Hammers on heartstrings,
And I wish to tell you of their
Sound.

Lo, how each chime rolls
Or taps the surface of the air,
Each an exultation of depression,
Creation.

Eyes sting with salt, wetted with
What has been – the foolish enterprise
Of my words. These notes, they
Scale the patterns of my life.
Pure emotion.

Inexpressible.

Hammers on heartstrings,
They fill the emptied rooms with
Sound.

Lo, how each key sings.
Their voice naught in solitude,
Yet a celebration of life’s discourse in
Union.

Ears ring like a music box. Chopin’s
Soul in the spaces beyond time,
Touching mine. Our sorrows pastured
Green, laying life under the ground,
Tough fingerprints.

Hammers on heartstrings,
And I wish to tell you of their
Sound.

Lo, how they still my jittered soul.

Lo, how I accept the drizzle,
The arrival of autumn
At my window.

A thin white dust of snow littered the concrete path like an overspill of Styrofoam *****. Summer had her hands buried deep into the lining of her coat pockets and her chin pressed tightly within her pashmina scarf. It was the first bite of wind she’d felt in a while. She had been holed up with her friends for several days and the concept of loneliness was already foreign to her, much in the same way as privacy. She could feel the cheap red wine rust in her veins as her body told her “too much” and in truth she was ready for the crackle of vinyl and the promise of fresh sheets and a shower. The week had been fun, she guessed, she’d certainly felt closer to her friends than ever before, even though they all went back for as far as it was worth remembering.  ‘She guessed’. She’d been guessing for a while now, living in absences with everything held at an emotionless distance – whether or not this was deliberate she could not decide.
It wasn’t a particularly long walk back to her house, enough to take the bus - but she guessed she wanted the walk. The cold air made her eyes glassy and occasionally she had to blink furiously to catch the water forming along her lids. The din of distant inner city traffic consumed the airwaves around her but the path that lay ahead of her was surrounded by parkland, and within eyeshot there was a lazy brook where children would often be seen playing, though they’d be at school at this time of day. She guessed. She wasn’t quite sure of the time, but she knew it was the 15th of February. She couldn’t always be sure of what year it was though, her head was often stuck back in the 1960’s, before she was even born.
Summer could feel the claustrophobia of youthfulness shedding from her every angle and with every insipid step she took, the world took on a more familiar feeling and she took her first real breath of air for days. From out of nowhere she felt overwhelmed at the breathless ease of the faint snowfall and the slate grey of the sky. The clench in her stomach – Summer often found herself weeping for no real reason, and she could never quite work out whether she would be weeping for beauty, or for sorrow…she guessed that there was some compromise between the two. All she knew is that she was very sorry when she reached her front door that her walk was over and that she must again disappear into the walls.
The heating had been off for almost an entire week now and Summer could hear the house groan into action as the radiators cracked back into life, and she felt much the same. The kettle jittered on the spot as the water steamed and bubbled welcomingly and soon the kitchen was greeted with the smell of tea. Summer retreated to her room upstairs. A wide room with white walls meant that it was often brighter than the world outside and it often appeared to unadjusted eyes to have a ghostly glow about it. Summer thumbed through her proud collection of second-hand LP records until she settled on listening through Pink Moon for what was now an uncountable time. “Saw it written and I saw it say, pink moon is on its way”. She let out an exhausted but contented smile and fell onto her bed. The sheets were cold from privation of use but the coolness on her cheek was welcome and she closed her eyes and imagined she was still outside on an effortless walk, with the sounds of Nick Drake overpowering that of the exhausts of one thousand cars.
After several moments of another world, she reluctantly sat back up and began to take off her clothes to get a little bit more comfortable. It felt good to get out of her clothes, she’d only meant to stay for one night so she had not been able to change her clothes for days and she’d appreciated the idea of clean underwear in a way she never considered worth noticing before. She unclasped her bra and felt it fall clumsily to the floor and just sat there for a moment, bare-breasted in the pearl white of the chilly room. She couldn’t help but feel like an illustration, of pastels or watercolours. Her mind was still a convoluted collage of the past few day’s events – the haze of alcohol and **** still occupied a small corner of her being, despite the cleansing walk and the wonderful clunk of a familiar guitar bouncing across her walls. Her ******* were hard from the cold so she threw on an extra large male t-shirt that fell to just below her upper thigh.
She slid off her skirt and underwear, which fell limp at her pale thin ankles. Looking at her thighs, she could still make out the small thumb-sized bruises scattered across them from the distant and removed *** she’d had at some point last week. At least she guessed, it could have happened back in the 60’s for all she knew. It felt as if the past week was not real, a familiar feeling. She was almost certain that man who had shared her bed did not really exist and her bruises contested her own existence. At least that’s how it felt.
She turned over the vinyl and remembering her tea, slid between the covers and warmed her hands against the steaming ceramic. The tea was perhaps the most wonderful and delicious thing she had ever tasted and she felt it nourish her metaphysically. In a way beyond words, she felt herself heal with the rush of warm past her lips and the sweetness on her tongue. The room was slowly warming as she skimmed her legs back and forth against the mattress in complete comfort. Once the last of her tea had been drunk, she let the empty mug rest on the bedside counter and almost immediately fell into a dreamless sleep.

