Part One
Nascent Craving

The insular heart unsealed; pearled eyes
Breach parapets of stone— periled shield,
The sweetest ****—
A threatening wonder and irrefragable synergy,
Nervous routes of cognition  
In this nascent, amorous craving.
Locked and abased,
Dissonance lends pathos — euphoric and onerous,
Disconsolate cries curb sublimation,
The regnant bleed diffusing — fervid lust
Fondled, tactile surfaces in throbbing anticipation.

Sullen, aft a veil of laughter,
Visceral aftermath, out of
The ardent ash,
Burns a thirst;
Insuperable numbness and ache.
Efflorescent intimacy,
Table for two
Enraptured in new alliance,
Élan vital (psyche);
Urgent dialect petitions
Equivocation, jocularity blending
Provocation with indecision,
Noted lilt of descending inhibition.

Adrift, the incessant Now;
As occasion inexorably diminished;
Resonant simpatico tending,
Numinous amity;
Heard conversant, cognitive idioms—
Lassitude, time-eaten pangs of the unhinged heart,
Wounds axiomatic,
In disquieting synergy,
Nibbling, the circumference—
Misery’s permeating truth;
None immune, all trundle incongruously past,
Facing intrepid savages.

Licitly felt, reverberations of Amor
Whence the heart behaves;
Measured cadence, pulse elevating—
Treasured lover, contemplative muse;
Undulating clasp, inflated bone of absence;
Incarnation — a woman,
Beyond prosaic;
Ineffable adoration pours in certitudes of verse,
Elenita, enclothed —virtue unvarnished;
Reservoir intrinsic, poised advocate of the innocent:
The crooked lines of insolence,
Brazen culture of neglected youth.
Perceptive blue stare, sensitized tears—
Plaintively, evincing her injustice ago.

Part Two
Tendered Senses

Siren silence, eruptive blush, ampler between phrases
In dulcet tones — stirring discourse;
Foments rebellion, the strife beneath— his ****,
Out of its vast reserve,
Penetrate the narrowed ambit, vaguely announced.
Groping hands, migrating the sensual member
Stern faces grimacing— mirror in abrasion,
Under the blind surf of consent;
Burrowing ambiguity, emerging torsion,
Plunge, enlisted and content in the sea;
Subsumed in the nonverbal cue,
Persuasion’s plea,
Quelled in the post cerebral assent.

Piercing eyes parallel crystalline waters of Lake Tahoe.

An untouched portion of his awareness remains aloof,
Palpable in the subsequential quiet,
Obsequious and febrile, they sinned on sofas;
Peregrine predilections quenched and viscid—
Serenely requited, the room breathes her presence,
Limp, figures *******, mantled in adolescent torpor.

Erudition in bloom, trust undoubted,
Illuminating, satiating; tempest calm—
Under canvas
Terrain soaked and sodden,
Postliminary — rains of invalidation.
Allowance and permission
Recalibrate, salivate, shortly only—
Initiate, obliged consecration, appraising
Curvatures of the spine,
Stuns him obeisant, her femenine pulchritude,
Propinquity inciting vigor,
Emergent allure, the updriven
Tower of wood sprung from the blanket.

Suffused in ether, purring streams of remembrance
Vaginal honeyed dew, sung into
Orchids, remnants of remember;
Drenched down the cynosure of devotion;
Succulent view, diaphanous pantied bottom;
Halcyon mist, saporous wine — compliance of the will,
Freed fires wander,
Pliable rind, twin plums dripping,
Abject confession, dispatching doubt
In tendered senses,
Pivotal tree, lavender Jacaranda holds the key,
Unfurled, cindered vulnerability.

Half-denuded skin invites confessional savor
Acutely bubbled rear, fleshly furnished denim;
Sultry visit, San Ramon Valley in the fall,
Strewed limbs splendid, flowing filmy;
Imagination yields—
Bursting silk congealed
Across deft thighs, ambrosial thong draping ankles,
Grazing ascension, the curvaceous trajectory
Nose inflamed with fragrance,
Inhaling, climb of acquiescence,
The ****** weal, amid the globed fruit,
Focal intention — ploughed lance thrusting,
Absconding, the ancillary perfume of essence.

