Ground smolders and smokes

Luminescent men, humps at the front

**** and poke

The air acrid, the smell of burning stone

On a wall three boys

Gaze, eyes wide, mouths

Marleyesque, dropping

Bewitched as the florescent men

Smooth and calm the steaming earth

Spraying water from a can

To quench its thirst

The seething, black

And exhausted ground

Murmurs in sick response

To its own fragmented curse

A yellow dragon near by

Belches black blood

Oozing from its innards

Through Gothic gargoyle mouth

The lime coloured men shovel

This toxic *****, smear it

Across the gasping earth

That lies, ripped like a jagged

Wound on a dying man

The lime colored men

Mount the yellow dragon

Speed off, leaving

The scorched ground

Burning and hissing,

With sulphurous smoke

A million sizzling angry snakes

The three boys run away in freight

Dropping playthings as they fumble

And tumble in their horrified flight

The black earth cries, bubbles

And consumes their toys

Passes sentence

Makes them L'Enfant Commune

The lost boys

Then there is a quiver

A tedious tremble, a treble;

That played like stretched

Elastic flicked with

Forefinger and thumb

Making the heart numb

Extracting false confessions

A stench of putrid untruth

*** charades of delicate

Ravaged faced youth

A drole de ménage

Slave to the hunger

Of the unknown demand

The French grooming

Of horses, that may charm

The curious but leaves curiosity

Still smouldering in the

Hidden depths of the

Universal mind

Sanumbolists in the

Fullness of a dream of

Ineffable torture consume need

The boys cry out, for the

Earth has stolen a liars tongue

Branded them abominable

With decaying enormities

Detestable, enamelled eyes

Lurk and peer from

Behind gauzed curtains

A corpse of understanding

That inspects the invisible

Images of imbeciles

Parchments dripping in powdered

Crystalline drops smear the pavements

The boys wave their arms

But no-one sees them

There is the rise and fall of cryptic waves

That ebb and flow scorching

A shore of silent sorrows

Lapping feverously at the

Arc of a whirlpool

Whose decreasing concentric

Circles **** the boys down

Into an eternity of hot tears

Leaves them without parents

Gives their brothers and sisters

Into a slavery of barbarous belief

A ferocious language

Banning the boys from all beaches

Provides tyrannical pilgrimages

To black robbed priests

Possessors' of serpents' hearts

The yellow dragon returns

Lemon coloured men spill

From its foaming mouth

The boys hide behind

Dead rose bushes

Ah, but their tenebrous

Trembles creak in the

Blotched and bloodied

Butchers sawdust

A fabulous elegance cradles them

Making the smoking dragon angry

It spews molten bile taken

From the bloated stomachs

Of white beasts

The luminosity of the

Lemon coloured men

Increases to blindness

They wave tattered antediluvian

Bark and scream from

Their dark, deceitful, anchored armchairs

From railed and spiked alters

Spitting bitterest gall

The lemon coloured men

Butcher the fabulous elegance

Leaving the boys naked

Prey to the perfections of

Puerile generosities

That vows to extinguish

Their human desire

Vacant eyes with

Nauseating sight strut

A cruel distortion

Terrifying voices offer

Demonic destruction

The boys weep, but

no-one hears them

A violent paradise

Of popular poses tries,

But fails to caress them

The dragon burns the boys

But no-one smells them

Their terror turns to molten flesh

The lemon coloured men

Spread it over the earth

The beast' heart beats

Joyfully in its bulbous belly

Sacred men smile while

Pitiless priests provide

A comedy

The boys become a hallow

Antique night their left

Legs held up for all

To see

Delirium devours the minds

Of a subjugated people

The deadly hissing of the earth

Like a silken spectre rises

Making scintillating shudders

Through the spiked splinters

Of time

Intelligence is reduced

To the rubble of religious

Intolerance

Lime, yellow, lemon drips

Heated plastic from false eyes

There are cries, sights and sounds

But no-one hears, sees or speaks

No real people are left

Similar boys watch from a wall

Huddle together and weep

We overpay to over-eat,
then we feverously attempt
to burn this excess.