I will always remember the moment we met.
(Haunting woodlands in springtime, your slim silhouette)
The glint in your eyes sparked a tempest at dawn
overwhelming the dreams of a slumbering fawn.

I will always remember your singular smile
(Fusing fantasies, fancies and phantoms the while)
when I brought you a daisy, then fled from the room,
weaving dizzy designs on a mystical loom.

I will always remember first touching your hand.
(Like the wing of a sparrow, frail fingers were fanned)
With my heartbeat aflutter, I jittered with joy -
on the surface, a man, though inside still a boy.

I will always remember the sound of your laugh
(Merry mermaid amused in a summer sea bath)
as we strayed 'long the strand, for a moment, alone,
with your tresses a’ tousle and tumbled and blown.

I will always remember your breath on my skin
(Seeking castles in chaos, a spirit in spin)
as you drew me aside and our tongues first entwined -
tangled twists of amour had begun to unwind.

I will always remember the fires of love.
(Shades of autumn ablaze in the tree leaves above)
Crazy passions ignited whenever we lay
painting stars in the night with the dazzle of day.

I will always remember the nightingale's tune.
(Divinations awash neath a ruddy blood moon)
When we kissed to its cadency, laughed as we danced,
lurking lanterns in limbo forged shadows enhanced.

I will always remember the shattering knell -
(Wanton words tolled in winter...  ‘Adieu, dear... farewell’)
just a note near a nook where so often we slept
which I read and reread and reread while I wept.

Misty gaze, jittered breath
Sun burned skin ironed to stop the creases.
The fly never ceases to change direction
it follows mightily close.
Boxed into a shadow, one which no one else can see
How can that be?
Claim the sights as mine or ours?
Leave to follow mans created hasty pursuit
Chasing the everlasting scent of the poisoned flower.

The big man has too many sayings, creates etchings with his words
Repeatedly lost in the background of distasteful play,
All numbers numerate to a phantom deal
Answers long slipped under broken tables.
Open fields are searched like space,
Meteors fly spitting fire with gunshots
Shining towards an illusion of a finish line.
Crawl westwards some will say, crawl right, or jump and hit the explosive beckoning.

On
Days
Like this
When the deep blue skies
Shed their clouds
And made love to the horizons
Shall
We lay
On bedrocks
And lash our feet
Into plunge pools
And
Watch
Vuluptuous waterfalls
Walk elegantly down rocky staircases
And
Make
Mockery
Of the blue pants
The waters wore

There
The thunders
Will leer through the skies
And try to catch a glimpse
Of our foul acts
And
Even become
A parodist of her cuddly winks
And
There again
Become a beggary
Of my artistry,when I wove her eyebrows
With flowers

Moments
Like this,the rainbows stun with brilliance
And the umbra and penumbra
Will glare resentfully
Then
She will
Treasure me
All her secrets,dreams and fears
On the ***** of my tongue
I
Remember clearly
Like the romance played
By the moons at mars
When she said"without you,its hard to survive"and blush
And
I had tell her
All the tales of love from Adam

Yet
How sad!
When time gulp
Beautiful memories in haste
Like a drunkard
I had died six times
Till she came and breath life
Into me one more time

Yet
Today,I wobbled solo
To these environs like a jittered cheetath
Truly,I had been cheater

O,
How I wish
I can wash her off me
Her touches,her tastes and her smells
But someway I'm cowed
I might drown,and lose all hopes
Of beholding her sight one more time

I
Have no peace
And all prayers
For solace suspend
Beneath impervious clouds

Now and then
Will I starve silly
At motile moons and stars
With a little hope of her sight one more time
I'm caged in her absence,yet I lay in no cage
Am wholly buried yet I lay in no pit

Cheats

©Historian E.Lexano

On
Days
Like this
When the deep blue skies
Shed their clouds
And made love to the horizons
Shall
We lay
On bedrocks
And lash our feet
Into plunge pools
And
Watch
Vuluptuous waterfalls
Walk elegantly down rocky staircases
And
Make
Mockery
Of the blue pants
The waters wore

There
The thunders
Will leer through the skies
And try to catch a glimpse
Of our foul acts
And
Even become
A parodist of her cuddly winks
And
There again
Become a beggary
Of my artistry,when I wove her eyebrows
With flowers

Moments
Like this,the rainbows stun with brilliance
And the umbra and penumbra
Will glare resentfully
Then
She will
Treasure me
All her secrets,dreams and fears
On the ***** of my tongue
I
Remember clearly
Like the romance played
By the moons at mars
When she said"without you,its hard to survive"and blush
And
I had tell her
All the tales of love from Adam

Yet
How sad!
When time gulp
Beautiful memories in haste
Like a drunkard
I had died six times
Till she came and breath life
Into me one more time
Yet
Today,I wobbled solo
To these environs like a jittered cheetath
Truly,I had cheated

O,
How I wish
I can wash her off me
Her touches,her tastes and her smells
But someway I'm cowed
I might drown,and lose all hopes
Of beholding her sight one more time

I
Have no peace
And all prayers
For solace suspend
Beneath impervious clouds

Now and then
Will I starve silly
At motile moons and stars
With a little hope of her sight one more time
I'm caged in her absence,yet I lay in no cage
Am wholly buried yet I lay in no pit

Cheats

©Historian E.Lexano

his ethereal eyes
gazed into mine
those spherical chasms jittered
'i won't leave' he said
as his hand stretched out for mine
my demons peeked into my mind
as the whirlpool of memories arised in my mind
fear gnawed at my insides
yet
i took his hand
as he pressed his forehead against mine
our souls intertwined

Cliché Walking-
His hands jittered
Struggled to zip his
khaki colored jacket
Her eyes remained
On his pained face
Observing through contacted
Magnifying lenses
Somehow their eyes met
Past the jammed crossway
The cluttered New York street
Through the busy cars
And zesty pedestrians
With spill-able coffees
And steamy attitudes
Somehow their eyes met
And the air froze
Still as the desert
Although the air doesn’t freeze
‘Least not in the middle of spring
Although the desert is attacked by constant wind
The silence was like a pin drop
Or something to that effect
Although with the zooming cars
And obnoxious New Yorkers’
It couldn’t have been like so.
And they knew
They just knew
Love at first sight
And all that jazz
Without even knowing
They knew.
He was her Humphrey Bogart
Whoever in heaven’s name that is
And she was his Audrey Hepburn
‘Cause he seemed like the kind that’d know her
And so this, the cockyspaniel
And the chickyhuahua
Crossed the street
And met each other
Halfway…
Right there
In the middle of it all
Cars honking, women screaming
And they swore to the depths of hell
That people clapped and whooped
Because the STD filled kiss
Was Shakespeare inspired
Cosigned, even
And the love was tragic as ever
But hey
What did he say again?
All is fair in love and war and all that hooplah

