"grindings" poems
Crippled creature broken in ballistic bone fracture about the blind tile,
freckled in blade licked flesh,
back strap shoulder blades quiver gaunt as skeleton wings
sprinkled in splashed satin fruitless reds and auburn oils,
the child’s insides splattered across the stomach of the floor,
limp muscle binding that of bundled circuitry,
the boy only resembling needle and sticks
a mass of anatomy straightened out in lifeless splendor,
bone splinters clotted in saw dust muscle grindings
the face showered in locks and tangles,
galaxies and embered suns,
tassels golden simmered,
the creature’s hair a mane torn over his black socket eyes,
fierce in ferocity growling,
a monstrous roaring of prideful bangs,
Fallow face and cheek stomped to the floor as a rag
his form splashed about ground and surface.
Skin nearly bleached in cancer cell white,
a body folded as parchment, joints and ligament playing the part
lightless strewn as an idea lost in lifeless.
A white room hollow, muteness staling,
the busting of a boy broken in scaffold limbs torn
intwined amongst netted nerves wound about spindled bone
branched out in checkered blood stain
Shattered arms resembling puzzle pieced wings,
boy bathed in synthetic sunlight kisses,
But a watch crushed in brittle bronze shards about God’s feet
Aug 30, 2011
Aug 30, 2011 at 12:44 AM UTC
The reflection that peers back at me,
In my jo-black coffee,
Is taunting and eerie.
With every sip my face ripples and grows old.
The steam that was my youth is no more,
I have grown cold.
Like the remittence of the coffee that once was,
All that is left is grindings and sugar,
Undissolved.
To be drunk, regardless.
Coarse, as it runs down and grazes my throat.
The person who was staring back at me is gone,
And with every coffee that follows,
an unknown reflection, it will host.
Like the empty cup,
I have been rendered useless, by my own nihilistic judgement.
Oct 24, 2013
Oct 24, 2013 at 2:22 AM UTC
rubbing my rummy red eyes
against the harsh hard light of morning
last nights laughs and loves gone cold and bitter
staining the satin sheets we shared.
i woke up alone
wondering
if you were really ever there
if anything really happened
or if the drink finally seeped into my head
and conjured up a wild night
leaving me
laughing alone in the dark
naming the shadows and whispering sweet
garbled nothings
to no one.
i would like to believe my own
imagination would be kinder
but i know differently.
straining the grindings out of day old coffee
i wonder where you have gone to
what your doing and
where you are....
but i know the danger and the
foolishness of such thoughts
so i toss them away along with the
dead soldiers
of last nights wild war
sweeping up the leavings
helping along the hobbling thoughts
that last night was a dream
and you were never there at all.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 3:09 AM UTC
No matter the apple is ripe it is bitter in the end,
Tinkles of wine on the forehead and the mood is in swing my friend,
Love is in the air, the nerves are ever so pumped,
The innocent, heart, the true never knew of the later grindings,
Fragilities hit upon the tree birch and the leaves fell,
On to the grass trying to rot under the shadows of entrusted love,
Kept lying around the seeds of the fallen fruits around the well,
Shattered to the core like the fluttered wings of the dove,
Heavy price paid, to shed off the burdens sailing in the salted emotions,
Cushioned the pins thrusted promised to handle covered by hard earned situations,
Snap of the finger and the promise to live and die, ended too soon,
Unnoticed it went, deemed as mistake, deliberate the actions you were the fool,
Could feel the sweetness on the tongue, unable to handle its effects,
There were a few roses left in the garden, all had come with some or the other defects,
No room for rush at the bottom of the cliff, too crowded with the bodies,
Wish you had kept things pure and not landed in the state of sorries.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC