspaper
Death sentenced by the accuser
We will remember
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 6:43 AM UTC
I lived my half dictionary life before I could
comprehend compulsory compromises.
Collectors arise, disguises and devices beeping,
chastising my blindness.
Gather geography from Afghanistan and Myanmar
graciously growing gold gilded gift horses,
gleefully gloating about floating far away.
My hoof beats above concrete match my heart’s defeat
across borders and mountains
embroidering cardboard cut-outs
calling deserts, decorating front covers.
Exhaling handcrafted letters for my missing half,
half demanding highest caliber commanders and half commanding completion.
Jade jays joyfully lay arrays of bouquets
fragile flowers decay faraway
in jawbones and jail cells.
Begging farewells in a hotel’s lobby
began my hobby,
early morning coffee and carbon copies
concurringly cocky around his dead body.
Gang ciphers for cartels are
Christmas bells hissing at collars,
half dollars embellishing bar crawlers
godfathers hollering at car haulers.
Atrocities across cities attack,
attachable atrophies audibly ambush arthritic anthologies.
Anomalies begin apologies between apostrophes,
advancing autonomy arousing ancient animosities.
All eluding Antarctica,
giant frozen crests, multi-coloured ice
hidden in my illustrations
anxious for my distant half.
Friday cassettes and cigarettes
deliberately making bets following “M”.
Breaking bindings and finding “beta” in alphabet,
may feasibly end in debt.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 1:51 PM UTC
Zombies are waddling toward their door.
Witches are cackling, black cats are scratching,
And the ghouls want brains and more.
But Brig and Ophelia aren’t scared yet,
They’re waiting inside,
Gobbling strange snacks while they hide.
It’s bugs they like to chew and gnaw;
And they love to eat their spiders raw,
Not fried with onions, like Granda;
Or served with broccoli, like Nana.
Not boiled with worms and creepy crawlers.
Ciaran eats those,
Not these crazed daughters.
Ophelia and Brig
Eat them raw,
Alive, not dead,
With wiggly legs and sharp jaws;
And wrapped up with mosquito heads
In white sticky spider webs.
They eat Black Widows soaked in goblin blood
And wicked witch’s poo;
Made from bats and rats and unschooled fools,
That witches eat to soften stools.
They eat fat spiders
Floating in soup,
That slide and wiggle
Down their throat.
They eat them with their mouldy cheese,
Melted over wasps and bees.
The girls fork down spider stew,
They love the taste “Tres beaucoup.”
The gravy’s made from a mummy’s spit,
And sweat that drips from a ghoul’s armpit.
They like their spiders spread on bread,
A feast to feed the risen dead.
When their snack is finally done,
They’ll pick their teeth and scrape their tongues
For Daddy Long Legs they didn’t eat.
The long legs caught between their teeth.
They'll use those legs to weave a wreath,
To trick flies and bugs and lonely spiders
Into their hungry House of Horrors.
Oct 30, 2023
Oct 30, 2023 at 11:06 AM UTC
darling—
i almost made it out
the house
down the slanted
concrete
steps
i nearly passed the garden gate
with tired
ivy
crawlers
for a moment i thought i was free
no ghosts
no ashen memories—
But bags in hand i couldn't help
and took
a glance
behind.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
I am from too long grass
that left muted green stains on my knees
From rock gardens overrun with punny yellow snapdragons
which delivered into my care all sorts of fascinating creepy crawlers
I'm from ash grey two by fours
which were all together fun to climb on
but gave nasty splinter when they were mad
I'm from the woodchips and sand
that provided me an elaborate landscape
in which to house my boundless imagination
I'm from the tail of sulfur smoke
that burned white hot through the crisp October Sky
and propelled my rocket to high heaven
or so it seemed to my eger eyes
I am from Thursdays
from green and red rhubarb leaves
and dirt under every fingernail
I'm from hurling half-rotten tomatoes
at the fence accross the ally
and running haphazardly from angry neighbors
I'm from lasagna and jell-o
candels on Christmas eve
and the squirt bottle of water
my only defense against ants
I am from obscure old families
who came over like so many others
and played the ***** in the secret choir loft above the church
I'm from woodwinds and piano strings
and never a silent moment
From reading aloud and reading alone
and from those who did the reading
I'm from the future and the present and the past of a million different stories
And I've always been headed towards
Where I'm from.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
These are not just words
that rhyme or fit together
in some fancy, schmancy
catchy rhythmic flow
These are my thoughts
my feelings
my inner beauty
my outer demons
typed on my kebyoard
stored on a web server
searched by web crawlers
presented to you
adieu!