To hide our gluttony,
we pay for the gym,
burning precious electricity.

To fit the mold,
of celebrities we pay to idolize,
we desperately lust for perfection.

This vicious cycle,
of over-indulgence combined with
expensive repercussions fuels our desire
to appear modest.

She spoke rather enthusiastically of her planned trip to India, of her love for yoga and her passion for the pursuit of enlightenment. I was never one for spiritualism but she seemed so full of life and she had this appetite for experiences that was awe inspiring. Her hands moved feverously when she spoke, almost spastic but my focus, never more clear in recent memory remained on her eyes. They were soft with nativity but they carried with them a profound sense of conviction. Many before me have spoken of the eyes as the window to the soul and I had never fully understood the sentiment until I found mine intertwined with hers. Like a bridge over a seething river; our gaze had brought us closer. I felt as though we were no longer divided by ego, pride or other such frivolous illusions.

The conversation flowed so effortlessly, one could only describe it as natural. Had I been a determinist I would have regarded the meeting as fated to occur. She could shut me up just by talking; I always loved that in a woman. My fixation slowly slid down from her eyes to her mouth and almost like a fever coming over me I wanted to kiss her in that instant but you can’t just lock lips with your waitress in the middle of a café during lunch. Once again the nuisance of social structure and etiquette impeded upon my desires or so I told myself; knowing full well I could have just as easily stood up, grabbed her by her narrow hips and pulled her in tight for a good old fashion French baiser. Instead I allowed my longing to fume up inside of me like a tremendous furnace clouding my thoughts with black smoke and self-doubt. It was not society who was stopping me; it was me who was stopping me. Regardless of socially appropriate behavior we humans had always had a choice but like fools we often idly choose to cave under the pressure of our cultural conditioning. I like all cowards before me, used words like "can’t" as an excuse to allow moments of beauty to slip from my fingers and into the abyss. It was like a black hole, an all devouring entity that consumed all of our potential greatness and crushed it into nothingness.

Maybe in some alternative universe, somewhere in the infinite there was me sitting at that café gushing over her and she was standing there all delicate-like, telling me how she wanted to spend a month in India. Maybe that version of me acted on his impulse and he felt alive when he kissed her; in a way I may never feel. I hope somewhere in the vastness of this existence there is someone enjoying that kiss because if I squandered the only possible chance for that instance to ever occur then I cannot conceive of a greater tragedy.

I met a boy a few years ago.
His eyes were always searching for something lost,
but he never knew what he was looking for.

We became acquaintances,
and after a while,
dare I say,
we became friends.

He never talked much about his past,
but I was able to read his absent eyes,
the way he never made eye contact for too long,
or the way he forced himself away from anything
he might get attached to.

His eyes are always just as anxious as mine.

He is sitting right next to me now,
just as lost in the professor’s lecture as I am,
and he’s writing too,
pencil feverously scribbling whatever thoughts
cloud his mind in this moment.

It’s been four years since I met this boy,
and I have never been able to figure out his angle.

There must be something he wants,
some reason he still talks to me.
No one has stayed by my side for this long.

Could it be possible that he actually cares about me?
No,          of          course          not,
That’s an idiotic thing to think.

But why else would he still be around me
when all I have been good for are
learning how to bake the perfect cupcakes together,
taking photos of the local wildlife,
and late night conversations about the stars?

The men I have known don’t care about those things.
The only thing that matters to them is
what’s between my legs,
and nothing else.

So could this one be different?

Could someone actually care about me?