We cannot have the new kid getting teased

You see Johnny Hapleton wants to go down the mall
Mainly because he is tired of his little brother teasing him, oh woh
And his family moved into this business mans house
And every day his brother would tease him all day
And make Johnny scared to do as his parents wanted
And yes at night his brother would be quiet
Johnny was sick of it, and said to his brother
Do you value your life, cause if you don't stop teasing me
Just for because I like to e cool, I will come to you
In your sleep, and before you know it, your killed
And the very next day, Johnny went to the mall
And a kid who lived on the popular end of town
Went out the same time as him, and he made a habit if it every time
Johnny went to the mall, he said to Johnny, your like us, man
And Johnny said, I am the new kid, and the kid said your like us, man
Johnny felt like saying, I was a loser in my old town
But instead he said, I am a man, and the kid, ****** oathe your a man
Your like us, man, and Johnny kept on saying I am a man
And the kid said your like us, man we like you, yes we do
We like you the best out of your family
No one in your family is cooler than you
Your like us, man
Then Johnny said, but I am a man
The kid said, yes ****** oathe your a man like us
And since then, Johnny's moral was lifted so high
And when Johnny left the mall, not just at the start
But every time, Johnny would say I am a man, I am a man
And the kid would say, ****** oathe your a man your like us
And we like you more that your family and then the kid
Left saying yes, he's a fool, he fell for it, he ain't like us
And what Johnny heard was be a man, your like us
And really this kid was teasing Johnny, implying that
He is still getting teased, and he is nota cool kid to it
He should just sit there and jitter, but the kid noticed he jittered
Saying your getting tested , oh yeah, yeah yeah
Get ****** mate, and his friend said yeah man oiss off
And it took 33 years for Johnny to realise that
These kids hated him, but maybe they wouldn't have
If he behaved himself, yes that sounds so cool
Oh yeah, get ******, yeah man go
Doing his little kiddie dance to it, making him say
Get ****** mate yeah man moving his feet like he is
Jittering to a tease, so Johnny actually does get teased
But no one really is teasing Johnny
Johnny is in his own little world
But he knows that all now, but doesn't want revenge on them
Cause he's nice


Sent from my iPhone

It was the sanctified halls of the fleshless ones, for those of purity
were only of inner form. No eyes did ever gaze upon anything of consequence, embrace was for the weak. As all was grasped with
white palms feeling nothing between hollow digits.

But in this abomination of existence, flesh was thesin of being unclean, un-pure in its form. Others did wonder at its true trepidation of why
it was looked on in such revulsion.It was in many shades but the few lingered on its true purpose of existence in this world of bone.

Flesh was like silk gloves as one tried its fit upon the cold form,
and as it weaved upon them in moist closeness they for a moment felt the coldness of there existence in this enticing form,
but to touch upon sin is to be consumed by it as it started to cohere
to more of this cold form till all was submerged in the flesh.

hands baring all those yesterday's, black the tie dye skulls without a bone to cross delicate impositions undressed to bleed into a
maple syrup disguised by the very tears of a corpses dream.

With thoughts that forgot to function for a thousand years, the rain would pour and clouds would be pedestals for lightening to shed
their load while  I'm stood in another boundary interrogating my
heart of stone.

unprivileged destined to absorb a nightmare envious because it never lived, it's breaths didn't even step past the word go how can I ever forgive a mist created especially by him

A demon in a fur coat resembling that one sheep on that abandoned Field, how can I push down those barriers when rivers guide me to a dead end an existence where life meets death and war is nothing compared to this.

a poisonous piece of ******* placed in one corner of my head just to tease, sending my words haywire swinging through the trees in a deep dark wood where answers are painted with the insides of an insects eyes and I

I am tied down to a patch of haystacks where witches gave up to
the insane frogs, where tires met tracks hiding my footprints in the acidic rain.

