 
## Divorce

### Maria Morisot

### Published by Moan Lisa Press at Smashwords

### Copyright © 2014 Maria Morisot

### X-Ray

The lights so slowly swell beneath my languid tongue,

and in the dark I grasp onto a little tuft of hair,

proceeding outward from the reaches of despair

and into the cool autumn slide towards ecstasy.

With the weight of my sins at my right hand;

and the power of lifeless fury breathing fire in my heart,

the cacophony of Satan's ways bleeding into

the silent spaces and filling me with an utter despair.

Land lost, and in a dream receding,

life slipping away, and I am bleeding;

Into the candle's flame, into the burning eye,

Where angels no longer inhabit, and where the sun

is darkened and dead; and where life is but a tragedy

and a forgotten hope of salvation is laid to rest.

Hear me now, beneath the planks of my frustration,

below the surface of my breath and in the shallow waters

where I struggle through the canticle of mud and ash.

Where tears no longer burn the eyes; but only the fire

as it burns me alive; as it plays hot against the skin,

We reminisce of childhood days, of innocence,

as we burn in the valley of death.

Fondling the parapet and dusting the ashes off my feet,

while I stand in your eyes as just a little flame,

burning out, before your eyes, before the dust can settle in.

And here, beneath the temperament of red wool,

I glaze my eyes over to the sounds of her pretty voice,

letting the sheep fall, letting in the howling of my heart;

Though what came in this foul yet insightful mass

was a germ and a host; and a head filled with dynamite,

but you would close the curtains, and sing me off to sleep

through her voice; and through her voice the angels would

corrupt the glasses that I would see nothing of the light

Or when fantasy erodes and leaves us dithered and distressed;

I culminate in the small persuasion of a guest, to dress my wounds.

Rocking on that chair, gently back and forth; corroding the wires of the mind,

and setting the house on fire. Free me from the intimacy of youth.

You wept when I refused you, and you made a gash inside your palm,

and I hunted for your bitter sweet detention. I slaved over your frustration,

and found my satisfaction when death had had her way with you. And there,

between dark red sheets, I bit my blade and let my tongue fall,

I swore on your death bed that I would come inside the sheets

and make amends; placing victim next to me, and tethering myself

to this small dream of open sanctimonious affair;

While you rush towards me with an anvil and I scour the raped

suppression of my sins; our heart was beating and our mind awake,

and as we pulled the curtains back and peeked inside your shroud,

everyone was well aware the intimacy we've chosen to reveal;

and our bodies, and our minds, and the rhythm of our hips as we disjoint

Well, we are aware, and we are wanting; and nothing stands in our way.

In your bed, beside the burned out fire;

with lights low and the hum of the dishwasher,

I hold your breast in one hand and kiss your neck,

and let go the seams of my unreality; and press

Each cough of the lung which ensues is a reminder,

each neurotic tale of my childhood, when you asked

to know me completely, and I misrepresented myself.

Through tearful eyes, you memorize the lines of my end

One too many words, and a cupful of salient song,

we wake to cold winds drifting through a missing door,

winter's keepsake and the pile of logs all burnt up.

And I regret my saying this to you;

but come closer and I'll whisper you my darkest secret

You must hear to be a part of me.

Throw me the sun and its burning flame,

heat my mind with the fires of your youth,

sear my skin and brand me, your own; your worth is my

misunderstanding, and I shake off the bitterness of my transgressions

To keep a hidden composure stuck inside my mind.

The choice is in your mind, to take out the trash

or let the slow corruptive spill seethe and bleed within,

and I would dash to pieces every precious thing

Treat and retreat and scour the earth for a bride;

and wash my feet, and bathe myself in slow moving liquid,

and settle in beneath the fire

Where once I tamed myself and held in all my natural mannerisms,

here I let myself explode without boundaries; I pick apart my momentary daze

and fill my hours with your slow breathing, wanting you to stay;

wanting this moment to last forever, and expecting the night to reduce me

into dreams

Plummet. Sink or swim, transcend and descend; and drop from the edge of the earth.

With new silk gown, and hair tied up in knots; I sink to the bottom of the sea.

When the walls fall and there is nobody left but myself;

in my own paradise, I will tell the teachers where I stand,

and in this garden left with good and evil's ill repair

One small wound and one disregarded child; and in ecstasy

I traverse the throes of chaos and corrupt myself in their civilized structures

The beatings will continue, and past pain I will never find

the love that I was after; so hold my hand this short while, darling

Dear and precious picturesque princess; hold me to your bosom.

And there I'll sleep and I'll decay slowly in your arms,

hidden away from the dark magic of earth's attire;

and dream of the comfort and the wholesome milk you offer me,

Let the tooth rot, and the tongue divide; but stay here at my side and be my closure;

fold me into death, and into the darkness that extends beyond our touch.

My Gateway to the Void.

The future of our family; in God's good graces, or in his ill

stripped of decency and strewn about the streets in our despair,

and as a fading flower, we are here to decay; to grow for a short while only

and let the mold of love's embrace touch us and leave us wanting

To decay, and draw in final breath; to sleep with the dead,

and carry their bodies before us into Hell, and here we make our beds

we break ground and serve the underworld with out enslavement.

We drift out through oceans of short sentences, and find our heads

obscured with fantasies and flavors of the month, a rotten mess

Culminating in the obituary of our self reflection; who we are,

and where we came from; our birth until our death.

Two lights shine here in our window; another six at your request,

and I fold laundry at the television set; and I fold in my head between my hands

and waver, and want; to help myself to death's sweet touch.

Not knowing the penalty of quick imaginations.

Thrust--

into the eyes of death; reuse what was sacred to us last Christmas,

and we'll repent between your thighs. Make solid our anomaly,

In this heart of darkness, this desert of soul's inmost corruption;

wherein we burn ourselves, wherein we sing to the pain of dissociation,

I press you in against me; feel the weight of you in my arms,

and hold you there, in discomfort. Begetting child.

Pierce your pain with ecstasy.

Draw out a revolt, and seize your hands; Tear up the pieces of my past

and offer you prescription, a steady dose of what lies inside a schismodic mind.

Here, at the doors of perception, I'll walk inside you and you'll let me through

and I'll place a candle that burns at every edge of your shallow mind,

and we'll make dust and ashes of what will follow.

Only in the flames will I repent, and only in the desert of my forgotten soul

will I find peace for what I've had to endure.

The exhaust padding out its print upon the wind,

and your mind echoing its madness;

To trust in peace at the end of everything,

and to let dust settle, and skies obey our lust,

to trumpet out the poetry of death's sweet surrender,

And come clean, without a shadow of a doubt, to see

into the pieces of our world's everlasting night, and dream

of all forgotten tales; motion bleeds me, intimidates my mind

Leaves me pallid.

You wanted to walk this mile with me,

to peek into the disguise of a lonely mess of blood and tissue;

and see some etching of our love made manifest,

MAN-I-FEST; come clean without the shadow of your hand,

to pull me into the body of our twisted salient stream of

words, some without meaning; words, without intention without--

But my mind was made up plenty of time ago,

to leave this shallow pool and burst through the atmosphere,

and when the pains pronounce me almost dead,

another chain pulls me into life's miserable sentence.

And here I rumble and I cave in, I collapse; meeting metaphor

and swallowing in the silence of an ever after.

A culmination of forms once incomplete, now steady at the stage;

I drop one pill into the depths of your drink, one intoxicating spike

and in it I wisp you away to the western lands,

The skin retards and fumigation sings her needy plight;

I'm off with the wolves, cherishing the Summer's sickened --

All thick with locusts and wild honey and a touch of cinnamon.

You threw away the washcloth, you had dusted off your eyes

so you could see beyond the veil, holding us inside;

And to the temperature, and to the glaze

each knock, each patter; each pulse

We were here in the foreground, giving up our seats

to those behind us; letting time flow endlessly.

The greatest dream was once placed

inside my skull; in the rocking of my shattered head,

through thought thicket, tumbling over drafts of iron and plague,

I watched the motion from the skies,

and let the sea turn in on me,

and I awaken bent and tortured;

broken, spent and dealt the hand I'd never wanted.

Through all this sentiment I pour

the moment's pain and my forgiveness

through the shocks of starched and solidified process.

Choice is the light that fades, power in contemporary insanity;

great myths about what God is and has become, or is He dead;

through the shadows looms an opaque horizon, lifting up my feet

Wild woods, frost sheltering the trees, and my mind wasted on liquid fire

that brass base of your excitement, turned into a drinkable solution;

When you come to me, when you come; come holding my hand and stepping

out into the midnight air; both dosed on insanity's strict sentence, both of us

breathing in the air of a toxic smog; praying that there be an end with fair

conclusive stigma and the energy to hold on tightly to what we've been granted,

To spend loosely when the flames have burned a hole in our pockets;

and to pronounce to the dead a distrust and a feverous yearning for our death.

With hooks on our eyes, and the slender tail of frost sinking in below our feet;

and walking on sheet ice, asking each other for a hand. Will we mend ourselves,

and find the inoculation we've been accustomed to; so we may pry out

our dissonant wheels and steady ourselves against the hollow firmament of sin.

No object too abject for our imaginations to abhor;

in this sweet silence before our kiss, when I lay aching

against panes of glass as yet unbroken, and skin unbroken

holds me in,

Pain is mental traps sinking me further and further and further

into debt, where I can plead to only God or His host of angels

To be set free from this distinctive stare, this aisle of death

What would the caterpillar want if there were no leaf in the open sky

I sink yet further into the blue depths of this ocean's insanity;;

Whole milk sours the buds as I taste what I was offered,

Close me in and shut the lights out raise my madness

Until the only sound, my beating heart becomes a blossoming of chaos.

Drive me insane; drive me to the resurrection, and pull me under again.

Let simple things swarm the thought patterns and become like bees,

stinging me so that I swell, and swollen turn to you and ask forgiveness.

Or is there only madness and no God?

So quiet;

as though we're less than whispering.

And in this distraction I wonder what will come of fantasies

built up and pretended, enacted upon dirty sheets, faced

with the eyes of an unpretentious duet

Will you scream when I hit you?

To break this silence?

Our ghosts in our bodies; our fluid fields of consciousness,

scraping loose the dust and the decay of earth's mild mannerisms,

a dormant stinger pressed against open flesh.

And the rise of an octave set loose against the hum of upturned motors

Here in the fields of our passion, I press the hold button;

throwing in a second's wait and wondering where you've been,

why have you been hiding, and what is the meaning of our sanctimonious affair

Did you knock? Recently, did you knock; the door is there and I have entered

in my own madness have entered and have seen the burning flames.

Whose false perceptions are you using to hide behind,

the windows and the flow they are for breathing in the bath waters;

and I wanted to drown so badly, I wanted to erase myself.

Throw myself into a fire and let the ashes of myself become myself.

Dust to dust.

Your body is an ice-covered lake;

and I could walk on you for hours,

inspecting every spot of grey and each

delightful twist of the shoreline,

Some incendiary plane has brought me here,

the hot spaces of my burning desire;

Go;; to see the eyes of God made manifest,

and let's go to the pistol range and fire our misgivings

there, we'll make a mark for death and for decay;

There we'll write out songs of intransition.

Whether or not you come, I came; and I washed my hands clean of it,

and now your body aches, and now my touch deserts you

Here, in this preconstructed house; here in longing, here.

I wait for our betrothal; wait for the empty hands to be satiated;

Wait for death to bring us closer to each other's breath.

Tomorrow I miss you, and while today is young yet,

we'll try to capture youth and put it in a bottle;

seal it up in time; in photographs, in words, in a painting

preserve the state of it through old age, and into the next

generation. This passionate moment of love's embrace

sealed off with a kiss and with a fool's notion that it will last.

And as the tide breaks against the boards

and ruins and corrupts the wood we've planted fingers on;

Muddy waters thrown about our picturesque and divine portrayal

of ourselves; combustible, permuted substance, unfinished

We'll walk through the ashes of our own death,

to be replaced with fire and with the ocean's glaze.

Where concrete life consumes the mind, where our leftover bodies

face indecision and come to false conclusions; where you and I drift

so close yet so very far apart, only in your eyes can I find some sort of sanity.

And in this transmuted pool, soft glass, a mirror stone;

I watch you from afar, and gaze in upon the night you leave me with.

each "goodnight," each solitary string of words, leaves false hopes

and slow surrender to this fantasy.

Yet how far gone am I, when that close creature has abandoned me;

and I am dead if not forgotten.

Only in the eyes of some dead god can I find hope,

and even there it's lacking. So strings of words will offer me

my daily portion of a meal I've no longer any taste for.

Cornered and condensed, our little lie remains;

breathing through an oxygenated mass of death,

and you take my hand in yours; and we surrender

To the sun.

All this temptation, and all these eyes looking in on us;

as if we were the only two beings on the planet.

And in my scarf is wrapped a little clot of blood,

enough to satisfy your hunger, and when we march

tomorrow through the midnight rain; ; I'll pour me out

a cup of yours in exchange.

Heaven may hold our bodies, but our minds are mad.

And through time's enclosure, this spinning space devours you and I.

And in the dull and aching shine of our misunderstood sounds we make,

I want to give you the dormant disguise to wear, so you may linger on

through an age of maddened men, and see tomorrow blossom through

this vacant pit of death.

Waves of blackness burn the eyes and leave a taste of sulphur

your youth combined with my disruptive patterns, and in the dark

we twain, we push and pull at atoms, while we survive.

Through the doorway to the infinite-->

[[closed]]

Into my shadow, into the long ball of string with knots and tangles;

into our own synthetic skin. This is what we had, before we had been

birthed as demons. This is what we were, before his drink had infested our waters.

So to the plane of non-existence. So to Darwin's death, so to,,

youth and beauty and aesthetic form only a passing place, a walkthrough

And I want to hold hands with you while we pass into tomorrow's destiny,

remove some of the loneliness of time,, pursue your secrets,

and fill in my blanks with your calligraphic pen.

Two last rhymes to finish what I've started,

and one sealed tomb, encasing both our heads.

Within this dissonant construction, I see you;; peering off

into the darkness which was my own, and baring your breasts,

Hoping that through this infatuation I will open up and change

blossom into something I am not. Perhaps, perhaps I will degrade.

And in you, I can't see your motivation, I can see only the tumbling of the glass,

clattering against stones;; waiting to be shattered by a hard rock.

Bury ourselves, beneath the earth, beneath our home;; and let the worms

consume us, let this be our policy; to die, and be half-eaten

Before the storm waters swell our hearts and bloat our insides.

### Resolution

A box of poetry with words

on strips of paper, crinkled;

like the messenger's mangled mind,

my poison, sing me into deep arrest

And drive out these horrors of my

bedtime. Are they really real, madame?

Turtle flakes skin,

peel strips of the tongue,

moisten the hands and

set Summer's horses on fire.

Flicker the light and dash to--

pieces what I was. Strew the pine

needles, wrap the head.

You luck. You laughed.

You found me instead,

riding the purple horizon

sealing fate and turning out your

hypnotic swing in the favor of

one more dance.

Urinals and parking spots.

This review in noise

the chaos that falls on the ears

Talking; crumpling of paper,

a solitary clearing of the throat.

The voices so varied in tone, pitch

and inflection. I swim in this sea foam

Trying to draw out personal meaning;

feeling my way through a fog for one

distinct calling of the vocal cave.

"Sure."

And the clattering of change.

And back to a sea of chaotic swollen

sound; back to my own silent thoughts.

My thumbs, fingers and arms;

the truths provided through touch.

My miraculous existence, cornered

into a box and compressed. Sealed.

You untie this.

And where flight becomes unfavorable,

where our signification slips through

fingers; where our hand dealt is an

empty bottle. And where death becomes

a struggle of the will.

Wild indecision placed on bets;

the cradle's discomfort and the

solitary rise from state to state,

an official's business.

Green besides; black and an entourage

pleasant state of sin, the mind

held back from alarms

Coldly stalking the prey of second

hand goods; climbing ever upwards.

Below, the dragon's nest; below the

dragon's pearls, below. And I would

Fall and into a dark schism of hate's

anger fueled by synthetic gasoline;

what you are" a maniac,,

Given to the dose of unruly dream

to occupy a life unfit for fantasy.

Heretic's gaze as he drops the bomb

and I offer in my surrender; two thick

carpetings filled with soot stains and

Here we are; here in the midst of

winter's howling and her bite.

Stuck in the dreadful reminiscences

of childhood's lost remainder; severed

Thin license seeping,

these blades cut.

And further in against my will,

I will expose the short temper

I will laugh and sting myself

with an unabating temper.

Fast drowning; hollow out the sea and

help me stand on the ocean's bottom

We'll mark our territory's construction

graze and fall and graze and--

do you see on the horizon; another

blast. Shield your children; grab your

guns. As the insides of our death traps

rot teeth, expose the cycles of the wind

You were my emissary; you are my

reason for waking; and I still wake

Every day at five; wondering how far

to the day of my departure, how far

until the earth accepts our union.

