Existential Rapex

I should purchase
A spiked sheath condom
And shove it down my throat.

Maybe then,
Life will stop raping me
Right in the mouth.

On the Wind

I am a bird.
As I soar on sparking wings
I set the heavens on fire.

Everything
That you have only dreamt of,
Everything
You hoped to build on,
Is burning and cast down
In my whirling whiskey wake.

I am an effigy
Of a man you never knew.
Twisted and contorted
Smoldering.
The crowds gather around
And they scream for
Murder.

The wind from beneath
Is lifting.
Hot drafts plucking me
From the flames and
Licks of hate.

I am only
A smoking silhouette in the sky.

I am becoming
Rags picked up in the wind
As wings
And carrying all my disuse
Into the incinerator.

For the Love I'll Never Touch

It's been a year now
Only wanting for a few days.
And I want for those days with you.

But the days that I have
Are only made up of
Paltry hours in which I fear,
That while I still breathe,
I'll accomplish things that will
Amount to less than useless
Especially when compared with
What you could do with them.

I can't believe
Its been a year since,
You spun out
Became broken
Faded.
Then maybe,I sometimes think
That when your cousin told me
In silent typed words that
I became less vital.
In an instant more pale
Than you.

I remember drunkenly wailing
That I'd never grow from this
I refused to-
Would never build myself
On a foundation
Of my grief for you.

I recall meeting your friends.
Some of them,
Not all of them of course
You knew far too many people.
I really don't know how you
Remembered their names.
Maybe you didn't
Pretty girl like you-
Maybe they didn't care
Or notice
That you never used
Their proper nouns
When you spoke to them
Only cared
That you did, speak to them.

And of course your friends,
The ones I met
Are nice people, rather
Reasonable and kind
But they aren't you
And I'm not sure if
I'd ever want anyone
To be you.

Because right now my dear
You are ash.
I take some comfort
In knowing that,
Because your beauty can
Never wilt
And losing you, I fear
Has made me wither
At the edges.

Just the same
In a few days,
I'll raise a drink or three for you
Raise it high and it'll be
Something good, I promise.

You know I never told you but I
Loved you
More than I should have
More than was smart
Hell,
More than you probably would have liked.

Just the same,
Here's looking at you
You fucking magnificent giant.

Winter Licking Lips

Little bits of ice
That hang softly in my beard
Make pleasant cold drops

It Begins Again

Grit teeth fantasies
Of dirt and blood and deeds
That I am too small a man for.
Not Fast
Or strong enough to accomplish.

Even when I think of you
Of happy settings
Endings
And finishes

If you catch my meaning,

Its always fleeting
Melding merging
Into something cacophanous
With illusory cannon shell
Dirt and a scream
That could be my own
As I see your piercing eyes
Falling into dust debris.

Its a marked increase though,
That in my mind
I am no longer a victim
With his head
Under a train wheel.

Still,
I rarely win these
Death flashing
Shadow dances.
But now at least I meet it
With steel brandished
And my teeth
Buried into the neck of life
As it runs me through.

Cue fire
Silence
And then another morning
Movement.

It begins again.

Waves

I sprang forth once
And I dance,
I spread a song before me.
I see,
Learn and love.
And now as I walk
Among and through the rows
Of dreamless sleepers
Knowing that someday I will
Stop my singing, maybe even
On a sour note.
But the song will go on
Even when someday
Every tongue like mine
Goes still
Cold and then
Turns to atomic ash.

Another refrain then,
From somewhere else
A distant voice
Once more
And again.
Hundreds, thousands
Spread across a chorus so wide
In time and distances
That it boggles my mind,
But not the music.

And they'll continue singing,
Till the bits that make me
You
And everything,
Slow down
Stop their dance
Sit down
And spread out as far as they can
Across everything.

Till then,
The song will continue
With someone,
Something,
Everything singing itself to sleep.

Another can of Laker please.

He rambled as he always does
His voice is nasal and
Without enunciation.
He has a bushy moustache
Like a grey tickler Tom Sellick might wear.

I don’t know what he’s says
When he speaks to me at length
And I’ll be honest, I never have.
He knows my name and I’ve
Shaken hands with the man
Hello, my name is Andrew
Herrr my nmmmrr is jjjjurrrrsaan-
That being the extent
That I comprehended,
But I smiled and said I was pleased
Happy to meet him of course.
People don’t like being told to repeat
Themselves
Especially I find
During introductions.

He’s a short man
My height, perhaps an inch or three taller
Though to be fair,
That isn’t quite so hard.
He wears a frayed
Beaten and filthy
Red baseball cap that is
About two sizes too small
For his rather small head.

All of his clothes seem to be
Covered in dust.
Where I work, I discovered
The common clientele
Those who drink the most
Are often covered in dust.
On his back he has a
Beaten denim backpack
That I think he carries his life in.

But he smiles a lot
Counts for something right?

I recall one of the only things
He ever said
That I actually understood,
(Maybe his pronunciation improved
Either before or after his drinking,)
Was that there was a church
Handing out food somewhere,
A ways down the road from where
I work and sling cases and
Kill strangers slowly
He was rather pleased
With his full stomach
And was recounting stories
Speaking of macaroni and cheese
And the six
No seven
Fuck fuck
Fuck
Lots and lots and
Lots
Of different kinds
I think he said sorts
Of cheese
And how it strings off of everything.
It was a fine story
He was happy
When he got his single tall can of cheap beer
He was even happier.

I hadn’t seen him for quite awhile after that
Then again,
I hadn’t been in.
But I saw him the other night
A big smile across his face
Rambling away and slurring so badly
He wasn’t saying anything I understood
But in just a moment his smile dropped
And he pulled a picture from his
Filthy backpack
He and a woman
His grey Sellick moustache brown
And the smile that wrapped across him
Didn’t seem to be strained
By too many hung mornings.

He and the woman were dressed
In clothes befitting the eighties
The picture was aged
With a slight film of brown dirt
But they looked happy

He pushed the picture
And the frame it was in
Across the steel counter towards me
Looked past me
Through me like I wasn’t there
And just left it standing there
Looking through me for a moment or two.

Then his can of beer came up,
He traded the photo’s place
For a dollar and change.
Putting the memory
Whatever it was,
Back in his filthy bag
And he left with the beer
To slam it down
The very second he couldn’t see us.

Sweet Wine.

Too much drink
Makes the world spin.

I wish
That I could grasp you
In my hands,
And see your eyes
Locked in mine
Like so many times before.

The whirlwinds when I close my eyes,

I want, and crave
Your scent that is
Hanging in my mind.

But I am far too nauseous
To do anything about it
At all.

The Shit I Spew at Six Eh Em.

Sleep is always
Being hunted by thoughts
Like wolves at dawn,
It pokes through my window blinds.
Thoughts,
That wail, whorl
And scream between my ears.

Like a whirlwind of teeth
Claw, and I am stuck
On a glimpse
Predominantly of perfumed
Hair,
And the occasional thought
Of wondering what
It'd feel like,
Running between my fingers.

I guess its an improvement
Sleep or no,
A pretty lady is preferable
To the thoughts that came before,
And try to resurface
Anytime I'm up to my shoulders
In shit.

I really do think,
I'd rather lay wakeful of you
Than for any of the dark things
The blistery things
Every weepy glimpse that
Used to
Accompany a bang,
And always ending in
Dripping silence.

But then
What man is unique
That is restless?

More Photography

That's not fucking art
You lack spark, point and shoot
Put the camera down

Just, fuck.

I don't remember it
And I can't really think
Its just the pain of my ankle
And a running mind.

A couple inches to the right
Left
Fuck I don't know anymore
And I'd be dead
Brain damaged
Or just all around fucked.

But I don't want to be
Melodramatic
Self indulgent
Or an all around shithead
Really,
I'm very lucky.

A helluva bruise
A limp gimped ankle
And a smashed cell phone-
It took the hit for me I tell you-

And thats it.

Should've worn a helmet
A couple inches to the right
And you'd never have read this
Fuck

That Wheel

I am the wheel that turns
An effigy of flame in paces
Writhing flesh and flicks of fire
As pieces flake off
To rise in the wind
And the wheel that turns
Is me.

I am the wheel that turns
As seasons melt
The grain fields dust up
Into the violence of storms
To ride in the wind
And the wheel that turns
Is me.

I am the wheel that turns
As my face falls to dust
A sickly smile on white
Bleach bone and dirt
To fall in the wind
And the wheel that turns
Can’t really be me
Anymore,

Can it?

Liquid Beats

Another prick scratch.

I am written in crimson
And crimson is written in me.
Another circulation
Pumped pushed
Sucked
Back out again
A fist in my chest
Closing and gripping
Releasing and leading
Till never and rot.

It’s a
Vital reminder in my ear
Not of the liquid that still gushes
Behind my eyes,
But how rarely
It is in front of them.

In the West we have no mind
For having no mind
We are isolated
And immortal.
The dead do not walk with us
Or lie,
Where we lie.

They sit
Lay
Comforted by
Green or white
Full body blankets
In houses built for their vanity.
They reek of vile liquids
Not our liquids
That keep them beautiful,
Prepped and made,
Until we put them in a box
To be tossed
Into the soil or the flame.

So I march to a beating drum
Of inconstant rhythm
Banging in my chest
Pumping my liquids
And pushing me forwards

But I just wish,
That when I become silent,
It would shut up .

So that for once,
I could finally sleep.

STOP TAUNTING ME WORD PROMPT

I’m sure every guy knows the feeling

Where you want it,
She wants it.

Where you need it,
She needs it.

It’s screaming in your bones.

You could pile your lust onto her
Rupture from your skin
And break you apart.
But it
Just
Won’t
Come.
And you’re left

Frustrated.

Every man laughs about it
Because it doesn’t happen to me.

And it doesn’t happen to me,
Really.
Oh look, here’s another stanza

But when it comes to this,
Right here
These words
There are times where my mind is willing
But my heart
I guess just isn’t strong enough.

Maybe I need to do more cardio
That might help both problems.

Sometimes,
When I want to be
Piling some passion onto paper.
My every fiber
Feels like it could break
And the words should be
Bursting from my skin

But they just don't come.

There isn't really
A lot you can do.
Poetry I think
Needs some performance,
Finesse,
Skill and stamina.

Hell,
You can't even just settle on
Using only your mouth,
A flowery verse
A fancy flick of the tongue
To please the page,
Or the pretty girl,
And only later go home,
To vent your frustrations.

Okay,
Maybe you can.

But a pencil and paper
Just isn't enough fun
To everynight, only
Pile cheap passion into paper.

Bam!

I moved in,
She moved off
To the side
In a jerk.