So once more he appears before my eyes,
And I am well aware he is no friend
Of mine, but a companion that I do not wish
To view; a companion that hovers around
In a reluctant mist; although never fails
To reveal his foul breath, his harsh whispers,
Together with his depressing stench of odour.
For I did not summon his deeds;
Never sought his favour; nor offered prayers
Nor burnt incense; nor gave from out
My own batch, the warm gift
Of wine to his altar; never in song
Have I praised his pale face,
His rotten black teeth; never bathed
My bare ankles, nor quenched my thirst,
In his poisoned waters. Yet he found weakness
Within a humble heart, an equally willing mind;
For he latched upon my soul, bearing
Fierce claws; and now, with his stealth clasp,
Arm in arm refuses to grant me space;
Feverously denies release.

Oh! How I do pray I could banish him
From my daily thoughts, my woeful strife;
For he seems present more recently
Than ever I can recall from drifting memory.
Be sure, he does not reside
On one of heavens branches; he would,
With all his deceit, be not allowed
To even graft upon the blissful airs
Most lowly of roots. His dulled stare,
Adamantly pierces through any desire
I have for the light ahead. A grey
Dusty cloak, that he wears draped
From his shoulders, like bitter winters
Shortened sun which shrouds the heavy leaded clouds,
And plunges the sky into deep sodden colour;
Saps any inspiration, which my dreams,
With kindness, revamp anew in sweet slumber.

My mission I do know sincerely, to be
Holy honest, is not entirely a struggle;
And shown before my sight appears
Respectively clear, is however, weighed
Toward the earth with added pressure
By his ****** presence alone. A strategy formation,
Delved from battlefields past, is a want
That seems out my grasp. Shall I
Soothe him with tender lyre strokes,
And with kind words may he leave my side
Willingly, at his own leisurely pace,
In unhurt peace? Why does he have such
Effect on me? How do I relinquish
Him from my sight? Shall I guide him
With me to fresh slopes of pastures green,
Showing his cruel appetite, the beauteous feast
Which bountiful Nature banquets? Do I
Attack him with all force at my disposal?
Unsheathe the sword? Balm protection
Around my clench fists? Do I ignore
His embrace which rivals a death-grip
Engineered from a lioness’ jaw, breathing
Smoke from her nostrils, clasping down
On her prey- unyielding, prey essential
To subdue pains that torment her hungry cubs?
Shall I believe him foe? How do I proceed?

I do realise with no barren shadow,
That he must be nursed into a corner,
Trapped, and halted, for if continuation occurs;
I fear Happiness, a fleeting sense,
Will never approach with ease, nor greet me
With a wave of her snowy hand, nor ever
Blush her lovely pout lips, and settle
Her most welcome custom, within my heart again;
And though my pathway be tedious,
Raised to the brim within a golden goblet
Of questioning; let my last task be this:
With a calm prayer to relight fading embers
From my *****. Kind souls, delicate muses,
Come to me, come to my aid,
Help relieve me of his burden.
Heap upon him glittering song,
Bow his cowardly head further down
From whence it came, and place
The dying mournful strains of the Swan within;
May dark unveil an ebbing stream
Of wondrous hue; let summer sun
Break through thick woods; may no shade
Shield me from intense light; let notes
Resound aloft upon high peaks;
May you pour nectar down my throat,
Place fragrant rich petals from perfumed flowers
On my tender tongue; and therefore,
Knelt before you, sister maids,
With submissive eyes gazing the hallowed ground
Beneath your feet; bathe me in tuneful grace
Once more; assist a humble servant,
Hear one solemn slave voice; for you
Will be praised within my lily-scented verse;
Forever will you be fed on my gentle honey-dew
Measure; if I only be granted solace
Within your flowing spring, deep
Between your sacred gardens fruitful caress.