Perceiving avid validation,
Swimmingly, amid the monstrous gaze.
  
Humid skies simper dank, set swell the incense of Eros,
Surge of poetry engorged
The flame levened shaft,
Nimble ******* flounce, spill the harboring mouth;
Moist hands merging, unfettered,
Weave in supplication,
Vicinity voicing, enmeshed diversion;
Supple and spherical behind
Posterior arch, milky-skin against the lip—
Ripeness jostling their complacency;
Lapped the mooring, ridden decisively;
Recapitulating— spumed forth, bellied over hips warmth.
Abandon the dirge of self-pity
Late under ego’s trance.
  
Part Three
Present Tenses

Tempting trespass across sacred gardens,
Flowering, scandal set luminous: attachment—
Consensual, their corresponsive fear;
Protean manifestations— evocative, perpetual
Unutterable contention in a fictive resolve,
Deliberating the merits of their widely disparate tastes in coffee,
Amorously touring wine, let’s drowse through the gnarled vine.
Sundry deficiencies pale, once contrasted;
The beatific vision—
Material substance unaccompanied,
Imperceptible, tear-streamed cheeks in synch,
Ventral kiss, peak of carnal perfection,
Reminiscence— flesh violent with Love.

Fiction knew to meander the innominate rift,
A tincture of irony soften misdeeds
Immense as the sea.
Insolvent beast stippled with sapience—
Unmasked, the fabric of delusion;
Dependence smothering the disciplined heart
Resentment put up for release.

Waste of residual years
Fate’s apportion, scars bleakly observed;
Chastened by heartache, engulfing fervor
Too faint to recapture.
Vague glimpses dry—
Hypervigilant his defenses,
Veritable suspensions, embers lit linger;
Slender walls of solidity, the horizoned self,
Faith and reason in concert — stone levels of elucidation.

Fractured bones of distance, emanate a rigid salience,
Another ponderous night of absence—
Lingering, cauldron of dearth as indifference ushers,
The quotidian coil of contrition.
Tearful pallor, sequestered —ciphering time and solitude;
The unkissed mouth, his restive brow;
Suspend in the approximate span.
                      
After Lucid alliterations are spoken
Devoid of her face, his lover’s nudge—
The man nurtures his hurt.
Anxious as seldom unscarred,  
Venus’s susurrations,
In present tenses,
Kissed by her serenades of integration—
Notwithstanding metaphysic intrusion,
No chain stays unbroken,
Postponed drifts of deferment left unspoken,
Reverberations of amor.

© 2013 W. S. Warner

Quincy Valero
Everybody’s best friend
Jet black hair
Shiny brown eyes
A boyish smirk
Standing six foot something
Coming out of catholic school agnostic
Attending state college

Every word that came out of his mouth was a riot
A funny story of a bad situation he was in that he can laugh at now
An awkward moment with a girl he tried to get in bed
God awful train rides with a clueless conductor

Quincy Valero
A wanna-be Casanova
The irish-italian self-proclaimed “Don Juan of Dumont”
Roaring down the suburb streets in his bright yellow mustang
From Bergen county to Trenton
Edgewater to Ewing
Bumping R&B; from the 90's

A main girl
A side chick
And a few back pocket broads
Leading them on
To where?
I’m not even sure he knows

Quincy Valero
My best friend since I’ve been here in Purgatory
My lifelong cellmate
My hetero life mate
My brother of second thought
Our token white boy

He’s had his ups
Wild ragers until day break
A four way with me and two girls in my four door sedan
He’s had is downs
Falsely charged with domestic abuse
Community service, endless court room hearings, suspensions and a whole bunch of nonsense

Quincy Valero
The quintessential example of the modern day male
Stays up all night
Sleeps all day
Opportunistic
Egotistical
Miserly
*****
And hungry

Always aching to put in his two cents
And leaving everyone in a howl of laughter
An Adderall popping
Seasoned drinker
A professional *** smoker, coached by yours truly
Fast talking baritone voice
With a half serious tone

Yes, Quincy Valero
The tight plain white t-shirt wearing
Chino sporting
Nostalgic, slightly racist, sexist, anti-semitic
Bust usually honest, friendly and apologetic
Good hearted dude we all love to hate
And hate to love

Bed-headed
Pajama bottom ***
Talking about his Svedka regrets
And we laugh and laugh and the stupidest things
Then remember events that seem so long ago
And then make plans for tomorrow
Yeah, one of my best friends
My oldest friend
That’s Mr. Quincy Valero

I

Oh Galuppi, Baldassaro, this is very sad to find!
I can hardly misconceive you; it would prove me deaf and blind;
But although I give you credit, ’tis with such a heavy mind!