The rest of the evening
Was very nice
I look forward
To seeing her again,
But

There is something to be said
In that there really is,
More regret
In not making the attempt.

Now I think
I'm going to do
The dignified thing
And move off to the side,
In a jerk
Or maybe two.

Match

Was thinking of something
To etch, into my body
Something
Didn’t have to be profound
But I’d have to be able to stand it
For however long I’m kicking.

My brain got locked
Kept me awake
On a lit match
Standing straight up
Maybe facing outwards on my right arm.
Blocky shading
Monochrome,
Something simple.

Figured maybe it’d be an apt metaphor
That I could wear while I breathe
And the picture,
Like reality
Would turn to ash once I’m gone.

But the light it cries out
While consuming
As it falls
As we fall
Through an expanding darkness
Is never extinguished,
Even long after it
Like this idea
Is dust on your window.

Which makes me wonder
How long the light I burn
From consuming,
Will continue as I fall
As it falls,
We all fall
Through this expanding darkness
And I am dust on your window.

Spinning

I think I'm far too comfortable
Sitting in this office chair,
Spinning occasionally
When nothing demands my attention.
Living on a setup of wheels
Ballbearings and pneumatics.

I can look up at my ceiling
A few feet above my head
A stucco ceiling
And imagine the girl who lives
Within a few feet of me,
I've never met her.

I'm not sure I will.

She lives above me
In an apartment with ceilings
Quite a few feet higher than mine
I'm sure.

She can spin as her music plays
At a rather polite volume, I must say.
She can twirl, and I'd wager
She probably looks great as she dances
But when she turns her head upwards
Maybe we're spinning in unison.

I'm sure its probably just me,
Elsewise my story sense is taking over
Because no one else thinks about this shit
Really, I'm sure,
But maybe
Maybe we're both pondering the stars
As we spin
And they spin
On a world that spins
Around a star that spins
Several hundred kilometers
Per second faster
Than either of our minds can fathom.

Maybe we'll ponder
The speed we're moving
As we whip around that
Angry inch of heat in the sky
That is so large
That it juggernaughts your imagination
Simply at the attempt to concieve of it.

So you can understand why
I don't even want to risk
Imagining the velocity
Our solar system is moving
As it sails around the galaxy.

You know,
Unless she is fantastically nerdy
I doubt she knows this
But I do,
Reality is expanding.

Space itself, is expanding
Always has been,
The space between everything
Is getting larger
Bit by bit
And its happening everywhere

The implication is
loneliness.
An empty sky
So large with
Spaces so large
That light will never bounce
And tell stories.

So maybe I should introduce myself,
While I can
Get to know her
While I can
But I probably won't.

Screams

Tear the air apart
Vibrations to rock and rip
Silence asunder

Impassioned with noise
Pushed past my breaking point
Spit passion to wind.

So fuck the quiet
And your meek mannerisms
Break it with my screams.

Sweat

I don't know how universal it is,
But I feel
the most alive
When I've pushed myself half to death,
And the sweat
That pours off my brow
Is likely the last that I have.

Its a passion play

When my muscles scream promised pain
And I feel them tearing
So visceral
That I can imagine the
Sanguinary torrents
Flowing inside me.

Everytime
My heart is ripped
Bloody from my ribs
And I become a weepy
Pathetic lump
Lacking for self respect,
For some reason
The instinct to grab life
And squeeze it,
Break it and
Crush it,
So that I can consume what comes out
Cries out in my mind.

I really can't wait,
For the next time I'm hip deep,
In shit,
At some new existential nonsense.
And I have to reconcile
Some horrendous personality flaw
Or logical contradiction
So grievous
That the framework of who I am
Tumbles down once again

So when it hits the floor
I can stare up
And build to even loftier heights

I like when the sweat gets in my eyes.
When the salty sting promises
More punishment to come,
Any affirmation that reacts in water
Reminds me to breathe.

Because sometimes,
When I'm bored
I forget.

The Tree on the Hill

Visitors called to the tree on the hill,
Drawn cautiously by painful wails and moans.
My praises in love to the sun so shrill,
They came at first in concern for my tones.

But in just moments they make healing speak,
Wiping clean the remains of my dried blood.
I wore it to the world, for I am weak,
My roots sip succor from the filth, and mud.

Their fingers trace the echoes of my skin,
Flaking crags speak of a man in dryness,
Rightly starved by the seed fighting my sin.
My mouth flicks my tongue pale and pityless-

"You move on your own for selfish desires,
But you will find naught but fallen empires!"

My visitors, their voices are distraught
In guilt I think, their shame is plain to see.
My brittle lips prattle on burning hot
With a branding love, I preach in pure glee.

Feel the joy within me, as words push forth
Praiseful pronouncments to their sins inside!
They are filthy wretches lacking for worth,
Needing more than anything, barky hide.

They turn away as rage fills up their cells,
I spit hateful implications they cry!
That walking strong as they do for themselves
They still were concerned that my roots were dry.

That retort brings pain. I am the victim!
Inner filth! It is the meat of my hymn!

Looks of disgust painted broad and with depth,
My renewed cries of pain send them away,
But one stops and trembles, his voice wet wept.
Oh Brother! On this hill? You are here to stay!

His fellows plead reasoned encouragements
Pithy heartwarming naturalists.
But his mind is in the seed's battlements,
Soon he'll know just Photosynthesis.