On the night
At the very early morn
The moon had already risen
Just as a broken gaseous no more sleeps
Somehow, somewhere, a beast trapped, released
No longer is it trapped to the confines of its prison

Eyes that survey
Salivating, wanting,
A prompt to its hunger
Its nostril’s pleasure: my scents
Under a crack of dim, creaming crescent
The uncensored scene of my slumber

The conditions, possibilities, a setting made right for the empty
A glimmer of hope or just the fangs bared for the bark or biting
Once started, the urge, its selfishness to one else, it’ll never lend
The craving has begun; the questionable realism of this game of pretend
A shadowy figure, upon a pair of feet; yours, no, mine, it lurks in the dark

Countless moments to lose the count of, time is held still
Longer and longer, in continuous moments that shows no signs of breaking
Once I had the warming presence of the body of mine besides me, only to be replaced
“A story’s not to be finished without the satisfaction it gives,” is all I find
All we have seen, the sweet smell of lovely dreams still dancing feverously like visions of my mind
Darkness lies beside me, wanting you, cannot be unseen: the ****** features being without a face

What’s gotten is what’s to be deserved: deliberations of the disease that festers the fabric of my thoughts, I pay no mind
At this point, my reality sinks in, run-on sentences roles across the virtual plane called your screen.
Unable to break away from the unrecognizable creature that lies before me, I lose contact with the senses, my nerves have no feeling
The beauty of it all is the art, the science, I love the way how it consumes me, growing over me, light glinting off its fangs still bared
I remember now, I know it, we’ve talked about it before, it calls itself Sherman, our sleep paralysis demon, still I feel the need to be scared
My lovely dreams, he feeds off of, the hunger within, in him, is never satisfied, no matter how many times he tried, he didn’t stop, just enough to make me void, light blinds me, my soul is fleeing.

On the morn,
At the surpassed night
My heartbeat pends
Eternally I sleep, at peace
Those who know me weep
For my plotless reality never ends

Nature’s lay idiot, I taught thee to love,
And in that sophistry, Oh, thou dost prove
Too subtle: Foole, thou didst not understand
The mystic language of the eye nor hand:
Nor couldst thou judge the difference of the air
Of sighs, and say, This lies, this sounds despair:
Nor by th’ eyes water call a malady
Desperately hot, or changing feverously.
I had not taught thee, then, the Alphabet
Of flowers, how they devisefully being set
And bound up might with speechless secrecy
Deliver errands mutely, and mutually.
Remember since all thy words used to be
To every suitor, Ay, if my friends agree;
Since, household charms, thy husband’s name to teach,
Were all the love tricks that thy wit could reach;
And since, an hour’s discourse could scarce have made
One answer in thee, and that ill arrayed
In broken proverbs and torn sentences.
Thou art not by so many duties his,
That from the world’s Common having severed thee,
Inlaid thee, neither to be seen, nor see,
As mine: who have with amorous delicacies
Refined thee into a blisful Paradise.
Thy graces and good words my creatures be;
I planted knowledge and life’s tree in thee,
Which Oh, shall strangers taste? Must I alas
Frame and enamel plate, and drink in glass?
Chaf wax for others’ seals? break a colt’s force
And leave him then, being made a ready horse?

High upon the snow cover'd mountain,
Due fully hear my pitiful cry of prayers,
Delicate delightful muses, guide the mind dear.
Toward a no limit of cloudless sky,

I draw my gaze upward the distant long summit
Knowing bright heavenly eyes will appear,
And graceful beauty's light will bathe my face.

So listen for my roars lifted aloft, high
Upon the hot airs breath, which the Southern
Wind pants onto deserted Egyptian sands.

The jutting rock face sheered the endless blue,
Cutting glass deep into the desolate heart
Of the lush green landscape in view.

Jagged rough terrain, damp dewy moss, and loose
Boulders, which caused even balance to
Hesitate with every gentle step I planted.

The unending toil brought worth of gold in sweat,
Was every bit treasured, the burning
Limbs, sliced hands, and sodden feet exhausted.

For the wreath prized reward that will be presented
With feather gift of wisdom and honey memory;
A stomach full appetite would gladly ask for more.

I have approached this tall mount once before,
Have with fragrance occasionally heard hymns
Drift scented perfumes from the peaks above.

I have only been divinely blessed by whispers,
Only borrowed the glistening tune of silver,
Stolen measure of sapphire that were not my own.

