You made your choice, our song is sung -
I wont speak of your sins -
  or the pull of your riptide tongue -
   not of losses and wins -

   I found religion in your eyes -
  Prayed silently for love -
Drank eagerly your liquored guise -
been drunk for long enough.

I.
Well you know that I sip on my sadness, my dear,
filthy palms, filled to the brim.
And I know that you watch trains
passing by, dizzy eyed, still drunk with sin.
Your teeth reek of reality lately,
You smile facts, figures and cracked calcium.
Now, once more with cupped hands
leaking, shaking delirium up to your chin.

Well I know that I’ve missed the point, honey
I should get it tattooed on my wrists,
but you know you talk like firecrackers
so flinching gets awful hard to resist.
I make believe that I’m right like craters
make moons believe.
So I’ll comment on comets and ignore
truths popping between parentheses.

My delusion has your lips liquored up,
but I notice your tongue...

II.
You say,
“It’s fiction we live in. You play in pastels
and fake hollywood rhythms and I’m tired,
staring up at your screen.

You're addicted to this diction. My voice is lost,
screaming these words you keep stealing
and twist for yourself what they mean."

III.
Your lips liquored up,
but I notice your tongue's not numb.
Drink deep, darling. Let's inoculate.

IV.
And you say,
“It’s fiction we live in. It’s intended for men
like you, bottled, up-ended,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."

It's this clothing, from bedpost to box-spring,
It's all wax-coats and smoke screens,
live lit-candle lasting
When did skin begin to fit wrong?

V.
So they say, one day
Or, one day, they say,
we’ll find ghosts sewed to the seams
of Fringe Wolf bones picked clean
who waltz wicked and crooked a foxtrot to show
that sometimes loss is beautiful.
And when I ask for your hand you’ll look tragic
like this dance was only ever for me
and my feet always fall off beat
Like I beat off any discreet romancing
To pretend that this dancing was
Anything more than masturbatory.
I guess I do dance the way I drink:
Heavy handed and troglodytic
And a little listless, but I always fight it.
So while you walk away, I’m drowning drunk in cinderblock boots; Toe-tapping a slurred S.O.S. like some song you kept whispering.
You keep whispers like keepsakes.
You speak so soft but
Baby, your voice sticks with me
like sickness.

VI.
And you say,
“It’s fiction we live in. It’s intended for men
like you, bottled, up-ended,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."

Alright, it's fiction that we live in
It's intended for men like me, bottled, up-ended,
but at best I just seeped through your teeth.

VII.
I stitched script to my chest like a scarlet letter vest that attests there's no Soul here worth Saving but ******* come save me anyway.
Your voice sticks
to my ghost-sewn, sea-floor bound foot steps like sickness.
Tread lightly, my love. Let's inoculate.

VIII.
So when they ask for me at the after party
With neon eyes and harlot tongues,
You can tell them I traded this stale air in
For forest fires and tornado lungs.
Because I’ve been reading up in matchbooks
how to dance with disastrous fate,
and I'm finding my rhythm so wake silent
or sleep long, my love. Let's inoculate.

Mixing your whisky breath,
              your unshaven cheeks,
              your liquored-down smile
                                                                               in an orange bottle labeled B.

WITHDRAWAL withdrawal withdrawal
Advice from a man with unshaven cheeks, a ring around his eye, and a cross near his breast.
Withdrawal from him, be careful, withdrawal from him you’ll see.
Clenched fists and a bouncing ball of hair, tied, atop my head

Sundays are slow, a holy ****** awaits.
                                                      They teach we aren’t supposed to be here.
                                                                               They teach this is not home.
Everyone is temporary, and
the concept of forever: my methadone.

But he’s only a pain reliever, you see.

River bamboo arrayed in lace tiers
consoles the birdbath on its loss of robins
Intemperate August staggers in liquored air
of wavery heat and layered sighs

Leaves relinquish their rush
toward this “ripe on time”
Blackberry brambles have ceased to reach
now bow to ponder their plunder
while petunias, those bold delinquents!
bloom as if the frost’s lethal cling
were some myth
the antique roses had made up

Bud, bloom, revive!
See the generation of the bee!
Bud, bloom, survive—
to do it all again
for the single sake...
of treasuring beginning in the end...

Her bicycle, my geranium
have found eternity together
on the sun spattered patio

She—
opens the screen door
as I—
climb the morning stairs
She—
squints smiles amongst sleepy freckles
who has not brushed her hair
in a late August moment of not caring

And I know it will all happen anyway
no matter what I do....

I was deeply mesmerized, through her dull look I was incised;
Her eyes looked far beyond my world & all the memories I bore,
Her tears were suppressed in her captivating me with a stare,
Her lips would say the words on mine with each word I’m looking for,
Her breath would flow into my heart with each beat I’m dying for,
Still I sought her to the door.

Forever I chose to roam, everywhere with her is home;
She just lingered in my heart but I left my peace outdoor,
Winter was a time of sorrow, but we dreamt of new tomorrow,
But tomorrows came with terror, terror that did taste so sore,
But tomorrows were much painful than the days I lived before,
& she lingered than before.