II

Here you come with your old music, and here’s all the good it brings.
What, they lived once thus at Venice, where the merchants were the kings,
Where Saint Mark’s is, where the Doges used to wed the sea with rings?

III

Ay, because the sea’s the street there; and ’tis arched by… what you call
… Shylock’s bridge with houses on it, where they kept the carnival;
I was never out of England—it’s as if I saw it all!

IV

Did young people take their pleasure when the sea was warm in May?
***** and masks begun at midnight, burning ever to mid-day,
When they made up fresh adventures for the morrow, do you say?

V

Was a lady such a lady, cheeks so round and lips so red,—
On her neck the small face buoyant, like a bell-flower on its bed,
O’er the breast’s superb abundance where a man might base his head?

VI

Well (and it was graceful of them) they’d break talk off and afford
—She, to bite her mask’s black velvet, he to finger on his sword,
While you sat and played Toccatas, stately at the clavichord?

VII

What? Those lesser thirds so plaintive, sixths diminished sigh on sigh,
Told them something? Those suspensions, those solutions—”Must we die?”
Those commiserating sevenths—”Life might last! we can but try!”

VIII

“Were you happy?”—”Yes.”—”And are you still as happy?”—”Yes—and you?”
—”Then, more kisses!”—”Did I stop them, when a million seemed so few?”
Hark—the dominant’s persistence till it must be answered to!

IX

So an octave struck the answer. Oh, they praised you, I dare say!
“Brave Galuppi! that was music! good alike at grave and gay!
I can always leave off talking when I hear a master play!”

X

Then they left you for their pleasure: till in due time, one by one,
Some with lives that came to nothing, some with deeds as well undone,
Death stepped tacitly and took them where they never see the sun.

XI

But when I sit down to reason,—think to take my stand nor swerve
While I triumph o’er a secret wrung from nature’s close reserve,
In you come with your cold music, till I creep thro’ every nerve.

XII

Yes, you, like a ghostly cricket, creaking where a house was burned—
“Dust and ashes, dead and done with, Venice spent what Venice earned!
The soul, doubtless, is immortal—where a soul can be discerned.

XIII

“Yours for instance: you know physics, something of geology,
Mathematics are your pastime; souls shall rise in their degree;
Butterflies may dread extinction,—you’ll not die, it cannot be!

XIV

“As for Venice and its people, merely born to bloom and drop,
Here on earth they bore their fruitage, mirth and folly were the crop:
What of soul was left, I wonder, when the kissing had to stop?

XV

“Dust and ashes!” So you creak it, and I want the heart to scold.
Dear dead women, with such hair, too—what’s become of all the gold
Used to hang and brush their bosoms? I feel chilly and grown old.

Are you as surprised as I to find
That Kim Kardashian is a international spy

But don't worry she's on the side of right
Working this time for the good guys

The pics that this twit tweets
Is spinning turbans around in the Middle East

Corrupting the minds of the men and their youth
As they google eye over what she let's loose

Though Miss K. is not the one to blame
It's mainly the fault of Uncle Sam

She's just doing her civic duty
In the posting of selfies in her birthday suity

I've had suspensions for years believe you me
The Kim isn't as dumb as she appears to be

He sat down at his desk
With his face buried deep into it
His sweatshirt road his broadened shoulders
Something about this guy interested me
He was new, fresh slate at a new school

We exchanged hellos
We exchanged names
I threw out an invite to chill
And he politely and happily accepted

There was something odd about him
In a good way
Offbeat
Offbeat boy
I gave him a nickname because his real name was to plain for him

I introduced him to my circle and they didn’t like him at first
But over time they became as thick as thieve
We all were
New bonds were made
Bridges built and doors opened

