Fleeting image personified.

"The cage has grown thirsty for sweat."
Let these words be scribed as effigy
contrast through eyes pinholed the light. It will pass into a message
turning image. A picture then curdled into thought
sweet as verdant nectar to special chemicals
floating in vermin's cough and shed.
That which bared flakes of skin
to still winds prescribed for gales.
At once open sores full of change; to which the scent is
reminiscent of the crack in bone.
The wisp of frayed hair past a mulled face with
graying tone.
Shifting molar against cheek as though the teeth were seated in discomfort.
Those who
Act as though
this hull was breached in urgency,
are the children of a hungry drug
who found humor in killing time
who
were baptized in stopped bathtubs.

A Den Of Seven Dying Wolves

A den of seven wolves
lay deep in eye glint comatose.
Stridor begged its pardon up from crackling lungs,
through shaking snouts; dabbed in gray,
thinning fur. Diamond hard air burning
deep through seven dried and crusting noses.
Seven similar scents rotted slowly
along side one another. The pack,
all alike in age and type, once fit
to hunt as a unit with precision and speed
felled against the dirt
of their rooted den.
The young appeared at the entrance
bathed in dawn
smiling wide with crystal blue eyes and moss damp paws.
A den of seven dying wolves looked to the pups
baring teeth and laughing amongst themselves.
Stagnant as an echoes deafened tone.
Ignorant of what passed before them.
Weeks will expire before they begin to gnaw on these bones.

Big Mistake 2

I expect the delayed.
In a cost of form and matter. I, in turn, am reborn. Enlist the need for the beauty. Engage the despot from the riches. Envelop the true from the truant and stage the maker to hold wrath by the back. I expect pulse through the rhythm to embrace love by the neck. In meter where words explode as a symphony there lay meaning in how we trace noise by the window. Where we drew our hearts in our breath and held mute for the moment to engage as fear for those intact.

Who lays exposed on the surfaced.
Build your city and just burn it away.
As fire stays pent and apathetic
Entranced as moths to a flame.

Broken wrists can write fragments of letters which bleed ink to the maze of your veins
Base toxins with hearts and their lock picks. So I can break in and sleep soundly for days

Big mistake 1

I heard laughter in the back room after a long kiss goodnight. Darling your eyelids are dreaming of meeting and I'm dying to let you be still from heavy breathing. If only there was sunset, now would be time to sleep. But dreaming without meaning keeps madness unresolved. So I'm sleeping without meaning as I hurt the ones I love. As night times' blanket turns children into morning's orphans I speak soft words, take value in motion. As night time's widow leaves quiet men in portions. I'm starving for another place to rest my heart. call it an even score unsettled and fettered as truth is alarming.

Tuesday, May 17th

I found myself sulking beneath the rainbows

Lit with imaginary connotation

Of substance demeaning cave-ins

Pouring downward from a crowded starboard

Those port side are tipping in the waves

Belting nothing from the surf

White capped nights hatched in eye glint twilight

Slides with a knife to their thesis:

Versifier

Murderer

Demanding despair on a kite’s tail

Running the meadow with no wind

To expulse misgiving fabric into the firmament break

So a hill is climbed as mountains are felled

Gazing down; see the grass below

Where a running start is incredible

When the wind picks back up.

Sad Song Written With Ross 10/23/06

I went down to where the pier meets the water
cause I'm sick of being asked whats wrong
that time and a place for everything that was suddenly vast is gone
long standing questions unanswered
and miracle laughs unventured
this choice that I made was not decided
but instead forced upon and provided
as the world turns I catch a glimpse at the lives I missed
as the wounds hurt I see the final point I wished
that all the names in the bible
could help bring back a revival
of the final and great romance that stood
in the remainder of my childhood
but instead of a pillar high
I'm standing on sand in the cold outside
and the rhythmic kiss of the waves onshore
beckon me to enter and absorb
all the sudden great wisdom
that the freezing surf would listen
and spark a sudden change of heart
just as the green and me depart.

TCIC-ER

Walking undaunted parallels between the graveyards and the seas.
And if we come to mention apprehensive faults
Those who sleep insipid thoughts
pensive and lost; I allude first
although spaced as letters to the dead
the worst victim on these clad and fostered
often slaughtered
canned and martyred
sanded, frosted shores.

Footprints to retrace and statements to retract,
never asking for second looks and glancing back on fractured facts.
To breadcrumb covered, epiphanic, harkened carriers
of the ideals we lead to cliffs' crude edge
and marched off: naked, stag (blindfolded).


Our thoughts are almost always misinterpreted.