My heart strings I tried to weave, with some threads of endless grief;
Searching for some face some trace, of her upon my memories floor,
Deep in me I tried to call, I found nothing can console,
Glimpsing her straying in some castle lain deep within my core,
She allured me to beguile me somewhere lost into my core,
Lost within forevermore…

In me a thousand demons weep, aching me in wake & sleep,
Scathed & scorched, seeking your smile that lulled their wicked hearts before,
Thousand raging mutineer, down the silver chandelier;
Those whom you once did inflict, & left their life in twitching war,
Those you provoked yesterday, & incensed their nocturnal war,
They are whom I’m dying for…

As I stood glimpsing you fleet, shadows smothered down my feet,
Fragile were my crisp heart beats, those beats that were solid in core,
Though I am the one you crave, you raised in my heart my grave,
Yearning was harrowing, severing, one can’t endure nor ignore,
My desire have seared my hearts with fires I cannot ignore,
& my fires taste so sore…

I’m condemned to watch you flee; it plucks feelings out of me;
While these voices stuttering muttering; voices I’ve not heard before,
Voices resonates in my veins, filled my heart with myriad stains,
Stains of noises of the voices of my bones & flesh & gore,
Stains of lovelorn lays & cold old days & my spilled livid gore,
Stains upon your castle door…

You were poising through each room, in fragrant feverous perfume,
Burning all my flames vehemently, surging all my beasts to roar,
Flaunting fluttering in each chamber, on the eve of deep December,
Tainting this untarnished heart that just sought you & nothing more,
Confounding that steadfast faith that believed you & nothing more,
Now faith won’t taste like before…

As I give up empty tries, your eyes kissed my bleak goodbyes,
Then you lurk behind the dungeons of my dreary darkling core,
Wicked me O wicked day, when I pursued you to stray,
But in straying I keep praying if you strayed it won’t feel sore;
I’ve strayed in much lonely nights, & lonely nights did taste so sore
Without you into my core…

As you stroll in me & breathe me, look beyond me gaze beneath me,
Look beyond your horrid world, the morbid heart apart you tore,
Now is fainting swooning searing, & your absence keeps on tearing,
Every shard of hope that lingered deep inside you fill with pore,
You severed my happy thoughts & happy thoughts are not galore,
Wish you were some place for more…

I’ve renounced every Love, & still you rove & still you rove,
Still the phoenix flame is aching, healing, waking me once more,
Thousand times your name I call, now there is no place to scrawl
Your name on the walls of my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
set your luring eyes to my heart, upon which phoenix may soar,
Haul my heart unto the shore…

Shattered chastened, I am sitting, watching my cells as they’re splitting,
All my soul is torn asunder, falling under, horrid curses that I bore,
My fate is to stay awaking, tasting nightmares as I’m aching,
Scathed & bruised, the hells I cruised without you seems not like before,
Scathing breathing, grueling seething, senses I’ve not felt before,
Without you inside my core…

Stricken thrashed & Flayed & shattered, each shard in my heart is scattered,
Quavered fluttered, badly battered, almost dead at your front door,
My flesh is cleaved off my bones, drained in deep hazy unknowns,
Disassembled was my conscious, rapt & smitten was my core,
Insecure, no cure can take it what erodes me deep in core,
For you’re not here like before...

If you only chose to waive, come along & dig my grave,
Lest you watch each wave subduing me away far off your shore,
Swooning fading every night; choking, burying alive my light,
Out of anguish that you’re absence scourged & languished, twinged & tore,
Now it flays me mauls me impairs me feeding on my screams once more,
Those that rise far off my core…

My blood flows with fire surging, steadily emerging, steadily emerging,
They keep suffusing submerging in my heart as you ignore,
All your torment seems in vain, my soul’s liquored by my pain,
All my tears are blood that’s falling all like rains in days of yore,
Now I’m stewed by your long absence that I forgot days of yore,
When we used to sway & soar…

Nothing can ever awake me; you seize me as you forsake me,
You absorb me as you ache me; you possess me from the core,
Illude..Spirits..Opaque...Livid.. Once before words seemed so vivid;
Once before our Love was prancing, prancing as we used to soar,
Once before our hearts were fighting, side by side on Love’s vast war,
When you thrived deep in my core…

Now you’re presence irritates me,
It cleaves warmth off my embrace,
now your absence ghost still hates me,
You have left me abstract space,
Wicked, fallen, out of grace;
& I can’t hold on anymore…

At the going down of the sun
will the world be less complete,
the cinched robe of night less intolerable,
as she ebbs away on cosmic string,
emulating a massless, dazed neutrino
blinking in and out of existence,
unobserved and uneffected,
liquored and unloved?

In the wake of a June flowering,
when foxglove lures the honeybee
in six day flash, bud to corolla,
blossom to blossom, parade of stigmas,
digitalis stamen braved, anther at his back,
the bee comes gathering where none else dare.