Through Hell's confusion and its

fire, I wash my hands clean; retreat

beneath our sheets and close my eyes

You were the reason I stayed; and

when the flood of menstrual tissue

broke through skin; I watched my

Failures and my unfortunate Summer

rise. On wings too wide with heart too

Small to replace the blood. And with

a temperance you could touch.

With one quick look and a false pretense

to save the skin; to set the soul

writhing; to adhere, to rules unwritten

And in this session's affair; to fold up.

I wanted to lie next to you,

with words and bodies aligned.

To overpower; to instill reason's devices.

And while the milk chills

to end this unsettling frost.

To emancipate our ghosts' enclosure

from the simplicity of our denied

Existence.

She sleeps,

in her bed of thorns;

and while I linger,

waiting at the edge

of consciousness

Her large lips

pucker, and she sings,

laughs. Reels at some

unseen demon, lurking

in her dreams

And I wait; watching her

loose, synthetic sparks of life

Fizzle and fade, and spark again.

Were you watching when the windows opened,

and the smell of an industrial era breathed through;

did you wash;; bathing in the ocean's polluted drift,

I smell the touch of cinnamon you sprayed

upon our garments, and when I watch the clock

turn back and forwards yet again, sputtering

through time's atmosphere

Each segment of our textual display

hiding real world information,

keeping fantasy tucked in the foreground

of our religious minds.

Turn on the machine, and let the reel play.

Let us meander through a symphony of

past tense recollection.

You taste of salt and milk

In my ears, the ringing of bells

death can wake me up in the ever after.

And in high heels and a short dress,

after hours. We'll play footsie

and kiss each other's sores;

The split in my distress; this schism,

to keep me cold and lonely as I was,

And to walk; to fly,, to drink the salted water

and then to die.

Heap of body tissue thrown into the ground,

death becomes me, and I become as dead,

spilling into Hell's disruptive sound.

A mild poison, slipping through my hands;

a conscious debate to treat myself to this

inoculation; and let you slip, beneath the skin

and fold my insides out and make a mess

Of everything.

An unforgiving water blessed with the sins of our misfortune,

a hollow heart, dedicated to making ends meet and peeling off

the strips of Purgatory's silent shade of mold; and seeking, through

an ecstatic sun; the answer to our prayer to our rebellious war

Making peace at long last with one another, so we may shed blood

together, through the hands of the Almighty. Holy hands,

protecting us through the miseries of day after day after day of

relentless discord.

Will you fall back in rank with me,

can we find a place to be alone together;

to stop the howling of this insistent piece

Rake in tomorrow's wealth and spend it here;

where we lie alone, within one another's mind.

Where we lie alone, dreaming of the distance

that envelopes us.

We'll have to have the maids wash our dirty linens;

as we steep within the bath, two hands on your shoulders

And looking in your eyes--

What I see, beneath this low horizon's sun,

staring in at me; this momentary lapse of time.

We'll walk and fade away, if not tomorrow then

another time and place. All things pass

Into the sea of death.

Olives, and grapes; and pressed fruits made

to wine and oil; and with my hands, I hurt you

And cover up your screams,

and bend you lightly to the ground

To watch you bleed.

Only in dark matter; only in the pores in my skin,

do I see any hope of tomorrow's brightened day

Because the fields are burning, and the rivers

filled with bodies; but I can swim; I can join the dead.

Wash me with decay; bend me over and pick me up

like a suitcase; and I'll go willingly, to where you want to go.

But tread light, and we'll walk in shallow water

to let the fish only nibble; and let the dangers of the deep blue sea

be of us unaware.

Serenity states; that if I don't hold union

and I work my head below the dirt; there'll be

rain, and it will come to wash me out from my

enclosure;

And if the sands shift, and my corpse is left

exposed; beneath tomorrow's hot sun,

Will she bare down on me and save me

Over exposure and into heat's array,

this tectonic shift of plates and the pumping

of blood through veins, and stolen sieves

to hunt for gold in our October winds;

Gods exposed from the burial grounds.

And the faint smell of bad perfume,

rolling in through the valley's contours.

Tomorrow's fields as they are handed down through the gods;

in plots, we rearrange our fortunes and our delights

And beneath canopies, we try to do what's right

in the sight of our unloving god. For fear; for fear.

And take into our mouths the holy bread,

and eat and be part of the large sacramental whole;

where lust and truth despise our ugly plight;

I wouldn't have spent my dignity, if it weren't

for your sublime beauty; to watch you toil

before me, as I toil behind. And to our end

We pass on to our children this methodical arrangement.

While I was watching you undress,

seeing beneath the veil of your conscious disguise

Between breaths you showed me everything in words.

And I held onto death, and I prolonged my pain and

misery; for just one taste. But here I am, at the ends

of my own mind; hanging onto sanity's slow departure

Waiting for words to reel me in, waiting for the slow hum

of an oxygenating breath to bring me closer to consciousness.

You were the sliver in my eye that I could peel out

and hold against my person; you are no longer.

Now you are the shield to my misery; a preconceived fate

Holding out for me an apparent dish of poison,

and I will drink your well dry and ask another portion.

Run my fingers upon your sweaty arms and down your back.

Intoxicate myself through your arousal, and mind myself;

my ocean's swell, tear out the hypnotic lights that pull me

into sleep's arrest.

Our confirmation and our reply;

while you were but a child, and I--

older than you now, seeking a life's forgiveness

and the stars' alignment, to be blessed;;

And walk the waters, and see the sun

devour the night sky. To traipse out of my

small and barren world,, to suck dawn's yolk

And keep the sight of you intact,

all the while, while I watch you

naked in the mid night's air

folding in the body and holding perfect stance

I soak in this negative of you

and will reproduce your likeness

<<imprint>> your beauty in my dark room.

Without you; I've the blank space of an unopened line

to expose my insanity and my repulsive mind

But here, on the page of your interest; I find it easy,

collect my fragments for me; there aren't many forms,

such simple shadows play through the night's enclosure;

And feed me the nectar of your youth,

not sparingly; pour it and press each drop with care,

encase me and love me. We'll dream of our plans

For the future.

As if there were, in tomorrow's bright bed; a place

to call our own, to sink into as deep as our deepest fear.

And love me,

and chase away my death;

expel this suicidal heart.

As I remember you,

and as your face and form

grow aged and your beauty

trapped in time remains,

Point me to my insight

wishful fantasies of you,

held captive through a dissonant

welted frame of mind.

### Swine

How I melt between deep freezes;

and let you sink within my mind's edges

in her forgotten breath to change,

to steal and to ignite the deathly

watch; And while I lay, impermanent

not quite alive and not quite dead

Raising up my flag and hoping sides

will swap that I can wear a red shirt

for the remainder and that I could hold

onto; something dear to me, and let go

as easily as I've corrupted my skin,

But the penalty for this division;

will it far outweigh my life in its remainder,

and if we go the extra mile; will there be a silhouette

shapeless as the fog of sun splitting the eyes' gaze

Two lives, and one ensemble splitting the head in two,

fracturing our sequence and disrupting our night's foothold;

And as I draw in breath and hold my tears against me,

I look at you, and wonder what tomorrow says about

our gravest mistakes and our unmistaken love's affair.

Our falsified containers trapped with the writings

of a long dead muse, the courier's entrails delivered

through strings of incoherent memory

And in the vacant plot I dry the whale's fat,

bless this disguise that's held me here for so

much discord and the accompanying misfortune

Walking side by side, hand in hand; never revealing

a single truth for your ears, I reenact the pages' symphony

as it was written to do; the swan's chorus and the cave-in

Powerless, praise for the god that's half-living, half

in an era of destructive sin; who knows nothing of modernity,

and reaches from the dark to touch her violent face

We know, what we know is a lie; yet we strike a chord

condense our flames, and carry on in our sacred spaces.

Trying to rediscover through youth's dark secrets;

where i was we left ourselves in folly.

We'll readjust the sheets to cover up

our filth; and dive into an unclean mess,

where you and I fit fondly in a box of scars,

dead tissue and a hint of yesterday's bread,

Given up to the moment of our longing,

against the grain; against the hard and crusty fibers

which now remain;

And through death's shadows, we continue the plot we've

been given, through denial and through a lack of faith,

Webbed feet, lacquered hands; our insomnia.

Contextual redemption in the eyes of God; a textual resurrection

through cut and paste poetry; and as the seeds fall on us,

we'll plant them in our books to sprout new forms and assemblages,

mix and match, chaos not quite contained by the survival of a redefined text.

An occurrence split in half without the nature of my mind ill at rest,

and as for the false propheteering, I've spun your silhouette through

the dryer, and the wash; it's come out clean, and every piece of what

remains has been a salute to our enclosed fascination with god.

Piece by precious piece, we rearrange our thoughts; mine once dead

become alive through this transmutation of the flesh,

While you in your sinister infatuation with these gods; one hand placed

once pressed and issuing forth our dreamtime spasms.

I've come to hold you close to me, within these dark walls; to feel your

breath against me and to feel the beating at your breast,

One last time to hold your hand as if it were my own; one body

split between fingers and eyes,

Catch me watching you as I would lock eyes with my own internal clock;

feeling my way towards death, and towards what comes after death,

the rhyme of humanity as it falls to pieces to be strung up again.

In our undying rest; where the last thought comes closer than any

daylight hour's propaganda; and life, as it is arrested in this slumber

keeps the mind ticking in place. It bobs

And through an unwashed silence, where I walk in place with you,

there at my right hand; and here at my left,

I recognize the avalanched state of being, this soul rent in disrepair,

And through another step, through the ivory curtain, we make washed

our silk gowns, and we traverse space. It isn't yesterday that milked us dry,

it was the blank stare of a thousand sheep; and we are not shepherds,

We are blank replacements without funds, without motive;

Wetting our lips on the displacement of the sun.

In the moments before our final distribution of wealth;

before the curtain call, and our intolerance to death diminishes,

I scream out for you; and for the role played between us,

Our lives intertwined and our methodical passions,

counted and mistaken for deeds of the living;

You wore your shirt of honey, and I bathed you

with a glass of milk, too thick to see through; it ran

Across your skin and sunk into the shower's drain

while I accumulated your form within my outstretched hands,

For the purveyor's muscles to arouse the deeper parts of pain,

and for four years to wrap each other in these crystalline tears,

Poison and a fit of rage;

I douse you, and I drown out your screams, but let the tears well.

Each and every motion of our mind's discourse leaves me reeling,

it is a facet of your drip, the faucet of your youth laid bare;

And as I close my eyes to it, and dream;

half-remembering your name, and your beauty,

Half reminiscing what was never there; in my purest fantasy.

Unlocked systematic change; the kind that would corrupt,

but has been made clean through a persistent path;

I've taken everything from you,

except your skin, and even I've a portion to arouse

the deeper denizens of the darker realm;

Hold hands with me, despite the Satan's growling,

and tell me every word that crosses your mind,

with one big erasure, we'll make a word not a word;

And in the culminating conception of your process,

we'll let beads of sweat flow, we'll wake the dormant sun

and let your heart to pounding, in the dissonant night.

Each pattern comes clean in the wash; yours and mine,

resonating the sound of All Hallow's Eve; when the moment

to arise and cut one's self, leaving scars; remains a purer form

of ecstasy, remains the breaking of our hidden world;

As we are trapped in collagen and foil; wrapped in plastic

and hidden beneath the shelf of self-exposure.

One hand; stuck between two boards,

unable to be set free, and when the cold wind

blows against my back

There I am, unrestful on a dark night.

And who am I,

breathing unconsciously; heart racing

because of what I've wanted and how it grows apart,

And there you are;

life full of interest and self-worth;

at the pinnacle of your delivery,

And I can do nothing but watch;

as you lay sideways in your bed,

teeth chattering the voices of a thousand dead,

What is it to watch, and how do I keep

myself from breathing in desire,

when it will come, it will come and there's no

occupation to unravel this mess of blood and synthetic bone;

As if you were some real estate

ready for the mind to wander into,

and take its place in you;

Let the mind wander aimless; let the soul collect.

Sour the milk and watch the honey drops collect.

While you were fast asleep beside me; within my mind,

I fostered another sort of dream's reality; and you were

the central focus of my life; every word and every minute

action because of you was decided and enacted,

Here, on the patterns of our quilted comfort,

reasoning our rhymes and our abandonments,

peeling off the superstructure to reveal

One false level layered upon another; lies and an amalgamation with truth;

I sink into our bed with you, and divide the semblances of night,

and call the day as ended; waiting for the sky to change again.

Frustrated with the way I've burned my hands;

and the way these words won't carry me to sleep.

For an hour, I slept beside your body;

washing my contained reality within your hands,

and if you were awake, I hadn't noticed

but I was lost within my dream

No heading pointed north

Two hours past, and I can't recall the way I felt

within your gaze. While I move myself from shore

to the mainland; and into the throes of separation.

A spoiled partner, an unsung death of love.

Will there be flowers at my grave, when the curtain

closes; will there be an evening in the moist hypnotic air;

where we will sing to the dust and the ashes

causing their collection and dispersion

And as we pass through the veil,

where dreams don't press in on us,

No nightmares hollow out our footprints,

I want to greet you, to redeem your voice within my walls

and take shelter in the humming of your breath

against bare flesh.

In our asylum; here where it is warm, and the bugs don't bite

I've invited your aunt and my charisma to play upon the sheets

All colorful perimeters; painted typography and scribbled chasm

Cut throat, error and the annulment of our forms within the shadow's right,

you seal me in and I scream; I seal you in and wait for the howling.

And when the night's end bleeds into the day, I foster your tentative sedition

buckle us into the van and flee this night's condition. We'll wake to the

misunderstanding and you'll peel away; never to be seen again.

Me in my frustration, in my lack of ceremony and of grandeur;

I've left the cobblestone in search of simpler things, the light on in the attic;

and a sign of books being displayed before the eyes,

If only I had sight to see,

if only the death of my distorted lenses

had not been carried out through the piercing sun's asylum,

Gaze on; gaze into the February lights

minds made up between sentences;

and only words lie at your door tonight.

Years in the making; and an hour of play,

to traipse myself upon the smooth curve

and wash the singularity of my conception clean,

In an issue of blood and semen,

carrying out the formulaic schism

two parts my unindentured slave

Where I bring my body,

and where you lose yours

through the crystalline enclosure that is space's hold

What have we conceived through our dissociation

Our hours past sentence's phrase;

And I would hold you here,

and sprinkle your flesh with my own breath;

let each particle of frost lay down on bare skin

We walk lightly, and melt each other's wounds

but for how long will this last, before our bodies

ache; before the clear unpleasant survivalist game

comes into play, and you are caught up

In the seeds of someone else's surrender song;

Hurrying your own death to the march of their aroused flesh.

Split in facts, phrases ending with the wine;

and slurred speech becomes our disenchanting home,

As you come,

and as the earth lays you down within her womb,

To rest, once more within the dirt and rock;

buried deep enough that there'll be no escape

within these lifetimes to come, even as just an erosion

of mud.

Coursing through my veins

is the excitement as death passes over us;

I can hardly wait and in the interim exchanging frightful

glances as this pain becomes our new obsession.

A river;

a rock,

and anesthesia.

I hurt but there's a weightlessness coming up against

that splits the headache and lessens the grove of pinpricks,

the nerves subside in the wash,

And even as I try to recognize myself in the pool's hypnotic surface,

there's nothing left to look at; just the sky. In all her diluted particles of light.

Lost in the ceiling of our happenstance relationship;

never knowing which way is up, the curtain peeled slowly

so I may see your eyes; peering into me.

Deep flesh,

With a drop of your seduction; arms laid bare

no skin slides slowly at the wrists-- only fading memories

And as if you had made me scared,

for this falling hour; where you and I meet face to face,

hand in hand and--

A foreshadow of our love becomes our painted memory

Here, we'll wait and watch the distance fade between us

as if in third person, love's entanglement and our estranged

desire.

Fortune's place among the stars; our misfortune's space

through the depths of the earth; and into the great beyond,

a cluster for our secrets to die in, our mistrust to sink into.

Several categories of sainthood, and the rest we've left for dead.

In the streets and on the highways; in clusters, broken bones

and in the alleyways at the liquor stores, there where they buy

their holy wine; fortune. And the calling of our god's stretch of

mercy.

When my bed is laid out for us,

and there we write our verse;

in tangent prose,

And as this chaos consumes the heart;

and as it beats lowly rhythms for your love;

Through it all, I seek displacement.

Here with you, I ache for our hopeless remedy

so neatly placed upon the skin's surface,

To end the troubled dreams I've been caught into.

The ones who never read are heard here;

& he was dead. I make the hanged man

dance with me, with cloudy stares;

Pyramid night collect,, I bring no books with me;

I don't intend to be reading,, 'it's like an artist says,

"I'm going to draw a straight line," and he draws something

that's sort of straight.

I am a woman and my poems are woman's.

My name is Convenience Store Pick-Up.

I make the hanged man write this poem,

I love poetry, almost blindly;

But poetry demands a human voice to sing it;

and an audience to hear, without these it is naked

Pure and incomplete-- A bore.

