The rein is vastly emptied
The blood flow seethed and stop
His vessels took no actions
His heart gave from sudden throb

His admiration had all left him
He hath withdrawn from natural world
He kept magazines as trophy's
He kneweth not women
Only girls

He spat upon the distance
And treasured his own makes
He gaveth up on love
He figured tis all fake

He wore no modern regalia
As drag just wasn't of importance
A drag of his death stick
A drag of Rigamortis!!!

Nirvana - a transcendent state in which there is neither
suffering, desire, nor sense of self, and the subject
is released from the effects of karma and the cycle of
death and rebirth. It represents the final goal of Buddhism.

My Buddhist Queen,
Will you take me to Nirvana?
Will you take me to that place?
That place where we’re unshackled from suffering?
Because right now, this is intolerable.

My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana
why does my heart feel so aloof
and its beats, spectral?
Why does my body suffer from rigamortis?
Why am i teary-eyed
and why did you nominate my pillows to do the ALS challenge?
Why is my room a catastrophy?
Why do my walls succumb to the savagery of my fists?
Why am I suffering?
Why do I desire?
Why is karma still existant?


My Buddhist Queen,
If we’re in Nirvana,
why do you occassionally take strolls down to hell holding my hand?
- d.b.d.

Permanency can go **** itself.    
Remember when you were fifteen
When you were all yellow teeth and bad poetry.
You were in love with death back then.
Thought she was some beauty -
Some backless dress
Some lipstick stain

Now she's stretched in front of you like a black, endless void.
All broken fingers.
All self blame.
All midnight drives to ditches only deep enough to call shallow graves.

She's like walking across a dried up lake bed.
Moments before the water returns.
Drown.

He's never going to see me get married

Sometimes I think about suffocating myself.
Thumb to index finger
Crushing larynx
Straddling my own chest.
Break it open.
Imagine me carcass roadside
Ribs crushed, pulled apart, what kind of cage doesn't know how to hold things together.
There will be blood on the sidewalk.

He's never going to meet my children.

Now you're nineteen
And you are all bad spelling and coffee stains
When the body experiences trauma sometimes all it needs to process is to shake hard enough -
enough though.
What is. Enough.

Just endless vibrating.
Breath in throat.
I can't.
I can't.

Breathe.

Tomorrow they are pulling his plug at 1 o clock.
Like plans for brunch.

Expect to not be able to keep this meal down.
You will return to it.
Over and over.
Like a dog to its own *****.

People out here thinking  life ain't worth living
So they take a life.
I guess they find worth in killing
More worth in drug money
More worth in pride
I wonder how many folks died
Shot dead because of a  side eye
It don't make you a man because you ride..
For your crew
It don't make you a woman because you lay on your behind ...
For your boo
I don't love the streets but I love the people in them
Locked in a mindset can't find there way out of the system
Forget the street rules!
The G-code!
The hemoglobin soaked street code
I'm not that guy.
Father in law behind bars.
My dad shot yeah he the one that died.
I will only die for Christ's sake
The one that died for me when I was ***** as a used ****** on cracked asphalt.
I owe the streets nothing!
Yet I must to tell them about the blood of Christ.
Understand if your blood covers the streets it does nothing!
Just death ..pain..a open chest.. Mortician's and Funeral Homes
In the streets everybody stiff stuck  rigamortis

I lay and wait to sail the seas of infinity
Black fabric catching nebulous breezes
As an ancient god of mythology sneezes
The wooden ship creeks never stealthy
But noisy as hell seeing the cosmic swells
Of eternity’s well
My skin burns with the razor whips
Of solar ray that phase through
Time and space
Razing all darkness in its’ way
My vision once darkened by the void
Now explodes with spatial wonder
My skin is shredded by the fury
Of burning nebulous gasses
Particles of space dust envelope me
Incinerating every cell of me
I burn in orange, brown, purple and blue hues
Spiraling vapors consume the ship to
No howls of pain echo in the vacuum
There is no struggle
My hands hold tightly to the sword of my youth
I wear my rigamortis with pride as I slide
Up and into the gates of Valhalla
A white and fluffy faced man stares at me
Laughing half heartedly
And says
Hey you got the wrong gate
Valhalla loads down the ways at station eight
This is the Judaic station

prepared for any kind of fight; rifle, helmet, knife, even glaring teeth
she comes at me like I'm a hive of bees
but who can blame her, after all, who's really adequately prepared to handle me

