I.   Warning

A boundary of warning issued premature
to a lad settled on adventure
will plant definition in a red
corruption code of ketchup on a
post-picnic bib orphaned to the wind
like a fictional friend's home continent's flag

The vision-fielding velocity of neighbours'
arrows augment the sleep-shearing flares
of the father's eyes in the centrifugal
bullseye of his boy's current-green nursery
so close to swelling wide as a planet
now a marble left behind in favour of
a shrunken moon's spheric promise
of an otherworldly adventure

II.   Island

Subservient to boundaries of none but its own
the loner of landmass nurses its nautical mischief
through the employment of sensual labour in darkness
sizing them up to encompass a knowing glow
for the enigmas of bare-faced daylight

The premature thirst for adventure
attended to by the drink of sanctuary
poured from the skew of its welcome-mat shore

III.   Neighbours

Game and Disappearance serve
the Monarchy of Volume under code names
of Hide and Seek undertaking missions in the name
of circumstantial viceroys: decibels
scanning search parties through the x-ray of silent night
for the orchestration of the morn

Tweeting birds equate an army horn
rainbowing the insurgent black sky
with adventures in crusade-recital grooming

An airy beach of reeds is looming
in the coastal fog bracing to embrace
the route taken on the faith of melodic compass

IV.   Discovery

No labourer of mortal being beats the sun
out of bed not even the little one
succumbed to slumber in the bony shadow
of the instrumentally inscrutable contestant
to the claim of composition by his
solar brother's sacred nursery rhyme
insuring the rest and energetic rise of time

This adventure-hearted child heard no battle cry
in what the rivals of his bearded babysitter
dubbed The Sound Of Panic
just the anthem of a little conqueror beneath
a bucky smile of approval on the heels
of a swim befitting of an older lad but not
the aura of exhaustion conquering
the eyes of a goal imagined and achieved
and the smiling gratitude duet in return
from the dutiful and loving neighbours
lulled to their reunion reed field
in anticipation of a father's target met
with a son's accuracy in tow

11 26 11

Postmortem, precoitus
Precarious promiscuity
Pantomiming presumptions

Enriched Enouement
Envying earthquakes
Empathetically evolving

Natural naivety
Needing negligence
Nymphomanic nodding

Instrumentally insane
Insinuating innocence
Immobilizing imagery

Sarcastically singular
Sacred succulent
Swallowing Satan

You need to use vocals
To spread a message that is hopeful
You need to use vocals
To create a point that is focal
You need them
Like R.E.M.

A message from your heart
That goes through your brain
It can be called quality art
Once it reflects inner pain
That runs deep through your voice
And your lyrical choice

You don't need scientists with beakers
Or super loud speakers
You don't need to make a keynote speech
Or grab for things that are out of reach
You just need a lesson
Taught through confession

There are wonderful things done instrumentally
But I want to focus on someone instead of me
Because thinking through someone else's words
Seems more productive
Rather than repeating myself so nothing is stirred
Which feels somewhat reductive

If you have something to say
Speak up
If you can't find a way
Drink up
Music based on emotion instead of thought
But be careful to not get mindlessly caught
Until you're starving
From culturally carving
Out anything that is strange
Until you have a truncated range
Of empathetic understanding
That's one way of landing
On a lame existence
For plain persistence

Art will always reflect life
They share the same plight
The best way to communicate
Is not to ruminate
But to speak with your mouth
Before your mind goes south
End the depressing deflation
Through simple human relation

Your gift of pain
Becomes my drain
My rhythmic refrain
From ending this game
Please allow me to hear you
So I may no longer fear you
It doesn't matter if you're not local
I'll relate to you through your vocals

I play the guitar and write poetry because I
have to , it's something I work my way through
each night , emptying my mind on paper , a few thoughts
committed to music , score books penciled in , erased ,
odd collaborations reaching logical conclusions , the first note
becoming the last , a forest fire of a past out of control ,
easing the conflagration with timely prose , ascending , descending
scale combinations , every memory both good and bad streaking
past , the mad writer with his muse on his lap , disclosing his
theory , some nights writing his own obituary , as if anyone understood ,
melody is chopping wood for the instrumentally inclined , something
to chip away the night , something to help you turn off the lights ,
to dream , revisit , reinvent , work your way through to write again* ...