And I am only a woman

by the lamp-- Burning.

No ideas of order;

Love.

Dawn during August,

my mother foresaw it all;

when she delivered me into this world

We are walking into the abstract,

I succumb to all the visions, and their disappointment

but the waters have yet to mix

And here is second childhood,

[long silence]

By which gentle disinter

we have a statue of nature.

Summer passes; my hand with pen is gashed.

Language of a still life by Picasso,

in this intercourse, the plant life is lush.

I would want to be in that darkness,

madness keeps awake, human sound

sacrifice; coupled by paranoia & blasting

Thirteen years ago, and one step at a time to return.

There were leftover pieces of blank white paper,

psyche's task, the sorting of seeds; everything is moving

changing. Languages melt. For it is the end gives meaning to words.

Everything is in the poems. I don't believe in God; I don't even like rhythm.

A prayer on my lips, bridges-- The flame the confusion the love of

whatever the fuck there was, that reminds me of the time

we faced each other and talked about childhood.

Throned wrath, I know your worth; anonymity or selflessness of work,

A defacement of the scars I grew for you; & the door is locked, and the walls.

Who fell on their knees in the hopeless cathedrals praying for their salvation--

YOU DON'T LOVE ME LIKE YOU USED TO

YOU DON'T LOVE ME ANYMORE

But calling attention isn't the same thing as an explanation;

overtaken by a new form of despair, I ask: "re's the immortal paper?"

It was raining outside, sun setting in the windows;

Scale & Method,, Startled into life like fire.

A man and a woman were coming through the meadow

which was the meadow of the world,

She knew more about me than the day of masses;

And the snow around him had frozen into patterns of wavy lines,

you could hear a baby howling, words that come in smoke and go;

dying elm, headless man, winter--

If on a winter's night,

Only a man or girl who hear a word, these they have the nerve.

There is no light

East

Of the bridge,

There is no language

but "reconstructed" images

She moved; the moon was of an orange, it burned

The hollow eyes of shock remain. She says in an artificial

Voice: The play is one paragraph.

But poeting with poor people doesn't end poverty.

Just as in nature, a point is a self contained thing,

God is in a trance; I remember when I wrote His love,

Here is a factory made fresh with broken windows;

Where conviction fills the body with the presence of angels

And demons; where darkness consumes the mind. And all manner

Of madness. Is there a message?

A baby's resolute fury; a quick solo, death gets hyped

I spent a night turning in bed

Before crumbling, the walls streak

with some tangent of minutes.

Down, old demon!

Pinzo, pinzo, pinzo, dynsa.

Or the small white cries of love,

The pure products of America.

Mothers of mud, harpies, dreamless enemies;

To pick up at the turning...

The lucid and seigneurial aigrette,

Laugh, which, IF

GOD-BESIDE-HIMSELF,, FIAT NEMO!

Poet, conserver of the infinite faces of the living;

The grammar of cause, the cause of grammar

Place of being. Oh the magnificence of Hell!

I am no woman.

I am a laughing streak of scarlet sun in endlessly anxious hands.

Angels are often unable to tell

whether they move among the living or the dead,

Clapclap. Clipclap. Clappyclap.

Indeed if it were not for you, what would I be?

What is the little I have done, except to arouse you?

8:44 The love and life of women. In beauty I walk.

THE-ABSENCE-IN-ITSELF-CREATED-BY-GOD

All writing is garbage; Behold this compost! Behold it well!

Beg for nacre; have death! What evil angel landed at your gate; Your smile

We have a record of it all; "Odysseus

"Shalt return through spiteful Neptune, over dark seas,

"Lose all companions."

Let's break down the horrible shell of wisdom,

Dawn at its birth dying out,

When the woman lies on her back--

poetry: new form dealt with as a reality in itself.

The life of wind, the death of emptiness;;

Is neither light of church or factory, EVEN IF SUMMED UP

EVEN IF IT ENLIGHTENED,,

Here is a ditch of hopelessly dead water,

Floating with pearls of white foam,

And here, each ripple; standing under the sun

Cigarette lips gold--

Schono, tschikodam, wikgasa, mejda

Throne and altar, a revolutionary maxim.

From page to verse, And the book.

End

Conscience

And sorrows

In beauty I walk.

A naked foot; without books, without writing.

Very fine is my valentine;; A very little snail,

EVERYTHING OF ANY VALUE IS THEATRICAL.

Her voice roosts in my memory.

Tell me, mother.

I live in another world;

The soil that fell from between two fingers,

The invisible triangle of difference--

There is only one true thing,

Hollaka hollala, anlogo bung

Bosso fataka, ü üü ü

And we: spectators, always, everywhere;

we arrange it again and perish ourselves.

A house of cards; stocked shelves and where we're going is no mystery,

so will you take me there; out of this shadow where I lay in disarray,

cover me with the false pretense of sleep, bury me.

And in your arms, lie. As if every waking moment I'm alive

had been leading up to this, a schism of our forms so seduced;

the dream time hour made manifest; wholly into you I'm made as

molten death, carry me out and into the garden; compost:

In the ocean my love, we separate again;

after and out with me and freeze upon me

the forge-furnace is there;

and my soul hungering gymnastic

My limbs, my veins dilate,

latent boughs alone, O songs!

You Whoever you are, come forth!

Erect heads watching, and are gone they fade--

Whatever satisfies souls

give me your pulses of rage--

the current songs of loyalty

But to mount up there I loved

felt by the jingling of loose change,

how pleasure filter'd, become really blended into one

I saw you serenely give birth to the young men,

you vital, universal, deathless house of maternity,

For I believe in loose delights.

### Hunter

The demons seizure,

The vacant hour on non-destruction;

Pissing in the wind,

A violent grape with shards

No different from my own,

And when we span the breadth of our revival; we wash the serpent from our skin.

Where you were; when I was dreaming

Lost in the white grey of a dull fear,

Sing it out of your blood and your veins.

Expel the earth of death's erotic sting; let passion bite, and let the walls devour your bones.

Make a history with him;

Take my oblivious child and reach into the darkness of your mind

Enclose the shadows we have stilled,

Revel in the birth of a new beginning.

Broken shards in ill repair,

I walk while she laughs

Innocently. Life is on fire

For her.

I rake in the sentiments

Hold my breath.

Every word becomes an understatement.

I flew into the nest of wasps

Expecting as much.

Expecting this truth to unfold.

Three uneasy shadows move

Behind my bed; behind my bed

And the slut who rearranged it all

Engaged me; embraced me

And as that contact had voided

Out the sun.

Her vacant hands with what would be

A child.

And in this simmering hope,

That we may stay civilized

Through a dysfunctional set of rules.

Marry me once,

And turn into the pool.

I am the cell.

Strange as it may seem,

I am not here to tear apart your world

By its seams.

Although, to blow the glass

Trumpet; and hold my breath

To let the scent of lovers

Linger.

And to place drapes.

Where one may see the show.

Once I hurt this way before;

Her absence always a sign of her adultery; and in the clock's hum, we wash sequins with knives and the sympathies of strangers.

Going on; staying close to me.

Her hair in loose braids and her eyes;

Clear and content as her smile.

When it is in fact;

The duplication of my dream

And how we run full force,

Abandon everything for love's attire

But lover grows old and tiresome

Always leads the angler on a new run

It breeds anticipation

And doubt. And all kinds of anxiety.

Filled with a pressure that can burst

One's soul,

An uneven moisture in the garden of tears.

Hang on to life.

The thread which binds us in

And keeps us company in the darkest times;

Oh life, let your passage be strictly grounded

By two feet.

I cannot surpass the stars,

I can barely take them in.

Cool dust wash over my body,

Raise the tarp,

And dry me of my blood.

In this decay, sea of rot

Where I swam--

Before the compass turned North;

When the needle still shivered

I ran my palms across the sky and looked

How everything is so beautiful.

And twice the notion of your avalanche

Breaking free the unsteady pace of gods

Nearly naked in silk,

An adulteress in semen-stained

Clothes.

Wind is watching over my shoulder,

Sun is scared to climb;

And in her youth, she casts away

Her child.

Into the stormy sea, weathered but not

Broken; the construction of a little

Wooden ship; with sails lifted up

And the mind's eye on what face to gather.

We were in knots; and you cut the rope,

And, while hanging by threads

We remain pursed and funneled

Into moulds and given capsules.

Three months we left you there;

Across the pond where movement ceases

Inside and before, you let your hair down

And I walked into the shelter of an iron calf.

Bella stares into the eye of her destruction;

Crimson paints the doors and shelves

Where all that we remember is deceit.

And the skin crawls and the hound

Pierces through the garden's hum;

Symphony of heavenly bodies,

Lay over me; on top on me

That through this ecstasy of love

I may blindfold myself and step three paces west.

An exploitation of sound:

Harumph ba ba vegenione

Riss far leven et sou

Tindere figh reli intocato

Amandios. Ghu caccioto

Wie donox plai sener feel.

A roaring thunder;hibernation's

Sour smell. The death of sweet leaves

Still lapping at the tongue's moist membrane.

I gather in the lights and call Christmas over. Realize my faults and send the summit over.

And for all this tangent to the stars cropping up;

I will let loose her misery

And aspire to become a king.

### Division

I. The Devil's Claw

Lens shattered; and a thin film torn between her thighs, and each moment of this separation becomes the hour of my misunderstandings laid bare.

As if to inoculate myself for the resurrection, I draw the needle close to me; the pain persists and grows until my heart is ready to explode. And the sea foams, and at the tops are a revelation to her hypnotic dance; and while I breathe in her ashes and her dust, bury myself within her shriveled womb. And carry myself to the earth, to be a decent sign of autumn's soul.

Sadness spreads, like a plague; erupting violently upon the skin.

Your homeless portion laid to rest, and what was made in the back alleys of our forgotten past is closed and sealed and dead to us; and as if we had no choice but to surrender to a dying sun, fading in the west; our endless days of soured milk for breakfast have somehow spilled, upon my suit and left a stain.

Three years contemplating the death of our new son`; three more in desperation, hoping it could be undone, but there is no resurrection that could lift him from his tomb; just the slow and steady satisfaction of his comforter, bathing me in a warm and rhythmic dancing of the heart.

This washed, resilient piece of cloth; torn and not mended; the strip of my decline and the base of our incongruous laughter. I dream of meadows, and you the lark that sets by time so I may see the world as more than melancholic studies of a dissonant chapter of our faith; you awoke in me the muse. And as time pretends to lengthen out our inheritance, I flood my ears with the sound of your voice; pure poetry. So swallow this medication, and be done of me; so I may cease to be; and in my death a blossom spring up, and replace every part that was good. And leave the thorns in a bed beneath the soil.

Dampened breath, and an unsteady hand; accumulation of words made not in pretend, each stab I suffer of my own accord; where is this death leading me and what are my options to survive this broken coil?

Your cyst, it burns. And where the swallows drop dead, into regret-- will one ignited flame burn on forever; or disintegrate among the clouds of chaos. No matter, either way she is beautiful for an hour; until old age has eaten her clothes and left her nakedness exposed. That unsightly mess.

My mind grows numb of cares and wants a restless flight into the sun; or words, transcendent to arise.

In your temple made of glass; where the doves gather and the corn grows in the setting sun; my mother cries and I complete her woe. And I incorporate myself within these see-through walls.

A suspicious plant surges; and the walls begin to fracture, this is my time in the infirmary. To catch the sun and your lightness of air, to know the depths of your submission. And when the cock crows, the longing of your heart spread open and wide with love.

Through fractured lens I see the stars shine down; but there is no down or up truly.

Your lips retracted from mine.

And swollen tissue, breathing in my dust. Won't you be my music box; will you divide this space with me in tow?

Reach in and through, to where the demons feed; and wrestle out the more decent parts of me.

While in this illusory state, where nothing is concrete but everything seems to be; your gentle touch upon my hand and the distance closed and locked between friends.

In much the same manner, as the clockworks chime; I do accept your love within the confines of our dissonant form. Your lack of concrete reality brings the depths of my soul to wrench out this bleeding fissure. Your excrement is my delight; and I will die between these breasts. Soft and voluptuous, the thick gravy of ecstatic sunrise; off your pale beauty.

Risen from the ashes of a dead sun; holding onto feeble hopes and fractured dreams; you seize my hand when the demons bite, you take control of the rest of my life. And as the sun subsides in the western lands, I name my conquest and I raise my hands

Into the sky of the setting sun; into the realm of death, into the final hour.

I place your perfect body at the head of my tomb; and rest within, within the reconception of your perfect womb.

A perfect wall, to resist my desire; a hand-selected prism made to shine within the sun. My gaze perpendicular to your attire, and as the hands lay smooth upon my heart; one lasting breath to be savored. One last caress. One fuck; to take away the pain.

And misery seeps through the window and comes corrupting the season of my death.

Wait with me in shadows, wait to see the schism of my soul.

What's left in pieces, between our fragmented thoughts; and the cold, grey matter of despair. The circumcision of our band, and the husk of our descent. Through a hundred years of thirst, I've found what I was looking for.

You muse me. And this relationship sinks deeper into surreal repentance; between now and tomorrow's first light. At dawn, will break the silence of domesticated sirens; and the fog of our ungodliness, transparent matter for the sun.

As you are, this button of a perfect flaw. A salient stripe that's come undone; and you were right to kick me in the teeth; forgive my glare. I drown in ecstasy-- waiting for a purpose to shatter my throat.

And in this system of decay, each mark pressed deep within the skin. I beg you to regret, and salvage what may be my last coherent breath.

Pour me out, upon the silent night. Make love to the scores that sing through a universal and dysfunctional fracture of the sun.

Before you came; how lost I was, digging my own grave. Through the thick rising of the ash, and as tomorrow's purpose becomes one more regret; I'm hanging on to this one thread, I'm lost again.

Dancer in the dark, with black hands imprinting signs of peace and love; blind fool. And though you come, and enter me; my heart is suffocation and the door is closed to all that I admire.

Your resilient skin, and mind: the things I want to plunge inside of.

When this portion of you has passed; and all that's left is the sting, in this concrete prison you'll behave as my seductress. In a gown of pristine origin, focused on the remains of my slow half life. I spin the body; through fire. It doesn't burn enough--

Will you displace my focus on your world as it was; will you desire me in the depths of my transmission?

And when I open my mouth to speak, and all my words are tangled up in one another; will you wash away my sins and supplant me? (With another)?

Truest pathway to the heart; a forbidden smile, a guessed remote ensemble. And where you placed me within the confines of your trust, too many places for the animals to feed.

One trust, and your hand to be let loose; one symptom and the purest form of night. While you go, I'll brave the span of night, and leave tomorrow's corruption to the plains.

You would have me if you wanted me to stay, you'd have the film that gave your skin's transparent silk away.

When the wind churns and speaks your name, and the silent forms meander; through our empty house. Through our empty house; they trigger what was said of yesterday, "enough of blues and the triumphant morning glory." And where you walk, my heart drags and my intercourse within your palms is done.

We walk as though we had born a son and carried him through stages inconcrete; and for my ministry; I pray to his absconded form.

And when the angels gone and we are left; watching the door for its closure. Watching and praying that we might be set free.

Waiting, and watching the doors.

Your steady silence captivates me.

And though your hands betray my flesh, I would do anything within my power to hold you closely as before.

We'll walk, and shatter glass; we'll escape into the sun. And though you come to me on a bed of thorns; we'll lie beside one another.

Grasping onto the thick hide of perfect memory; onto solitude, and the dust that leaves me exposed.

You are the light that I have broken; and lost in these fragmented parts lies your body. I would kiss you as you dream, I would hold you next to me.

But as I dive into despair, grasping onto slivers of hope; wishing you would seize this opportunity to stay.

Regardless of our past, and future's intelligence, I'll stand next to you and cover up the moon.

A truncated message born of fire and ash; sulphur's syndication and my initiative. When you were old already; before the fall. When I was younger than before. You saved my string of violence; you dashed to pieces all that I had left; and though my wife has found her comfort with empty arms and swollen lips. That I can't touch; that I can't touch.

And in this formulaic mess of tangled emotion; I walk barefoot upon the thorns, to bleed. To bleed, to bleed.

A subtle sentence with enormous weight hangs in the air; your vibrating voice. Beckons me to traverse the sea and sky; will you wash me in the basin I was born within, and carry me over your shoulder?

And here, in tonight's passing flame that I desire-- you can hold your hand against my breast. And push and pull the weight of my ungodly life's breath.

II. A Silhouette

Whoosh; and the plane lands,

The confiscation of thought, with migraines;

I'm doubled over and in digestion's sour palm

Hold me in an after hour of sainted thought,

reap the silence and burn me for a fool,

I am you and we are estranged,

corporeal demons sickened and unfed;

And you are my everything,

each moment of matter that settles in,

as we've spent hours deciding

Who will be the next exiter.

