"foreing" poems
warning: freedom really exists
and it's among us.
highway to nowhere,
the pleasing
hot
breeze
in my head again.
my life starts now.
light up a cigar
with mourning fire.
blood boiling in
anxiety.
morning fire.
up in the sky,
angels dance in
foreing torsions.
(lust is the engine
of the world)
scattered distorsions.
ethic-moral-rationality.
eyes leaking out of
the sliced throat.
an ancient greek comedy.
bones cracking in
panic gestures.
no disaster.
(end of second act)
knife rises to
set-free the
newborn.
no pain.
heart opened up
in two,
and in the middle,
love.
brains bursting in
bold erections.
heaven (there)
hell (heathen, among us)
big purple clouds,
night-resurrection.
confessions bring
confusion.
the desert...oh! the desert.
my lungs are filled with dust.
san pedro's highway.
are you going someway?
highway to nowhere.
devotion to pleasure,
brings obscure light.
faith has no measure.
are you going near?
boiling liquid flowing free
down there.
down the coaly shore,
where moon's waiting
for me.
(darkness always brings
light).
calm, loneliness whispering,
in sharp noises.
water is near.
calm,the hatred king
burdens his death.
zany fools driking,
celebrating.
(end of third act)
Nov 19, 2013
Nov 19, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
Inspiration
The uplifting spirit
Taste of wine
On surfaces of glass tables
Reflections of peace
Laughter echoes
Leaving behind
Chilling aspects
Happiness a foreing intruder
Don't feel compelled to fight for love
If your destined to loose her
Through sight of glass mirrors
Reflected horrors
Sorrow shadows
Black heart
Black heart
Influence
The uplifting mixture
***** spirit
Happiness a forgotten thought
Forget the cheap ***
And everything else bought
Infectious as cancer
Attacking the mind
Crippling slowly surging
Rippling throughout the spine
Bucking and bringing
The knees you cried upon
Forget the forshadowing love
All thoughts of it gone
Reflect on feelings
Emotions shown
Through glass windows
Nov 20, 2012
Nov 20, 2012 at 7:29 PM UTC
i paint the blank
about as well
as any gilded painter of the renaissance
from the foreing stretches of my heart
i sculpt it: dready monologue, self portrait
my one work of art
of fear and sandstone,
membrane, chills
i fear it gives me comfort;
as i know it, comfort kills.
May 11, 2012
May 11, 2012 at 1:41 PM UTC