Like I did, he erupts in blood and sprout,
Transfigured from flesh to fiber,
Encased in bark, he'll never know doubt
As he supplies both wafer and cider.

The seed will keep us safe from weather's wear
On this hill, growing for the fruit we bear.

Compromised

I'm suspended in some
Viscous murk
And I can't see my hand
When I wave it in front of my face.
My eyes can open whenever I want them to,
But it really doesn't matter.

Because when the sun finally rises,
Exposing wonder to my open eyes
He will still be closing in on me.

Walking calmly and with open hands
In his suit and tailored finery.
He'll be wielding some wicked knife,
Roughly sharpened into a wave
Like a garish knife for ceremonies
Some aztec priest might use
To cut out your heart
And hold it aloft for light.

With every step he takes
He begs me,
Pleads-
And I can even notice as his voice trembles
In desperation
To be allowed to prune my mind,
And weed around the edges-
To cut something out that terrifies him
In me.

But everytime his hands touch me,
Grab me in gloved hands
On my shoulders to comfort,
I'm always confused that he is
So utterly gentle.
That he assures me,
He wants the best for me,
That this is what friends are for.

I find that if I ever consent
To one of his logical propositions
Something in my gut
Makes me push forth flower petals
As an explosive oral warning
To the pressure building in my mind,
And at the back of my throat.
The petals paint the air
In all too cheerful hues
Garish and without nuance
Before falling to nothing.

But pain inevitably follows
When he is unimpressed
By my previous outburst
Proceeding to effortlessly catch me
In one fallacy or another
And I really don't know why
It doesn't wake me up out of this,
Because it has to be a dream
As it rips through me.
Tearing me apart.
As the roots of,
What I fear is
Some malignant idea, spreads its fibers
Through every inch of mine.

But they don't ever stop
As the sprouts spring
From the seed in my core,
Way down past any doubts
I may have posssessed.
They push and rip
Splitting and tearing
Skin from muscle
And bone from sinew.
Tearing my fingers from their nails,
Bursting them apart like little
Red blossoms in the air
Only to have them quickly replaced
By flower buds.
Flaying me asunder,
To pieces and pieces
And pieces
Even worming through from my soul
And forcing through
The ones under my feet
Rooting me so permanently to the soil
That I fear I'll never
Move past this point.

My eyes become hard to open,
Under the shade of a blooming flower
That has grown out of
Where my brain was supposed to be,

It tells me it loves me.

It says that before my eyes offend me,
Before they must be plucked
Like any offending growth,
They must be covered and hidden
From this world of lies.

The bloom in my skull assures me,
The beauty of the grain
And the cool moisture from my roots,
Can be reveled in forever.
But just before I close my eyes
I can see the man-
My friend,
Is terrified of me,
His blue eyes mirror mine back
In terror at the unmoving ornament
That I am becoming.

The rest of whatever is left
Of my pallid and broken skin hardens
Becomes inhuman and strange.
It is replaced by the defenses
The weed from inside me,
Assures me I need.

I eventually stand
At the heart of,
What has torn me apart.
With the remainder of
My life's blood beating only
To sustain the cancer that has grown
From its roots inside me.

I can't hear descent,
Its a wooden echo.
Nor the pleading the man is making
To be allowed one last chance
To save my mind
And to bring back
To wretched friend he loved.

I imagine him sighing,
Weeping a tear for my vanity
Gritting his teeth
And resolving to do
What he feels he knows is right.

What a fool.

When he attacks,
His knife
And every other tool he procures
Will bounce so beatlessly
Without bite
Off of my bark.

When he gives up,
And he will.
I'll stay right here forver,
Unmoving.
Reaching for the sun.

I can feel its love,
Deep within my soul.
So, come stand with me,
And revel
In what I've always known,
You've been seeking.
While you're at it,
Why not try my fruit?
The seeds don't hurt too bad,

Really.

Fungi

Preaching is pretty petals in his head
But on the wind, it brings sickly spores.
Tendrils of mourning, they feast on the dead
And the living, they corrupt to their cores.

Rooted deep in the cool damp of his fears,
Like always in darkness, fungus grows.
Clutching the book, he weeps desperate tears
More spores forth in prayer, repetition's throes!

Thus, as a vessel, he is bursting forth
Spores so thick, you'll choke on the platitude.
They should be hidden in some mirth, but he's
Rooted deeply. He lacks joyous aptitude.

These beliefs make him a small, broken man
Just spreading his spores as far as he can!

Progress

The din too often deafens
As an angry crowd screams,
And they always do.
Against our slow and steady progress
They are always
Rattling and railing,
With their faces contorted,
In poorly considered rage.

Whether aligned along the left
Or right margin,
They all reverberate the word
As a filthy and
Unfortunate curse:

Technology.

I think their issue
Like any other really,
Has all the facets
Of a sickly stone.
Also amusing
And...
Absolutely appropriate to the metaphor,
Is that they often shine
In opposition to one another.

Some see technology
And all the waves it makes
As a chill wind
Puckered forth
From a rotten mouth.
Pushing society sailing
From something they hold sacred.

They often scream of impropriety
Evil in the media
And the joy their teenagers find
Within
One another.
Then in one breath
The very same
Never missing a beat
They will rage at the safety it brings
To a woman's right
To practice control over her own body.

And they snarl so bitterly
When it illuminates
The empty, murky places
Their cherished father
Said he'd be hiding in.