Sep 11, 2018
Sep 11, 2018 at 3:38 PM UTC
Why fight for a dollar when I can get down in a holler
jump in the water or run with the smaller
swim with the otters, and crawl with the crawlers
don't Feed me fodder, I'm a hillbilly scholar
why bend at the knees when I can climb in the trees
perch with the birds and buzz with the bees
why pay the fees, when I can be free with the breeze
doing what I please in a life of ease
Dec 17, 2014
Dec 17, 2014 at 5:42 PM UTC
Dying’s not the problem
There's nothing for me to solve
It’s in the living
Where we need to evolve
We crawled together
Caterpillars on leaves
We found each other
And shared our dreams
We knew our place in life
And dared for more
We had a sense
Of what was in store
Would it be life after death
Or some kind of revelation?
Like grandparents alone on a porch
We yearned for transformation
How can you believe in what you cannot imagine?
Faith is so hard in a world so unrevealing
We see our limitations and wish for something more
So we separate our fate into a coffin of our own making
Is she thinking of me while I suffer?
Is she sad and lonely too?
Something though is happening to me
There is something that I must do
I cannot share a moment so private and personal
And yet this is about what two people can be
As revealed truth emerges will she be waiting?
Will a memory allow my life to be free ?
It is time to fly now
The past is over
Who will fly with me?
Who will be my mate?
I am bathed in a gentle kiss
From a shadow that knows
Of the past and of a dream
As together we choose our rose
For God has answered our prayers
The crawlers have risen
We have shed our fears
And into our souls our love has been woven
May 18, 2012
May 18, 2012 at 1:24 PM UTC
I won't remember the parties
Or the school events
Or the games
Because I never went to them
But this is what I will remember
I'll remember the late nights of homework
And having to wake up early the next morning
And being exhausted in my 9am class
I'll remember the stress that ate my *** alive
To the point where I would cry for 10 minutes straight
And then get back to work like it never happened
I'll remember having an anxiety attack after leaving my professor's office
Because she made me feel stupid about how I wrote my speech
And the moment I stepped outside
I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding
Then, I started hyperventilating and crying
I'll remember working out in the gym
Because according to my doctor I was obese
And well exercise is a great stress reliever
I'll remember losing my grandfather my junior year
And being so sad and depressed that some days I wouldn't even go to class
And having to go home for the first time and see him not there
I'll remember going through a break up the summer before my junior year
And having my ex try to gain my trust so that he would get another chance
Still confused on whether I should or shouldn't by the way
I'll remember growing closer to some of my friends
And some of my friends distancing themselves from me
And barely spending time with my friends from home
I'll remember contemplating on dropping out
Or going to another school
Or trying to make my other dreams come true
I'll remember being in the financial aid office more times than I can count
Because I'm paying out of pocket for my education
Student loans, Pell grants, and financial aid
Still isn't enough to cover my tuition
I'll remember being moved off campus into smaller dorms
Sharing a room with my best friend
And fighting off creepy crawlers and critters that found their way inside
And missing classes because transportation either ran late
Or didn't come at all
Who knows what else I'll remember
Not done with college yet
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 11:27 AM UTC
angel's can shout through demons
if they have to
here in the valley of time slips and air borne rock
land of meteor splash and ufos
sprit friends
a fantasy gift you give yourself
but if you see some of them
its the worst day of your life
those streaking trajectories
as straight as a pencil path
sending a migration of aliens
weird ovoid's with ****** binocular vision
like Helix pomatia
****** crawlers
while eight legged locomoting moss piglets
that look like a thousand blinking
one eyed gob worms
hurtle in decent
perhaps landing in the Yucatan
barbarian headed asteroids, critter ridden
mixed of spirits and denizens of deep space
from the parametric edges of Bals
glittering kingdom
shoot suns down from the sky
far flinging those crater bashed demons
into predatory gardens
elixir's of war and death
wave screaming reveries
through red cities
of nightingale floors
nautilus agents plummet
into brawling plots of ash
shattering a million spines
of **** ***** monsters
in a bulls eye break neck rodeo
Jun 15, 2019
Jun 15, 2019 at 6:00 PM UTC
Dense gray smog and crimson bricks.
Sidewalk crawlers pulling tricks.
And here I sit, a man 'mong ******
In my kingdom of consumption, and crimson bricks.
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 6:38 PM UTC
Inside, Your cancer's beating heart
My ******* shakes, dirt dust gone
I swipe the sand away. For every ounce of ****
Laughing out meaty red raw steaks and size zero thighs.
- For everythingsobad. You rattle my dream box with your sweet blue face and your gauges for neither being an idiot or being human. Too cute of you booboo. Captivity claws at you, you big bafoon, intolerant, shuffling your predicates back and forth during your 12am nonsensical ******** So long as it doesn't interfere with your curfew.