The things he would say
So random
So off base
So hilariously out of place
I loved it
I always looked forward to what he was going to say next

He was a true friend
There was no lying, no evil in him
He was pure, a pure person

He loved nature
His love was Mother Earth
Shedding at tear at environmental ignorance

He was socially awkward
He couldn’t talk to girls, or anyone that wasn’t one of us
He would get into fight we would have to talk him out of
The confusion he gave to the teachers and frustration he gave to the entire student body
He didn’t know any better

Writing a funny speech about what he would do if he was voted for class president
Then having it being taken as a threat against the school thus getting him suspended and having the police search his house for weapons

The complete disbelief of his guidance councilors
And the flabbergasted administrators were all gut busting comedies to us

As we approached graduation news of him going into the navy came about

And we were all in disbelief
But it was true
A boy who couldn’t life a five pound dumbbell was going to serve our country

Good for him

Even now I can recall our adventures up to that point
Staying out late and wandering the streets in the middle of a cold winter night
Cat calling at the mall, trying to pick up girls
Breaking things
Invading private properties
Avoiding police entanglements
Detentions
Suspensions
So many laughs
So many memories

When he left it was as if the once bright aluminous room we all shared was a little bit dimmer
But we were full of pride
We knew he would shine on else where

From Michigan to Texas to California for boot camp and training he went
Our friend went on a journey, his own journey

One year later, we all await his return

He is back, oh the change is overwhelming
He shines brighter, he’s witty
He’s mature, bold and confident

He’s become a man, he found himself

He has claimed his long sought after love

The one who has been walking a difficult path and strides in beauty

He made passionate love to her last night
He woke up from her house and came to mine at 5 AM

I awoke to find him sipping coffee in my kitchen; he had a smile in his heart that was bigger than the stupid grin on my face
I sat and talked to him, chugged my coffee and got dressed

No we were going on another adventure, two weeks
Two weeks with him was all I have
Then he’s being deployed for two years
He speaks of oncoming war with Syria and North Korea
His views have changed
He believes in war
My, my I’m astonished
This is my friend?
The awkward, soft spoken dude in my history class?
Now I wait to see what happens next
With one of my dearest friend, Chives

Invocation

this call to peace
does not use words we know
it is beyond language

we launch it
into the thin air of hope
where no echo lives

this invocation issues from our lips
our hands our movements
it is wholly transactional
this call to peace


Conflict and Resolution

it starts with uncertainty
continues with doubt
Can black be white
is day night?
We can make it so
and so it is
we say we write until
it becomes our faith
our truth our right

and so resolved
that black is white
and day is night
we soon forget
that others might
see it
differently

so to live in some accord
we have to temper
our resolve
(that day is night
that black is white)
and live within a twilight zone
a chiaroscuro world.


The Instrument of Peace

plucked from silence
the note of the guitar
resonates round its body
brought so close to the heart

held as a lover in our arms
the hands make harmony
sound out chords
for the singer’s song

Oh instrument of peace
hanging on the wall
of our simple home
play for us now


The Peaceful Mind**

a template of fingers
intersect each sounding string
and with every change of shape
fresh possibility ensues

those re-entrant tones held above
the resonance of open strings below
set up rich suspensions
peculiar with dissonance

gently struck arpeggios
revolve in patterned repetition
this loom-made garment of sound
to clothe the peaceful mind

I sleep with the window open
The air, now chilled with autumn, rushes in to sap away my resolve
Waking me from troubled sleep
Covered with only the thin blue cotton sheet from my college days
Comforting, though it’s hard to gauge when last the warmth of another supplanted the foothill of blankets amassed beside me
The loneliness of night:
When only cars pass below
Sounding like freight trains as they clamor over the slab of steel prostrate on the ground
Protecting the suspensions from the pockmarked face of asphalt
Each a brutish chime filling my apartment
The stark vulgarity lashing out
A garbled cry, anguished and dejected
Dragging from my subconscious
Memories of a different time
Now free
Jostling for position and attention, as though I am the jester king
Holding ghostly court
Clad in the stark regalia of bitterness years in the making
Pour me a glass of that vintage and to what shall we all toast?

