I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow,
Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted.

Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.

1045

Nature rarer uses Yellow
Than another Hue.
Saves she all of that for Sunsets
Prodigal of Blue

Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly
Like a Lover’s Words.

The weighted press of measured steps on stair
accompanied by an echoed call to the familiar.
The first syllable of her name severed  midway,
yet it tolled long after the utterance rang out.
The comfort of routine;
tethers of association
snapped under the strain of realisation.
A mocking gift from forgetfulness...

...she left him..

Mechanical body shifts
fighting urges to hesitate and listen to her vanished sleeping breath.
Vacant the cold bedroom,
the chamber harbouring her scent on fabrics, pillow and scantly furnished dresser top.
Each sniff raw as salt on opened wounds.
She left
and left him
only remorseful residues
from the harvest
of three years and five months.

Flickering lights, viewing my chipped nails and reading my favorite book is what I was doing the first time our lives would change.
For the better or for the worse, I still don't know till this very day.
A light flashes on the phone.
The intrigued and perfected message was you wanting company.
I said hesitantly, yes. Not knowing what was to be a questionable night.
The thoughts in my head are quick to think of mystery.
He must be bored or doesn't want to be home.
I then express such harsh tones about myself.
Why would he want to hang out with me, I'm so boring and such a loner.
I never go out though, I think to myself. If I say I'm a loner or shy, I should change that, starting now.
Pretty bipolar thoughts, right?
You approached my home with such an tense yet comforted look as I approach you.
We both sensed discomfort yet comfort at the same time with each other.
I sensed in your voice such sorrow.
Your face with such pain.
Your body language of tremendous anxiety.
Yet, despite your melancholic emotions, you were happy and solaced with company.
Before heading towards the hazy moment of what was to come, we stopped.
Annoyance of my vexatious monthly moments, I itched for something sweet.
Taken by surprise, you bought me a little tub of vanilla ice cream.
We headed to our destination shortly after this fortuitous sweet incident.
The night sky was so chilling yet beautiful.
The moon illuminated as if it was scantly born.
Bright full stars shined below the sparkling water hitting the sand with such a tender touch.
The dialogue went from gaiety chatter to hushed gossip to attentive talk.
I can feel your manic energy as if you wanted to spill out a heavenly secret.
My body gets the sudden chills and you ask if I wanted his sweater to borrow.
The sky along with being near the icy beach water, it was a stinging cold night.
I hesitantly said yes, in a shivering cracked voice.
You put on this thick and warm jean jacket on me, then...
I felt such a burning desirable gaze at me.
My face began to burn with such bashfulness.
His eyes were so bewitching.
With an fluorescent blue, I thought it suddenly turned to daylight.
I looked away with such awkwardness of myself.
But he didn't mind it. He never did.
We head towards the car.
Street lights of a radiant orange and yellow run past us as a streak.
Accelerated cars whirl on the same and opposite side of us.
The music playing is a darken soul pop star singing through the speakers as we both talk about our ill-starred relationships.
Our tortured minds are intertwined with each other at this point.
We both tunefully feel it.
The night ends,
We both say goodnight and you generously walk me to my front door.
Your body grows closer to me and I sense your mood had changed since your mournful approach towards my home only hours ago.
Your charming eyes focus on my face again, but now suddenly to my lips.
I wanted to, I really did, but it was not the right time.
Saying our goodbyes, I look out my window and see you drive off.
What is he thinking?
Did I disappoint him?
Is he ok?
I hope he gets home safe.
I get a message he is home safe and thanks me for a wonderful night.
He's thankful for the company tonight.
Did I do the right thing by not kissing him immediately?
I don't know.
Do I regret it?
I don't know.
Does he even remember that night or even bother to think of anything of our time together?
I don't know.
But I know for a fact, that we had an unfathomable connection in those rare times together.
At least I like to think so..
I hope then, and even now, he still thinks of those times
when I hope he felt a comfort in knowing at least someone was there for him in that time.
That day was the day I saw him as my sun.
And I was the moon.