His back was slightly hunched, but not to the extent that a stranger would notice. His lip jutted forward, like an animal edging towards a precipice. He used his voice instrumentally. His clothes were generic. People would not remember him after a fleeting meeting, he was not regarded as a charismatic man. He was born in Gateshead, England, although his name was Schultz.

He entered the hotel with minimal fuss, neutrally. Schultz did everything with the air of a man who wished to leave no trace after him, unaware that he was being pursued and plans were in place to put an end to his existence. The youth at the reception desk, looked out of place, exceedingly handsome but in an androgynous way. It was very difficult to read the youth. He was all function. 'I have a reservation'' the youth opened his mouth to respond as the chandelier fell. The impact was fatal. A noteworthy end to a monotone man.

I love aesthetically sensualistic men,
elevated and blazingly fresh men,
a **** smile, profound pronouns,
astounding nouns, zestful, distinctive,
magnetic, competitive, complex, charismatic,
compassionate, open-minded, observant,
knowledgeable, and logical, harmonic hues
of delightful affection, their smooth flow,
their deep, equally smooth voice, modulated,
silvery, and soft-spoken.  Ambitious
and adventurous men.  Accomplished
and artistic men. Clean-shaven and bearded
men.  Innovative and inspirational men.
Sophisticated and spontaneous men.
Masculine and gallant men.  I celebrate
all amazing men, their groovy sweetness,
thrilling electricity, instrumentally metaphoric
shoulders and arms, and sweetly scented chests.
Men are so abundantly blessed and full
of heaven and smoothness, coolness
and lucidness, poetically intriguing,
a nouvelle novel of the greatest literature.
The cadence of their masculinity speaks to me,
so vulnerable in this moment, taking pleasure
in their warm and wondrously inviting escape,
their addictive and compelling song, divinely
delicious thighs and legs full of hard muscle
and nasty spitting lyrics.  I think of their great
power, how they intoxicate my mind
with their thought-provoking originality,
utterly buoyant, feeling so close in proximity
to their pleasing existence, every flawless
mural covered in priceless and reflective art,
their bodies a musicality of epic invitations
towards a destiny of limitless love languages.
I yearn to lay on their chests, feel their peacefulness
enter my cells, make me whole, make me forget
about the storms in my past, let their hands caress
me, hold me tighter, kiss me, make me miss it all
when they are so close to me, take me away
into their notorious nation, let me fall asleep
to their soothing voices whispering in my ear, so loved
and protected, invested in this fiery romance.

I knew I could never have you, but that didn’t stop me
from writing about you every day, creating monumental
scenes and dreams that I could escape inside of and feel
your nearness around me, to walk through the salty sand,
embracing the instrumentally lively azure skies, the desirous
clouds guiding us to the gorgeous oceanfront, snow-white
swans swimming serenely in the uncharted and flawless
seas, their wings so magically intriguing, our hands
interlocked, our eyes peering at this lovely landscape.

I knew that it was all in my imagination, but the more
I wrote about your sexiness, all the creative words
filling my mind, leading me further into another world
as you kissed me, holding me so caringly, telling me
that you would never leave me, that you wanted to flow
and grow old with me, loving each other until eternity.

And I was so pleased, beaming to the highest degree,
so lucky in love, this mutual trust between two heartbeats
singing in unity, the most passionate climaxes and ******
advances transporting my body into thrilling trances,
how I had always imagined this moment, but never
thought it was possible, that I could have a chance
in this romance, all the glancing from afar at your
perfectness before we started knowing and developing
feeling for each other, how many times I had daydreamed
about feened for you, just wanting to have my one shot
to unlock your door and prove to you that I was all for you,
that if we came together, I would be your forever,
that I would give and do anything for you – that’s
how much you meant to me.  

And as we stood by the vastly lovable seas, the wind
rolling in from the west, your hands caressing my arms
and shoulders, feeling so at rest, this was the best destiny
that I had ever reached.