I'm trapped in sun scourged  skin
Fighting to get out. Screaming for  benevolence
Confound by the  phobia of my appearance
Struggle for success should I be a street opportunist
Sale dope like my Dad did
Walk the line between life and death can you believe my dads dead
A walking  stereotype and be what there assuming
You ever try to swing at a fast ball disguised as an underhanded pitch
Swing and miss pain sets in
I'm bleeding in hopes of true equality
You see my people were still in chains
Deaf to the freedom bells
Colonials were children of a country
Battles fought for freedom released from there parents reign
My ancestors were  stripped from  soil dragged across the sea
To new plains force to be slaves
Some my view this as tasteless and lame
But it’s the truth
Asphalt skinned products working in fields barefoot no timberland boots
I send prays up and salutes out to the troops
Cause if we switched shoes
 I’m not sure if I would do it for you
Cause I don’t see innocent faces
I see innocence taken
Cops are cruel cults cause communities to be complacent
Conditioned to be racist
A people treated like Jesus stripped naked
A people where knowledge use to be sacred
Now money driven like I never made it to my graduation
But you see this money I’m making
I am caking
Cards of independence
An illusion it’s really assistance
Do we know that its fraud
To trade money for independence cards
Taking tax money doesn't erase the odds
Liberty by the hands of man is flawed
I was formed in this soil pushed out of America's womb planted my feet from birth
Kiss with this dying flesh destined to be treated like dirt
America a false independence since its start
You will only find freedom in the face of God
Pursing him with a  passionately postured heart
Angels sing when we say yes
Independence in Christ he paid for our freedom with his flesh
Despite all the political jargon
Screaming and freedom marching
Gods independence is like stars and space its infinite
Earthly independence in all its splendor compared to that is limited
Latching to this life's liberty is like licking
a limp liquored in leprosy
A  detriment is a  understatement
Put more hope in a representative than Christ . below the mason dixon an under states men.
Wars get fought for freedom
Bodies stack up for freedom
Money gets spend for freedom
How does peace gets forsaken for the sake of freedom
A fable is still a lie..
I wonder if animals in a preserve can recognize that they not in the wild
Gates open and chains broken when aligned with Christ in his Kingdom

and so my life rushes by.

no more razor scooter afternoons,

Barbie jeep and a kickball marathon,

walking home from school in spring, swinging a Powerpuff Girls backpack.

jumping on hot black trampolines, burning our small feet,

running to the park to see if we were able to hold on to monkey bars.

no more alligator tag evenings, falling down in wood chips but brushing it off-

I have always been a tough cookie.

and I become an adult soon enough, a victim of my own past and a

culprit of my future, but nothing in between.

Honda Civic and a movie marathon,

liquored-up nights,

high as the midnight sky, staring up at stars as far as the atlantic.

We are born not of flesh
carved from the visage of mother and father,
We are born of nebulae,
of a symphony in the snow and
the seeking of knowledge we never acquire.
We are birthed for
good.
We are grown in
evil.
Our lives nothing more
than the squealing of wheels
as they spin in our
sempiternal filth,
a footprint in the dust since God said
"Let there be fear and malice".
Faces of dead, liquored men,
shovels in our piracy
digging for hidden treasure in the graveyard.
So we crawl in the holes and
cover each other up.
Insulting the demons who pull us through,
blessing them
with good tidings.
We go at our passing, to face the Devil.
God as our jury,
your hamartia plays witness.
I am driven only by my fantasy of tomorrow.
What a way to live.
What a way to die.

Maybe
someday
we'll
be
intoxicated
enough
to talk
about it.

I have a squid in my belly
and she likes to be fed
filtered cigarettes
and whatever *****'s on sale.
When she's good
I'll treat her with
a couple lines off the table,
but I never use mirrors
because she's never good
until two in the morning
when she's all liquored up
and I'm not looking my best.
These days I'm pretty fed up
with her *******, because
sometimes she'll stretch a tentacle
through my esophagus
and pry open my painted lips
and reach out to whoever's closest
and go for their neck.
I try to swallow her back down
to protect everyone
but she's a tough broad
and it's hard to tame a creature
when you're not sure
where she ends
and you begin.

Max didn't even want to be there.  His coworkers had invited him, and he hadn't had an excuse handy.  

In truth, Max's coworkers didn't want him to be there, either.  They had secretly hoped that he wouldn't come.  Everyone else was going, though, so they felt bad not asking.  Now they wished they hadn't

Here he was, though, sitting around a table in a seedy local pub, waiting for "The great Garbo: Magician and Hypnotist".  Probably just another hack who was filling time between kiddy birthday parties.  The show was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, but hadn't, and now Max was being forced to socialize with people who he spent a great deal of effort trying to avoid most of the time.  It was crap, and he wasn't happy about it.

In truth, Max was very unhappy in general, but in a way that his brain was unable to put into concrete words.  He'd been unhappy for so long, in fact, that he didn't even recognize that he was unhappy.  He had just long ago come to the conclusion that the world was unpleasant, and he was the only person who understood that.  Everyone else was a foolish prat who could barely keep from being distracted long enough by the next shiny toy to notice.

He regarded his mostly empty beer that he had been nursing.  He heard his co-workers talking about some new superhero movie when the lights finally dimmed and a man walked onto the beer-stained stage and threw his cape (the **** had a cape!) dramatically over his shoulder.  "Good evening, my fine ladies and gentlemen!  I, the Great Garbo, welcome you.  You may have seen so called 'magic' before, but I promise you that when you leave here tonight, you will be filled with awe and wonder!"

Max yawned, rather loudly, to glares from his co-workers, as Garbo continued his spiel.  He looked lazily around the room, hoping to catch the eye of the waiter for another drink.  If he was going to be forced to watch this swill, he was going to at least be liquored up.

By the time Max looked back towards the stage, Garbo had wrapped up, and was starting.  He began with a number of standard tricks with rings and never-ending handkerchiefs.  Each time, Max would mumble something under his breath.

"...Obviously had it up his sleeve"
"Trick ring, there's clearly some sort of mechanism there"
"...had that deck set up before"

Meanwhile, his co-workers shushed him as they attempted, in vain, to enjoy the show.

Soon, though, the magician got more creative, juggling a set of ***** that turned into doves, which then flew back into his hands as ***** again.  Then he turned his entire coat from dingy black to a brilliant  red with a wave of his hand.  Max remained steadfast in his desire to remain unimpressed.  Surely this was some sort of electronic trickery.  He stifled another yawn, then decided to go to the restroom.