Perish the thought that coats
Our tongues with hard harsh words
Inchoate reaching beyond grasp
Scantly strum our plush stairs
Scaling arpeggios
To soft crescendo as hands clasp
Gently brush angel hairs
Like magnet and shavings
Draw forged iron from gorgeous shrouds
Cherish the touch that floats
Like snowflakes whispering
In hushed descent from secret clouds

I will hold you in my mind
I will hold you in my arms
I will hold you in my time
You will hold me with your charms
I will take care of your memory
You will take care of my heart
I will keep you in my thoughts
Whether together or apart

Saintly calm amid storms
Whose roil-released crystals
On sprinkled tongues and cheeks alight
Enlace the fringe that frilled
Our sheer contours' luster
Emerging from dark thunder bright
Embrace the mists that build
Like cotton enfolding
Cumulative nimble and fond
Faintly kiss dermal forms
Like ghost lovers made flesh
Coaxed tumescent from far beyond

I will hold you in my mind
I will hold you in my arms
I will hold you in my time
You will hold me with your charms
I will take care of your memory
You will take care of my heart
I will keep you in my thoughts
Whether together or apart

Proudly self diagnosed as non compos mentis  , the gallivanting hermetic of Hill Country , walking barefoot this evening , scantly clad ,  joyfully whistling beneath astonishing skies of blue , fields of clover , clear running creeks , copious woodland greenery ! A fickle , fanatical , fervent lover of every creature the forest has to offer ! Rolling hill , pasture and homestead , Wood duck , blue jay , otter and crawdad ! Every rooster , wild turkey and dairy cow ! A boisterous , benevolent , painfully reverent disciple of Earth and sky , lover of cascading brooks , placid lakes , the cool breeze , bumblebees and centipedes , bobcats and chickadees ..

Take those decades of resentment
Rolling around in tortured minds
And set them just behind the heartache
Created out of silver piercing words
That were uttered so long ago.
Dress it up with red like all the
Blood that’s spilled from broken
Knuckles, and hearts torn through
Out our time. Let the snow
Place a blanket over hate
And old vicious addictions
Wrap it up in shiny nice ribbons
Pretty and so scantly hidden,
Underneath the green pine
The smell of hope squelched
By disappointment that can’t be helped
And the sort of familial dysfunction
circled around the Christmas tree.
The smell of food and treats
The sound of jokes and laughter on the brink
For one to think they have been crossed.
For one tortured soul to think too loudly
That it’s too late, they are lost.
Balancing on the edge living momentarily
To the explosive nature and fast pursuit
Of broken people put together in a single room
Face to face with how reality
Has made them their *****,
Itching at demons
Screaming as there seeing that not the all of them
Could hold the Curtin up, and magic in
And let Christmas be Christmas for a kid.
But people don’t like to hear you don’t like
Christmas.
That snow melts in your socks
Or why broken glass reminds you of
Wrapping paper and ribbon.

twitters and tweets
pictures are sweets
keeping you hooked
on the tabloid elites

just out of bed, hair on his head
matted and messy, way better than said
your public is waiting and verging on vexed
"stay tuned for more selfies",  you casually text.

stand by the mirror and pose for your followers
leading them into the worship of men
drawn to the sight of your bare naked belly
this bowl full of jelly is quaking, and then
this one, her ***, just after the baby
she's worked out like crazy, perhaps she just clazy
spray-tanned and bare butted
tattooed and nare studded
back in the crack but her tact has been share gutted
no worries, it all comes around

in some hotel bathroom you click at your Iphone
like all of the rest of us, yet so alone
trying to snap one both **** and manly
the wife beater t-shirt, the boxers and phone
we can't really blame you, your business, your life quest
but fashion is funny right down to the jewels
both earlobes sport earrings, just like mommy dearest
whatever your pleasure, some little girl drools
and she scantly clad there, for all of her viewers
could not give a **** about "ahhers" or "ew'ers"
but don't stop, you're on top and making your money
and laughing right back, since we're also quite funny

we once wore our hair all pulled up or with mullet
thought no one was laughing, we knew we were cool
and now all the stuff which we wore gone forever
or passed off as costume, just vintage, old school
where somebody bought it from some smelly thrift shop
and wore it again with a sense of true style
the polaroid pictures we took at the bus stop
that camera is back and will be for a while

Stand at the mirror and smile for your camera
not really getting that folks can be odd
some are perverted, while others disturbed
and still others are cranky and smelling like cod.

Someday you'll grow up, a mommy or daddy or maybe
a granny once shaking her *****
or maybe a pop-pop
and scoff a their moptop
and laugh with your grandkids
it  all comes around.

I wear my hunger like a badge of honor
every stomach’s groan and garble is victory
wrapped in lettuce, hold the beef
and bun.

My manly appetite shrinks
from triumphant buttons bursting
to greens garnished with greens
after salads, please no dressing
or any cheese.

Beer drunk pizzas parties
turn tomato sauce on egg white omelets
scantly sprinkled with fat free
turkey pepperoni, and all fake
dairy Cheesus.

A good idea
becomes chocolate dipped
peanut butter Twinkies
served with stomach ache
covered in batter fried bits of bacon.

Trophies are knuckles
cheekbones and ribs
once buried by doughnuts
frosted with funnel cakes
served in soda pop.