And the world never spun around on its axis again before my
form fell like weaker contemplations on a acidic wording that
feed upon my flesh. New born now devoured in diluted form.

Words where jittered from a form unknown to all, and we
descended upon each like a swarm of locusts. flesh the delicacy
of what our eyes now saw between these flesh suits falling.

We were the forest of white oak, strong in our joined reflections
now indifferent solitary only thinking of a singular moment
not of that which grew in pale comparison before.

We spent our emotions on tears of crimson as others not heading
to this inevitable reality of what had encompassed all. We were
wicker men burning from the inside, ash in form of absent reflection.

with wooden erections piercing right through where it matters ,blood clots defining our footprints ,our tattered feelings implanted upon a bespoke dress created for that very monster wanting to impress.

Wanting to conquer one and all within a form that was not wanting,
but now encompasses every fibre that now bleeds. For each dies on
this twilight reborn once again it to a hollow unfeeling form.

Guarded tiles bar creation's codeine laced butchery,
Fostering at-arms engrossed with fictitious prospects of eternity,
Fearing the necrotising bodies plastered with senseless agony,
Psychologically detrimental for there is no withdraw from insanity.

But exodus is inevitable within the institution of bereavement,
Mint frame spurn the cracked Psyche of the drafted disorient,
Forcing jittered terror in lieu of beholden for this malcontent,
Thrusting the mortal from snug bulwarks into a morbid accent.

Real dread torrent the battering heart before it spill over,
Clotted plasma fling and flood the metal enclosure,
All breath was taken by the creator’s exposure,
For only it dominates the grand tour.

To brandish and damage the Whitmanian sheen:

Can no one tarnish this?
Must anyone pollute it?

It is why I have taken you out into fields-
To make the possibility drift away from empty sight.

Does it not bother you?

To see a mismatched face,
a scrunched lip or sideward glance,
an awkward gait;

Does this not bother you?

I do not think it does.

I live in a rusted compass-
The jittered movement of a world of people opposed to me, fundamentally,
and if they do not appreciate some superficial charm, a quick wit or jawline, then I am a burial ground.

Does this make sense to you?

My shell- who I AM and what I AM in myself,
Is everything of myself in this world: do you understand?

This complaint is a feminine one- a constant feminine one and I do not understand-
it is why I have no patience for the division of quarrel when it allows a space for a will,
and no patience for women when they are born such beautiful creatures.

Do you not understand this?

Everything constitutive of the feminine- be the term bastardized in logistical torment or made to lay prostrate at the altar of the Wesleyan Thesis- is condensed and made perfect in the fold of an elbow, or the basic weakness felt in opposition to the disgusting brute that is the man.

I am a disgusting brute. I have a gut and I have hair on my body. I am a machine- the secondhand contrivance of a protective god. A monument to gestation.

Even when I ***, in brief movement and in brief moment, I am but a moving forth- out of myself and into another to be held, and this action (so crudely overlooked as to be made the absent declaration of an ALGORITHM) reminds endlessly of my transience;

And my transience IS ME-

In the womb I am a decision- behind the first action, the basic action that is womanhood.

There is no reading about this:

The problems of order, systems of order made unto systems of order, are for themselves, and as such exclude the scrunched lip of the passerby- they extrapolate from them an unrealized intention and fold into them as a torment…

And in the fold there is ruin,
and life conditions for patience in the ruin-
to be greeted with anything ‘other than’ is no different than being granted love in a passing dream;

And in the fold there is hope,
I am conditioned through and through, surely, to become something other than myself.

There is no medication for this-

No return to the unconditioned, or
Escape in the unconditioned,
only Logic in torment for the the significance of the interplay between a slit and a rod,

And the gentle retardation of Women
And the gentle retardation of Man

Made into a choice of scarves and lugnuts.