And yet others array themselves
Across picket lines
Against them.
Frothing at the mouth
With breathless indignation.

These newcomers will acknowledge
Mankind's mastery
When their voices can be heard
Cross continents
Fiber optically.

But in Double-Think
That would astonish Orwell,
They will plead for
Magical mystery
And regression
Into some ridiculous Luddite nonsense.

They'll see science
It seems,
As a monolithic
Chainsaw ridden
Clear cutting
Smog spewing
Metal monstrosity,
Driven by an arrogant
Spectacle'd
Fuck
Wearing a lab coat.

Quite frankly,
I have to say that I feel
From the very bottom of my heart
That they've watched
Far too many episodes of Captain Planet.

Rather,
Technology is,
Your child seeing two candles on its cake
And your wife surviving labour.

Any other definition,
Is the raving of a fool
Who in belief, if not in words,
Glorifies the pig
Rolling in its own filth

Get out of the mud
The world is waiting,
And its wonderful.

She's Crying at the Mic

If I'm adrift,
Cast off and drowning in
Some sea of ages,

Because,
The shifting spotlight
Of my life,
Moved out from under my feet-

Would you pull me in?

Would you take a piece of me with you
And let the weight of
Time's water, drain itself
Out of your eyes?

Or could you bring yourself
To stop the ship?
Drag my waterlogged body
Onto the deck,
And put it on display
For all to see?

Stand at attention and proclaim
With guitar in hand,
All my greatest qualities.
Perhaps even,
While a piano downplays
My most grievous faults.
Witness to the world,
My dripping wet,
Frightening and cold
Immortality.

Would you manufacture
Everything-
All the things I was missing.
Perhaps
Let the water refract
And shift alignment
So the light of your words
Goes off its mark?

Like a spear fisher
Taking solace
In his empty stomach.

Letting time stream
Out of your gut-
Straight to your mouth,
And all over
Everything I was.
Covering all of my sins
So that I am just,
A salty still life
Painted thick in
The pigment of
Watery platitudes.

Drowned
In the perfect memories
That never were.

You're Doing It Wrong

Children,
Trying to skank
In a circle pit.
The music is good,
But what the fuck
Are they doing?

Goddammit I feel old.

In my day,
That shit got you,
An elbow to the neck.

Is this their first concert?

Oh, there they go!
Someone fell.
The universe
Is right
Again.

Masculinity

Boys,
Turn to Men.
And Men,
Turn to dust.

I believe there's
A vital moment
Somewhere in there.

Scholars say,
That adulthood comes
Tied to knowledge,
Sex sweat,
And thoughts of
Six feet of soil.

How anti-septic.

So what of those,
Who believe it is tied
To the moment his
Face breaks
Under your fist,
And he screams for
You to stop?

Some would sneer,
In self satisfied smugness
At the honesty of violence.
Contented in their,
Fang-less toothy smiles.
They,
Who have never needed
To last the night.
They,
The unproven for whom,
There is no well of strength to draw from.

They,
The Emasculated.

But,
I am not one
Who breaks bones
Simply to grow.

I do not believe
That the change
Is some finite,
Discrete instance,
With manly horns,
Drums
And a great big brass band
Simply to herald the dropping of
Your testicles.

Rather,
I believe in the best of things,
Being built on,
The best of foundations.
That an avalanche can grow,
In a properly prepared mind.

This vital moment can come.

The world,
Piling on around you.
Your back,
To the wall.
And those you thought you'd need,
Are nowhere to be found.

That you can reach down,
Past the place,
You keep
Your nightmares
And find the strength
To stand alone.

Your power will surge
In glory
And you can summon
The strength to proclaim,

"Fuck the brass band,
I'm a man now
And I don't need it."

Evening's scribbles

Like every night,
I sit bathed
In pale computer light.

As I scratch another
Witless retort to
Whichever partner
I've found for the evening.

I don't yearn
For the sound of
some banal video.
Nor the ringing nag
of a conversation window.

Only for your merest greeting.

The effect is
more or less constant.

I need to be quiet, however
To notice the rattling
of that empty
Part of me
That you fill.

I know
You've never understood.
Doubtless,
You've disbelieved.
You never did get
Why I feel the way
I do.

There's something
In your eyes,
And the slowness
Of your smile.
It just brings

A fire out in me.

But every evening's
Dreaming is answered
By itself.
I know,
When I think of
Your eyes-
Those lips-
Some joke off your tongue.
Or your every
Wondered
Curve.
That they are
In the arms
Of another man.

My want for you
And your perfect,
Happy living
Emasculates me
With all of the
Kilometers
That we are apart.

But that slow smile
Still sticks with me
Every time.

Every time.

As you look at me

Our stares are locked and I'm just dangling,
In this moment we move rhythmically.
My face twitches that I fear I'm falling
Into your eyes. You stare curiously.

Icy blue points and there's simply no strain
They seem to be open down to your soul.
Oh cryptic optics, your gaze is my bane,
I'm so afraid they could swallow me whole.

Our time is up, we have to dress and go,
The same story dictates another lull.
Yet another season to reap and sow,
But your blue stare still burnt into my skull.

I am haunted by your gentlest glance,
Caught up in a moment of rushed romance.

Original Sin

You've said like rodents, I am unclean,
Unless drowned, new baby is a rat.
I say- Original Sin is obscene,
Or at best another thing to laugh at.