So I hang my badge of hunger on bones
happily sitting behind baggy skin and habits
wrapped in clothes, I never thought
would fit.

Many the wonders I this day have seen:
The sun, when first he kissed away the tears
That filled the eyes of Morn;—the laurelled peers
Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;—
The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears
Must think on what will be, and what has been.
E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
And she her half-discovered revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

The slow saunter of charcoaled amber courage slithering down my throat, the old familiar burn of a love gone wrong and one too many nights spent staring at the city lights, wishing for that ******* pool of darkness to finally overtake the senses. It never happens. This place may as well be a brilliant hell-bent flame never dying out. Some broken swing jazz plays in the background, left over from an alternate time-line where life never progressed from the fall of the roaring twenties. A depressing state of depression, lost in gloom. Smoke hangs in the air like meat at the butcher shop, thick and over-powering, the somber stench of stale Camels, American Spirits, and matches burning down to the tip. Even the cool night air filled with the falling rain does nothing to move this smoke or smell away from the nostrils or eyes. It’s getting late but still the lights shine, the eyes burn, and the whiskey continues to be pored and drunk. A phone rings somewhere in the distant room, I barely make it in time before the last ring. I shouldn't have picked up. Not on a night like this...

My heart is breaking as I hear of her footsteps lightly walking away from the door, knowing the end of her walk was not much farther down the line. It’s too late to save her. A cop tapes off the scene of the ******, rain drenched and keeping reporters at bay, miserable in his line of work. But a man must earn a living in these modern times. A man must earn a living in these modern times. Her lifeless corpse lays uncomfortably on the floor, traced in chalk, with her scantly clad black dress slightly as-cued of her earthly surrogate, she looks like an angel of broken memories. Blood from her wrists and a suicide note that just doesn't seem right. The bruising on her neck looks fresh. Too fresh to be from any day or time but the present. Heavy boot prints lead on the concrete towards the streets, washing away in mud and continuing downpour. The world is on fire as the flame in my heart dies out knowing what must be done...

I sit lonely at my desk, scarred by broken glass and endless wars, sifting thru notes of tragedy that all blend into one bad noir movie repeating some forgotten enchanted quote about life and death and everything not meant to happen in between. It is what it is. It’s always what it shouldn't be. She wasn't old, just shy of some milestone birthday, but she lived hard I'm told by the few that knew her...

There's a barely audible knock on the door, heard only by the quite constant repetition of flesh meeting hardwood. I stand to open the door but before I can pull myself together to walk the some odd number of feet towards it, the door slowly opens and in steps someone I knew from a past life. There is not enough whiskey left in my glass for this encounter to be of any good...

Thank you for the shiny things
Long beautiful gowns
bejeweled gold rings

Thank you for a home cooked breakfast
Scantly clad,
I must say, you've got some of the sweetest juice I've ever had

And thank  you for taking care of my head and heart
Love and lust
Sweet G&H;
counterparts!

Thank you sweet face
for giving me your love
I could never
ever
thank you enough!

Among these fragile porcelain days
Winter lays around us to rest
And She begs to be touched
The shivering want that never pays
Crying out from faintly shifting bodies
scantly dressed,Hands clutched
In these cold winter days
I want to throw myself into you
I want your warmth, skin caressed

So exposed
I see your nakedness
Untamed

'Round back alleys, and down black side streets
sits [laying] newspaper mattresses, and makeshift houses with no heat.

Just a step, or two, from Big City Lights, (a rolling neon technicolor wasteland),
lives the bottom tip of the bottle, and a short supply of all, but upturned hands.

Two streets over, over-the-top sparkle of high heels, and scantly draped dresses.
Down here, dweller's fever's rush down from old minded babe's spiralings of deep depression.  

The language most commonly spoken is lies, but it's not much different up hill.
What's not translatable from "bag," "spliff," or "pill," can be easily related with "shot," "bottle," or "bill."

I find myself fluent, a traveled veteran of countrysides,
adjusting to the headache of the city's heart, but unwilling to take the full ride.

As you lay there, scantly clad, content from the love we just made, I wonder if you know...

The swirl of my hips and rhythmic dance of my tongue in your mouth, are clear indications this is mere lust.

I've banished, even forbidden, the L word from the act, since this hair pulling moment is just to scratch an itch.

How I wonder if you knew that I was contemplating a second round, since I'll most likely change my locks.

Old toys get replaced. No offense.

