"unfleshed" poems
The end begins,
not with the first stain
of red sputum on a white handkerchief.
Nor by fingers grown numb with
seizure from the heart’s decay.
But, with an act
that leaves a toy discarded
in the nursery of early choice,
reviving for abandoned deeds
the doppel-gangers of dead youths,
clothed with reproach and unfleshed
figments of the mind’s high hopes of
futures fenced in a child’s green field,
that now is hedged; and ploughed,
and grown bitter with a
named and known crop.
© James Rainsford 2010
Dec 4, 2010
Dec 4, 2010 at 12:38 PM UTC
wHat beckons is the silent Kingdom
a sanctum holy devoid. whose apt walls
are tawny bricks of quiet. the patrons
clamor somnambulant. and heaps of
proffered tongues litter the illucid
broken halls.
the forgetful powder piles neatly
limbs of gray on and about and
the pews drink the sun or the sky
is a plait of onyx feathers.
an arrhythmia of breathes struggle
daft lungs. the stillness beats. bleating
nothing lambs flocked in stupid silver.
the mouths are all corded sinew bound.
epitaphs scrawled untidy letters drench
cheeks apathetic. a corpse of hollow resonance.
step and stone; cadaverous hues, sallow indolent
light on every stanchion.
in
the cathedral, cloistered, is a stiff artery.
a heart stagnant veins. a king whose crown is
ash, a face whose efforts are unfleshed. no skin
has purchase. nor sight. empty hood scythe loaded
dreams the morphea plated scalp. a soft vesical
limpid chromatic fingernails scrabble festering
nodes.
he is waiting
in the comfort of his filth
lithe carpals flexing summons
to his cloak
the candles are making naked lips
kissing darkness; lovers uncut
bound fornicating. i sitting sat saturated
the valley fluxes.
and a tissue of blue decrepit
night dusting the sin of noise. a naked wind
so says
he
Aug 4, 2010
Aug 4, 2010 at 11:59 AM UTC
and dead is.
daed
si balmy june silver moon welt so ugly beautiful.
dead is sometimes always. always sometimes and dead is.
dead is smiling white cheek mucous coughing blond
darkness and.
;dead it's the livid miracle of carnal soil by bones
distinctly scented of muscles. it's dead is autumn dancing
a ragged yellow corpse crunching of the naked souls
**** hearts pounding, and dead. dead is grand
and purple flowers cramming flavor into the loose
pocket of wind and carpals unfleshed sodden clasping
dry mouths dusty nouns. and dead is music,
long and fat, grotesque hips chattering with taught lips
onyx saliva belching stupid oral.
and
de
ad
i
s.
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 11:03 AM UTC
Lock the doors
Drive off to the vanishing point
Lock the sky
Turn off the vocals at one point
Lock the music
Waves vibrate to the ears at one point
Lock your eyes
Deteriorating humans at one point
Unlock your gun
Unfleshed zombies at the front point
Pull the trigger
It's only you and me at one point
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 12:25 AM UTC
today the sun was in everything
shimmering without cease
with seamless jointless fingers.
the massive ginger
of his unfleshed hands
prickles (barely) necks.
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 11:49 PM UTC
When a Rain Drop
Catches Fire
Purity Reigns
Heaven
Sent
Spirit
Hurled
Outward
Innocence
Drenching Raindrops
Of Perfect Faith
Shorn
From
The Fires of
Greed
Victory
Of the Word
UnFleshed
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 8:15 AM UTC