Every animal the noble savage,
More innocent than your Jesus so mild.
That you are naught but beast shouldn't ravage,
Any mind that is equal to a child.

Yet you pronounce in misanthropic hate,
No one is at heart, a good person.
In our evil your god can only be sate,
With guilt driven, slack jawed conversion.

In life I am only in love's labour,
You wield your shame like a wicked sabre.

Sudding With Science

Whenever I'm in the shower
I can't help but wonder
When I see my body,
As to the oddity I am.

Smarter men than I said,
That I'm part of some
Unbroken thread.
They say it streches
Back to the first living cells.

But as the jets hit,
And I feel them
On my naked form-
I know it goes further.
The metaphor goes
Much further back.

I know in a very eloquent way,
That I am the cooling remnants,
Of a dying solar cry.

I know that at the singularity,
Everything I am
Expanded with existence,

But as I stretch the line forward,
I know that nothing
That makes me, me
Will outlast my dying breath,
But that everything I am,
Will continue to the end of time.

I am that Unbroken Thread.

Perhaps I am woven into,
The linen robe of a madman
Spouting platitudes to the desert.

As he mouths words that are
Just air that pushes forth,
From some sanctimonious ass.
He's obscuring in a fog,
The beauty of our form

Though perhaps with this prosey pondering,
I am part of-
A thread in
Some silken
Full body
Veil-
Covering the awful nakedness
Of a self replicating existence.

But perhaps I am neither string,
Nor line,
Nor robe of linen.
I am just a man concealed,
Within no convering.
His imperfect shape,
Standing in his shower
With his brow furrowed once again.

Chili

I always start with tomatoes,
I don't really know why,
They drip all over the counter.

Maybe thats why I use a bowl,
And then they sit off to the side.

Around this point I start thinking.

I'll put on music
My head will bob,
But I'm not really paying attention.

My mind might note my knife,
As it cuts through another pepper,
Catching me,
Before I cut to my bones.
But maybe I'm thinking about you,

I'll hold my hand above my head,
And get a goddamn band-aid.

Jalepino or some other hot pepper,
Don't really know which
Contributes what flavour,
But I include them both anyhow.
I'm a creature of habit,
And scotch drinking ritual,
Then again you probably already know that.

I think its around the onions where
I realize how much of a chore
Cutting vegetables really is.
Though garlic is no easier really,
And you probably know, how much
I like a woman that loves it.

It's probably the tears.

Crying is weird.

I hate onions.

So the base simmers in oil,
Olive oil,
extra virgin-
I love the stuff.
It means it's time for the meat,
Always two kinds really,
Something ground up,
And something tangible,
Like sausage or prosciutto
I only vary on the details.

Everything is tossed into the pot
And I slather it in spices that,
You probably wouldnt' like.
It looks delicious really,
I'm almost saddened by it.
Because I could almost eat it now.

I'll put it in the oven anyhow.
It can always simmer,
Quite a long time more.

Clench Your Jaw

It's tohu va bohu,
Warrior's battlescape.
Steels crash-- as swords clash,
In this chaos, men cease.

The Soldier raging roars,
He's got a spear lodged deep.
Surreal still sticking out,
Just nine feet of his death.

Strong jaw, his teeth are grit,
There's still fighting to do.
He takes the haft in hand,
Steely tightened grapple.

A devil's strength he pulls,
Metal leaves flesh's hold.
The clock is running now,
Life's blood is dripping out.

Whether ideal or rage,
Throws death back to dealer.
It sails to find its mark,
Technical perfection.

Metal greets flesh again,
A penetrating point.
The killer's weaker heart,
Just cannot stand the blow.

Tick tock clock runs down now,
But battle rages still.
Thoughts of wholesome cliches,
They seem so dear and far.

Grasps his sword from the ground,
Pain's muddy implement.
Holding it to practice,
Pain screams, and so does he.

Charge.

Romance Sonnet #47B

Evening comes and I turn to what I've sought,
I'll meet your eye then we'll go hand in hand.
Our flesh touches the feelings burning hot
Pulses arching back! This woman is grand.

I can look at her face, travel the lines,
After all, I've seen them many a time.
The clock ticks on but nothing undermines
Our electric calm being so sublime.

Morning lights things I'd really rather hide,
All of my bizarre buldges and bruises.
Although, if I expected you'd be snide,
It's been years. I've used all my ruses.

I've denied our pretentious illusions,
These aren't just some dopamine delusions.

Take a Bite

Fight and fuck burning incandescent bright,
See through darkness deepest before the dawn,
Your hunter hasn't caught you in his sight.

Spiteful words spoken cruelly to incite
An honest man desperate for use of brawn,
Fight and fuck burning incandescent bright.

Learn to imagine- set minds alight,
Exhilarate adventure, breathless gone,
Your hunter hasn't caught you in his sight.

Beautiful woman naked in the light,
Joyful grunts gasping thursting curtains drawn,
Fight and fuck burning incandescent bright.

Move to wander, venture is never trite,
Only cowards never pass by their lawn,
Your hunter hasn't caught you in his sight.

The heart's beats too lovely to waste on fright,
Well travelled life suits ending in a yawn:
Fight and fuck burning incandescent bright,
Your hunter hasn't caught you in his sight.

Hey! Proper Posture, Mr. Hour Glass!

In your mind death is waiting at the door,
Practicing words to your mortal testament.
Again it falls to dust forevermore.