You scamper and I crawl on all fours,

nearing the gate to Heaven; a locked

door with a violent curse so we may see

the angels there, dashing about and playing

innocently; we will know no taste of bitter victory,

In this predicament; where posture and curvature

play weights again the inner stain of night;

And I become one jest, to rise and fall

I seek my substance, only to be filled with fear;

it is the unrisen part of me that looms

Over and through the cracks of our house

where we spin festive colonies of giant spiders

Where we give the pieces of our broken minds

as fuel to the artistic flame; that it may burn

With out insanity that it may flow,

And through our lives,

taken at sunrise in the field out back;

where we hang, accursed creatives

Soft padding bleeding up through an open wound;

Ripped apart fabric, stitched together on too few

And as I drive the nail in and it plummets deep

within the fibers of my discontented soul

Carry me forth, carry me forward;

Into the stark black night.

There is a depth of perception here I have not touched,

and the mind's illusory crawl through empty space;

The soul contemplates its own pure bath of destruction

Give me the rock and the string,

let me make the gods sing of this direct

incision into their fractured mind;

Death to all the deserters, death to all the pigs;

and when one's spoken the shallow mud of

my disorganized semblances of thought;

We'll make mistakes again beneath an empty sky.

Protection from a plague I've spun

through little black vials, into the mark of a dying man;

and with their faces, stretched back and a violent

cluster of irresponsibility,

Threads hang loose through the fire,

burning ever upwards; burning until

the laws no longer give ourselves control

Wasted and wanting for a seizure

to unravel the door and we could pull

that string and let our world collect

into a pool of indignity and shame

mistrust within ourselves, within our bodies

and the light we've given up for you, we've

given up for the sea to swallow whole

tonight.

Beyond the shadow of your ecstatic howling

white lights and the system of a disruptive sea

closed attractors likened to a hesitant facade

While false illusions make a thread for our dissemination

Rising from the east, a certain star; an unborn child

The whimsy of the world watching, and the hollow mistakes

That he has born;

One lackluster trinity, one seized imperfect form,

to dry the eyes of wetted laughter, of hopeless regret

To sink the pain into the ground wherein we lay,

buried to the nostrils with topsoil,

Lengthening our stay upon the green grass.

Hermit's mind; setting all to rest that was unspoken;

mountain's find, the shards of enmity stuck within the ashes of her breath;

A coin's purse, and the greed that could consume us both;

Incisors, extricated corruption, malcontent with voice spent on

horizon's span. You see me as oft as I could hold the hands

of my own youth, and grip the steel barbs until I bleed

Ammunition, the pointed assault rifle, aiming back at me

Could call it greed, could existentialize her face; a mask painted

in the white waves of yesterday's fluid monogamy,

So stitch my differential, paint my soul with glue

and make it stick; adhering to an uneventful and unwavering

condition of what it means to be alone.

Wandering eye, steel shut door with a broken hinge;

causing friction between two lovers, where the seeds

were sown badly; and where we stitched our frustrations

Into carved complexities of the mind

Waged war, and gave nothing the chance to acclimate

We set the kittens loose, knowing they would grow

into tigers;

A hundred oscillating voices

Call out her name in unison;

poison our minds with madness;

drink from the cup of bitter blood;

rise up from the ashes while we were gone,

To echo in a dying flame.

Liquified memories; drops of existential rain

your forgiveness in the palm of my hand,

a solid and sustainable atrocity kept quiet and hushed

Under the rug, where you'll find my demons

as they haunt me, where you'll find my requirements of faith

and destruction, plaguing me.

And a dissertation on solar flares

and how they affect the breeding habits

of the birds and the bees;

fossilized sunset, a raw and unsteady

space to call my own; with movement

enrapturement; God.

And when the sanity strikes me,

I'll keep a tablet of faith in my pocket,

to swallow on demand.

The end of this discussion,

we want fear. We want to taste the bitter

pains of childbirth-- we want discussion

And a train to hold in all our memories;

Facets of our mistakes, shrouded in derivatives

of an unclean start; you shouldn't have trouble

finding a place to set your mind into.

Wire basket filled with hosts;

to carry us into the days where we could

spend our sour motivations on domestic sin

Poignant stars, breathing their white flames,

instilling in me a sense of horror at the absolute

intensity of it all, the contrariness of form

Whole oceans devour us,

Except the silence that pursues our curiosity.

Aerosol contained within my canister of deceit

and lies; bottled up hypocrisy and a dented forfeiture

of the nightingale's droppings. I close my eyes and

imagine peace between us, and how sickening that

makes me feel; I want conflict without resolution.

War and the sum total of an irreversible seizure

Frightened and hesitant lovers, make their bed

with fig leaves and folded over cloth, made from

a single thread; The house up on the hill

Looks down on us; we are the disease of the earth.

Wet hands, moistened for the lubrication of time

an hour and a day through its keyhole.

You would come to this conclusion had you known

the entirety of love's discretion; and so I sever

the plague and watch tomorrow's distant burning.

And let go the balloons with her name.

Syndicate sun, rising on the waters and in your mind;

the beauty it portrays, it isn't fear; this revolution

God made matter and anti-matter; pulled apart

the fabric and condensed our lives into a hundred years

more or less; white matter, stolen from the shade

A restlessness I sought before the tide came

rushing in to greet us. How can you stay with me,

when all I want is the birth of our destruction;

And a muse milks the soil where I stand,

severs the light's glare and casts a memory

across the darker shades of ecstasy;

Here is my hypocrisy, here is my denial of faith;

Here is the long march through the freezing rain;

Wearing the devil's ring on one hand;

Going up to meet my death;

going up to meet the insanity of cerulean skies.

Fluid pressed into my cavity where my corruption bleeds

back stretched walls, containment of my self;

a violent humming bird nesting in the branches of my love,

And you were where the oxen bathe, down in the mire

where the angels play to our transcendent siren's song,

another dish to walk upon, an ivory scar set in black

Motion granted, the violent hum collides with matter

and shakes each particle of flesh; ripping us, tearing us

slowly apart; death from the inside out; recursive signification

of our dead love.

Through the stiff side of our enclosure,

rain's mud fleshes out our neural pathways

and we come clean, and we decide

where we belong.

In not too indecent a stride,

She dropped her dress and I fell into

her sympathies; and we were wed

The rest is a cold, dark mess of scientific sound;

chopping and buzzing, saw tooth angled in against me.

A peculiar way to spend the morning,

in this dissection of anatomy;

Well, it isn't a wish it is a warning,

and there's no place safer than the bottom

Below the sea's level; within the waves

where I can contemplate my being,

and bring in the tide of my destruction,

through perfect balance set upon its side.

A collective surge; opening myself to her

enigmatic curves, to make sense of these

pieces strewn about, across the ground

And in an every day smile, I say

"Look at the fracture in her skull,

and the shrapnel sticking out;

and there are her dreams and her nightmares,

devouring the steel."

And it's a one-shot narcotic film wrapping up today

while we make love back stage, while we entertain

ourselves. The thermostat set to sixty-five

I can't recall the motive or the pace with which

I came to you, A hundred thousand years ago;

before there was time; before the stop watch

Death's final fantasy for me,

I lay awake for hours, staring up

and staring over your shoulder

out the window.

As the sun peeks softly through.

### For Pete's Sake

Sun spots; faded serpentine eruptions

emotion's glare as we pass down the host

from hand to mouth until it's at its end.

Monogamy's short delusionary pain for the

crest of a sanctimonious affair; she's better off,

and I'm better off without the sight of her diminished touch

We both feel something different at the same time,

we both acknowledge God.

And we have surfaced to the valley of the dead;

I, in my weathered coat; and she in her spark of blasphemies,

what we will obtain for our efforts to soothe the will,

Our obedience and our dissolution to what we've wed,

shall shine on through the grey morning mist

In seizures, the dead shall pull us under every which way we look.

In two erasures; I deliver up myself

with beads of sweat staining the systematic

choir which places angels at the interrupt

Becomes a thorough reminder of what was

going on inside my head; you have the jeans,

Marked up as reminders, these tainted seams;

with a feather and some ash;

to take away the sins of the world,

if only for a moment; I breathe

And bathe in the transparency of death.

While you scream your new song;

that song that happened long ago,

that spiral into death; that flurry

May the octopi reduce you into sevenths.

Calm wind blowing;

past my ears and into the depths of the night

Her face is all enlightened; her make-up

shows a style and an eloquence I haven't yet deserved.

And with each raspberry picked and each number

thrown into the wind, I walk easy and secure.

Throwing down madness and kicking up my invocation

to the gods; and to anger, and still to see enough of her

Pale face. I crawl through the empty spaces I've dug,

And shield myself from my short temper,

holding onto anything I love as collateral

the intangible substances I've placed within

these thoughts and boundaries of emotional disarray;

While I see you standing each and every hour,

placed upon my pedestal, enraptured with the

world's cruelties as whispers on the wind.

Another past-tense carnival ride,

going over the bumps and through the

nooks which well up deep inside

You were my last great lullaby

even if it were the devil's destitution;

I cry, I sing and I bite; with nails dug in deep

Into the flesh, I inch my way back into

her skin; pushing my density of cloud

pools and pools of dreamlike matter,

And as I watch the sun vanish behind

the vapors of the sky; through my sight

I find her breath again, this time impure

Tainted wind; holocaust and shame,

the dirt which never fades.

The grime that kept us all awake.

Unresolved seduction; unfettered form

gauged by the cornea's refraction

a subtle synchronicity as his translucent eyes

spear the heart, and leave another wound

Sore infraction of flame;

You were the gazer and I was a star,

left as a dead and dying sun; to fade

to form another substance, to diffuse myself

And though I watch you go;

through thick lenses

Each and every moment of our life

spent as together, makes sense;

And all the heat from our dysfunction

grinding up against one another's mind;

a broken scab, a heated scene. A damn.

How quickly everything changes;

Here one moment, gone the next.

Evaporation of friends, enemies

And lovers--

Until the moment it is all pulled violently away from us.

Unrecognizable state of being; the blindness

of these folds as they turn out,

we weren't wanting, we were placing it for fear

of losing everything.

Dry wall, and a high pitched voice crying

salient reminders of yesterday's sin,

While we echo back the purpose of our listless dreams,

Even as we fall, we drop our sentiments

and shared realities; we escape from everything

into the bright day sun;

Burning out our eyes,

differentiating a mass of mindlessness;

holding us in against the blue tomorrow sky;

Weep with me,

bury your head into our womb,

another trench for stopping up the senses.

Glass sock, shards of memory,

grating in the mind; swallowing my comfort,

and we pretend that there is something new

To sort out; to play the dangerous parts of death,

While I hold hands with you,

and shape you into the world

from which we come;

Wholly independent and mildly curious boy,

stalk the stranger parts of me,

Read the lines as verse for a choir, boy.

Chance reduces the cage into our nesting house

so we may lay transparent in the sun,

and fornicate through loose ties with our gods.

The enigmatic existence you had begun to break down

into partial fractions; forever found in bottled necks and sleep,

We dream of dysentery and eruptions of the glands

a perpendicular metaphor for every face of doubt

and where the seeds split, your concave delights

draw us into a depth we are aware of for frostbite

Arguably the most pretentious sign that we've advanced

Four score and seven; a million and eight, twenty four;

A reminder of her purpose, laid back down; the sinking ship

surreal and the sound like waves against a hull,

Her mnemonic devices stretched within these walls.

What was on your mind

when the head tipped and the heart

expunged its secretive murk,

And honest aid requests

the hummingbird of saints,

as syphilis remains and all the gold goes unremembered

A patch of ice, and a cocktail

twice removed from the flames;

Set on fire in the fossil that remains;

Houdini's Still life portraiture,

an even stew of dust and pearl; and glue

Washing our hands in the ashes of our mother,

scrubbing her flesh into our pores,

You were, and I was next to you;

and for all it's worth, our discontinuation

becomes a slippery slope of discontent;

I was the emblem blazed; while you remained

sickened by what the devil's worth.

Unfortunately, what remains became our death

shared in the streets beneath our breath; we laughed

just a little at our passing through,

And dined on our disease; our unfortunate way of being,

With a small, loosed tongue and howling mind;

the vagrant's daughter, the distant tide; forgotten pearls

of wisdom drowning out the desert of your mind,

The bag and the pocket; the over sized cannon

from which the world came into being;

You are what remains of my memories;

and you have been spilled across the carpet

and I don't know how to find a likeness to your beginning.

This self distraction in a world of bitter fluids

Hoping the mould would break; hoping the icing

would melt enough to show it's Summer outside,

And through the curtain's remains I hear the voice

of an undead saint whispering "hallelujah"

through the tears and rips in the fabric

Love is concrete,

as such it lasts only slightly longer

than what you would expect;

And now I go through the remains of old books,

searching for some sign that she had loved me,

some incandescence and some form but all I dredge

is filth,

All that I find is the complete understanding

that I have no faith in God;

Rips and tears in the fabric;

old dusty rooms,

A night of longing for repentance,

and seizing onto the citizen's edge;

the blown trumpet's purer blow,

Diadem; our mystic crystal

mounted in pure glass,

Diadem; a reconstruction of our past,

as though we had forgotten all its miseries,

life's justified, right along the shallows of a dimpled pond;

Rest in destitution, rise in an a-temperate vortex;

make the soldiers still sick with dysentery seduce

the fellowship of man from out his hands and into this deep freeze,

While the cold cuts of yesterday bloom freely;

and the itinerary of our past due expressionism

begets a new ungodly Summer,

We'll remind each other what was in our glass

now half empty and broken on the floor.

We take our hands to the synthetic sun;

poised up, and reaching through

No witnesses, only a wild caress

and the weak grip of a starving artist

Talk to me, I'll bend my ear within shot's range;

twist the difference and let the wringer ding-a-ling

so we can shed our ivy skins and bleed our depths

Our hollowed shells remain, in a context that was

more reasonable than this ensemble's breath;

Wild eyes, my misjudgment, and a halo scratching

out against the lips of my confessor;

You wore the make-up that broadened my mind,

you were the world to me, for ten minutes; time.

Antagonistic flurries of excitement,

the crowd's gone wild like pigs

and their stuffing isn't censored;

All the whole-hearted significances

here and now, our burning embers

of a flame that's long past due.

It isn't the scientific process

that sets us apart; it's our souls' hunt

And the way we march into the sea.

Where every wave bends and breaks over me,

and where ships collide with monstrosities,

and I ride the waves into the departed sun;

Resting my head against the glass of my denial.

Deep inhalations, the coated throat

and sinking knees; the burns upon my feet,

which keep me underneath you in the mire,

Spread thin seductress, open for the holy hour;

with two paint chips' tax, and a blind cessation

And though you'd wanted for the lifeline,

and you had wanted me to call;

Your suicide in silhouette gazed inwards

And on the right hand of God, I saw your demon face

protruding horns through this white skull

which hasn't known her destiny,

Baa Baa, black sheep; sentimental swine,

carry me up into the power lines and we can

test ourselves against the voltage,

One tract after another; one blessing and once

a distant curse; for two hypnotic rhymes we'll sway

our lives in this pale blue water.

Poised to take the blade; and every ounce of being

is persuaded to hold back, to let go; to die

Our initial fantasy, formed up in clay and rolled into

the desolation of the saints; our clue to her malcontented

stain, poured out upon the hills; upon my grave

And in the shadows looms her face; spilling

ecstasy down upon my feet, talking in white words

speaking blasphemy, a sinner in an ancient state of mind

We'll carry on unto the end of times

Ratcheting up the inner sphere and drowning out

the words of all I hear; and only in two parts

will the grave be spoken

Into dust and ash we'll feed the dead with specks of dirt,

we'll hold it over into the evening's dreadful glance,

Shine like birds beneath the sunset.

As time behaves, so we prepare our miseries

shielded by the existential fantasy of God,

corrupted by the mind's incandescent madness

Thoroughly enjoying the pain,

watching the world decay, watching the night

roll over past her bedtime; sucking out the life

of me, of the encompassed; and while I breathe

It comes to me in raw fantasy; the intensity of angels

dancing here and there within the darkened room,

They will discover the formula for life,

And we will pale at the thought of being;

displaced and wholly ordinary; a sequence

a structure, a mathematical model of a man.

This sentence is a reminder of my past;

and how it echoes smoothly off the tongue,

with our inflections, tick-tock, the howling

In the night, tick-tock and a glance over

our shoulder to the simulacrum's pointed stare

How should we call the consequence of death,

how shall we combine our flavors;

And there, just past the braised and helpless

wanderer; sun-lit star.

Holy ghost in transit, corporeal scars

with a shift to the mnemonic drift

Wherein we watch the catastrophy of life

burying in upon itself with gravity of sin;

Each hand placed neatly upon an other,

To reach for the stars which blind and the

kindling of a flame which burns forever after.

A fractured arm; limb, limp

and beside her heart I lean

into the wind

And let it catch me up in its arms

A thorough forcep pressure

leaning into a mass market of

detrimental delivery;

And the urge to pocket her coin purse

becomes the stagnant sign of my disease

Here in the wild, naked grass;

among the salient hive; I drop myself

into a dive, into a swirling mist

so I may see the vehement plastic sun

And purge my worries

upon its monochromatic skin.