she only cuts shallow and jabs, never stabs for the heart
unlike me, she won't ****, unsuited to play that part
she's a survivor, she heals, I'm a comet in it's one bright radiance before breaking apart

anxiety makes you shudder like a dump truck coming down a bumpy street
depression dictates who you call, when you work, what you eat
if you're not bipolar then i'm afraid the three of us will probably never meet

punching clinched fists through doors is a cheap circus trick
but taking out the anger is dangerous without something to hit
because it pours it up, tries to drink itself down, and drowns everything around it

my remorse stiffens me in bed next to her sleepless I wear the darkness, rigamortis and black suit
I feel my poison wilt her, bend her stems, dull her colors, shrink her roots
i have burned all the wood in her pile just getting started a fire the size of my selfish pursuits

carrying sandbags roped onto me one parent and sibling at a time
dragging the chains of days barely survived still hooked into my skin like the other memories of their kind
I stall her pace, hold her back, make her trudge uphill, I make her climb
but her undaunting patience somehow persists in her, in me: still, calm waters sublime

She comes at me like I'm a hive of bees prepared for any king of fight
only wanting to save me, to heal me, to give sleep back to my nights
bread for it, I show teeth and cut for blood and she continues to be the definition of grace in my life

This fine Sunday morn ,
a pigeon flapped into a tree ,
then straight into my window thud ,
I know this because it now lies in front of me ,
It’s lifeless face ,
It’s wings so still ,
and I’am wondering if it’s really Ill ?
I proded it ,
It did not move an inch ,
so I sat it on my dinner plate ,
and still before me in rigamortis lay ,
It did not move it's tiny head come what may ,

nor flapped it’s wings  upon my dish .
Now my rat pie really should be flying high ,
i think not I should end its life with the faltering sky ,
I know not why ,
it had to die ,
but that bird never moved an inch ?

I hear words like "***" phrases like "God hates gays".
while these men are my brothers
and i love my family
you sling out wrath as if you're on a war path
some ancient crusade justified by your pride
so secure on a high horse.
I find myself hating you
because you're the problem the world clings to
How many places are we going to crack the mosaic of humanity?
i swear we're bout to shatter.
But you don't seem to think they matter.
like a snake you spit up venom death on your breath
the destruction in your wake
that you say is for gods sake
It makes me sick.
but i'm still wrought with the thoughts of my mother
that you're my other brother
...f#$*ing hate family.
But an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind
x'cept for that last guy who's got problems with depth perception
Now i see why our minds only have one eye
We all see in shallow pools of decrepit perceptions corrupt intentions
I just want to swim into the deep blue unknown
Float there all alone
Sea of tranquility
Then i come to reality
I still have water wings on
And how can i call you arrogant when my life is decaying all around me
But please before rigamortis sets in, stop saying you know the word sin
as much as I hate the prejudice wrought by you
id rather stand in between you two,
gouge out my own eye and die than make the devil cry.

Master of puppets cease the chatter and ruckus find what life's sum is 
Climb to the summet notice the smell will be pungent 
I can see his sights clear I hold no fear you froze in the middle like headlights on a deer causing the cataclysmic fate into which you peer 
I'll try not to get too wordy, to many word patterns while I chop this rhyme up in fury tell me what might the cure be ?
Lines lay down like corpses in a morgue dissecting you into a gord you life hangs by a thread or cord 
Empathy is something I can't afford 
Bitterness hate enacting my raging states leave you stiff In a lake 
Your body's bloated like yeast in a cake you existing was a mistake 
Your a ****** and who's body was turned stagnant your mind devoid of thought life in fragments rigamortis leaves you muscles tight together like magnets 
**** it , the bay harbor butcher with looks like Ashton Kutcher leave you with cuts you can't sutcher
Put ya in a state of endless suffering no pain subsiding or breaks ,there will be no buffering 
Let it end ,feel the life you want go and the agony tear your mind apart slow, you have nothing left to learn that I don't know I will forever domineer your soul

I measured the steps
From the back screen door,
Past the rock water well
And the garden plot,
Down the gravel drive.
The crush of stones beneath
Were the sounds of anticipation.
At the end,
The road stretched and ribboned,
Grey, beneath the harvest sun.
I numbered the fence posts
Up to the tree with embedded wire,
Demarcating the next acre.
The telephone poles like guards
With cats-of-nine tails,
Red-winged blackbirds and wrens
Hanging on trapezes, upsidedown,
With rigamortis clutches.
The few cattle stood cooling in the pond,
The chickens pecked the farmyard dung.
Each day my steps imperceptibly decreased,
Speeding up the monotony of my walk.