(Rap, not poem. sorry I cheat)
I can’t, I wont, let anyone get used to me,
I’m just the empty shell of the person that I used to be,
I say I’d never change for one girl,
But I’d change for anyone who claims to be my world,
Because I’ll do whatever it takes for some attention,
Be it getting demerits, detentions or suspensions,
I’m sick of this, everyday same old boring ****,
I’ll ***** my lyrical ability to anyone who’ll pay for it,
To anyone who’ll stay for it, even half the duration,
No one really likes it, yet still i’m patiently waiting,
It’s to the point where I might say, hope is getting useless,
No record label, no future,
So stupid is the kid who thinks he’s got a chance,
To DJ anything bigger than a Junior High Dance,
(Chorus, spoken fast, x4)
I’m told to be appreciating
What I have, what I’m not
Instead of wanting, wasting time
On what I haven't got,

I'm not entirely sure if I'm
More terrfied of swarzchild's radius
The likely end of heat death over the eons of time
Or suspensions of the corpus' habeas

Or perhaps terror lies in false vacums
Or neglected tropical diseases
Or perhaps it lies in refugees being refused
Or with a virus that does as it pleases

But despite the fact that I get
My share of nightmare fodder
Your videos are complex, with layers of thought, yet
They're easily understandable and popular

The work you do is truly amazing
You spread wondrus knowledge through the web
And while you terrify, you're equally inspiring
With all of the points that stick in your head

So to you, Kurgestat, I give a mixed thanks
For though your existentialism can terrify
I love learning, from your words on war to banks
And the way your videos spread like they fly

This little kid mostly grew with his mother, at school he rarely got along with the other kids, fought a black kid on the first day of school… well many of his school days were fights and visits to the principal’s office.

This little kid thought he knew the world already, fighting with teachers because he liked seeing anger and destruction from humans. This  little **** would have to  stand against the wall at recess for all those little troubles he caused, He felt lost most days but was always built with happiness, with some fear hiding inside.

He was a emotional **** that cried always the wrongs hours of day, and when the mother got married to a new daddy, the kid and daddy fought always, the daddy screamed, didn’t know what to do.

The little kid had a fight with a girl, the kid pushed the girl down, the daddy got mad and grabbed him and yelled. “YOU NEVER  HIT A GIRL, YOU UNDERSTAND THAT.” This little kid thought he was tough, jumped off high things and til this day has never broken a bone. Other little kids from school didn’t invite him to play because the parents didn’t like him around their own little *****. Little kid wasn’t lonely and he found another kid from his neighborhood to play with, both mostly filled with the same mindset. They both caused little destruction in their city, caused fights and fought each other. He had asthma but still did things that made him lose air and felt like dying. He wrote little notes in books, wrote a letter to god asking how his dead family members were doing, the only kid in the family.

The kid grew more into something else, he stole little things and  killed little things with his foot. the kids at school grew more into him and started some how accepting him. He still was a little **** but they all laughed and thought he was funny. still beating the teachers up and still visiting the principal’s office accepting his letter for suspension,  He probably had the most suspensions at school.

What's a diamond ring to a heart that calls you queen?
Your lips transpire peace
Your hips transpire cease
Your eyes inquire me
Your thoughts inspire me..

God, your thoughts inspire me..

To run
To fly
To laugh
To cry
To live
To die
To live
To die

I don't want to die..
I really, don't want to die..

Strike me with Zeus's bolt and pause my youth in time
So that I may capture your giggles on a Polaroid as if the moment was mine & hold each copy in my hands until that asteroid ends us

Ends this

Relentless have I been in my pursuit of happiness
Considerate have I been in my issue of love







My eyes are as heavy as your hands when it's time for me to go

No
You say no
Just stay

& I row myself down my intentions into a dimension in which I submit to the suspensions I promised my conscience before I even got to this point

Reminiscing is so dangerous
I finally see the pain in lust
Parallel to the pain in trust
We should ask Adam & Eve to take a train with us as we listen to them tell stories of love
Or God's face

You know...

Things that would cause a brain to bust
Turn a frame to dust  

Let's make history by making mutuality iconic

God, let's make love iconic





When I think about how to cultivate your face into words I don't think about articulating the right adjectives and verbs

But I do close my eyes and picture what went through my head the first time I heard my parent's wedding song

"Always & forever.. Each moment with you."

