The rocking chair,
I sat there with you
And you sat there with me holding my fragile-dreaming hand
As the wind blew the warmest summer scent
through the blind-starred sky
I saw you
in those stars,
in the brightest ones
that spelled out my future
in white ink
scrawled over the black night.

The rocking chair,
Where I watched the sunrise sprinkle red-light
on my auburn hair
As you gave me
My own star
on a gold band
The unsettling murmurs
declaring us too young,
too naive, too fast
were drowned out by the steady sway of our rocking chair pendulously swinging toward the sky.

It was a different time then,
The rotted chair has been taken down
And my fiery hair has faded to gray with age;
sadness;
time
and your cool, blue heart
refrains from sound
But yet
I know
that somehow
you still sit
in our rocking chair watching me
watch the timeless sky scrawl our past
in black ink
over the white stars.

Watch from your fancy TV screen -
Hypnotized
as your illusions of choice atrophy
A trophy, at your feet
Conceived in rage
From the place where miracles abound

The Eschaton will Immanentize
Dark energy entities
emanating from every corner all around
Hi - Def Surround Sound

Hide - Death Surrounds Hounds
It will bring you to your knees
When the Earth and all its Majesty
Crumble at the hands of the One-Eyed Messiah
The one I despise
You are all deceived

And to him they will scream
"Save Us"
Disenchantment following
Falling victim to his folly;
False exalted flesh reveres no seer
Neither those seared by his imprint

The prevelance of his contrivance
an resemblance of penance
for lack of repentance

And I'll cry to the sky
For the impending hour is nigh
And all things will seem unreal
Perchance a dream

When the duality is truly realized
The wailing and lament
of innumerable disembodied voices
will dually harmonize

The masses will chant
Praying for requiem
And then duly perish
Silhouettes
Pendulously suspended by strings

The caricature of a drip.
Defining in it the sum of a short existence. A life.
Wet and alive and pendulously hanging.
I stare up from the caged depths, my eyes eagerly alive
as it drips down in a cascading spiral
less destructively than I have dripped.
A drip to know and to watch like the T.V. (that's never off).
To see the freedom in its fall.
But once dripped, dies alone. Ripped out.
Disconnected from the unsurviving cloud.
Unpoured, it seems, I murmer out loud.

I watch another drip. My reflection watches back, I'm sure.
I wish for it to break, so I can close my eyes
and hold, for a moment, a friend. A life.  
And to feel the dependence of the drip's lullaby.

Does nothing more than a drip make sense?
I gasp as they escort my back.
And does it listen when I tell it of my life
before it drips out of me like freedom in fashionable attire?
Redder than the red-lipped mouth of a liar
concerned with "family matters" and saying "sign here".
Lies that drip out of them like foolish wars.
Or the painted affections for a newborn child.
Oh such terribly dreadful dripful lies they are.

Down. Down. Down.

I'll fall down the endless corridor away from them all.
And drip beneath the cementum cracks of the floor.
I'll hide with my drip.
I'll drip with my drip.
I'll sip it a bit. Bitter, but I sleep better, I think as I slip away.

Drip. Drip. Drip.
Even after I'm gone.

friable alabaster bones huddle
in rugose rose wrapping,
words hanging pendulously in the air,
and I think this is where we fell in love –
somewhere in the Gehenna between
how-do-you-do and nice-to-meet-you
the moon thawed and
bled
into the crescents your fingernails left me with.

an entourage of black & white monsters
rabidly collapse--on a mall's glassy floor.
itching away at pixelation, retaining the
right to crudity.
the mall's scent marketing spreads its
delicious mist around yellow hazard signs,
methodically placed around hinterland's
embattled fringe.
the horror vacui of a mall, full stop.
the Art Brut of the disciple that got away,
having escaped from a ****'s forth crow, or
Judas' Romanesque royalties.
the unnoticed figure that whistles apart the
mall's glass ceiling, rubs his eyes to reveal
St. John of Patmos ******* out the soupy eyes
of lambs.
shaking free an extra large fountain soda from
Christ's right hand--dissolved by flavor.
denominational puddles rising from the mall's
glassy floor, as Christ hacks up demonic roars
as he's assailed by children.
whose parents wander off to ***** a voluptuousness
that sheds their hands, all over the place.
a pendulously oversexed wash of half-baked
******, as if a feather could be roused from an
indeterminate wing.
the adjourned high courts of dream.