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.

No sleep

In an effort
to strike the clouds from the wind
her offset hand can glide regrets
and straddle the endless sky in cradled bounds.
The firmament gives way
in the likeness of a growing boy
towards the closest route to inclemency.
A sun clot stuck fixed on a pane;
the shear of jutting light cut cicada oscillates
through the dust.

unremitting; a pulse of heart
there's a clash of teeth
whose veins rupture thought
in a glance which audits rhythms.
For those who breathe through nightlife
and the capsized incandescence of the moon's inhibitions
who shed eternal the silent pull
that can sag the eyelids heavy
with constant enervation
a belittlement of safety
escorts you all to wake.

There is a place into tonight

without fear, into depths of ourselves
There is a place; into tonight,
where the scalded snow is trickling.
The frozen lineage with shifting face grabbed red.
It is in forms of deepest sympathy.

There is sky black road that is frozen to the earth
that has been paced
and for miles the shoes on my feet are tired.
Once more a medley of words to stop the actions of
the streets which hold homes to the lost
(and to cross them is indefinite).
There is a place, feeling deeply with restraint.
There is a car which will follow all the martyred husbands to their haunts.
I am a heartbeat within my father.
He is the crossed roads within my town
where dim lit streets are sleeping in the cold.
He is singing. In frozen shingles above the beams
are the costly depths of ourselves.
I am beating within, though never given a thought
I am the heartbeat within my father. He is the icy waves sleepily lapping onto the rocks.

When can sordid heels turn around and come home?
Away from the sheathed sword, the empty eye lids, the starboard side of love;
where streets are filled with Fahrenheit's low end.

There is a place; into tonight, where scalded snow is trickling.
It is freezing. to be urged to change and change again.
Nature is as indecisive as it is furrowed.
He is as against himself as he is his actions.
We are seldom ever in favor of mending:
when we are reminded
we are in place
to think a way into new hands and fingers.

How can you pretend the Earth is breathing?

I can see you thinking there;
Working hard the gray behind your eyes:
'What is the reason for this shifting ground?'
Of the grass and dirt being pulsed by worms and bugs
beneath your leather boots
scuffed from kicking
worn from being ripped from your feet
for a night
of being thrown on hard wood and forgotten.
Your face wet and streaked in glittered plum.
'What if' for second chances of
waking up to ringing church bells
when now everything has been
sleeping on eggshells.

Looking down, slowly, you see writhing
beneath your heels. Choked mealworms
whose mouths are wrought with breath and dust
behind your back snaps grass
stalk from the pressure of your weight.
Growing bent in almost perfect unison.
A rising working unit.

And the world wonders: “Why,
as vermin are to verdict;
your eyes half shut and you still smiling,
your throat coarse from smoking
your tongue half-fold and paper thin,
you progress without any reason at all?.”

Save, of course, the thoughts in the back of your head.
“Why is 'habit' the word that no one will ever say.”

I remember:

I wrote this somehow
I cant remember when
I don't remember where
For who is for the life of me

Promising to never feel this way again we say things like:

I shot every wolf dead at my door
through my cabin window
looked
to find they had no claws
I held myself dead at the helm
the magnitude of the problems held
straps us down
to kill our starts
and birth our ends
bearing gifts
of
no forgiveness
listless upsets
ruthless suspicions
usually droning which bore details
dealt with
in the pit of my stomach

A 'Carry Over'

A Portrait

Monday, July 03, 2006

This is why
Nothing really sticks to me
I drop the sweat to my feet when I shake my head
Ill never extend my heavy hand to shake
Yeah, this isn't where I become
Another rational set of words
Or a pillar to hold your house
I'm just roaming across the halls
Till I get back to my room
I'm listening hard to hear someone walk across the floor
I hear the difference between asleep and awake
the summer is stuck to my back
Im asking again
do you feel alright
I'm falling down again
shutting windows
opening the letters
and calling the innocence on my phone
I can believe that this is what it
comes down to again
I can set two worlds apart
and try to join them again at the hip
I'm coming down the lawn
It's not feeling right again
The something wrong
There's something wrong with your skin.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

My favorite spade

so much for decency
It's parrallels were condensed
we are all being cheated of time and essence
Where are our normal friends?
Where are the ones we hear about in songs?
Where are all the girls
who think they know the world?
The ones they write about in books.
So much for self acclaimed discovery.
These walls are now a fence

I dug for days and they told me keep going
I dug for four more and the ground began throbbing
I put the shovel down
She put a gun to my neck
I dug my own grave
and she shot off my head.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Porch View With Clouds

'If the world doesn't understand then the world has to learn'

I guess in a way it has.

It has learned to be patient. It has learned to tick in unison with the struggling. It hasn't been out of sync once this whole week. I have options and choices to make. I have to leave and get up from the broken bed and retire my bones at night. I must create clear signals. I have to stomp out tireless uniform and engage in the less strenuous everything.

Last night I sat to watch the stars by myself and for myself.
I looked to see the clouds chase the sky back till the world seemed like it would explode.
I was worried for, I was found.
I was joined by a girl who wrote short stories.
We spoke of life:
What it means, who it hates
We talked about living
How it burns, what it takes.
Everything got better with time,
"Tonight I will redefine everything."

Inoculous moonlight sang with fanfare from crickets
To shoot awkward glances into the face of their spirits
and when he ran from love
the sun came up
and slept shut out
by her open mouth.