He got up, and tapped one of his co-workers on the shoulder.  Was it Reed?  Or James.  His co-worker looked at him warily.  "Hey James, I need to take a ****.  Need to get through".  He looked annoyed.  Must've been Reed.  "Can't you wait until the act is over?".  Max rolled his eyes, and then mustered up as much sarcasm as he could (which was quite a lot). "I'm sure the 'Great Garbo' won't miss me.  I'll just be a minute".  Reed (yes, definitely Reed) sighed and got up to pull his chair back so Max could get out.  Max picked his way through the surprisingly large crowd towards the bathrooms, not apologizing on the way, when he heard a voice.  "You sir, you would like to volunteer, would you  not?"

Max turned, and Garbo was looking at him expectantly.  He hadn't heard what Garbo had been talking about. He recovered his wits and responded "Nah, I'm sure one of these simpletons would love to, though".  From the crowd where he had left he heard someone yell "Oh come on, Max, maybe he can hypnotize you into having a sense of ******* humor".  Max gave the finger in the general direction of the voice, earning him a few boos from the crowd.  Garbo put his hand up to calm the crowd.  "Come now...Max, is it?  Surely you've been impressed with some of the show tonight?".  Max scoffed.  "I'm impressed that you're able to make a living off of parlor tricks", he said, before turning back towards the bathroom.

"Max, I think you need to come up here"

Max suddenly stopped.  He felt like he had been going somewhere else...but that couldn't be the case, he was supposed to be going onto the stage.  He turned and amiably made his way up the few stairs

"Now Max seems to be unimpressed with the show.  Shall I show him some real magic?"

The crowd clapped

Max wondered how he'd gotten on stage.  He had been going towards the bathroom....he needed to...

"Max, you seem unhappy to be here.  I think I know what'll cheer you up, though."

Garbo reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small rubber ball.  

Max suddenly came back to himself.  "I don't know what drugs you gave me to convince me to get up here, but this show is over and I'm leaving.  I'll be sure to let the police know that your show relies on your audience being high"

Garbo grinned a toothy grin as Max walked away, and then spoke right before Max got down the first step, dragging each word out carefully.

"Who's...a...good....boy"

Max stopped and considered this.  I mean...he certainly wasn't bad.  There was certainly room for improvement, for sure, but he wasn't bad, so he must be good.  He slowly turned and stared at Garbo, and was surprised as his mouth started moving.

"I am."

Wait. What?  Max's mind reeled and his eyes widened in fear, but he did not run.  His legs didn't want to move.  His eyes seemed to be locked onto the ball.  That looked like a really nice ball.  He wanted it.

Garbo took a step forward.

"Who's a good boy"

This time Max answered more confidently.  "I am.  I'm a good boy"

The crowd clapped and whistled, though they weren't sure what they were seeing.

Garbo moved the ball back and forth, and Max watched it intently.  
He wished Garbo would throw the ball.

"Who's a good boy!"

"Me! I'm a good boy!"

"Whosagoodboy!"

"I am!  I am!  I'm a good boy!"

Max had fallen down on all fours at this point, though he barely noticed.  Everything seemed to be growing in size.

"Who's a good boy!"

I am!  

"Who's a good boy!"

(I am!)
Woof!

"Do you want the ball?!"

(Yes! Yes, throw the ball!)
(Oh god, what's happening?!)
Woof! Woof!

"Do you want it?!"

(Make it stop!)
(Yes! Throw it!)

Max could smell so many things, now.  He smelled the beer, he smelled Reed's aftershave.  He smelled the strangeness that Garbo reeked of.  Garbo scared him, but Garbo also had a ball.

Garbo finally relented and threw the ball, and a yellow streak flashed by him as an excitable Golden Retriever ran to intercept it.

Max picked up the ball in his mouth and stood proudly.  There was still something scratching at his brain, though, and he couldn't figure out what it w--what had happened?  Everything was wrong.  He couldn't stand up.  Max wanted to yell for help, but to do that he would need to drop the...

...ball!  He had the ball!  The man who threw it was calling for him.  He ran back towards the man, who pointed at the ball.  The man wanted the ball, but Max didn't want to give it back.  It was his ball.  Suddenly, the man had a treat.  Max dropped the ball and took the treat.  He heard a loud sound and he turned to see...

..the crowd.  The crowd was up on their feet cheering.  His mind filled with fear again as he realized that something was terribly wrong.  He felt wrong, everything looked and sounded and smelled wrong.  He was a....

"Good boy, Max.  Good boy!"

Max received a pat on the head, and the scratching at the back of his head faded a little.  "Crate, Max", said the man, pointing to a small crate at the edge of the stage that several people in the audience could have sworn wasn't there at the start of the show.  Max ran to the crate, where he found a bone and a squeak toy, which he bit into to hear the satisfying noise that it made.  Laughter echoed from the outside of the crate as the man closed the door.

"Everyone, a round of applause for my assistant Max!"

Suddenly Max resurfaced.  He was acutely aware now that he was in a cage.  Fear gripped him.  Surely his co-workers had noticed!  He strained to look through the bars of the crate.  He spotted them, and they were applauding excitedly.  He saw, with trepidation, that his coat was no longer on the chair where he'd left it.  He had been erased from their memories.  A guttural terror crept up through his stomach which became a frightened whimper as the sound was forced through his new snout.  No one seemed to hear him.