I missed the sheep shaped clouds,
But saw them move
Across verdant dales,
Following the stream,
Like lambs.

Today, I look out my kitchen window
To see where my son,
My disheartened, lonely boy,
Counts the steps to Brigden Sideroad,
Feeling the gravel
Hard beneath his feet.

Distortion, override

filling heads bobbing and swaying like a metronome with reckless abandon.



Calves bursting with an energy reserved for marathon runners and speed junkies.



Drum beat love, thumping in chests like hearts made of rock n roll-

manufactured by Pearl and modified by ourselves.



Sound waves wasted on ears to dense to comprehend the raw power pouring out a Marshal stack.



UN-moving, mind and body

paralysis turned rigamortis

waiting for the drugs,
intoxicated by lust,
meeting a lifetime of waiting,
sobered by the rush,
dying,
nothing in this hull soul of a man,
his eyes blackened,
devouring the presence of light,
which brings pain that causes rigamortis between his lips,
she brings her love,
and he waits no more.

-S.J

Peeling off layers of you, my skin is raw and exposed. Your touch has burned its way into my bones. I’d need an amputation to remove you.
My eyelids seared your face into the backs of them, I cannot shut you out.
My fists clench your remains with a state of rigamortis. They died the day I let go of your grasp.
The hollow in my chest echoes a beat my heart stopped making. The rhythm, once a record played, is now scratched and skipping tracks.
My head is full of cobwebs, where you spun your trap. I sit and wait for you to come to consume me once again.
My tongue just tastes the sweat of my defeat. To be swallowed by you is written on my tomb.
The decay inside this absence rotts my remains. But so did living in the light of your magnetic gaze. For it only lasted as long as I painted to your preference.
The scenes of me would flicker across your face. Your disapproval was the day turning to night. The kind that's haunted with a fright that steals a soul.
I move my legs towards the door, broken and gimping, I keep turning around to see you.
Standing there waiting with a knowing I can’t escape.
I wrote of you with permanent marker on the chalkboard. It can never be wiped clean. I have to write over you, again and again, as It scrambles the clarity of each new word.
I do my wash in your well and can't get the smell out of my clothes. It's musty allure stings my nose with each inhale.
You left your potion on my nightstand, I’m addicted to its intoxication. Only your alchemy can produce such a brew. This detox is as fruitless as the indulgence, as this ambiguity cannot be cured.
The magnitude of you shrinks my size to nothing. When you wrap me in your vines, I am a giant who falls from heights.
The ground is where you catch me, and my climb begins again.
I keep running towards the day I left behind.

Dear Journal

       I sat still as could be waiting in mourning, wasting away at the window till the early morning, sobbing and sighing loud exclamations of my grief; without any words of comfort to bring me sweet relief. I was alone and my beloved would never come again. She could not greet me nor rise to meet me for being racked with what appeared to be the rigid rigamortis of death. I coughed.

       There she lay in a silken soft shimmering negligee that covered next to nothing. I was flushed with shame and sadness, so I covered the bare portions of her flesh. Stricken with a sick desire I rushed to her side, pulled the sheet from her cold body, laid my head against her chest, covered myself with the sheets and listened. I know not what I expected, maybe in my madness I hoped her heart would start again. Clutching tightly and listening as closely as humanly possible I waited, hours passed and I waited.

       My cheeks were red with my grief. My collar soaked with salty tears and sweat. My breaths were ragged with congestion so I tried to dislodge the flem that had building in my chest with a fierce cough. I felt weak and flushed with fever but in my fervent behavior, I continued with little concern.

       I waited and listened. When her chest refused to yield the sounds I desired, I cautiously pressed my lips to her mouth, parted her cold closed lips with my tongue, and began to breath. Her ******* rose and fell in line with the rhythm of my own breathing. Up and down, up and down, up and down I repeated again and again. I was transfixed upon the hypnotically hopeful motion of breathing, so much so that I lost another hour in what was almost a meditative trance.