Of course there was ***
Before 63 and the Beatles
First LP. You found some

Proof. Grandmother kept
That quiet. The photo was
Tucked away between pages

Of a Percy Shelley. One lives
And learns. New knowledge
For old. Who was the man

Kissing Grandmother’s neck
And embracing her fondly?
Passionate whoever he was

And she enjoying it quite a
Bit, and scantly dressed at
That, you muse, turning the

Photo over to the back. In
Fading ink, some pen had
Written, you were never shy

And always bitten. What a
Way to be remembered, you
Smile, tucking the photo back

Between pages of the book
And put it in your pocket for
Safekeeping. You’ll keep it

Safe all right, tucked beneath
The pillow where you’re sleeping.

Who will sit on the iron throne?
Will anyone outlive the doom to come?
For the winter forewarned,
Has reached our shores.
The threat scantly believed,
Is here to wipe out all that breathes.

The Night King is coming.
A dragon of ice in tow.  
To conquer Westeros,
And all that lay claim to the throne.

The wall will fall.
Innumerable lives will be lost.
Who will endure, to rule it all?
Only the Three-Eyed Raven knows. . .

CHAPTER 1 - Part 1


The lone figure hobbled painfully down the road, one hand clasped to his bleeding thigh, the other just hanging aimlessly by his side.

He wore a filthy white shirt, the collar now dog eared and embedded with stale sweat. The baking sun bore down on his navy, army-style, jacket - burning its fabric so intensely that the colour pigments had actually started to fade, giving the whole coat a washed out purplish tinge at its fraying edges. Upon the jacket's left arm was a peeling smiley sticker, the actual curl of the paper contorting the smiley's face into a strained grimace.

The other arm was stained with blood.

"Go... go... with the flow -" He whispered quietly to himself, head hung over, cast in thick shadow by his greasy hair. With every jaunty step he took, a spurt of blood escaped from his clutching hand and dripped onto the tarmac road - where it sizzled in the sun.

He wheezed and gasped, as if his throat was lined with dry sandpaper - and yet he still whispered quietly to himself, those same words over and over again.

"Go... go... with the flow."

Fields of daisies surrounded him - their once canary yellow petals, now scorched brown; dead and lifeless. Everything dead in this world, apart from him, the punishing sun in the sky, and Death itself.

He shook his head swiftly once - for no apparent reason.

["You don't have to, babe - we can work it out!"]

"No... we... ca-n't..." He groaned to himself, shaking his head side to side, his free hand starting to twitch.

"Can't... just can't -"

A slight wind suddenly blew from the north, lifting up his mopped fringe, scantly revealing his face. His skin was sickly white, the hair only moving enough to reveal a circular scar gouged all the way around his right eye - the pupil of which, was pooled with blood.

He smiled, a lopsided grin that revealed pristine white teeth.

["No, no please - just put it down, we can sort it all out!"]

"Baby, baby, babyyy..." He spoke clearly, his tone now remarkably smoother and refined. In some eerie way it was as if he was trying not to laugh at something, the same sort of tone a school kid would use when trying not to laugh at a joke as they're getting told off by a teacher.

It was as if... well it was as if he was in his own little world, talking to a person that was only existent in his head.

["I don't care what you've done... I still love you!"]

"No you don't."

His leg continued to bleed, and the sun burned even brighter, but he stood up straight - well almost, one shoulder sloped slightly to the left side. His leg was bent at heavily at the knee, blood running in rivets down his pants.

["Jay... l-listen, j-just put it down - there's no reason for this!"]

With a flick, he shook out a seven inch carving knife straight out of his sleeve - the hand holding deadly still.

The blade glittered in the sun.

["Jay - no!"]

He lurched forwards, holding out the knife to his side and flicking with a menacing flair.

"Baby be still... just go with the flow..."

AJ

The sound of music fills the air, young nubile bodies are scantly clad. The aroma of sensuality is intoxicating. An aphrodisiac of pleasure awaits the senses. All thoughts turn to pleasure and forget restraint as you give into the temptations of the flesh. You become lost in the desires that you have restrained for so long and lose your inhibitions. Caught in the thrill of the here and now, you seek only pleasure and nothing else. Now you have succumb to the trap of earthly delights.

That said
spoke as the ear listened
open door to a house of empty spell and shell
breach white a smile to the mouth of mind
bluster lamish on the warm wet melt of tender invite
purr a fragrant murk alarmed to the natural starry velvet
charged blind to essence scantly a flicker
to a shimmer tween the silent world

Hinge'ing on huffing
Puffs Oh Henry
Don't flip your lid
H is for Happenings hot
For hire,
Party Bus Limos
With the scantly attired
Oh Henry did you hear?
Oh dear, you lush
Don't flip your lid
H is for hush
Hinge'ing on your lips.
Hey Y'hear me?