Max lost track of time, but eventually the show ended and everyone left.  They wouldn't remember what happened, only that they were left with a feeling of awe and wonder upon leaving.  They wouldn't remember Max.  At this point, Max was curled up in the back corner of the crate, unwilling to move even as Garbo opened it, reached in, and started scratching his head.  

Suddenly, as if the final structural support of a dam had been breached, the endorphins from the scratch overwhelmed what remained of Max.  He was filled with the warmth of something he had been unable to feel his whole life.  His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he started panting excitedly.

Max was happy.

O' Liquored Escutcheon!
Please aid me in my plight!
I came for a beer,
and now I fear
I'm here for another night.
While the jukebox is puking
the disease-riddled bodies are movin'
I take a bow,
and I fall down
Someone, somewhere was right.

The faintly reminder
I spew in disgust, that we
All humans, do smell, have non-
Descriptive individual
Odors, shapes and sizes.
The repetition on formless copies
Upsets me, songs in pop verse
Sing about the neighborhood's
Children, and their inability to out run
A gun.
Smells of my own liquored breath
Remind me still how un-wanting
*** can be.

In the sour drips of yellow
And daffodils,
Not unlike a lemon,
****-ish in texture,
The people only
Say hello, out of disarming
Fear.

The dead end road
Where all is told
And you know I hate to say
That I told you so

Can you see me
Through that white picket fence?
I swear to God
I'm really not that dense

There's a place for you
And there's a place for me
But what you don't know
Is that
My tongue
Has already set me free

No, no quite alone
Each measure of tissue
I have
Is one of unwanted bone

So the sewn see themselves
Lucky

But I've got their key
And trust me
There's no reason for them
To get so fussy

Crown jewels atop
The wooden table masterpiece

I ask for nothing in return
For my eternal sufferings

Yet I see all that can be in front
Of me when the music roars
For the soaring tongue tied mad
Press their fingers to the pad

Fingers bleeding for the needing
To press is easily an antidote to
No longer repress as the next kin
All wrapped up in infinities Win
Makes sure the labeled Sin dances
With dull eyes drunk off the night sky

And as I sit the liquored up smoke
Fresh off the nicotine fix
Floats to heaven as the seven ladies
Of wonder and plunder
Wash their eyes as their own prize
Shifts
Making them lift things
They denied in shadowed wish

Two tell me something
I know nothing of

Would be a gift worth listening
Hearing
Seeing

Every syllable off the mouth & page

Sends the paige to the wine dark room
So oh' so soon they realize
That their prize is really
Just the same as mine

Cast me out far from the coral reef docks
My mind is tight and my heart is indefinitely locked
My hands rest smooth upon the hands of the clock
Each life grows to fight the inevitable stop

Can I hold true to myself here?
Where is the naked End?
There is a praise inside of
Far from reach of rhyme and form
Yet the feeling of the norm resonates so resolutely
And still something feels like wicked pollution

There is a spray of ****** blood upon the battlefield
Who really knows when in time who invented the wheel?
We have our customs and we have our ways
And really who in the end is who to say
That is wrong and that should be cast everlasting in Song?

Dante danced dutifully
He said what he wanted
Without fear of the Pen

I will cry when Dylan dies
Whether He
Hears me
Or not

Ashamed when the praise of the worldly class
listnes tosos the numbers press up front of the teruqlia stilled numbers
Of obsididan housese knpown for the since of Presnt himps and the arabian
To tell the noon of the high seas so I see what you need until it presses HER face to
Mine and I see it and YOU SEE IT
aWHERERE in turn
the babifailnight sky showe the horiozon

But press me
Know me
See past the fright of what I'm supposed to be
Beacuse I have no positive faith in the suystem at hands

SHOOOT ME
MAKE ME BLEED
SHOW MY WORTH
IN ****** FORM

Swimming atop stars shining in
Flesh-like delight
I see Marilyn ****
And all the praise for Her
That was so and justly due

I Have My Heart
I have my Breath
I'll push them
Till
I end them

When that will be
I just can't guess it

The sidewalk cramps me
As the stamp ever-lasts me

We are all so scared  

But when the light reaches
The nectar of our honeyed eyes
The sun hot on our foreheads with
Our thoughts only our beds

I see
Continuation

A pressing of the matter
To see what will be created by
Both our faults and

Our Triumphs

We are one another
Can't we see?

I wish I was you
And you wish you were not me
And he wishes
They were I
And She wishes I
Were all at once

I eat
I bleed

I breathe and
One day

I will die

But the prize
Is not
How much I've gained
Or how much pain
I've sustained

Tis' only the moments
I have had with

The sounds and symbols
I've writ down
Without duel plan
Never seeing no end
To a one and only friend

As I'm watching the wash
Of an everlasting lap
Against beaches that are stocked
With desperate and tanned leeches

And Her Sister Sand's
Observing the old man
With old and
Weathered hands

Tell me a secret
I promise to keep it

Color it burgundy
Praise it with holy
Vulgarity
And humorous sincerity

I enjoy the name I have
For it is none that I've heard
Name me what you want
For the sound washes away
With the twilight of the surf

All is the same
As if nothing
Has came
When you remember this moment
Grip tight
No atonement

