Text 18 Mar black

when the lights go out and the room is dark

still awake but holding, breathing, resigning to the lark

all bottle’s empty and tears run dry

smelling foul air and still remnant lie, shadow hands caress your favor

sight returns to dark and shadowed rooms, efforts no longer labor

blind-will follows echo to the plume

unseen unseeing lips grace yours to trip and fall to rip softly squozen rain

to knell and dance lone praises even evening lazes with lost and drifting crazes

greeting sole companions, repeating appealing calls 

as lengthy onward familiar blind clarity knows, and warm will find you back

as lengthy onward familiar blind-clarity knows, and warm will find you back

when holding-hopes turn to black, when hope turns black

Text 5 Feb riding out the tide

scattered illusion sea i sail carpet monster riding railing rolling with the gale where winding winds wind me up so too there shall i go  far and far they guide as they fury all the more

Text 11 Oct Words

words cannot know

what would a word say if they did?

what do words know of my fear
my loathing?
my pains?
how do they know how to describe what keeps me awake at night?

there are no words
there simply aren’t enough well defined marks in vernacular                   
to describe.

will is indeed in deed    
actions are story enough
in act my poetry is writ
                    a script
wrought with written wells of ink beneath a breadth of words
that still call me to tell.
                  …to story.

but, what do words know?

all that can be known

slyly slightly weights what’s shown
                         and words tip nothing
                                   not head, heat, or hat    

the concrete truth of it
       the bare concrete burden
             is that no one can ever
                     see what keeps me awake at night   
the shadows, the fear, the blood wrenching terror.

   words don’t know how to do that.

and how about you?
can words aptly paint pretty picture for you?
do they swell to paint your conversations swell so well that you might as well never leave home?

how about the porn star?
can he describe what he sees?
can he describe how the eyes of the not-a-lover in front of him
makes him feel?
what would you think of him if he were to describe
how her eyes remind him of mother
then, what would you think when you found out that he tried desperately to remember his boyfriend’s face while spewing lewd onto hers?

words do not paint
words do not know how to paint
they do not see, or feel, or carve, or breathe
                                        they only sing   

twisting nuances out of color and shape
making perverse verse, vain vein exposing vane exposition
spoiling sight on the spot

I can’t paint you a picture
I don’t have any words that know how to do that

I can only describe.

And how can I describe what I can’t see?

Text 3 Oct Wreckage

ten times a lover

ten times the lie

ten times a tapping

rap rap rapping

and she’s liking my nimble fingers while i’m on my knees laughing

i could never know exactly what she means

by ‘lover’

lost and afraid i found her finding terrified and lonely

but it was there that our hands met in the dark

cigarette smoke filled the air and smiles exchanged

"can i buy you a drink?"

watch listless and sullen as our eyes met on the surface of reflecting portals of escape. seeking the refuge of being cast but never on stage.

our eyes met in reflections hiding in scented fog. never losing sight of one another’s forward glance as we crept closer, staring at the wall.

how neither of us stumbled is still a mystery. navigation is key, always the key.

moving closer until mere inches apart.

laughing at overheard sentiment of desperate dishonest dreams distant distilled in spry spirits.

"can i buy you a drink?"

"have you met my friend?"

"i have one just like that!"

watching desperate reflections of the lonely on bar-walled glass dreams dripping decorating shelves behind those reflections. our eyes would meet and we would smile. an entire conversation had through glass.

dropping in on dripping crippling eaves. our spirits distilled, refined, entwined by dry emotion.

mocking inebriation, never looking direct, but one never losing sight of the other.

who needs drunk when longing is impairing enough as it is, and ensnaring enough to make graves? who needs inebriated navigation?

cowards. all of them.

i prefer to a see an oncoming collision head-on. and so does she. we decided to stop rubbernecking and collide ourselves.

ten times the lover

ten times the lie

we’d start rap rap rapping

and be licking distilled dripping duel digits in due time.

but first those creeping agents of fate, would meet, have to meet, in the dark. and there our hands seek meeting and creep discretely to greet in the dark. as dim bar glass glances never broke and were affixed amidst cigaretted fog.

tap tap tap

she really was ten times greater than the dream, a non-accidental collision. no exchanging insurance… i didn’t even catch her name.

Text 25 Jul A simple little truth

All the best men know how to cry, and all the best women know how to make them.

Text 16 Jul Unknown Stone

i imagine

being lost imagining what could have been

or painting pictures of old landscapes with brighter color than what nature had provided

on the short lived walls made of cardboard found in a trash heap

never learning to swim, to kick furious feet, or to hold desperate breath

walking away to escape the rest in circles fearful of daring to darling in with them

having foreknowledge of how they nip at the toes with their teeth

or sometimes at the neck if they can reach it

oh how they are quick to extend a smile with knifes, or instead apply them to turned backs

bearing the scars of trust, standing alone and trusting the fear of jumping in

ever trusting the shadow-lain secrets of life lived by tailor-torn brothers and mothers

offering shelter to fellow dwelling survivors of painted cardboard walls

a refuse refuge to in whatever makeshift shelter self-fastened and

crafted by ever longing hands guided by dusty eyes

a simple matter of candlelight before they tare at the walls of well-meaning wishes