Time of grains fallen now guide my soft hands;
Time of sun turning has come where ones heart strums,
And pulsing veins swirl their flows with warm blood.

So on I precede, strive of warrior courage.
On I climb with bloomy soul, a need for dreams
Of swollen mists to shroud my ever eager strain.

Unlock your latch of bolted chamber doors,
Raise and listen for my foot steps tenderly
Strode upon your morning dew welcome path.

Lead me kindly through your sacred dance
Which forever gloriously plays the lyre
Upon stories of ancient pages from winged truth.

I faint within your immortal presences abyss,
And dullness' black sleep engulfs my vision.
I feel your breath breathe kisses onto my lips,

Fresh spring of flowers stemming new buds
Fill my deflated lungs to the brims edge
With pure white smoke of graceful voice.

My journey, although hard of adamantine stress,
Fulfils the purpose of raging rivers torrent
And spits words with sprinkling showers to my work.

I feverously search the coastline for angels;
Now I ascend peaks of prisoned rock for answers;
Swim the waves of grey Ocean; fly in motionless air.

For every gaze that catches your chestnut eyes,
Every sly serpent that hides scales in covered shadows,
You cure deadly bites from diseases staring into sin.

My love petal soul exists within yours lily white,
As peerless charms sow with green fingers of vine,
They entwine this summit, embrace and inspire;
Within the songs of floating glory, they resound eternally.

Laying in this mess
Watching this room spin
Upon my desk
I notice my pen

Like a sword and shield
My pen and pad
The weapons I wield
The strength I have

Like a volley of arrows
I launch my words
My heart it shows
Through these adjectives and verbs

If only I’d verbalize
As sincerely & and sweet
As the words in my mind
Feverously flow onto this sheet

It’s my new year
Time for my new struggle
That’s one less fear
One less reason to be muddled

Still after 22 years I’m not used to the spin
I still sway with the torpid orbit of this earth
I still feel more like ripples in the ocean
Billowing out helplessly by forceful winds
Than like the fish that swim solid beneath its gale
My legs still ache to move backwards as
The ground below me charges itself
Further and further forward, still, into
It’s circular rhythm, perpetual and exhausting
What I’ve always seemed to think was
Its true underlying intentions
To drown me.
To never stop ringing around itself
To never lull in its constant wind-blown vim
Created by its imposing movements
To never let me parity my body above sea-level
Never letting me know of or be thrown off balance, me without
Any knowledge of or way to grasp a steady pole.
This swirling pool of motion with each tick and tock right,
It engulfs me with waves of pressure, its crests crashing
Heavy on my attempts to stand beneath it.
It renders me dizzy without senses.
The blood-thirsty rocking of this earth
Whips hair feverously across my eyes
Blinding me to the ground I would grasp to steady my body
If not for the winds ebbing across the planes I struggle to stand atop
Winds, rubbing my hands red and raw and unable to feel
Slashing my fingers with invisible knifes
I would catch my breath, find strength to stand, if only these winds
Would slow with the stall of the earth’s movement, if its swirl
So constant, did not weigh so heavy and hot around me
Burning with tropical heat, thickening the air, heavy as water
And me, wishing for gills.

I look across
And see the beauty,
Currents of the Universal Ocean

My current of life moves
And flows in harmony
With the Universal Ocean
The creator dwells in me
There is no right, no wrong move
I go, free
The dark moments are but illusions
Part of the journey
One moment of many
Pushing me forward
Setting motion to my winding current
That slows just as it quickens

Many currents meet
Very few merge
To become one eternal body

When our currents merged
A feverously violent whirlwind formed
Quick, forceful, exhilarating, until
You realize you’re stuck
In the same spot
Circling
Around and around
And what seems like movement
Is not

With all our might we part
This is why you’re on that side of the ocean
And I’m here.
I don’t know our fate
I don’t know where the current is going
I just know where I’ve been
And if destruction is formed
When our currents are together
Apart we are peace.