& immediately, immediately I fear being alone

& alone just translates to without you

& there's nothing wrong with me fearing a future without you because all I seem to do is think about it when I think about you

That's why every line about you ends up eluding to my past because thanks to you, even my most sacred thoughts get to last

I glue your name to my ceiling in hopes for all of God's favor and healing to hit you before it hits me

God gets me




What's a diamond ring to a heart that calls you queen?
To a throne covered in love with rose petals at your feet?
To a chandelier made out of my admiration
What about harps that play your name?
Or a prayer every night and a kiss every morning to remind you that this love will never change

How can I make these whites as uncomfortable as they make me?

Comparing skintones during the summer like there's anything to compare to, y'all just wanna brag about how brown y'all like to get without having to live like a *****.

Some masturbatory self ****, too pretentious to go to a tanning booth, but too cheap to treat ya skin right,
Y'all know that sunscreen is a must, but all I can think about when I go to the beach is tomato soup.

Y'all are the real red skins, but still dare to call yourself dark when y'all don't know what shade is. I can sit under an umbrella with long sleeves all day and still be brown by the time Autumn dries out the Summer leaves, I know y'all can't say the same.

Does it make you uncomfortable that I can other y'all?

White folk. Cracka. *****. Yall think that those are slurs? Where's the censor on TV then? Where's the national outrage? There isn't! But then when it comes to *****, oh then that's everybody's word. Like how ****** used to be everybody's word. Like how between ya ma-n-pops, they talk about how violent we ******* is... And y'all just listen... Complacent or uncaring, but still daring to say you're different.

Cut from a different cloth, you people got some nerve. And yes, you people, as in you white folk. Y'all better collect y'all's trash, like how incarcerated ****** collect it off the side of busy roads for free cos slavery never ended as neatly as y'all think it did.

Will y'all ever be uncomfortable over the right things?

Over black children being set up to go to prison from the moment they enter school because teachers give them more suspensions and detentions than anyone else?

That the FBI was found guilty of murdering Martin Luther King and has harassed him til he was shot?

That Lincoln never really cared about us *******, just wanted to win the war and ******* the south, no matter who suffered the most?

My fellow Americans, white that is, because in the census you're accepted as an American without question,

Y'all don't know the meaning of discomfort.

If I could live a life tomorrow, lost in a different world.
A splinter of a different place, in a time unfurled
Pieces of another life, where other thoughts are hurled
Swimming in tranquil pools, from a mind that's swirled
Through the haze of memories, distorted bent and curled
Decisions that have not been made, similar but twirled

An image of a different world, caught in a singularity
Thoughts fragmented in a void shredding my mentality
Segments of a fractured mind in an alternate reality
A small piece of a dream, A fragment of normality
many fractions of my life that questions my insanity
Feelings of a better place that curves my sensuality

Dimensions in a different time, inclines so obscure
Alternative parts of my life through a different door
Images of loved ones gone, to real to just ignore
Shadows of a former life, places from before
One step beyond the barrier, steps on another shore
Walking in an unknown land not knowing what's in store

Drifting between the twilight, lost in your own dimensions
Shades of different lifetimes, all of life's extensions
Floating in a time warp, with other world intentions
Memories of things not done, a mind of reinventions
Shredded dreams chipped away shattered in suspensions
Trapped fragments of a memory merged with your own pretensions

Living in a another world, no matter what my morrow's
Rifts in space on splintered dreams, a breach in time that follows
A fraction of a quantum field, a universe which borrows
Shards of a sun on broken stars in a mind that hollows
A chance to live a different life without any of life's sorrows
Waiting to be in a life of all those lost tomorrow's

Droplets of water fall graciously down the skies
And all of the students will think of suspensions of classes
Those little bags of waters hit the ground and smashes like glasses
Pieces of it embraces the cold pavements creating puddles

Lightning ran across the cloud like human veins
Giving life to the dead and dark clouds
Thunders roared like the orchestra playing a vigorous melody
Leaving a shock to the ears of the mortals

I bet God is the greatest artist that never signs his works
Its hands left it there to be used by everyone
Though some of the abuses is masterpiece
God is generous and understanding
Because not all people were given the sense of art
Nor a great understanding with things,
So its hands take his brushes and paint it again,
creating a new piece of his changing canvas

Again—again, swift friend
To our end, again…
We commune to the late dark night,
to suspender tunes, a fool’s distractions
made of bubbling mighty
Satisfaction
in silver streaks
forgetful of our lives’ brilliant signs
Not meek of Right,
Left to respite  & deign.