A smile
A grin
A step upon
Worn
Steps that
Will and won't
Last

The haze of the room
Has started to fill
What I needed to believe
In what I thought I should do

imagery in front of me so
i can talk
to mine-self

i am but a small boy
simply ensnared and oh" so"
woefully entrapped

care free until the
feel of the reels
make all of my life real

and a crowd smiles
Or frowns as the town
in due fire or flowers
Makes Her souls rounds

What if she was caught drinking and then the nosey nellies would be thinking again
of just how ****** up She could be and how they have something fun to spin
the Doctors of Spin
the Ladies of Sin they call us when we get all liquored up and forget about our children in the pickup truck
the cursed reality of boredom and monotony
the drowning days of diapers rotting in the corner of the bedroom...while She visits with "friends" in the hall
Take a drag
Turn into a hag
Get so mad cause the nosey nellies just don't understand how messed up your "life" is
and how much you hate
yours,
your friends
and
your family's
Cause none of them really care...they just love to stare and spin there tales of woe
Pointless woe
Turn into a ***
and next year it will be more of the same to start at the beginning again.
She won't remember what she promised or what she lied about
She might remember what you cried about
It will be ok though cause in 10 years, that kid will be out the door
Peddling the hash
Stealing people's stash
and one day it may come....he turns into a man
while his momma is just too numb.

Mars, they say, is God of War
Venus Love...
But not no more.

Mars is red, an angry shade
With knuckles like
A sickle's blade

His right hook
has some might in store
He lays her on
The threshing floor

There he whacks
The chaff from wheat
She's just a dog
For him to beat...

Mars is red
Venus is blue
Black as well
A nasty hue

Her friends tell her
To up & leave
For all the beatings
She's recieved

But she knows
That if she leaves
He'd find... and ****
With none to grieve.

So she stays down
On knees to pray
That Mars would simply
Go away...

He will not
She's bound to lose
Red & blue...
A purple bruise.

Finally she'd had enough
Packed some food
And all her stuff

Before he could
Wake up to belt her
She went into a caring shelter

He searched and searched
But never found
His goddess was
Nowhere around

He drank and drank
His days away
Finally t'was
As she had prayed

Mars hit bars
With liquored breath
He finally drank
Himself to death.

Mars was red
And Venus blue
But now she's FREE

She could be YOU.

.



SøułSurvivør
4/20/2018

I’m watching lives,
lives that might’ve
been mine
flit in and
out of impressionistic
existence in the days of
bursting moments
breeding sculpted trees into living
instruments breaching screeches
throughout our ears.

gods! How long it’s been
since eternities
spent lying
white lies across pale
secrets spilt on carpets
of ash inhaled to
just get past another still life of
tangled cigarettes atop
those books I
can’t remember breathing

in picnics painted with
green black stares of
stripped down cathedrals and
I’m leaving to repent my
thoughts twitching along
steel cords killing visions of storm
tossed seas smiling at
friendly dragons green,
just him and me laughing at
St. George’s dying look.

Cat’s cast bronze curls
inside sleeping shirts hanging
off the back of
suicide notes, shoulders bent
while we stare and
dare to listen to lives not
ours to live. Chocolate covered
whiskers fixing colors for our
pictures; but it’s all
false imaging anyway.

Pirates and witches taking
shots at our thoughts
downing liquored treats
divining dances towards the driven
roads leaking floors feeling
beats crackling down
our spine; cigarette
kisses in cafe corners
watching stars explode blank life in
gold spattered sheets.

A lone man hanging life ten
thousand miles high falling
into swirling cotton candy flames
and how I want to
believe it ever really meant
anything at all! Footprints
never changing in the
Moon lit laughs down streets
I hardly care to remember.
Black Crow!

Black Crow! How you
seem to fall out his eyes
crying chlorine tears into a
mouth never coughing up
life and breath lost on the
backs of laughter smiling mirrored
spirits of fleeting peace reflecting
tomorrows lives back to our
eyes searching fabled bravery
in Arsenic's cup.

We’re all trying to see past
our eyes and
understand how we
can trivialize the rings of
swirling flames blinking in
Sol’s iris; photographed
silhouettes tying
tongues to labeled nebula
in one junkies eye
reflecting the need

gnawing upon my
mind watching your
thousand smiles spend
my time and I’m trying
to remember what it meant
to see another breaking
mountainsides, ninety mph
vibes falling naked in the
grass underneath
your back.

I’d rather watch ghosts
doubled, holding islands
of dust solidified on those
stone cold basement
floors fighting clothing to chase
an innocent drunk down stairs
falling into nights 900 miles
away, memories I don’t have
cast aside, tiny capsules
encapsulating dying fires.

How G and R and
E reflect the sun in
skies dancing floating
clouds just gone by,
making friends with a
blaze of smoke pouring
out our words in the hue of
blue; lit cigarettes
catching the cold rim of
nights growing old

with fungus, chemicals
washed up on the edge of
photographs stained with
pieces of a memory in
a lamps single light; I’m
borrowing camera’s to
impress a girl entwined
in spiders silken webs
hanging voids of
every colored space.

And god, how young
these faces look, too
young in the company of
these stars scratching
at the door to break out
of these times; lost
bicycle rides down aisles
playing with Atlas
shrugging off his burdens
to ride 25 cent smiles

in the lights of tonight’s
fires dragging branches
dried of sunlight spilling
golden liquid out of
plastic red cups. Freshly
tattooed haircuts watching
in all earnestness
growing old and pretty
soon all our hair will run out
of our skulls to cover

the bathroom floors in
**** and *****
covered stardust;
we’re peaking our heads
out the shower
while we dance tip toed
steps across the
branches growing out of 
decks into frozen
chemical nights.