Reduction into pharmaceutical science;

each key clapped, each memory that remains

intact. And as if the lifelessness which

pervades has spoken through a deaf-toned

Cavity; the hollow sequence of a dream,

Choosing what was left and what was reality;

a voice thickens and the synchronous pilings

of ash and bolts becomes my own plea for sanity;

Sunflower Seeds;;;

And my name is burning in the fire still,

and my blade has not yet come to thaw me

from this stitch in time;

Neither can I regret which was without

without the chance to sever in my skin

the dreamer from the dream she's lost within,

Only if a moment's sickness could purge me out;

and write and scar, sear my other star

and listen to the writing on the walls.

Transition when the milestone turns

and the wheels begin to pave

Our future and the present tense

A disregarded state of being,

close knit corporeal semantics

on the highway to the dead

It isn't very far before we've

accumulated all there is of desire's

white mischevious flame,

And if you don't know,

you won't be afraid

when I come;

You won't see me knocking on your door,

or the pain that was caused when you

stuck me through with your needles

of deceit and ill-intention.

The clear methodic form,

entrapped by our articulations;

balancing a sense of what was real

to what is by my doorstep,

And as the weight grows

and earth subsides from its angular

rotation

Realization permeates the wanting mind

And a harsh, hypnotic stain

sensed as trouble and as refrain

to what was said between closed lips,

An eruption of fire closes the door to you;

a distinguished smell of burning cinnamon;

Closed eyes and bitter words make sour our stay,

closed eyes and ill-remembrances of what had been.

Wild surges and the spark;

tempting fate and throwing God a second glance,

An arousal of open letters to an editor past due;

the prime suspect being you and your subdued decay,

The weight of the world is pushing down around

my neck, baiting me to breathe in all its toxic spills,

The whole purpose of this antagonism was to gain

a better viewpoint than I had had before,

To ratchet up the meanings of these words

and speak them gently, without fear of what may come of me;

And in this hour beneath the cross; wild winds purging

out Mother Nature's unease, threatening her disease

I claim a high stake.

Heaven help me for where I stand.

In the middle of a torn refrain,

a sculpted hand reaching up into the night

Devourer and seductress on the holy hill;

beckoning me, incorporating my name into her own

Pieces of forever fall and sink into the stones,

and shadows cast, believers without a god,

drowning flames with their enigmatic sphere

of guilt and pain and glory;

So soft and tender

we once were within your bed,

and you pissed and made us both wet

And you're pissing again in the clear day light;

no blankets or smooth sensation of skin against skin;

Just the harsh and rough exterior

of a hand bent down in praise

Reaping in the silent waves of fear.

Reaching into space's denser clusters,

folding over one's backwards lull

Diorama of illusion and transparent sin

folding under and within these heavy walls,

And the saints do not march

while this cool phrase comes

and rips open the heart,

to step inside, infect and bruise

Push outward its decay.

Or while our inner eye

could ask us from above,

how sturdy we are and how the

limestone

feeds us and holds us barren

Through the night, while you should have cared

into the darkness where I bore her enmity

thriving on emotion not yet stirred into

this vacant form of you.

The strict, unbearable resemblance of your work

As passing through, as night began

And let the words ring clockwise on the stage;

thunder struck without the grace of angels

to adopt your handsome stance

And see tonight as it were death's white concubine.

A revealing grace,

settled in the stars as they collapse;

one bright white lightening

overshadowing us both,

Here's to you, my love;

and here's to the demons haunting you

within the darker spaces of time's contempt

Here we won't go lonely,

we'll make fires and heed

the words of our lovers;

in the grass, in the tall mid-afternoon.

We'll not Compare our perceptions

and I will estrange my body from this

temple; axe in hand.

What order of wound does this sound

make me to realize; a scream and a howl

And the quiet chuckling of little boys.

Throughout my ages and far into the future

I will be cold, and rent;

No beauty sees me and claims me as her own,

Only the violent wind of a cloud-covered sky

will displace me. And I may yet thrive;

and I may yet lose these set of bonds

to be holden to another, or be set free

Completely obscured to the world that

pressed my fingerprint upon its face.

The lady in red; she says to me

that it's not quite over.

And what we speak in the closets

and behind closed doors will be revealed

Death can't end with only death's resolve.

And in this fluid frame of contradictions,

I let the pressure rise and feel my face,

Because here, within the bright lights

of a godless night; all your seduction

is like dressing up the wind; a wholly hollow bend

of life's remorse.

I call you the lady in red,

because you are the one who hears me

when I sing; and even after

what we came for is bound to be lost again,

and the world revolves not in angles

But in soft curves, steady and waiting for renewal.

Imagined forms bleeding into tonight's refrain;

an assemblage of bodies caught by the night's wave.

An incandescent mist, and the ghostly aura it emits

Dead in the water.

Without a splash, without a cry for help,

her face haunted by the fire that's undone her dress,

and left the body wholly exposed to the remainder of her sins

Caught in a logic trap,

without clear, concise symmetry;

without the rapping at the door

and the crow's call.

You were heavenly,

When you were intoned with the flavor of death

as she shone through your face,

And for the body of the night to keep its grace,

she's left me the keys to the gates of hell.

Realistic wind; blowing past a dark, cold room

seeping the silence held within

And as we pass by,

the curtains cascade,

and the stage disappears.

Hope is an endless flurry

that evades me, I've want to put my hands

in it and squeeze; to feel the voice of clay

gushing through my wounds; to take control

and have a hold on whatever it may be

That binds us here, together.

In the slaughtering of a priestess

I will disappear beneath the golden sun

We'll bring together a vicious system

of what will and won't be done.

And through the meaning of this hate

I give you all; without hesitation,

The fleeting passage of time,

and what it meant to be alive.

A swallowed mass, with hymns of discrete

induction; every vowel, every syllable shakes me

from my core. Laziness and anger and reduction

into thorough simplicity of form.

And while I wait for it to be over,

you crawl into my bed, and leave the light on

Naked. And wanting

My remainder. And so this fellow's white light

corrupts your virgin hands, and so we watch

the distances become slight;

And in the last bout of our contempt for one another,

we hold on tight to every word which has been passed

Between moistened lips,

with an element of decay;

And hollow, I fold myself within

and hope; to see the light of day

surprise me from my sleep.

### Hail

The terrible reaction to our quiet and descending screams

As when our ancestors had played with fire

I've no heart left for hanging onto self; no identity.

But if you'd cost me my weight in copper

But if you'd had the sense to scream into the pond

We'd know the depth of heaven; as we descend.

And in so doing, I've taken all the words you'd put

My mouth around; whisper once on the cool night's breeze

Say it, and be held against insanity.

Likenesses arise, and the fools sing hallelujah

While behind closed doors lurks the magic

Of my metamorphosis; estranging me from angels

And their like.

An existential war; thermostat rising and a

Plethora of tamed hounds winding down,

Winding down; a forfeiture of brass glass

Stemmed into the tank of dead,

"Carry your foot, soldier,"

Death is only imminent once

Or twice.

Through a picture of your world,

Serene depiction of the mess we've made of it;

When the walls descend, and our innocence

Subsides, we have found the trust we once had

Is washed away.

Beside the pirate's seizure;

Dressed for the Armageddon,

Untapped tonight; this rage

Which won't quiet.

And fear, the blister of my shame;

And unfortunately all my troubles

are wrapped up in one

Inconvenient case.

The spearmint chill

As I rock her velveteen dream

Into an awakened fist;

Set to bruise.

Thrust and save the seeds inside your mouth;

Like heaven when the wind comes rushing down,

And we'll save you a space at the table;

For death to greet you, there must be a second form,

Wise dreams recall her in her prime.

But there's no savior past suicide;

There's no stranger time to play the fool.

And as the winds digress; I chain you solemnly to me

And hold my vow.

That reason may make time for comprehension

So I may dry my face against soft hide

That I may reason in where I reside -- and close

The captions to my domestic suicide.

Hemispherical bombs, rushing in through a black sky;

an open womb, bleeding. A doused fire triggered by despair,

And we should add it all up, for the days of consequence.

Run like the wind, run like fire spreading her wings,

And as the ash collects within my gaze,

I'll throw out the old rags for an incineration.

And we'll contemplate the moisture collected

In the belly of the beast; her iron hammock

As she tosses in her sleep, we'll wail

In agony of defeat; as one sin collects into another,

And all the violence of yesterday returns to haunt us.

Thought, input; arrival at the gates,

and as we close our confines and pray

Never to awaken; lost forever in dream

Refusal of serene discrepancy, a hash work for a child.

Decay, foul nature; dust. As it evolves

As it perturbes the silent barrier,

White ocean swallow me,

White ocean come.

Delinquence of a child and her breath,

A moment more, I've planned a soliloquy;

Cadence clear in the Atwater, Charlotte's ephemeral throes

Picking up the stranger song.

Refusal and doubt, and sin abide;

As one man's plenteous grove

Will cost the price of an unborn child.

Where were you when the water broke;

And the tide burst through my gates,

When all the world slept in incoherent dream

Singing the words of prayer

Without consistency or care;

Deaf ears and a hollow blindness.

Dead in the water,

Relief comes in spare parts; two series after the game

Has ended. Two knocks at the front door and a step backwards.

Even as the wind rolls through

Even as I blow my words of eloquence;

Down through a dirty hatch.

Love me as I blame you for this intelligence;

Secret away the littler things we'd caught

The day we felt the world needed persistence.

Insurrection of a form, through denial's belt

A cut claw, and a stake held for the helpless;

Denial's sour taste. My hips sway steady

At your pace,

And into a flattened moon, we survive its gravity

And pulse, impulse; a shoe too fit for mocking

Towards the eye of the storm,

Through God's gravity; and pulse

We stain ourselves with ashes from the sun.

Lowered eyes can grip and now pretend

To worry and make amends,

She'll let the laughter manifest,

She'll claim you as her own;

While I lay in silence and alone.

Tethered sins

Broken remembrances;

A dark hole.

And to the depths I've realized of loneliness;

Happiness sink, surrounded by balding cockroaches

A metaphor for youth and power and derangement

A cuckold's temperament; and a sign for the indifference

Of a man's honor. And I will reign in the valley of death.

And blight the sun for my delight.

And shadow without thought the day,

Piece by piece, reimagining the clay from which

This world was built.

Quiet heart gently pulsing while the window

Lies open, letting in the cold; as if her mark

Were etched upon this earthen stone.

Carry me into the wind's blast–

Forever regret the cold eye of winter;

As when the frost's blast had seen

The end of all creation.

What love is; compared to the dark twist of a cold night

The thaw.

Intrinsic sensitivity to pain,

Refrain of golden sunlight rushing in

Through violent dioramas etched in hard wood;

Thirty silver less than God.

And for the shorthand, for the plain initial strand

Of death; I shall walk through the valley

And enslave myself to sin's incandescent storm

Throttling her depth of indirection and deteriorated youth;

What she wants is more than anyone can give.

I have no place in my head for reasoning this deliberation

Once past nine, I have no quarrels left. Only the sun

At dawn, in her arrested schism; only the pure recital

Of my dissonant remains.

Mixed media, by force implied never to disregard our words;

And yesterday when the wheel won its separation, and she

Disappeared beneath a cloak of cobwebs. In my design;

It should have stayed of fate, and faith and absence

Thoroughly disentangled from these chill mornings

Caught beneath her bed; and I will never end up

Bleeding in front of her, here in the valley of death's meandering

Here in our long, lost trial of stipulations and punishment;

There is no difference between colors.

When shady haze has grown, and the life's left vanquished

In your eyes, I see plain recovery.

In your mouth, a reason to live.

How I managed to ensnare the likes of you,

And hold you hostage against the gods,

I wouldn't let the air inside to breathe;

Everything came at a price; the world changed

Enough to smile on fate, and bring in faith's design

So orderly and neatly stacked hollows of a dream,

Kept in confidence; as was routine, and when the whistle

Blows its deafening tone; I'll ring you for the thirty pieces

Of my heart;

And through the glistening glade, we arrive past bedtime

Forgeries of a distinct solution to my persistent glare

Set in tones of black and gold

And thirst leaves me in isolation

So we come to this, the petting stage;

But first things first,

I have not the course nor the skill of intention

To make apparent the sanctity of this.

A primary landmark, and the sky; folded over and beautiful

What comes to mind, and what the feathers say;

A hopelessly ending rhythm of decay; and deceit

Pornography's wide angle lens, a christened star; a music box

Harumph!

While in this motion, we watch as tangled webs weave tantamount

And Ingrid's fire as it could dissolve our marriage.

Tears when the horn blows, tears when the wall falls down

A dissonant stink; and the cerebrum's delicate manouver

The rhymes which call up Heaven's curse, and the fall

Only in sequence can we discern our true love's plight.

There is no better place for rest than here; in the midst

Of yesterday's blue moon and a shade of chrysalis

Home without a suffix; in bed without a crown.

Depth; in the concrete absence of time

As I digest the magnitude of one sail open,

Let the whirlwind come.

It's tearing me apart; inside, the blood won't

Turn its course. The sun won't turn its course.

And the dim light beckons me up to destruction,

The angle of my name, written in concrete;

For the fires blaze only a temporary moment,

And in the heart of the sun...

A singular vein; responding to our call

No one notices the ash.

What a lovely day in Brooklyn.

Anesthetized redemption, in a hollowed fissure

That I call home; I call quietly as the winds consume me

And even as the plane begins to bend; as the short step

Paces my delights, I've come to shed my flesh and bone tonight.

And while I waken,

The world unfolds and I lie naked,

Stretched across the bedroom floor.

Bitter spill upon my lap

The sour taste of death,

In my prescription; bleeds out upon the night

I bask in the moon as the waves roll closer in.

And couldn't find a star to wish upon,

No holy reminder of what I could have been,

Just the unsteady pace of a damaged clock

Ticking; tock,tock.

I go to grab the fold,

The flapping mould

That spreads wide

The angle of receipt

Through thick and thin, and displaced memory,

Consignment of my self, existence's drain

Through what was spelled out in fire

And in shame, my twist of heart; imagination's persistent charm

Carries out the compass of my inner thoughts.

Tresses and tinfoil dresses in this reactionary space,

For thought; for bent reality and space contains

The symptoms of an everlasting grace,

Grown up from the ashes of the dead,

On the shoulders of giants; where we stand,

And in micro copulation before the bleeding paint;

Rest, arrested, engaged in psychadelic romance.

And the planes drip their noxious fumes,

Satan's airplanes, Satan's airplanes,

Satan's airplanes;

while we course undisturbed,

Gently shaking off the dust

And populating the earth

With contemporary art.

Her hinderous sweet selections of involuntary drumming,

Your life had left you running from the threat of

Death and molasses; breath and the picture perfect hollow

Of my heart.

Depth and a loneliness, too far gone to swim;

So I'm bleeding at the water's edge, slowly screaming

Hush, four stilts out.

Brush against my womb and let the child's lingering thoughts

Perspire; guilt in resurrecting the omen of the sun,

And while I wait against cold and cracking glass–

Forever is my new temptation;

And tonight I dance with the devil,

My inner demons extracted for the fire.

Forensic instrumentation inside of me;

The burger's blitz, another company of stars

And as I walk down the Avenue of the Saints,

Tomorrow's dull hum awakens me.

Through squinted eyes,

By harvesting the shadows of the mind;

I will awaken her from her sentimental dreams

I will attach the hard, cold touch

Of reality.

Like a furnace, I draw cold and give it life,

This sentencing of death I draw in breath;

And to the tired servant,

I bid him stay

For fuel, for flame,

As I ignite the gas

And as the globe devolves around my spin,

Nothing ever matters in the end;

Just the low hum of the furnace

Burning men.

O breast,

Wounding flesh; and causing Hell to vomit

And it was this way until the end;

Breathing, slowly beating, pulse

Come again into some future decadent,

Descend and purge and wipe away all memory

Of the host that we have followed into sin,

Into the discovery of a fool's den.

Ease and without pain, her life; a simple game

Of cat and mouse. But mine, the sole complexity

Teeters, as if to throw me down; a hopeless model

Of dietary rules, all broken in the end.

And as I caught her looming,

In the window;

Her pale nakedness,

Obstructed by the fence

And my insecurities,

Looming

I would dash to pieces, all my life;

Would I, dash to pieces all that's hollow

And makes noise when the wind blows

Just right–

In the end, there is no victory for me,

Just the cold, dead consumption by my passing.

A shock of sore contamination, damnation's pet

And what divides the water. Sinking deeper into her;

Lips pursed, cloud consulted; as the ramifications

Draw her into me, and we recurse into the body and blood.

Flapping, cancerous folds of skin.

You left me waiting in delusion,

Crawling on the skin, so many gods;

I itch so I scratch them off;

One by one, my atheism rants and rages

At the four corners of the world,

I tip the scales, and see the dragon fly–

Into the depths of a burning sun.

### No Signal

My abomination;

This soil within, without growth

And the trees leveled,

And my sister's insidious fantasy played out

Upon a bed of grass.