But that life style
with its surround sound slapping:
steel-hard flesh colliding whilst
a wolf’s eye inside widening to
**** full moons, moons
so pale, too soon to rise…

Again—again, we failing friends
Tribune to these piercing
screams,  shouts of only instincts,
inarticulate
again—just stiff, obtuse sticks
instructed by our wilderness’
Darkening

For not to feel or heavy think,
Its common sense,  so stuff it hard
lick and **** it to submission
until it’s gone—happy—endings:

dispensing wars at the Mission,
eagerness of eagles’ energies
Or in Xanax-shaped tears
melting memories from Rx,
Dine in beads of suffered sweat
Upon your forehead, a mark of X,

Naught to forget…

Again—again, we ravens,
crazed friends from paper cups
sup’ nesting cockholds
syringe-able suspensions’ luck
again—and somehow
through the groin’s gruff
and guile of drug-induced *****…

Again—again, commenced
Love-lost ***-lust
we forget to “be”

Us
again if only friends amok
our eyes off to the shadows, flee
on walls written on bedroom showers
greasy with gristle
and regretful towers
powerful stink whilst spits
illusions...

Again—again, tell that friend
Without refusing
us again, our spinning life
begin again—we clones commune
to the late late nights
numbing the looming doom
our wool’s worth & boon.
Libra scales and afterlife
Oh the tithes which bite

To the Lateness of darkest Night.

that day you really hurt me....i can't forget
do i even want to write this ...i guess
no i don't.. it's not worth mentioning
i know you'll see this
i know i didn't need to point it out
but somethings are better out than in
and unfortunately stamped into our memory as a postcard that reminds us of the vacation we were never apart of
why...couldn't i have picked you up that day
i guess i trusted you, but i've learned never trust a carefree soul
because they won't care when you care the most
they won't bother to make amends on a bridge they wouldn't mind cutting the suspensions on, because the way down would be fun.
that bridge was the reason for my waking and motives every morning
anyways
this doesn't need to continue
it was my birthday that day and you were the present that i never had a chance to open
you were my wish when i blew out my candles
you weren't there
hope you had a swell time with your 'friend' you got acquainted with
alcohol ******* *****
alcohol is killing you
that day it killed apart of me
lol i sound like a Boring Insecure Taunting Conversation Hound
but really... i should have picked you up that day

Ce fut bizarre et Satan dut rire.

Ce jour d'été m'avait tout soûlé.

Quelle chanteuse impossible à dire

Et tout ce qu'elle a débagoulé !


Ce piano dans trop de fumée

Sous des suspensions à pétroles !

Je crois, j'avais la bile enflammée,

J'entendais de travers mes paroles.


Je crois, mes sens étaient à l'envers,

Ma bile avait des bouillons fantasques.

Ô les refrains de cafés-concerts,

Faussés par le plus plâtré des masques !


Dans des troquets comme en ces bourgades,

J'avais rôdé, suçant peu de glace.

Trois galopins aux yeux de tribades

Dévisageaient sans fin ma grimace.


Je fus hué manifestement

Par ces voyous, non **** de la gare,

Et les engueulai si goulûment

Que j'en faillis gober mon cigare.


Je rentre : une voix à mon oreille,

Un pas fantôme. Aucun ou personne ?

On m'a frôlé. - La nuit sans pareille !

Ah ! l'heure d'un réveil drôle sonne.

Crescendos of overloads
Water my brain
And I’m down the same drain
In a whole different way
Grew apart
Closing in
All my memories spin
And within a prismatic
Class bubble
Chagrin
Is my gleeful indifference
Immersed
In mesmeric
Existence
Misshapen
Hallucinogenic
Mistaken so often
For misaligned
Misery
Maladaptations
To malcontent
Miserly
Still none the wiser
To omni-dimensions
Still so much to see
Is believing
Suspensions