Out on the town
Looking real snazzy.
Hearing the music,
Sounds quite jazzy.

Look over there,
They aren't so choosy.
Bet they buy a drink,
For this old floozie.

Getting all loopy,
Beginning to schmoozie,
Liquored up,
And feeling quite oozie.

Swaying to the music,
Holding on tight,
Hope to stay standing,
But losing the fight.

It’s out of my reach
There are always vultures hovering pensively above for any remains
And your sad blue eyes have seen a million disappointments
From
Sea
To
Sea
And I don’t think an
“It’ll be okay”
Will stop them from sinking

And the ****** addicts, and the prostitutes, and all those corporate men
Will live on blithely
While you slowly wither

Whatever they say
Love is never enough
It is a merely a puppet show
Colorful and loud
With a Shakespearean script

During its duration
It’s master drinks a fifth
Until his cheeks are rosy and his eyes are bullets
Until he stumbles onto the stage he built piece by piece
Filled with liquored-up animosity
He’ll rip his wooden companions apart

Wood rigid like claws
Protruding with unabashed vehemence
Paint seeping like a thousand comets gone awry
The audience erupts with laughter
Destruction being
The only logical way
Hearts are suppose to end up

I’ll pull you in until my veins scream with purple agony
But you’ll simply unhook my line and smile
Your face will dismiss me with false reassurance

You just crack open a beer

And the storm continues it’s unwavering journey
You look down at your bottle and your blue eyes fall into it
You’ll take a sip and glance up
And the sky is nothing but pestilence
Face solemn and unmoved
Eyes filled with white

You crack open another

We have spectacular moments.

We have deep conversations.

I call her many names:

Smoking buddy.

Liquored up.

My sense of humor.

Opened up to.

Shared experience.

Peer pressure.

Free of judgement.

Acceptance and giggles.

Sobriety is not our Forte.

Challenge accepted.

I beat you.

Pass the jungle juice.

Spike the coffee.

Smoke a square.

Spark up that bowl.

We aren’t dull.

We aren’t complete.

We are dumb.

We are lost.

A version of myself.

A version of her.

She doesn’t always say ‘yes’.

But ‘no’ can be quite rare.

She knows some secrets.

She’s seen some scars.

Boundaries broken.

Nights of puking.

Open opinions.

Desired suggestions.

This is only the beginning.

of a co-dependent friendship.

White hot homeless men
with crossed fingers in the lost
barrios of Barcelona
make chills in the shadows
and
In the red  air
with the salty blows
of sea chant

I kiss your wet forehead

Well-liquored in broken languages
Giants all of us
Dancing in the wasted ashes
of whatever rosy bars

This must be where the homesick find
warm corners

and
Sleep.

This must be where sad lovers
touch hands and sing
each others names
inside
the skylines of stone angels

This is where your
vanishing heart fell on the floor
and you blushing
had to watch me hold it

This must be where I die in the slowly somedays

Something will change
or I’ll sell my blue veins
and last teeth
for a castle carved in
the hills
and let your cool snake tongue
slip in my American ****** mouth

Then
All the slow tortured deaths
in the world
will seem like tickle fights
between dumb children

Take me through the streets
poor streets
Spanish angel
I taste history in your
wine breath

I promise in blood never
to promise again
if we bury each other
in the used sand
and never set foot in the
cities
again

This will be where I die
feeling the
heavy of your
eyes
burning my chest
the same someday
slowly.

Then all the slow
tortured deaths
of the world will
seem like a lost lustful trick
played on strange strangers.

Fill me up with hot air
and hope for
Fill me up with hot air
and hope to

god
I don't fall

my lips are chapped from kissing you,
i'll blame it on the winter blue,
an unseen taint upon my skin,
licked bruises bloom from deep within.
i should have known loose liquored lips,
would lead handprints upon my hips.
do you love the way i smile?
stay and laugh with me awhile?
i know you love to trace my mouth
i watch your gaze it  travels south
remember when you called me pretty,
here inside this broken city.
now we're back where we began
on trembling legs i stumble, ran
you are silent, say goodnight
i don't reply I'm not polite.

I need some therapy woah
I need some clarity woah
I need some therapy woah
Ice me down
Ice me down
Ice me down
Liquored out
Liquored out
Liquored out !
In the clouds
In the clouds !
I need some therapy woah !

Not reality
A passing thought
Fancied notion

Me,
Melancholy  muse

I'll sing for you
Dance for you
Play my strings for you

But you can never know me,

I am courtesan of the night
Lady of secrets
My soul is but a piece less than yours

Unwhole,
Ebony,
With scarlet bleeding through its cracks

You may touch my skin
Kiss my liquored lips
Unbind my hair,

But you will Never KNOW me

I exist only in the reflection of a tear drop
Soon to evaporate

alone
broken
crushed
destroyed
empty
******-up
gory
hurt
isolated
******
killed
liquored
murdered
nonchalant
ostentatious
painful
quitter
resented
stupid
troublesome
ugly
vicious
*****
xenic
yielder
zymotic

STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP
STOP IT NOW

you're not
a
word

a word
does not
define

look in the mirror
right now.

this is not you.

close your
eyes
and
see
your soul.

"Hello,
oh wow,
you're gorgeous."