And two become united through this thread,

A single strand of carelessness;

Unto the rocket of my death; defying gravity again,

As was the way to Heaven, and it was barred,

Here we are, in the grand scheme of things; unimportant

Mere mists for the night winds to part;

A belly and a breast entwined.

Mother and child.

Resisting the flu that's got my temperature on the rise

But I'm burning in this hell

Without my mother's breast. In contemplation

And meditation as the flames lick my vacant memories;

Who am I? Dissolved into the mire.

I work backwards to the flood,

Sustain myself with salted liquids,

I do not quench. For all the arisen anger,

I let go; only to doubt this pain's inflections

Do you know the way to Heaven;

Or are the doors barred and locked,

As I take flight in chains,

A victim of her self.

Repetitive surrender; the submission to a hierarchy of death

One blood, and every time we unloose ourselves,

We're bound again in a thread of self-destruction

Holy matrimony; the ambivalence of sin,

Two sharp incisors, painted black

The dust of your hands, reaching out beyond the curtain;

As the body diminishes; leaving only gray matter:

Dust & memory.

Inside these walls I've built for us; to breathe

When the world takes her last breath,

And the night stays.

Forever in the rain, caught up in purity of flesh;

Sunken eyes, and lifeless words; carried from your breast.

Through the pouring rain,

My thoughts linger

On the edge of my tongue,

Waiting their perdition;

The oscillation of a gun

SHOUTING.

In transit, in Armageddon's company;

In plain white linen, waiting for God to speak,

And past the shadows, and through the streets

We make our vows; and break our minds.

Letting the world know what we are,

In the fluid pearlescence of time.

Intrinsic saturation of blood; and we are buried beneath the ash.

Hopeful recitation born in ecstasy, spilling out our blood

Wrestling with our fantasies; and we burn.

Conglomeration of prayers; jutting out into safe harbors,

Spilling blood.

And as we walk through the valley of flames,

Burning up in disgrace; serving sentence,

Life replaced with our indignity,

We forge the arms

That would hold us close

In the hour of our desperate need.

Deteriorating flares of self-similitude and despair;

And with an open palm, she comes

With steady song, wherefore we bide our time

In the sinews of death and chaos. And the curves

Born on a light wind; the kite's ribbon

Leading us into Hell's destructive glare

Pantheon throbbing in my wounded heart;

The seeds of our unsteady stare,

And the whimsical stature of the sea

As it foams around my lips–

In pursuit of helplessness,

And in the depths of her voice,

Two distinct songs; carried on one thread

Of consciousness

Embedded in the soul of my avenger,

The teardrop saint and forger of my sins.

In consummation with Summer's well endowed reflective skin;

The blinds wrapped tight around my wrists

And I can't see the world; round and round

We go– tipsy turvy and wait.

Stopped and spinning still.

Through the wide eyed chamber of my disbelief,

Through Dawn's transgressions and my submissive skin;

Aged sequins made of glass, too fragile to touch.

And I am too fragile for your touch.

Revolving siren's song, in the wake of a pitch black moon;

How we come together, and how we spurn

The man with no tale to be told.

Life's interjection; cast in a shallow mould,

Surreptitious silence and in parts,

The sequence of the gods.

Stretch the length of your breath;

Subsume the logistics of our diminished flight,

While we pretend at odd hours,

To be clouded judgment with the scent of indignity

I wrap my arms around you.

Leaving rings of fire,

Words of wisdom and despair;

And we would flee beyond the castle walls

Into the flames, into their comfortable refrain.

Together we smolder.

Get the ratchet, power your horses for the fray;

Incontinuity and a persisting stretch of death

Venom in the lower ranks, incisors;

Mind you how the world flows,

And how everything sits so still

At the edge of the darkness.

A type control; and a buried arm, holding onto her past

A severance of reclamation, as the toll is paid–

One nation, divisible by the claws formed about her maw

And I will sing a statute; and I will play the fool until dawn breaks.

In my palm, I carry the bland and the bold;

Icing bleeds through my veins and into my lap.

There in the pool,

Dressed with Satan's spun enclosure;

I cut the thread loose.

Diorama of a delicate Hyperion's play,

Forever lost among the ruins of our ancestry;

A call would draw her out, would ink the pages

And bleed her into memory's bath.

And dormant lies, the fuel of death abides,

Until we are consumed by ecstasy's perimeter;

Killed horses and the sweat of our redemption manifest.

Through fluid windows on the byway,

Our deliverance succumbs to restless sleep;

Exhumed purposeless flames, licking our wounds

Piercing our lullabies and our surrender to the tomb.

Right before there was perfection in his eyes;

I dreamed the mire would overtake us both,

And as we seized each other in the dark,

And as the rain descends upon our faces

Three incoherent voices, spitting out the truth.

We could have conceived her shadow,

We should have received her flame,

Violent atrocity and the sinner's stain,

In a lump sum, diminished as the twist

Of the wrist;

Consumes the passion of her nesting gaze.

Invariable corruption of form and grace,

She's left her posture frozen in time;

An evanescent smile, a herder's consumption

Lost in grace,

Dying in this inner space;

And when I go,

There's no need for tears;

With nothing left to sob for,

No unique structures to retaliate against.

Love is a sad repercussion of faith;

The doctor's in,

And in her base and streamlined synergy,

I catapult through her embrace

I climb beneath the stars and sip the morning dew.

Absent of sea foam

To solidify my basic need for chaos in the still,

Deep water; a forfeiture in glass.

To touch the stars,

And to reap their whispers

In the center of my eye.

Grudge; the stolid reenactment of a mother's nurse

The wet facets of my longing, a bare recital of decay.

Through my desire,

And into the Hell I've been promised;

One nation in recovery from the gluttony of angels.

You and yours,

I feel the pronged horns

Tearing at my heart;

And what would lovers say,

If their conclusion were a lie?

Here, in the vibrant strands of misery,

Collect my thoughts, and my protruding wealth;

Within this pocket of infection,

Within the glass sea.

Here, my life has duties

And it may not be foretold;

How secrets lie in the nooks of twisted time,

And plead for the end of everything to come.

While I wait for the absence of my hand

Above my heart;

Through tearful eyes and the infinitude of love's remains.

Symmetry's subtle tease, the watcher's stare

As she flies into the window of corrupted iron;

Bent & broken glass, and the glare of the headmaster.

Silent, underfoot with undertones of a silhouette in pursuit;

Reaching for my own internal symmetry, to pierce the point

Of my involvement with the pen; to pursue the golden coil.

Reflections come smooth on virgin glass,

And the mirror's unbroken voice permeates my soul;

The tincture of our tears, the remedy to depression

Tear back the life you fed me; give me back the sun.

Summer's still night in the garden,

Watching a cloud linger; and tasting the raw foam

Of an incindiary's splash upon the surface of a moving stream.

At lengths, we place our bodies side-by-side;

Without questions, without the muse's stir

And everything is quiet.

And every grave goes unmarked;

Reach into the pool of my unconscious mind;

And draw me out, and let me take my upturned head

Eyes wide open; seeking a single cloud of variance

Lies keep me planted; let me go.

Her softly spoken harmonics, and her malnutritioned heart

In the body of an angel set to sleep;

I've crafted youth,

Designed my own inferiority;

The subtle sense of her conception

Bordered by the arms of our convictions.

Society bleed;

The discomfort of my soul–

Dressed in the shadows of a savant,

Holding hands with fate

The two of us collide

And in this secret sequence

All worlds vanish into the night.

What memory remains,

When the winds die

And all is turned to flame;

Comfort me

As I'm drowning

In this rain.

Consigned to waves of passion overrunning the stoic parts,

With a measure of serpentine skin; I devour you in your sleep,

And all your nightmares come to an end; As we slip

Hand in hand.

Recurring pictures of my youth,

As I'm set down in plain profanity;

And I wash to make the spirit hold

I wash to break the silence.

Through her white winds

And icy palms–

I see the shadow of a mocking bird

Giving me the order to subside and to retract

All thought and measured gaze; to interrupt

And confine myself to vanity; a variant in blood.

I want to end this endless misery of parts,

To crystallize the depths of your denial.

The feeling of falling, in a dream that's 2/5 quiet and obscure

I give you my hand; so pull me under,

And we will make amends

To promises unfulfilled

And dance beneath a gray night sky; as the shockwaves sing.

Bound by these shadows, by the dust which draws us into an early grave

Marked for company, but stewing in silence all the same,

A forfeiture of time; the regal notes I have at my disposal,

Kindling and the vicissitudes of saints

An overactive imagination, bleeding God's given grace

Yesterday came the inspection of my cavity

The unsurpassed victimization of a taste that lingers

Innocence cannot be reborn; we are stripped to the bone.

Revolved about a single blade of grass;

Instigating silence about the soul,

A quiet night spent without a sun

Falling in the west.

Bubbling up; a fear of my uncertainty

How divisible our love becomes;

Mathematical illusions to excite what's left of sanity

And the cross contamination of our virtue, and the

Violet hues of our rejection; writes the dreamer's cast

Falling hard into the sea.

I want to plunge; into the great divide,

And to see my body flourish before the end

We'll gather in the storm clouds and build a temple

In the rain.

Get the lock to bear our selves beneath the shadows

Of infinity's decay. I will watch for you, as we take steps

In the rain; accumulating what remains of our exposure

To the sun.

An empty bowl; a whistle and a cough

So who am I, screaming from the deep well

How proud I am of our collision

And how I miss you

Here at the foot stool; here with my revised

Execution of love; there's no holding back words,

And an expression that betrays all of my desires

Go now, to the hollow. Take my cup;

I don't need it anymore–

I've lost my taste for a lover's nest.

Were you planting in our garden;

With rubber soles?

Where I had caught you years ago;

And stripped you of your titles,

Exemplified your own existence,

A measure in three parts.

I will abandon myself into a sea of glass;

Holding onto nothing of consequence,

And you will see my arm tackled;

You'll see the wreckage of my soul,

Carried out in volumes; until the world crumbles.

And I make a point to see you one last time;

Before beneath the ocean I arise.

Volumes, and a think tank to mull them over;

Why words and mathematical symbols contain

Such hypnotic sound;

It wasn't a small day, when yesterday we climbed

Up on the hill; and slept there naked in the dirt.

Everyone take your places at the table

Renounce all gods and carry the children away.

Crumbs and fossils to occupy my time;

And a bent spoon, I will forge myself a work

Of tangible intellect.

And in the basin we wash away our sins

Preparing ourselves for an apocalyptic

Refrain;

Two can hurt, and three can crush one's heart

And in the mire where I used to sing;

Floats tentacles and ribbons

Of a long past love.

Glitch in human motion, and emotion

Into the fiery chasm; where raw blood

Plays with fire, and nobody knows my name

Except for the slow execution game.

And when they say fire, and the bullets

Puncture my skin; and I am drowned

In the deep reserves.

Communication and static appeal; only one

In one half's time; the rest goes on; misunderstood.

How did we come to this,

Beneath the sky and staring

Through the window of our souls;

I will consecrate myself in this blood moon.

Surface erased by tears,

A bow and grace

Between us are the lies we've spent

Indoctrinating one another into our

Secret world of make believe

The couch is empty and the door

No longer knocks–

Where are you now and what

Should be your secret word;

My eyes no longer look your way,

In the transparent and ill-discovered

Burial ground; where all who are lost

Lay down next to their mother.

Nothing compared to a blue/white

Section of humanity,

You've got the pieces to endure my song.

Place me at your feet, far below the sun.

Text and an assemblage of dedicated worms

Too far gone to remember last night's indifference;

Bent on wounded knee before the Greyhound

As I remember her lips touching mine;

Voltage screams my fury; when I had found her

Not alone in bed past ten, but now the floor is swept

And every stalk within the field is laughing.

Oh, youthful abandon.

Fostered by my own inheritance, and by fire

Too many tales for me to manage

So much screaming and blood,

I'll stick to what I know; cherish

The whole of humanity's face.

Nuclear reactors spilling toxins on the ground where I walk

And I'm on fire for the last and final time;

The trees bear witness as I fall, and slowly tumble over

What is a wedding but youth's insincerity?

Year gone by, without a taste of you; without your sullen breath;

I run, transfixed by the motion of the sea

To see myself in the mirror; to juggle the expressions of my mind

And hope and pray for the sea to spill over me.

I'm watching the patterns as I descend

Into deep waters;

Where I will tread in silence.

While you take on my syllables,

Wash them so they may cohere.

The branches of my youth spill out like spoiled milk

And I mistrust everyone; why I can't see the good within

Society, a stranger's hat and two step form

Below this ocean's den; in solitude.

An ancient script; one that calls the way

Who dresses me in shame, as I pursue her

Benediction.

Four stories up; high upon the sun's bleeding edge

I will take my time ascending; that the soul has

Nothing to do with our intelligence.

Flocking, freely falling through the rain;

And there I hold your smile; in glass

For impermanence's struggle to erase.

Too much pain and too much light

Shining in my face tonight;

These almost angels

Looking for me to cry,

Making gestures that capture

Their true and unadulterated emotion.

By the time I inject my lifeless corpse into the ground;

And the fear I've held for my entirety of life,

I have no shackles or chains to hold me close to you;

So when I fall beyond the doors of Hell,

Create a destructive wave behind my fluid form

Fire licks my skin; and I swallow the last gulp

Frothing at the mouth and without sanity

There's no prescription for this, our love

Only the mild act of unrefined persistence.

Whatever drives you away, with the setting sun I'll capture

And bury myself next to you, rhythmically setting the mood to motion

And she steps hand over hand with her androgeny;

The puddle and pools we had collected,

With only the morning mist to bury our swollen bodies

An arrow shot into the ground from the gods,

A temperament of passion, jealousy and lust;

Keep me entangled in you, as we're incinerated

–

Walk backwards to the gateways; turn a corrupted ear

Listen, there's nothing more to fear; the worst of the storm has passed.

And raise a delicate hand to the sky;

With zeal and fury, and fire;

Hem in the difference between

You and I and the gods.

We'll milk our mothers dry,

Collapse upon the crimson floor

Wipe wet, transparent tears

Upon the crimson floor.

Intemporary concern for the word with lips revealed

Smooth, dark clouds arise and bring the risen

Into the temple of the netherworld;

This slave's mistakes too wide for placing bridges

And barriers; will you conquer me, place me with

The dust at your feet; swallow, and make time incomplete

In the pattern of your voice, I am transfixed;

Hoping for a solution to quell my sightless eyes

Burning as the sun rolls down into the river

Where I lie;

Staring up into the brilliance of your mind.

Without cause or care, without shackles;

Without momentum of the gods

To keep me there.

With language as our barriers, we make

Mouth to mouth differential love;

And those who stand by the fire

Will open up their bodies to our flame

Heated and masked;

A difference to the quick precision of the night.

Gone by the way,

Worrying about tomorrow's flame

And who will ascend against

The beating pressure of the heart.

Erase those memories;

Try not to tangle me in your delicately spun web,

That wholly binds and does not carry the synchronization of our time

Two bands, two brothers; a twisted dark and melancholy madness

So when I sink before you jump in;

I want just a whisper from these poor, misguided lips.

Portrait of a girl;

Sewn into the fabric of her house,

Wild at heart, but subdued

By greed and overconfidence;

The shell is the shadow which remains.

Questions barely come from her unpainted lips

Chapped thick and split; go into the closet, love

Feel for the gun and ammunition,

We will paint the walls red in each other's blood

And hunt for God in the hereafter.

On her knees, she's summoning a storm my breath can't comprehend;

Back to the early days of childhood, where we would crash into the sea.

No more lies.

No more happenstance;

I can see it in her eyes

And on her lips,

The whisper of temptation

All too much to realize.

And she's praying to God, on her knees;

While I'm just wishing to sink my breath inside of her

Or to pick up a new retreat to settle the stains of my sins.

Beautiful bastardry; waiting in the undercurrent,

For my love of her to strip me bare and to bone.

Government; the heart of which I waver,

An attachment of sin and by reflection I soar.

Follicles leave me deaf and wondering

Where the eyesore I had hoped for

Could be undone.

Better to be blind and deaf,

Yearning for her love;

Best to wait and write her

For a spell.

Distracted company,

Washing the basin of our sin;

Disrupting every comprehensible desire;

Waiting for the winds to blow

(And sweep them all away).

She is my agitator, and my best friend;

Hail; woman in the scarlet dress,

Hail; woman in blue,

Tear my flesh with your claws,

Redeem me so that my spirit rise;

And somewhere in the space of an hour,

I'll contemplate the means to the end.

Treacherous text; a sight for sore eyes and a beating heart,

Slowly, I open you and feel your presence from ages past;

Tonight the inquiry of fire and the burning into ash.

There is no silence in these woods,

A dull throbbing; a vacant lot on which to build

Pitted one of us against the other in a slow stare.

Unraveling the noose's delight; and weighing in the day,

How much should we wander; how much time to play

Beneath the cold, grey beams.