       When my senses were restored and the madness had passed, I untangled myself from the intricate mess that I had become. In the midst of sharing breath I had forgotten my pain, but once I stopped the tears returned with a terrible vengeance. My sobs transformed into a violent fit of coughing and it took a couple of minutes to regain some sense of composure.

      I studied the motionless shell of my beloved. Her pallor had become even lighter. Her face was untainted by any imperfection. She appeared to be only a shade or two away from marble white, possibly porcelain. If only I could play Pygmalion and restore the flush of life to my beloved. Instead I sat in the shadowy corner of our closet crying.
Then I was struck with strangeness. My dear beloved could not be seen in such a manner. No male eyes but mine should know the exquisiteness of her nearly naked body. This was my sight and mine alone. For years we had owned each other, promising our flesh and spirit to one another. I shuffled through her things to find the perfect piece of clothing. Then I dressed her with an almost religious fervor. Slowly and carefully I buttoned each buttoned, pulled her dress up and straighten her cloths to perfection; till there were no wrinkles to be found. I wondered, had I taken this much care for her while she still lived, would she have survived. I cough lightly and felt a slight speck of flem fly from my mouth.  

      I studied her again and found myself shocked. Somehow I had missed a speck of blood. I carefully stripped her down and proceeded to wash her skin gently with a warm cloth until I was certain she perfectly clean. Then I dressed her again. I touch her hand and strangely it felt warm. A shiver of hope coursed through my body and I entertained the idea that she might rise once more.

      I would gladly trade places with her. In my wretched state of sorrow I almost missed the twitch of her tiny pinky. I had also failed to realized how affected by this ordeal I had been. I sat down to scribe this experience in my journal in hopes that writing would help my frayed nerves.

       She stirs as I write this, but I have become acutely aware of a painful exhaustion in my being. With every stroke the quill becomes heavier and heavier, each line is harder to write then the one before. I will not rush her recovery. I need to rest my head on the desk.  I will leave her a note in my journal.

My dear you frightened me I thought you were dead. However you seem to be waking from whatever happened. I am very weary; let me rest a bit and when I awake…..

In a motel room
With a bottle of whiskey
The Perfume of my ex lover in the air
Her negligees all wrapped around my neck
Hung by love
As I fall
All my poems scatter
Rigamortis sets in
One day
Will my love of poetry matter?

Darkness is my only vision
My inner sanctuary is full of mourning
Memories crying in the dark
Sobbing as they watch each other die
Widowed shadows of happiness fall to their knees
Weeping over their beloved murdered future
Sadness is unleashed from her prison in the dungeon of misery
The sword of sorrow is in the hands of uncertainty
My heart sits in sack cloth and ashes
Grieving the untimely death of love
Rigamortis sets in the bones of truth
Darkness is my only vision
My inner sanctuary is full of mourning
Memories crying in the dark

Today is fire.
It's fire.
It's fire.
She burns like a thousand thorned roses.
Crashing downward to
Eternal hell fire.
Will you be my heroine?
Will you be my ******?
Make me dull and numb.
Make me lose myself in time.
Make me forget my name.
I exist only in memories that now a days
Black out and forget.
Black.
Everything is black.
And dark.
Feeling my way to the exit sign.
Big red letters.
Flashing lights.
It all comes around full circle.
To you.
And loss.
I can't remember my name.
I can't remember where I am.
Where are you?
The only ocean that could bring me to shore
Too bad I ******* drowned.
Blue lips, choking on words
Dead corpse, going limp.
Rigamortis.
I'm solid.
Solid.
Numb.
Dead.

There is death here.
The ground bleeds
slowly through
shallow holes
letting small flowers grow
faintly smelling
somewhere between
perfume and decay.

No one stirs to
wipe this dark stain away.
Dirt and stone mark the space
pointing to the place
were all journeys end.

Soft becomes rigid.
The earth dries
slower than
rigamortis sets in,

But I hope they feed me
to the fishes and wolves
leaving the rest of me
to the rest under a tall tree.

Before the curtain moves upward
revealing those who stand behind
the frowns must turn around
take the form of plaintive smiles

with rigamortis as a guide
fixture set against the glare
a statement made for all to see
this cruelest act of mimicry

imagine there are cursed souls
who show the same without the goal
of persuading the gathering crowd
that left is right and up is down

still the show must go on
step to the curtain before the lights
reveal the actors with parts to play
conformed to joy while in dismay.

© 2019. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20191111.