Like soggy altered-state popcorn. Your butter catches more flies than knives, the inauthentic gestures spattering over the rhythms and rolls of your fingertips is torture to watch. Kitchen countertop influenza. A tired dictionary of sad words, poor misfortunes, tired eyelids, silty and sandy crusty inside corners of the eyes
.rearing privilege
countertop crawlers. inaudible coos used by muses who can't keep their musings from tangling the long distance dial tone soaring through the ears like an Italian operatic melodrama. A horse, three brides, and a funeral. One woman, a sick child, blindness, blinding caused by toxins of the body stuck inside your gelatinous fishlike eyelids. Where's there an eye bib and a lance when you need one? A nifty electric toothbrush shank with extra reach and plaque protection. You're the kitchen sink they threw in, a budget meeting with a data analysis staph infection. A government where nobody wins. All the kids grow up with thin skin and an aorta with no ventricles in it. It's like the cynical prison system that we had to survive in our 8th grade basement dungeon. Thundering, curmudgeons drugging sluggishly, **** teen thugs. Preteen pornstars sluicing cash through their meaty canals, ******* the ******** and ******* the back bare in a messy afternoon of **** ******* Crusty infectious rumors made worse by brothers and moms, eating handfuls of Norco just to keep the family strong.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 7:16 PM UTC
My foggy breath crawls up the inside of my throat
And lunges past my teeth
With a happy turbulence.
Spreading over the crest of the hill,
It graces the treeline with joy
And disappears deep into the forest.
Stags wander through it's remains,
In an absolute nobility
And earthly humility,
As they catch the sound of icy grass beneath my boots
Bounding far, like children who
Imagine creepy-crawlers biting at their feet.
My appearance scatters the sleepy branches
Of somber firs,
And new-born scotch;
Leaving them to dance and flirt
With the timeless frost, suspended in air
Lifted and churned by my foggy breath.
Resting against the mossy logs
Just beyond the treeline,
I watch brittle flakes fall
And blanket a gently robust field with crystal
That comes to a final rest and conclusion.
My day has gone to waste.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
The sun will set
The moon will hike
The darkness will spread
The memories will fade
Folks will fall asleep
With the sound of the wind
They will start to dream
all the mirthful seconds they've wrapped
The filthy crawlers once again
Comes out from there hollow caves
To zap all the memories
Which folks have shaped
As time passes
The sun will ascent
Glowing enormously defeating darkness
Giving new life to the young and old
But the memories
That is fade shall never rebound
And the memories
You are gonna make wont last forever
-new life everyday
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 8:24 PM UTC
While you are sleeping
Soundlessly
In your bed
I lay awake in mine
Listening to all the
Creepy crawlers
Squirming around in my
Mind
Each night they munch munch
Crunch away my mind
Until all that is left behind
Are thoughts that are darker
Than the night
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 8:46 AM UTC
In a run-down business crevice way
Fallin' crumbled brick crumbs and scattered fate
I state, that I'm an iris spying crawlers
whom inspire to be ballers
I'm a staler, indecisively inviting
you can read me as the rarest
innocent as a terrorist
Compare it, find me waning in the red room
and waxing like a night moon
I hate the ones who spare me
and **** the ones who dare me
See it as you wish,
I won't pray and I can't stay
and if you've found me at the platform
take shelter, here comes the storm
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
Cielo drive up from the bottom they go back to the top of the slide
Reflecting back in time to the night that these five died
Charlie said Leave something witchy and they rode away into the night
Tex was perplexed as he cut that phone wire
Parent was transparent blood on his attire
Sharon and Jay sat on her bed
In just a few moments they both would be dead
Days before Charlie duplicated the crucifixion out on the ranch
All the boys and girls caught up in his trance
They took hundreds of trips together and laid in his bed
A Master of word he got in their heads
Hundreds of people Manson wanted DEAD
Krenwinkle was told to get up out of bed
Go with Tex now and do what he says
**** Sadie was high as hell on her life
She got in the car in her pocket a knife
Who are you Jay said And what IS this?
Tex said "Im the Devil and Im here to do the Devils Business"
( To Be Continued while i listen to the White Album)
Apr 2, 2016
Apr 2, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
I am kept sane by the sincerity of silent solitude.
Neutrality needs nothing new,
needs no needle or nidus.
My calm comes not from cool but from cruelty,
not to surrender but to split and spare.
Conserve this cacophony
and maybe the crawlers will once again croak and crackle,
perhaps they will again plan and play.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 5:01 AM UTC