Grateful resonation of this thunderous upheaval

Mark my words with rubber bands,

And let them fly to the four corners of this hell hole;

Rise and let's sink,

Into one another's consciousness

I bend and I bleed

Myself; my home in its entirety

I will possess in the evening

What I have earned;

At this last supper,

Where time collapses into my heart,

And I become the voice; an echo chamber,

Every word a silken strand.

Of thought.

Before there was God, there was Amsterdam

A nickel and dime thrift shop; bruised feet

And the voices in my head.

A figure dressed in white descends,

An inebriated phantom; crushed death

Waking me from my surgery

The twisted song of Caesar's umbilical cord

Crying out in two split voices; here my schism

Here the dance beneath my feet; I rise,

I watch the world funneling. The twists and turns

Of violence and religion's empathetic hand.

Of grief, I give you my solitary confines;

We'll choke together on the vines of quick release,

Pouring chemicals into the pool

And diving in.

A debatable montage; with three sides to every corner,

With sunken eyes, and the last developed country in her fold

To wreak the havoc that was foretold; time and time again

We're running into violet buds, too wet to warn their floral gods

We hack and sow death of foreign dignitaries

Isolate ourselves from the problem of our pursuit,

I gaze to your diminished form

A swollen pod, laid up on the beach

And choke on tears too subtle to be seen.

Calf, bleeding into dirt;

Becomes one with the earth,

As silence folds us in her outstretches arms,

Enclosing both members of every schism.

Forager; sprinting through the alleyway,

Caught off guard, and quickly repenting

Of the great ensemble she has sewn

In the cape of my mother, I lie

In the womb, in the womb;

And here she's thrown a child down

Against cold stone; with vacant eyes

Which cannot hear the child's crying.

The dumpster doesn't forget this moment

Every molecule present transmits an echo

Of mother and child; separated at birth

The whole of this unstructured lie,

In place of repentance; woman to myth;

Thrown down and fragmented,

Looking for the right angle to see

Through the eyes of God;

Without lens and without interpretation.

Reactor alarm system failure

The pattern of footprints of the dead;

Washed off the sand, where we stand

Particles in space; colliding, colluding

With the depths of a broken heart.

And I'm on fire; as I watch the children dancing,

In my mind they're laughing at me

The bubble bursts and I have seen enough of this

Reality

Enough to stave it off with dreams; sink into

Depression, sink into this mindfuck of self-contamination

And I bribe myself; take the money and get away.

Sapped and worthless; a permutation of what I once had been

Threads of sin, buried deep within

I suck your blood and what remains of you

I am lifeless gold. Here is my transmutation.

A violent shade of red; tied to my ankle

And keeping me back from the flame.

In this game of cat & mouse,

Between ascension and descent;

Do you fear for me? Or are we

Truly alone when the crows caw?

Up the avenue, without a hand to hold;

Desire all but gone except the thread of

Her memory painted black,

It's an epistemological disease; a cancerous sore.

I took another drag off your cigarette;

And touched the sky with my exhalation.

The tentative movements sound

In my reflection what I see,

A penny for every shattered belief;

And a prayer to bear witness

Get thee behind me, Satan

With grace the fallen angel moves,

And without intention; spills our names

Down into the deep beyond,

That cold, and restless body of ice.

You hurt, and I hurt.

You sleep; and I supply you with what strength I have,

That glistening reminder of the pain; and a hope the seizure

That end of life struggle to survive,

Will leave me warm in my mother's womb.

Tunnel, through the western world; extract the life's consumption

Heading back into time's last reserve of sanity; into the oven's heat

And so we rest on the shoulders of giants, and make extreme

Manufacturing details; precise interpretation of tools

An errant classification of our diseased reflections;

Solemnly I swear unto this flag, and if it were abuse

Attributed to me, where would I come from

And where would I land; it's something of a time continuum

That's broken me in halves.

Pleasure ponders our reflective interiors; as if it were the first time

We'd crossed paths; an errant decision to let the day slide into night,

For fear of what we may see transpire, or to bury our vision

In the mire; thrust our faces into death's rehearsed collage,

Forfeiting the alphabet and forgetting every verse of eloquence.

A riotous affair; while I blunder over what Her Highness needs

To satiate the hunger in her womb; the deep cravings of

Lust's security– but far from home, and with no shelter

And what remains of bread,our sacrifice to God; whether or not

He exists in this time and place

She sets the table while I

Carry on in madness;

Laughing hysterically but I can't help but cry.

A flask; corroded gold, no symmetry;

Just small flashes of lightning and my disrepair,

Perhaps we'll find an answer to this remaining mystery

Or die in the process of scraping off the flecks.

Like a kind and meaningful gesture;

So does the heart need to feel this simple

And euphoric surrender; thump, thump.

And at the hollow in the hill,

We'll dissolve ourselves in a bath of ecstasy.

Mandatory time; and pressed by influence

Four corners of the bed, I've found to be

Not drawn tightly; a weakened emergency flare,

Shining out beyond the sun, a crimson sky;

Burning a hole through everyone.

And as the week collapses into forever bleak; and black

Right beside yourself, I am hypnotized, with this foreign

Music playing in my skull, inaudible recitation; permeable sky.

Having had this disease since my conception;

It will take a miracle to render me useful to her.

Fluid bends, leading toward the end of the world;

Daring my participation on either side of this schism.

Refused entrance; and at the door,

Waiting for release; contemplating all my worries

And my wants. I'd like to see her sheltered

And plain as day,becoming someone new

Intoxicating and sublime rehearsal,

But even as I want, I wait and acknowledge you;

Divine fury, wrath of God; who takes away the sinners of the world;

And it's a bright, coherent sunset;

Laying death between my eyes

And I live in desperation;

I choose to suffer myself

Into detachment of the soul from her shell,

That riotous diversion; and the notes bleed

One by one into the capitol,

Where my mistakes are met,

Each with its own diversification;

And in the body of my lover lies

My last coherent sentence.

### Conceptual Sin

Tacks as decor; the hum of an engine plays the violin's part;

All perception of events is recreated through the subsonic station

Play me the first song; don't be the last to walk off stage,

Don't cry for mercy, and only the stain of sins remains.

An owl lets loose the tropic wind; daring not to fly too high,

She flitters in her beautifully nested hair; and weaves the dark

Incentive for the mind's corruptive skin.

Only a jubilation for the mark of all eternity,

The chemical compound we are made from;

I'll be sick, and I'll be misunderstood; in the presence of God,

While the wind dismembers my soul, and I press my face to the glass;

Inhaling the sweet seductive quality of home,

Wherefore shall this time spent be remembered;

While serving out sentence beneath the sea.

Causality's demands upon my restricted stance,

Two stones throws away from becoming whole again;

But when the population poisons my attire;

In strict confidence, I will withhold my venomous nerves.

Ask the Father for your forgiveness,

But what is lacking in your positive and persistent stare

Is youth's ungodly sense of morality;

The diversification of love and despair.

Yet by the time you have consumed my flames,

The source of light and heat will be diminished;

No significantly stern sense will be portrayed in the eyes

Of my lover, only a temporal freedom will dance

Upon the face of our ancestry.

God's last forager; reaping the tree of lives' remains;

Worming her way through the branches and leaving most to decay;

Triumphant swan with the primrose foil wrapped about her wrists,

Speaking the fires of ecstasy while her body lay fast in deep denial.

How do you escape the bonds of fate;

With faith in God preceding you, with little doubt

Of what may come; and seizures spoil the temperament

Of eroded passages through the mire's womb,

With weight of gold and the voucher's temple

Who wouldn't sing the nightengale's song,

To have remembrance of the night the cord was loosened

And all the blood spilled out, and she cried

To the tomb; to hear the victimization of her blood,

To the tomb; to hear the firstborn's cries,

And we shall watch forever; and bear witness to a criminal,

Our testimony and our little lies, and the retreat

Into the cavernous sanctuary of our mother.

In this prefabricated lie; when all is said, and nothing done,

In this world which demands chaos for her self perception;

The night's hollow lantern turns black, and leaves the taste

Of ashes; while through the corporeal touch, another tangible

Seed of Satan stretches out the skin, and leaves me high

And restless on a parenthetical wind, too much to dream

And far too much to stave off Summer's heat. The Winter

Had been calm, and fluid with her ideals of perception.

In the drainage ditch; with my sores and my contusions,

I fell off my horse.

Recital speaks the considerations of change;

Truthfully endowed, with bitter arms

Nothing more will come of this,

Save the presence of our lisping Father,

Sunken in the abcess of our deliverance.

Entitled to her own opinion; this is what mass is for

And I will discover a new face of God,

Without measure to stone; without comparison of lies.

Beauty inherits the qualities that drive us;

Into dust and ash, a fleeting silence and the mark

Of two men unsustained and worth their weight as kindling

To burn.

And no matter how hard I try to build the wall,

It keeps crashing into pieces; as I recite a prayer

That I was taught in elementary school,

And I tear down what remains, stones and bricks and bones.

Through all this death; I cannot find comfort in the here and now;

Without loving at the baser level; everything I believe becomes a lie.

Pull back the reigns; and let the seasons come,

To devour the Earth with winds and fire.

Step down, love.

Cradle me,

I will dress myself in the tatters of your vacant heart.

To be in a state of shock; to be remembered.

And let the daughter of lightning sabotage your mind;

To be cursed, and to walk the valley's pathways

With no escaping night and the howling.

Beneath this deadened sun; I watch the world decay,

It is the course, and there is no denial.

Your father cost us many lives we could have transcoded

Into meaningful pieces of existence; we were at war,

But now we lie in shock; bleeding and deadened.

Shifted sirens call, and once more make our name's sake

Spent, and we freeze; delivering our scent. And we burn

As the curtains shut the light. We are the innocents, burst

Into flame.

Throughout repentance we claim our dignity;

With silence, spin our settlement. And let growth decay,

And the toxic fumes promulgate.

Through I, and anyone else who dare follow.

Resolved concussion, and the tapped out necessity of life;

With cool convictions, she slides; into progress and past denial

One stage wanting more than all the rest.

Repercussions spent on a wax doll; a paraffin perfection of the muse,

Not a necessary token of our love, but what was made will be devoured.

In the cracks, the filament becomes a blade of truth;

Setting down the advent of decay, and piercing the night sky.

We want to blame ourselves for the past's confusion,

To take a tick of time; pour it over a sentient cloth.

When you were young, and I had the inhabitation of yesterday's parade;

A walk with you, in the crystalline sky bridge; coming to the peak

Of our perfected moonlit gaze,

The Earth a molecule; and our shimmering twilight burst into

The death of our inheritance.

Tap this informatic shell, and extract the smooth silk

Of reformation; while the mind blurs destiny and fate,

To let go of what was devouring the soul.

Plenty of angels have walked through this entrance;

To Hell's delights, without a care for separation,

I walk alone; without the feeling I am being watched.

There is no God.

And while I wonder, the canticle goes on;

Repeating in past-tense phrases; delivering child

And delivering the soul to rest.

Banquet's gift to the gods, a hereditary marker,

Pointed out in cheap decor.

I will hardly know the difference between life and death;

Except one comes on stronger in the end.

The bottom feeds our selves in the half-hour of shame;

And we extend our reach into the open sky,

And consume the gazing eyes of suns,

Trapped there, within the body of our infinite darkness.

Yearning for Summer's edge; the mark we make to differentiate

Loss from loss. In my own way, I return tithe; weigh out what's needed

And calculate the divide.

Movement places sepulchre against heavy glass;

While I am lost in daydream, the outside world

Vanishes; with two concrete footholds and a distracted soul–

I render myself distraught and unpredictable.

While she sets suns upon a bed of glass, and motions them to come.

Today I'm trapped in the undercurrent; broken wire

And the settlement of surface matter bleeds into the ocean's pores.

You wait for the knocking sound through your door,

But I haven't given you a reason to doubt, I'll pass

And you'll receive my breath.

There is no distance which can belie our love;

No impasse to conjure up a delicate, deceitful stretch of time

Knowing that you have pressed into my memories

With your dirty hands; while I breathe in a gasp and let go

All tethering of life.

Good God, tell me the truth woman;

With direct reflection of her form;

Tell me the truth,

Is it never going to end;

And will these fantasies

Cease to kindle passion's flame.

She left.

And never came back; while my world was reduced

To life's struggle and the will to extricate myself from stagnation.

Even in the eyes, I showed no spark;

In the soles; an abandonment of movement.

Where the creek births these fissures,

So slowly am I awakened,

Reduced to paramount persuasions,

I am swayed by the winds of love's keepsakes.

But now we enter the western lands;

And I dream what I'll become,

And as the night moves into morning;

The emphasis of your works, upon my open palms

And outstretched imagination is ignited.

Ghosts may ride and children bellow through

This landscape of our minds.

Turned in your dollar for an ante to the crime;

And as I spilled the demons inhabiting my mind; I gave

Presence and prosperity to the youth I left behind,

Extracted each last speck of golden cowardice,

Reached through the innards of a whale; succumbed to sleep,

And there, found my body dried and numb.

What witness bears; by dissonant faith dissolved,

If only I had patience to watch as the sea dissolves my form,

Yesterday's retreat into a toxic cemetery; livid transformation of the flesh

Calling on, into the quiet stillness of the night,

And into fire's swift persuasion. Hell's company dissolve

My soul, and stretch it into compartmentalized derangement.

A formidable opponent to recreate in form and arrangement;

Taxing my sentiments, and setting the body insane with lust;

Fly, little bird. Take me to the higher limbs;

Carry me unto grace, to where the feeling of death unfolds;

And our mistakes resolved with patience and residual faith.

Within this contextual separation; a force to bend apart the rules,

And there's no reason to keep sanity's insurmountable eye;

Bound to Earth's attire, blessed and cursed by fate; with one intent

To sear these shadows; and drink the mildly bitter taste of death.

Verity's plunder; the odyssey of combined repentance and holding

True to faith. What faith there is in shaken words and stirred emotion

What truths ascend beyond physical laws; what gravity is born

Of language and the mathematical arts; generosity's ghost

And the peculiar interruptions of her sleep cycle; primality

And all that is engaged with her conquest.

Where dreams lie; there faith abides, understanding is more

Permanent than here in my contusion.

We weep for what has left us;

And we yearn for what we have not gained,

Whilst in the present dormancy of life, sequestered

Violence and a heart of iron change a beast into

The echoes of the last schizophrenic voice.

In the continuance of self-pity and the practice

Of slipping a blind eye towards her failures;

In the parade of consequences,

Neck bared for the bite of a blade; exposure.

When the sequence of words becomes manifest,

And all daylight presses into shadow;

There will I find my muse, harping on the strands of self-destruction.

Give this gift; hold it out, precious child

Birthed in the destiny of sinners' despair

Interpreted as a manifest lie; swallowed not spit

Upon the graves of our recitation.

Oh holy night; the stars have been divided.

No thought to move the waves;

In this sea of extirpation; where want and need

Embedded in the mire costs a life,

And the thick, unruly mass of my incineration

Keeps me warm at night; echoing the Lord's bright incantation.

Love at first fall, with the amusement of shadow play;

Speaking angels and demons on the wall,

Forget this cave and its shallow mass of violence;

Let's disturb the heavenly boundary,

And point fact where there is the friction of birthing matter

Do you sleep where I sleep? Alone.

And make the morning pay for my isolation;

Sex is the Confederacy of children's laughter

Wreaking havoc down the halls of Heaven.

It's one more sullen gift, one more lonely piece of praise;

Fall winter, the plummeting of ice and snow

And the wise accumulation of the arts;

Keeping motion and madness strewn about the yard.

Heart attack; pervasive gods in an impermeable world,

She sapped my strength and stood me on her shoulders;

So I could see the world, half dead.

The udders are in flames, again to the christening of my

Redemptive stare; I lay charge and hold myself to the fence,

Eight great bricks survive to tell their engraved recitation.

The willow tree and her saplings run amiss,

Dead in her arms; we kiss the fluid fraction of sedentary lies.

All is despair; for hope has left us barren,

Even as the night consumes our flesh and bone.

Oh ravenous theater, will you play that last scene again;

For to bend and break chance, to accelerate prosperity and

Posit an infraction for the death of our desire,

In sum; to look largely at the world and feel her flame;

The fragmentary slivers of what remains

After we have been consumed.

With the credentials of a star in obscure space,

Throwing herself down on stage; convulsing

I am at the peak of my humanity.

Engaging with the storm of corruption,

Wresting a kernel of honesty by its submission;

Flight of fancy and a discharge of generosity

The poem contains an imprint of my foot.

Will you ever subdue my knowledge with your wisdom;

And shake out of me the final recitation of my soul,

Do to me the things you've promised me since birth;

Oh, Death!

He who devours our kin and our lovers,

Reel me; consume me,

And when the dust begins to fade away,

And my eyes see clearly,

I'll beg again for passage into flame.

Through the context of who I am; I've misplaced markers

And sent the lions to their graves, and we walk milk white circles

Around the base of our constructed lies; and fluid recitation

A flood of death to trap me in my mother's womb.

