E, clip, see

I told myself I would write but there’s nothing to say the whore at my core says to go fuck something but I don’t have what it takes to go to war today the sun goes dark in the park I watch and wait for the Hand of God to crush all of this disease into a neutron star I don’t think he will but I must be patient ’cause I do not think he’s far ponder push plush plundering pulverizing prideful personal passions preponderant, perforation pleasures pause, pun, passive in passing puking porous published politics please, prequel perplexing Pacmans … Continue reading E, clip, see

emptiness and cold water

“how cold is the water” she said my answer, far contrabassoon over empty harbor days glazed in bourbon haze temperatures rise fall, bitter, sweet tides bring arctic currents here. she knows the way lingers too long, longingly staring into smokey sea at me, mirrors clouded sun grazing upon surface it is the shadows she fears, darkening “how cold is the water” she asks, shallow breath taken just before chill will bend what you know frozen, we all take our turns. deep is this hurt burns something fierce frigid, space I can no answer her tears slip onto the dust of … Continue reading emptiness and cold water

New Year-Revisited

I do not live last day of the year it is like a little death rough brush, burlesque settles in my bones old spectre dropping dreams in spite of my screaming I do not like the end of the year it’s too heavy, flaunting the blues in cursive graffiti on my center that don’t come off nether wind crawling outside the view is the same one as last year I fear, my dear, my tears do not want the savage drop-down slap-back kissing strangers the champagne wet dream on my face and chest recall the last to fall uptown diamond … Continue reading New Year-Revisited

Taste of Dust

World’s twin bastions wounded phoenixes ridden by shadows plummet on evil wind casting thunder into cloudless sky a quaking of steel roots and iron limbs downtown sandstorm in the boroughs the taste of dust and ashes in my mouth Pulverulent colossi groaning from the bloody hands of undead men,  tainting a loving belief seek with daggers of speed to murder those pictures of an ideal The hymn of great sorrows mirrored in every home victims and heroes all lay down that eve in burial shroud the taste of tears and ashes in our mouths And where do good men seek … Continue reading Taste of Dust

pedantic

pedantic the musing and meandering of formless thoughts etching themselves in the night a tomcat chasing his tail in the barnyard pat-pat-pat, sounds of falling rain dripping into a puddle outside the window of love and loss and candy drunk on obsessions of the never-had wooden crosses turned ironwood rose sheepish in their noble quality a kinship with the forsaken toys of Christmas past the artifacts of adolescence adults no longer care for crescendo pounding into the forebrain annotating the unthinkable transgression against the unknowable desperate for a companion’s voice meditating on the throbbing silence of exile it is a … Continue reading pedantic

Sarajevo

only the good die young, she said, on her way to Sarajevo I saw her face again in a former life. As the rain spatters against my window pane I am reminded of the love which left a stain that just don’t wash away. As she walked away, I felt a tidal wave, I dreamed this day, but in the dream it did not go this way but that’s life I guess I know. Flying cranes and paper planes remind of her voice it was like swimming in the daffodils and surrendering to all you fought against I wish there … Continue reading Sarajevo

Pursuits

mundane pursuits take care of my own exercise my right I do not condone ever all the whispers sibilant seductive rants I wonder, wandering the truth the tumor in my brain is eating of the whispers cannot grasp or hold onto me unflinching impartial perceived reality when my senses are continually shaded ever all the whispers cloud your speech you run from truth faster than fleeing sharks on a beach media propagate the testimonies alluring little ghost stories like the prophets of disco and evermore the whispers grow statements of fact, losing tact befuddled by liquid pictures the truth is … Continue reading Pursuits