Hungry for time and always wanting more,
Desire sinks in temporal cement.
In your mind death is waiting at the door.

Retold stories of fighters bathed in gore,
Becoming moldy tomes by increment.
Again it falls to dust forevermore.

Time's progression death. Rots to the core
the withered sweet leaves for our bereavement.
In your mind death is waiting at the door.

Fevered clutch breast. Man desperate lusting whore
Giving up in this cocette tenament.
Again it falls to dust forevermore.

Inconstant nature is a fatal sore,
With time always gathering infirment.
In your mind death is waiting at the door.
Again it falls to dust forevermore.

Fan the Coals

Unpainted neutral mask,
Cloaking cover conceals
This singular cynic.

If I make screaming shouts,
Serrated shards explode-
Self-centred expulsion.

Now I'm burning outside
this cliched corona-
Some juvenile furance.

So if you can make use,
This self indulgent flame
Please do. Lest it blow out.

Scream Through,
Your Teeth.

We Silent Glossy Standing

Splay me. Lay me out across the table.
Poke me. Prod me. Stick needles deep within-
Plastic fantastic trapped in a fable.
Sharpened surgeries- show them all my sin.

My eyes will never blink- they're ceaseless stones,
Polished beads I'll bear forever because
Plastic was harshest on my optic cones.
Vacant gaze, will you wonder who I was?

Plastinate me! My blood will never seep,
Though I'm trisected open to the world.
Empty chest, I grasp my organs in heap,
Posed like a gymnast, I'll hold them up twirled!

This sacrifice makes me the sweetest dove,
Commited to teach in the broadest love.

Breathing

Oxygen suffuses painted red blood,
Exhalation makes empty, ready step!
Falling fast, fevered gasp- ending with a thud,
Loved ones gather. Still chest, shudder wet wept.

Haikus

Flicker Candle Flame
Dancing brush fire inferno
Stiff breeze brings silence.


Whirlpool pull me down,
Suck me under, stillness comes!
Cold water cradle.

Minister Your Manacles

Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild,
He's manacled master-flee!
The man's an ignorant child,
Wearing his cuffs joyfully!

Master/Slave Morality,
Adoption brings promotion.
In banal ignominy,
Immersed to halt commotion.

Lessons taught by Hebrew slaves,
Historical disaster.
Soft linen 'dorned Jesus raves,
"Become your Roman Masters!"

Our Dance

Greetings, heraldry to future loss.
Handshakes to hang nooses their neck around.
Ashes scattered to the wind with a toss,
Dirty handed silence begs for a sound.

Life continues, friends are made again,
This process parting perrenially.
Skin shed, bodies drop, we bloody sanguine.
These Macabre games played continually.

Looking down infinity's vast expanse,
Peering through our eternity apart.
My waking mind frozen by your absense,
You've reduced me to an emoting tart.

But the game continues- I'm caring more,
Though this phenomenon could be fleeting.
What wasn't expressed persists as a sore,
But I'll never once regret our meeting.

Happy Birthday

Birthday girl,
Well wishes to fill lakes.
We should have a few drinks,
Don't worry, I'll handle
your's. I'll need them greatly,
More than you.

Pest Control

The cities were blackened
All life extinguished.
The crops were burnt
No future allowed.
Every hope removed,
Systematically eliminated.

Every effort, every hope-
For their eradication.
Every effort, every hope-
For their extermination.
Roaches don't die.

No, roaches don't die.

Cockroaches don't die motherfucker.

Oh, and rats- poetical nonsense,
Extruding endlessly about vermin-
Rats- RATS!

The profitability of decay.

Some Pantoums

Party!

Oh Dionysus,
Bless my drink.
The wine shall flow,
Partake our joy

Bless my drink,
Stamped grapes aged.
Partake our joy,
We dance the night.

Stamped grapes aged,
The room is spun.
We dance the night,
The lights do turn.

The room is spun,
Our stomachs churn.
The lights do turn,
Seeing dinner twice,

Our stomachs churn.
The wine shall flow,
Seeing dinner twice.
Oh Dionysus.


--------------------------

-----------


Sweet Embrace

Always your's,
Oh great lover.
By my side every step,
My masterful stalker.

Oh great lover,
Cold Sweat embrace.
My masterful stalker,
Flying to you.

Cold Sweat embrace,
You give love meaning.
Flying to you,
With finality.

You give love meaning,
Of body and mind.
With finality,
My eyes close.

Of mind and body,
By my side every step.
My eyes close,
Always your's.


----------------------------


Burning Passion!

I am the inferno,
The passion unabated.
A thousand nuclear furnaces,
To make my mind thirsty.

The passion unabated,
Pondering the stars.
To make my mind thirsty,
A universe awaits.

Pondering the stars,
Love of cosmic questions.
A universe awaits,
No three letter answers.

Love of cosmic questions,
Of stardust going home.
No three letter answers,
Only natural elegance.

Of stardust going home,
A thousand nuclear furnaces.
Only natural elegance,
I am the inferno.

Grief

O outer senses there is peace,
A dreamy peace on either hand,
Deep silence in the shadowy land,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.

Taken from "La Fuite de la Lune" by Oscar Wilde

-------------------

Silence to balm my restless mind,
Awash with questions, legion doubts.
Loss and betrayal splashed such joy,
Voices who sing only mem'ry-
And voices pester nevermore.
Inconstant nature cannot cease,
And only stillness can release.
The quiet of this night answers,
Dominion where oneness has lease,
O outer senses there is peace.