You pursue the respiratory oscillations I have let tear apart;

It seems together we couldn't fix this fracture that has held

So many years of dust and grime and soot; encompass my cylinder,

Take me for the fool I am. I am letting go my tithe,

Reaching out in the darkest moment.

And love will come, and love will pass by;

Stripped down to its finality. Its end.

Enamored by her lithe physique;

And the way in which the water turns,

A corporeal scream and sentimental scare,

Keeps me hanging on.

Although the twilight has been consumed by stars;

And though the grace of heaven looks down upon us now,

We are lightning bolts; defying gravity to risk ourselves

Upon the sky's dark entry.

The medium is the message.

Drown me at the center of the sea,

Pull me beneath the iron gates of hell;

Let matrimony there decide my fate,

I will risk myself to soothe this madness seeping in;

Trade a life for a speck of gold;

In seizures, the sink and all is lost

Buy a soul, to buy the depths of fire

And to sing.

The textures of cold; snow angels

Pressed down into the blades of grass;

Where weeping children pass last

Sentence on a broken vase.

And when the light shines through our keyhole;

We make the most of venom and of flame,

Walking towards our destiny;

Keeping the travelers sane in this small moment.

Urged with cannon balls and blasts of steel shrapnel;

The charge of kerosene's equivalent as fuel

For the holy hill to burn up all the saints

And strewn bits of scripture that didn't make

Content negotiations.

Literal wilting of these three;

As nailed down in prophecy,

Has caused a moment's panic

And has left us in ecstatic confusion.

A breath of conscience and a fiber to hold our meaning;

The poignant dew of my caress, a thoughtful stare

To wash out our impermanence.

Red is the color of her hair,

And her eyes as wild and mad as the raging sea;

Even when I've dislodged the fury from her breath,

She smiles at me with her mad, delicious gaze.

I'm not meant to be your savior; I only wanted a friend;

In these close quarters, it's been arranged: that we can talk

And let the fire pour out of us.

(Even in the rain)

Semaphor, semaphor; don't blind my mother,

And pale me in this thick disgrace;

I want love, and alimony; the treacherous three combined.

How pure is the thoughtless combination,

How swift in poverty she blows–

But with her subtle dance, I am amused.

Poor old man,

On the bus;

Firing cues on how art is sustained,

Left in the fitting room, without a dress.

And the three phantasms bleed

Into a sustained, sequential thirst;

My poverty is thick with mold,

And my sentence; gay.

Little was the oscillation of her birthing spasms.

Synthetic content mismanaged,

With the loose, spiral silk dissolved upon the face

Of my intrusion.

Forfeit destiny, and the slaves you cradle;

Diminish the songbird's story,

We will forsake our lives.

Dreaming deeply; the troubles I've had,

That I find disharmonic; are still and silent now.

The fluid breaks.

Everywhere, the sea; a quarter's storm

And the fast and furious redemption.

I want for nothing.

There will be hell,

And everything changes

With a false light and a grave, we dig;

Bring death, become.

Love is a sentient verse,

Obscure and obscene;

Let the dogs for love,

We'll make our own rendition.

The school of incomplete thought,

Where patterns march through the mind;

And roll me over flat, on my back;

Seduce my mental patience with desire.

In two perceptive phrases, I make ready;

For this upturned tuning fork,

And I look for my pitch; I have already decided

What love can give.

Around, and around we go.

The thirst lies in my fantasy,

The devil in my broken arms;

And as I pray forgiveness; as I walk

Alone through the valley of unconsciousness,

Her face distorted by corporeal wind;

I hang my head in shame

But she smiles, and whispers

Not well enough to hear,

And we drink as we watch the smoke ascend;

Three beats of the heart,

Before her love is comprehended.

Diaspora, and the psychotic, crushing dilemma

That batters my brain; she was to me the night sky,

Crystal clear in serenity. I failed to turn her loose

In my respective system for the age of innocence.

We wander lost.

But the dew drops find us; sitting in the early morning light,

An anthem to celebrate our return to sanity; but even now,

Righteousness becomes corrupted, and the mind shatters.

Mourning up on the hill,

Where flights of angels speak to me,

Of sin and hate and war.

I want to know more of love,

To shatter my misconceptions;

Reduce my distance between now and then,

To pull under myself, beneath the boat

And set my lungs on fire with the taste of salt.

As the ghost of my oppression sinks in,

Infirmity plays a crucial lie in my perceptive sin.

Four quarters of the earth,

And all is speculation;

Reality as projected by God

Inflames the mind and sets the soul apart.

Reluctant series of ecstatic minds;

Crowded with the cool winds of inspiration,

Joy leaves me hoping that it shall not pass;

But the truth is, there is hell, ready to devour.

Singularity, sign and signal flare;

A washed robe and the influence of the dead,

Maybe there is faith enough to climb;

Transcend this night and grasp onto repentance.

I feel winded; and out of breath.

Last night was our sins' delight,

A purging of every hesitation,

Letting loose and falling hard; in love.

And every destination had become a gateway to hell,

And I flew, falling fast with you.

Let the purging of diamonds

Collect our faith in God,

Admit the mountebank and receive our recompense.

As with all illusions,

Wrestled in perception;

The blue body's pale face

Keeps staring at my reflection,

A fantasy of filth; a knob, an incorporeal body

Hesitant to reach the other pier.

This band around my finger,

Empty and hollow; desolate land

Could suffer me to slavery,

Could redeem me from my sins.

It's at length we war; wage seduction

And the lure of Dionysus, excrete silhouettes

Against the wall of our own self-contamination;

And to this bed our love, laid down and drawn.

Rattling my cage; bent on hell's directed fire

A foreigner, a discreet body made of blood and soot,

Has come beneath my roof; but I want death

To become me as a gentle kiss; from above,

Ecstasy's servant and tomorrow's ball,

Live the life you should have; and greet you at the end.

Imperceptive settlement, an exchange for fire and breath;

And so we are through, with telling lies;

And losing face is the last thing on my mind.

Ages ago it seems, when I was lonely and sitting by the river;

The turquoise fabric of my dress bunched up and bleeding through my hands,

I will not receive her sanctuary, I will not believe her lies,

Only a fool's gold will be exchanged for my heart;

And a lie told in the place of an honesty's past remembrance.

Gold through my fingers; on the tip of my tongue,

Precious love mixed with unclean sediment;

Our youth destroyed by the facsimile of God,

How he pretends to guide us into his fold;

How he denies us the remainder of our self-control.

I would not walk an extra mile

Without shoes that could carry me home;

Where I will sleep tonight wearing my rebellious tears.

Belief in the following:

Rhythm, decay and population.

The IV drips and a splintered mind,

Carrying the weight of thirty years;

Each time I rip through the fabric of this darkness;

As I dream; the commotion of our love descends,

Leaving with it the mass of sole confusion

Like giving birth to a world stillborn.

We gather in the rain,

To watch the lightning strike our bodies;

It is our selves, it is our minds let go.

Each distinct droplet speaks the truth,

Why can't we bear the indignity of pages turned

Of thoroughly beaten drum in the dark beyond

There is a difference between death and love,

But my heart cannot tolerate the cold,

So I will not die a lonely soul.

Clear blue; eyes can show

Some sense of what lies beyond,

Her beating breast, my moment of inaccurate pronunciation

And the howling of the winds as love lies down,

Prostrates itself before the throne of death.

Heavy footsteps follow, and I lose my breath,

Each second's passing becomes an obscured delight

With the bitter aftertaste of burned flesh;

In this sequence of a dream,

I push away the secrets of eternal life

And then disregard the prophecies of those who chose to

Draw upon their science for their sanctuary.

What's left is blindness;

Darkness of a new dimension,

That I should travel to her,

Drop the extent of my insemination's coil

And take the hard road home;

Without regrets.

...as the sky descends on me

dashing my hopes for tomorrow's moon

I want

to go deep,

beneath the earth...

I want

to ascend,

the constructs of reality...

...where have I dug this dirt before

when my back was bleeding and bruised

what was a mask is made a criminal

and this facade in ruins at my feet...

now I lay, broken in the mire

unable to stoop enough to hear her speech

cover me with mud and clay

stretch thin my breath

close my eyes

and watch me as I walk westward,

with nothing but a shard of hope

I'll make it there in time...

...you choke me with the smog of hope's infatuation

that dusty grey smoke which doesn't realize there isn't life left

bones, and rot,

covered with your pristine white wedding gown

as frosting spent to cover the corpse of a thousand dead

no feeling and no motion

the sensation of time growing old without me

yet I hunger and thirst

and my breast becomes my refuge

as I pour myself into her arms...

...the essence of night as it unwinds

thunderous night, without control of the body

that memory, planted downwards past the navel's trust

in death it doesn't bleed...

unrestricted pulsing becomes my milk

and violent prophecies my salvation

I set up my throne in the garden and I treat the subjects to its rotten fruits

and we watch the world as it decays...

love means not knowing who, but placing a trust with blind eyes

the rest of silence should condone my sins

oh, the furniture must be rearranged!

the doctor has come, and with him the violence of birth...

a night of passion begins, as we roll and intermingle, contaminate each other's tea

which begs the age old question: what have I to do with death's cold touch

and why this observation has consumed my waking hours?...

...below the field of gravity's consumption

we pool within our meditative thought

your work an echo of my cavity's release

every breath taken is a measure of life

here in these constructed syllables

I and you becomes a sour spill

and the tongue takes only so much of emotion...

the sport of love making,

death-defying leap into imagination's branches

the urge to know the difference between

violence and passion, rather than conduct blood's acidic flavor

I want to burn it all, and bring the ashes from the fire

lay down, and let me weep

surprise me that I don't hear you calling out my name

you must be swollen, you must be bearing the syllables of sin

to have your hands bound so tightly to the gate

watching everyone descending

held in the pyramid of death, reading the pages of an empty book

(out loud)...

[to see your face a million times]

I'd venture out of this magnetic field...

A lozenge to dislodge my throat's blockade,

For your taste of bittersweet decay;

And so you may make the haunted plot of land

Whole again, by way of words and their way of precipitating.

The fluids in me boil,

And my blood becomes hot;

My touch, and my unwavering loyalty to the apprentice,

Whom I would wed if she could draw out my sanity.

Reaching for her elbow, legs come first and in gravity

We fold up; and we make the moon night's marker,

We tempt fate and deny each other,

Go back into our dull shells of light and water and dust

Of rust and the buried parts of beasts,

Like us,

Trampled by the feet of desire.

A flash of bright white incandescent summer,

The opening of her legs as she pulls herself under,

And the quiet played upon the table as we sit;

So much influence, so much under exposure,

And the heat of her mane, brilliant mess of flame;

To resume the politician's passing again.

I love the touch of her lips as she makes out the words,

"You are going to burn." Is it the threat that looms

Over the horizon, or is that merely the taste of her words?

Inadequate approach to dealings with death,

And summer comes, and the fall;

No more witnesses to call upon,

Only judgment's answer harping on the wind,

And I fear for her, and for my own inauguration;

The delicate harvest of souls, it puts me down,

Drives me into disharmony and into ruin.

Take my hand and lead me,

Out of this dark mass of confusion,

So I may change fate's testimony

And inherit the sun and the moon.

...three beats of a broken heart

remembering still what love

had been, and how it had become soured

and each new plane becomes a pool

for drowning...

unsteady surface, dissolute mind

capturing the incompleteness theorem,

but not a measure of common sense

[so that was the reason that long ago]

my hands were tied and my heart grew cold

and she couldn't save me,

though she had tried to reduce the fever

but here I am now, talking with total strangers

about the complications of life and the dissolved beauty

of a love gone dead and drowned

[in this kingdom by the sea]...

trying to pull words from threads of thought

and sew the fabric of my mind in an external state

enough of beauty conceptualized and eroded

give me the tangible death and the intangible portrayal of the living

keep you for a better day than this...

...a disrupted sin

carrying the weight of gold

my sin, and her anticipation

where we weave now through fire's element

and dust today off of our stockings, and run...

when hell breaks loose her unsteady hand

and her minions cast forever into the vacant sea of death

I will have no lover except the one I've broken

she and I will last a fortnight

before the howling winds come to claim our lives

death and decay, our banquet tonight

dessert the bleeding over the edge of time

and through the light we've broken into matter

her hands, like rushing water pouring over my skin

and her mouth, the blade to end this suffering...

and I love her like the shadow loves her flame

to dance in harmony and speak the same language

choose the same ending to this fairy tale...

...Theresa's fate, as she stepped out the door of her obsessive fear

a little too late, I find myself gazing out upon the broken shoreline

instead of sewing costumes for the ball...

...it's the right condition to be in, but I sigh, and place the needle between my teeth

where the mind wanders when we're alone, inside our skull, alone...

...we are a combustible pair [[her]] and [I], continuing through sweet silence

to carry on our respective soliloquies, injuring the eardrum and our voices

terminal cancer of the soul, as the body goes limp and breath fades...

...we are the victims of our own designs,

waiting for the hammer to fall, and for the clock to stop ticking

roughly strewn about the street and incorporated into something new,

something deeper than our simple lives, something dark

ashes fall from the great cylinder, predicting death in a fortnight...

...scrape up the ashes of our lust and bury them deep

deny the body sustenance and deplete the eyes' gluttony of sight

and dumb down the ears. cut the tongue and forever walk alone

oh, love, we must rewrite the rules of decency and trust...

...your spatial perceptions are all lost to me as I go under

traversing sea and sky and land in search for something greater than the push

I can feel it on my fingertips, a scant grip...

...shall we walk this tightrope for the distance we must to reach the other end

shall we reflect on God, disease and the pallid lonely night that we've spent waiting

for some answer from above?

tease me with a touch of golden ecstasy,

and the silvery kisses of tonight

before we fall to total darkness...

...my breathing is sickened and comes in deep whispers

plucked from the moonlit air, and I convulse; leaving patterns

and symbols to hide identity

these Marks belie my own soul's construction

and I anticipate my death to find me inadequately dressed...

...who will lead, and who follow

or we should both undress,

inspect each other's elements

be wild like children to the last consuming drop...

The mind's a black blur

Breathing in and again, the smoke

Now I feel faint and the world begins to fade

Hopeful eyes try to recognize her face,

Her constituent whispers in the cold grey walls of mother time,

We meet as the world collapse in dust,

We measure our wings to see if it's enough,

And then we fly; to where the sea is made of glass

And the trees of gold, the roofs' transparency

So we may find ourselves; walking through the night.

Whatever you will crave of me,

Liquid from my flesh,

To tease all the interior depths of you,

To take the step past gluttony,

Eschew this surreal exposure of the sun,

And dip the toes in oxygen, as it ignites.

This brush with death, when I was nineteen

And I flew even though I had no wings,

But she would not surrender me

To the quietude of obscurity.

So I'm looking for a replacement,

Another version and acceptable approach

To cleanse my demons and draft again the salient brew.

These bubbles in the stream,

Scattered randomly and quick,

Like the flick of my wrist,

With nowhere to go,

Nothing to see but the riveting feeling of wonderment

Instilled by an adolescent fire burning through the chasm of my soul.

An irrespective sin, trapped in the beating

Of a butterfly's wing,

Tantamount, without control

The flip-flap pitter-patter on the winds

Consumes me,

Becomes my shadow

Through text and onwards through a digital echo,

And you amaze me,

My secret fire; how do you burn so hot,

My warmth comes from the most bitter cold;

And my muse is that of a darkened void.

What mixture will become the tepid standard,

And where shall I go to drink my fill,

When Heaven's not awake and Hell has

Vanished from the streets;

I cry mercy in those days,

And ask the Lord deliverance from this stasis,

And beg judgment, even if for a day.

The foil and the feathers,

Make perfect bouquets for this separation.

...dialog is lost amidst the sea foam green rehearsals that our bodies react to,

practicing for love's attire, when it should walk upon the senses and see us

no better than before except by stages incomplete but partially constructed

and Whitman's God is savored on the tongue,

while residue becomes a breeding ground for impatience and fatigue...

...in crying fits and convulsions

to let her go was not enough, and now she's left me empty

saying, "please don't touch."

and our prophecy's fulfilled, the last semblance of love

to the very bottom of the sea it carries me and in my womb resides

what she gave me was a life-long musing,

and it paralleled my thirst for her residual harmonics

to play within the bounds of our electronic correspondency

the dried head of a rose, within my palm; crushed.

it was the fault and the shoreline of my childishness,

or was it her bitter-sweet temperament?...

...this is my amusement:

carving out the time that's left

and breaking stone away

to sculpt the perfect body of work

wherein which she may be contained...

...you muse

but miss the point entirely of my conception,

when water breaks

reducing a love into a love

and ever after seeking the sweet taste of youth...

...are you a convenient crossroads,

where one's soul may be devoured

by the regurgitation of its content?

oh bliss, oh resurrection of form;

in finely sculpted attire

perfection like this can happen only once,

and never for the duration of my longing

she sinks in front of me,

her face cold, and pale...

...I wear a mask of words

a tall tower built of nothing but our impurities

a lonely shelter to draw out all my misery

and drown myself in the content of a mind's wiring gone awry..
