bat-tastic lung
collapse
fragrant raspberry
leaves
gas exchange gone
wrong
little sailor
slivered ocean
reverse gravitational
sinking into
blackened angler doom
new age
humanitarian
loves others
loves discovering
new
truths
loves
plummeting through spaded
blinds
insanely unappreciative
red
the new harvest
the magician blinking
the the sky
imagination finally
makes
sense

Star, that gives a gracious dole,
  What am I to choose?
Oh, will it be a shriven soul,
  Or little buckled shoes?

Shall I wish a wedding-ring,
  Bright and thin and round,
Or plead you send me covering--
  A newly spaded mound?

Gentle beam, shall I implore
  Gold, or sailing-ships,
Or beg I hate forevermore
  A pair of lying lips?

Swing you low or high away,
  Burn you hot or dim;
My only wish I dare not say--
  Lest you should grant me him.

Here we are again, in the deathmask of the city spinning.
The circumcised sea with its crocodiles and scars.
Never is the onrush of blood so violent the falsehoods
of the sky that drip neon on our heads
from desiccated clouds so true

This is the wild:

To the clusterfucked and cloistered swimming
in their bowls of soup and the scuttled
shells synchronous in their bass pulse beeping
to the blackhats who don’t believe
their messiah will ever come because they hear
the trump of doom every second of every day
yet they still stomp in their flatbeds for joy

and the prismatic dead who drag themselves from
their gurneys to march through the alleys
like tuskless elephants shoving their fingers
into the sun’s fumarole determined
to disintegrate into a mist of Krylon and copper

where we carry our concrete world slung
over our shoulders and the ravenous
moon in its ellipse above beached night heaving,
eyes curling in their sockets like gunsmoke smoldering
hearts humming like taut snares beheaded fish
in front of us, beheaded bodies behind us
I drag mine along by the hair.

To the children and the panhandlers who greet
the lion like hello kitty
and the skittish magnetic few in their
lightning-spaded furrows
on the ecliptic chained but leaping ever farther
and higher like the wrecking ball’s pendulum

and all the naked lost milling among the mummified
tenements, waving Geiger counters before them
as they wander  the sweaty street holding their heads
high as they grind flesh against flesh
pulverizing themselves into rubble

measuring the toll of time by destruction  
drinking in mercury and hard water and
shrapnel and gamma and fire and gold

to them I say:

turn your hourglass on its side turn
your hourglasses on their sides
then acknowledge me so I can die in peace.

well my mother loved to visit miss Peggy's place
yes they talk about this and that but
still Miss Peggy had several
spaded black cats in her place and
mother would ask her three young boys
to come out and visit Miss Peggy's house
unfortunately, i was the only one
brave enough to say that i have
a deep fear inside my chest and sing out
then I said, mama i am really scare of
those ******* cats creeping around
in Miss Peggy's house
centurions guards and griffins along the
halls and stairs, with marble red eyes and
white Cheshire smiles and
i cried, when mama said boy you come right over here and
give Miss Peggy a nice big juicy kiss and a fat hug
i finally screamed out loud and said mama i am scared of
those ******* cats in Miss Peggy's house and
that Miss Peggy's has a black mustache around her mouth
i could not walk through Miss Peggy's house no more.

Jaded; spaded ;minds been recreated

Wishin we were back at square one;
Instead I've  resulted to just gettin faded...

This beens done before;; I'm quite familiar with the feeling;;

You promise me your there..Now why does it feel like my hearts breaking instead of healing;;

Your what I fell in love with;;

But This pretty picture that was painted has turned into nothing but a myth..

This boat can't take any more water..
My
Socks are *******
blue....

It's starting to seem you were too good to be fkn true</3

by spaded hand
the cloven earth
receives the root
a seed and weeps
a new flower with
fragile completely
petals that in even
meekest shooking
bend
           and

                     fractures

being that all's life
an indistinguishable sentence
befitting silence sure to stage
spaded sequel to hell on earth
mortal purgatory above ground

This constant vigil,
mercilessly endless,
is but an act of love, I know:
headlights blaring
through the broken dusk,
sickening heaps of flowers
crushed and soiled upon the seat.

Sorrow weighs down upon us
like handfuls of newly spaded earth
begging to be tossed.

The smell of earth, warm and moist;
and no one is there.

The mourners tent is empty.
We have arrived too late.
Kneeling then, penitent, prayerful,
to touch the soil.

I trace my finger
over the epitaph engraved
on the hollow-white
headstone:

It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.

The limousine door
catches up the evening light.
Along the window's edge,
subtle hints of black and gray appear.

A long, soft cry
on the wind --
or is it the wind?

We answer with our undying act of love:
Christ lives in me.

That little stray
what terrors did he see?
Feed him in the snowy December garden
until he came inside

He was a tomcat
until he was  spaded
then he finds his solace
emerging up the landing
feeding tray by tray

Now he is comfortable
by the computer chair
and is feed at the top of the stairs
Still terroritial
he plays crumb fights
with the resident cat