left longing and tearing alone in dark corners unseen and dreaming of the time never spent

embracing shadow lovers

kissing untouched lips

spilling unseen blood

and walking a well charted path pacing around what could have been

time is the fate for them that believe in better days reached without painting the road

those that stand waiting and watching and walking in circles away on dry land

keeping shadow secrets of those who’ve sought shelter in those walls of well meaning wishes

and none of those wishes belonging to the hands that had crafted them

trusting fear that they will be torn down by extended smiling mouths

that tell earnest tales of their own furious feet and their own time lost

twisting and slow through the gallows of all man’s sleep, finishing the way it started

trusting the fear and imagining what could have been

the final stone-etching bearing that most disgraceful of sentences

"we loved them"

these three words i read as i sat pondering who it was that painted these walls in the first place

and who would leave a headstone indoors never to see the sky or to feel the rain, wind, or sun.

pacing in circles, never painting the walls of their own vision

but painting the many dreams left told by passerby survivors

who may have picked and tore at the dreams of others, but would never betray the candlelight

i sit

eye twitching at the beat and the rhythm of angry neighbors pounding on those walls

as i stare at that engraving







if it breathed it would do well enough

but confined here it can be seen for the lie that it is

and so i leave this place knife in hand to suffer the weather

and swimming to suffer too those lidless eyes mounted atop cheshire teeth

if i have to stab anyone i WILL leave them scars

but their scars will be on the belly, chest, or throat. and never on an extend a smile

and if i ever paint on trash heap cardboard walls i will use my own dream to do it

with but few colors brighter than that which nature had intended

however it goes, wherever i find myself

i’ll be damned if i sleep here

in someone else’s borrowed xenophobic dreams

Text 27 Jun ambiguity

truth and hope

they run from the main

both handles make lukewarm

torque either as much as you want

that’s all that you get

befriending the music i cringe to

stepping on the feet of my dancing partner

backwardly kissing forward tongue’s forewarning

of terminal heart beats to the rhythm of the music

that’s what ya’ get coupling optimism with honesty

torque ‘em both

pour into my belly until i’ve had my fill

at least it’s not empty

but now i really have to pee

and no one will ever go thirsty again

ambiguity, sir? certainly

ambivalence guaranteed

Text 21 May Lullaby

before time was time a melody in voice divine…
or some-such
about a lullaby to calm the life below from opening ancient eyes and the falling fellow chaos fallowed flowing form from the dark undercurrent caressing careless hunger and need seamless in greed to feed on that which all had but for the other
waiting watching patient and still, ever loving and longing to loosen dreams ‘neath the surface of depths lost to emergent superficial
panicked, the cycle of hungry ravenous rival, bred breeds from the seeds of ages in war-spent survival hairless apes sprang forth curious and spry embracing the tree, iron, and sky. ironically reverently loving the lie life poses reposing contempt for a time
but only just
momentary morality and ethic were born to back-handed esthetic of clever clutching opposable thumb forged war creative creature culture and ravenous still politic, religion, ungoverned governing mill
convoluted convulsing conflict colliding while ever loving essence lay still watching presiding in shadows residing in darkness
a dream awoken a while whispering will is unspoken
as tides roll in raging ragging and wagging
a book half wrote
a secret unspoke
and lies leaving loving lost labels longing low tempo
the states of the world before life sprang screaming forth in ire transpired to conspire and retire stories untold unspoken truths yet to unfold that flaming paining painted corruption goes unmarked were it intrinsic in being
silent child be still
stay still
watch waiting for what wakes and quakes still to awaken, awaiting the day dreams lost and forsaken open their eyes
…and i

can finally get some rest

Text 13 Sep I didn’t Think

i dream

i dream too i mean

i dreamt

in lucid torrid lines of space

lingering hands advance to remove my own face

if in the line of time venture forward

my breath seeded shelter in torment and horror

life moves but to the fro

awaken to find that you know me no more

and if in dreams of silence i find you

it rail-ways my junction derailing convictions

blindsided by hope despite obligations

devout and solid i stand

and standing i am.

but your agents of distress left you clenching success

… and that dress.

you made me look over shoulder to shower oft in corners longing for…

a dream.

Text 22 Jun thin line

How long I wander
how long I wonder
Feeling guilty for a time lost in the gravest of holes
And in fletchling states of down ridden games
the world sucks
suckling milky dripping tits of rotten molten flesh
trip at the hip on the heals of fletchling states
fuckers can’t stand the stench of their own vomituios effections
towards the armed lovers of distant cultures
stitched the shirt before the shit was even sewn together
swaying back and forth like kleenex on a dark undampened street
fleet to foot and falling longing for another
once you liken the tramp to the the preist and see the plumage of rage
go and turn away
run fucker run
run as fast as your silly little fletchling feet will carry you
to tomorrow
eternal in youth
impermanent in age wither the fuck away
into tomorrows land of forgotten uncharted scenes
the truth is they’ve been charted over and over and over and over and over and over
to all those people those people those people
who’ve been there over and over and over and over and over and over
countless times before you
before the likes of you there were only
the like of you
have you ever stared into your mirror
long enough to see what you despise
clearly out your window

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