The moon is hiding, charcoal sky,
And snow has frosted everything.
The air is crisp and hisses soft,
Sending people home so restful.
The night's young, but feeling ancient,
The constant loss of mortal sand.
Sifting through my fingers to join,
Mem'ry, the former side of now.
These special moments cannot stand,
A dreamy peace on either hand.

Twisting land of sleeping dreamers,
The dead don't lie, regret verbose.
It murks in static sometimes clear,
Crystal words spoken to one's dear.
It shifts and twists as stomachs can,
Painful mem'ries beset in band.
And I run to an end of things,
A deep place with no mind for thought.
This is the sound of long spent sand,
Deep silence in the shadow land.

Dreams do end, but light comes again,
Morning comes for cowards and men.
Light accounts fevered rationals,
Scenarios saving the still-
We shake our heads in confusion.
Time only works for healing. Grease
Content in you fellow's comforts.
Living's own purpose is succor,
With one's friends is the only peace,
Deep silence where the shadows cease.

Blissful Ignorance

They built a cave for me, crafted of clay.
Furnished for life, and dressed it so I'd stay.
Kissed my father once- mother always twice,
and the door collapsed, leaving was so nice.

I held teddy close, from loneliness shield.
Darkness crept in, only family did yield.
I slowly felt towards, my cup and string,
In this silent cave, only it did sing.

Days weathered on, eroded into years.
The cup to ear, my parents spoke as seers.
Their words painted skies, puffed many a cloud,
Wondered at such things, that I mouthed aloud.

Didn't stop at stars, sung of angel wings,
Told me of the Lord, and of Heaven's rings.
This pursed my brow. I understood the sky,
These words so odd though, wondered why they'd lie.

Time mirrors back, and I can see the past,
Knowledge newly earned, has me not aghast.
It was an act of love, to shield from truth,
A world so burnt now, wrapped in words so soothe.

Whetted as my mind was, urgent to dig.
I grabbed my first few stones, but none too big.
I felt the need strong, not for food or drink,
To see these things that, made it hard to think.

I worked in fever, had to know so bad.
Couldn't trust but, I loved my mom and dad.
Rocks piled backwards, from superstition'd steep
Filling up my bed, I worked without sleep.

The final keystone pulled, rocks tumbled down,
and the world as it was, naught but to frown.
The sky was was painted, but different shades yes.
Dark clouds did swirl, around a red mor'ess.

Lightning crashed, struck, and people cried again,
My parents came tailed, by women and men.
They spoke a truth profane. Painted in shame,
It seemed you see we, set the world aflame.

They had hid me then, struck me from the world,
To cover my eyes, as our death unfurled.
The walls were falling down, horns should've blown,
To see all of this, wished I hadn't known.

But time weathers on, and final years burn.
Stuck in that cave, I'd have no chance to learn.
Regret melts away, and peace settles in,
Blissful ignorance, is the only sin.

Moody

Banal man, fresh works laud more of men's pretension.
Poorly concealed misanthrope, he profits quick.
Money filled pockets quell unfulfilled expression.

Early life Mother starved poor baby love's affection,
Private life later and drunk he whines Father strict,
Banal man, fresh works laud more of men's pretension.

He gathered whores and wives called by his sensation,
Fevered search for loving, the man no more than dick.
Money filled pockets quell unfulfilled expression.

Fat from drink, toned on sex yet starved for exertion,
Shattered window pane inspires the mind with a prick.
Banal man, fresh works laud more of men's pretension.

Dark glass sculpts macabre stanzas to his extinction,
Fevered form, the art garners decries screaming sick.
Money filled pockets quell unfulfilled expression.

Art's wails mourn lost meanings, shard his work's destruction.
Trapped by death, viewers pass his life with just an ick.
Banal man, fresh works laud more of men's pretension.
Money filled pockets quell unfulfilled expression.

Sol

There comes a time just at the brink of morn,
The sun will wax- long since candles burn.
Fans and feeds our pain alight, seething scorn,
No balm for our relief ne'er mind our yearn.

A bowl of apples sits atop the sill.
A single one ripped random from the bowl.
The sunlight bleaches- hastens rot red kill,
Blight and maggots radiance extoll.

Man reaches forward solo in the sand,
Looking for refuge, darkness' relief.
An ugly bright beast doles out its brand,
Bathed in its light, his pain defies belief.

Strike the suns then, and rip them from the sky,
Without fire, life would never know to die.

What I've Lost

Don't help me, I'm harried in the wind.

I miss the, Soft comfort in your arms.

You left me, On legs grown up to move.

And with you, I can not see the world.



I fear the end's cold finality.

I mourn the injustice in the world.

I am the blotted rorschach painting.

Don't help me, I'm harried in the wind.



You told me to never be afraid.

You helped me to grow up a little.

You made me feel everything's okay.

I miss the, Soft comfort in your arms.



We fought when I touched another's flesh.

We screamed when I saw what you could not.

We wept when she didn't make it home.

You left me, On legs grown up to move.



You brought me the brightest of worlds.

You made me content with what I had.

You taught me to trust what I was told.

And with you, I can not see the world.



-I,
Pushed from you, Despite nostalgia.

-I,
Miss only the, Certainty of the past.

-I,
Stand just to, Be harried by the wind.

-And I know,
That with you, I'd be a dullard child.