Was once cane now resolved to gold
This yeast and barrel turn to my soul
Black liquid that I can hold
Burn the throat and warm the bones
Heal the wounds and fight the cold
Liquored down til I grow old

amidst the loud noise
& the sweat that drips from heated foreheads
your hands slip from a new friend to a red cup
& for the rest of the night you’ll idly stand
maybe concerned with tomorrows homework
trying to catch a feeling
of the way peoples arms look without weight

you weren’t going to even go out tonight
but your friends said you’d regret it
even though you knew you wouldn’t if you did go
you went anyways, worried this time was different
but now that your here
and they’re playing fetty wap for the second time
this time isn’t different

what is different is the artwork
someones failed attempt at collaging girls *****
tasteful side **** to full exposed kardashian
the only thing unexposed is the exposed brick they covered
ironically and sadistically
you remember frat boys don’t do metaphores

you manage to get your hands on some chips
as your eyes meet some guys across the room
awkwardly and unobviously locking in place
you step away from his line of vision
moving backwards towards kate
who can’t remember your name from film class
so you have to hint at chanelle for input
stumbling to call your name through liquored breathe

lost in thought, but somehow forming sentences to kate
someone nudges your side
Alex
He was the guy across the room
the lighting must have been weird or something
you talk for a bit about middle school
he hugs you uncomfortably
wondering if there was some broken rule
about accepting hugs from people that aren’t your boyfriend

He tells you about his skate board
attempting sarcasm at every turn
his voice burning into the air
soon the conversation swoops to music
he asks about your taste
you say you don’t have any
and you’re arms start to feel weightless too

You say bye to Alex (and to Kate)
Chanelle mouths “where the hell are you going”
before you know it your on line 2
drifting to bloor and younge
writing about a party
that you weren’t even suppose to be at

you're writing about a party that never really happened
but somehow that night still really ****** you off

Liquored fingers entwined in hers
The nectar on her palms
Dripped to her wrists
Before, she did not know the scent of sunshine
But in the glint of copper and gold on their wrists
She could see forever
And beauty
and youth

Then the night came in a blaze of colors
Sinking into her skin and drying the sweetness on her hands so that it cracked in a glaze
She was afraid and alone
Cloaked in darkness blind
Nothing could save her it seemed
So she looked for shelter inside herself
Hunched her shoulders into her hurt
Waited for the sun to rise

And then the light came
Not in the form of peaches and summer
But in unadulterated silver
Clean and cut out of shadows
Illuminating her eyes in a thin layer of moon and breath
And the stars spread before her
Plated crumbs around a celestial plate

She found sustenance in it, spread her arms out so that she could catch
every bit of the light
and the glaze on her wrists peeled and fell off,
and she stayed that way
with her eyes wide open
until the sun came to claim her once again
in a cherry red glimmer at the edge of the earth.

Baby,  your question....
how it is with I,
do you really want to know,
must I repeat again
this nocturne impromptu?
Chopin all in pain for you,
how must I know
this life to grow,
how shall I start,
must I be still that smart....?

Well, I shall be honest, frank and true,
haven't slept, only thoughts of you,
haven't eaten, only beaten (lit)
by my loved one, my beloved thing,
really went through a cling.

Nor had lived or have drunk, am really to sink,
into the deepest seas, oceans and my own brink.
Haven't swum in any aqua,
nor in drops or driplets, or omega,
or in any other liquid....

Et comment allez-vous?
And how are you,
during these days too?

Never 've seen your face,
or any pace or trace,
at my place.

So please, do not suffocate,
as you once told me all do resonate.
This is prime, culminating, finest
foremost first rate, highest, most dearest.

I'm again a zombie,
not in vain,
very much in pain,
like that poem....
from long time ago,
with My Paintress'Eye and Metaphor,
who has lost who has won....

Only you to die for,
you tell me, baby,
and please, sing
for me that nocturnal song,
you sang that song,
so powerfully strong.

Message delivered,
I'm now liquored,
with the Aqua,
and the Omega....


A Déjá-Vu
© Sylvia Frances Chan

We used to spend this time together,
but recently I just ponder alone,
gazing at a dusty photo reel
ten years in the making.
A flood of scenes uncovered
from young swing set drama
to liquored up laughter,
silly whispers in confidence
to creating stories we'd never tell our kids.

I've been staring for hours;
I wish I knew why,
and I wish I knew how,
but the film has timed out
and you're no where to be found.
A solo swing creaking, you're drinking alone,
with no one to tell your secrets to,
you'll make stories with no audience.
You just want to remember it as yours.

I walk to the drugstore
down the street
alongside the girls
with the midriffed shirts.

It’s enviable,
the way that they still
believe.

The girls
with their short-shorts
and lace-ups
and ***** sneakers –
they believe in the party.

The party
is in the basement.
It's sticky and neon,
humid like August.
No one judges you there,
and you’re beautiful
and so are your friends.
See – when you’re 18
nothing matters
except the party.

For me? The party’s over.
I leave with a liquored tongue.
After all,
there’s only so much you can drink,
only so much you can be passed around
in the eyes of the boys,
only so much fun you can have.

Isn’t that the point?
We test our limits,
we want to die.
The red cups will be abandoned on some table
to be discovered later.
You hold the plastic-bottled *****
and pour it down your throat.
At least then you’re fun.

The boys will fumble over your body,
one finger too many
a hand pressing down on the back of your head –
like they dare you to resist.
You don’t protest,
you weren’t designed for it.
You submit,
at least then you’re good.

There’s too many things to say
about the morning after.
The bouncer tells you it’s last call,
and suddenly,
the party’s over.