Anhänger of bands
Parades in here
Your voice
Feverously
Dancing
In my skull
Coming from our mouths
Each ****** idea we think
Careening through my body
Embedded in my DNA
Spelling out and adding up to somebody
Who somehow
Is,
Just …
Holding on

misty eyed children shift in gossamer sheets
spider web silken swaddling  
hold arms and legs at bay
whilst the neocons pull delicate straws
from deep pockets
lined with south African diamonds
and Venezuelan crude
slowly they sip the crimson life
from the babies *******
piercing hearts and slurping long
pulling each and every droplet
into an insatiable void –
feverously unwound and placed back
into wombs forever altered
space creating blank eyed apathy monsters
only fixated on technologic advances
and trending topics
broken minds unable to grasp critical thought
only seven second processing
and on to the next hashtag
expressionless blight on humanity
also, the future of civilization –
tears well as I sit across from children
lost in phone
lost in space
faceless emotionless creatures
bravely feeding medication
to their elders
for 16 dollars an hour –

Dear happiness,
Your memory is a chef's kiss upon my cheek;
A delight upon my tongue
and a blessing to the little moments in life
that glows a pleasant hue of warmth.
You periodically saturate the background
of what seems to be infinite chaos.
You are a little spark of light in a dark room
that fills the soul with satisfaction,
But unfortunately your grasp is fleeting;
in one moment and gone the next,
A whisper of sentiment  
trickling down from the heavens
that bounces off our skin
as we dance in the rain.
Your wealth is extinguished
easily by the  horrors of life,
and I can rely on you no less then
standing on a mound of quicksand.
For most hedonistic tales end tragically,
those who seek your warmth eternally
find themselves wallowing in despair
more often then not.
The suffering of this world is just more consistent
and pours out it's muck feverously.
The extravagant whims you produce
are quickly overrun by plague and famine.
You are delightfully valuable
and undeniably desirable in every capacity,
But you are simply one spice of life.

I wish you upon every one of my beloved,
and your joys are ever so welcome,
but I have found something, someone,
more reliable to stand upon.
Something that exceeds just the moment.
Her name is meaning conjoined to her sister purpose.
Yes, misery and darkness still envelope our plight,
but these two sisters, soften the edges
for which we stand upon.
As we walk our journey upon the shores of suffering
she enlightens our foot steps and guides us forward.
Though the misery still seeps through our toes
we are driven together without heed.
She makes the suffering worthy of life,
and transforms our stumbling blocks
into valiant victories over our demons.
You may erase the darkness briefly,
but she traces the outskirts of pain and sorrow
with an intricate blending tool
that makes walking through muddy sand
a little less miserable.
She scrubs clean life's bitterness on my tongue.
Her ability to transform life into something more,
is a breath of caffeine.
She is the Goddess of exponential growth

HOWEVER, the bliss of meaning
comes with its own variety of cost.
His name is responsibility
and the weight he bares is quite immense.
He is knighted with duty and honor;
Countless sleepless nights working
followed by stressful days a slave.
He requires effort and upkeep,
day after day maintenance.
His effort is religiously monotonous
Sitting at a desk counting numbers;
chopping wood and building fires;
digging deep into the earth of life
in the attempt to develop a garden of pleasures.
Blood, sweat, and tears rain down
his ever muddy face.
He is a knight that fights the darkness daily,
but he knows deeply the horrors of battle.
He is the fire that heats life into fruition.

Although his cost is deep and anguishing
the reward of his sister supersedes.
both the cost and the terrors of life.
Nothing compares to looking into her eyes.
with a childlike love and desire.
So yes happiness do come by,
sprinkle your affection upon my life and I.
Dance together with my beloved
and swing life away for no tomorrow.
But know that even when you are away.
and the darkness hugs me tight,
I stand on a solid foundation.
of meaningfulness and responsibility.
And I will see you another night.

Yours Truly,
Monster