Beleaguered blood runs desperately,
awakening a dream of having.
Deception flows from speech
to speechless seeming.
Awakening a dream of having,
these happenings hold us firmly
to speechless seeming.
We lose ourselves in luster.
These happenings hold us firmly
underneath a gentle gaze.
We lose ourselves in luster,
reemerging in diluted form.
Underneath a gentle gaze,
the world grows wide with worry.
Reemerging in diluted form,
old hatreds quietly disseminate.
The world grows wide with worry.
Beleaguered blood runs desperately.
Old hatreds quietly disseminate.
Deception flows from speech.
Here we feel for rope…
Two-bit tropes, lack of fancy,
upwards on a steep grade.
Muscle memory, relax and fade.
The last of the great unpaid internships.
As we once presumed…
There was no window,
only a minute aperture where
a needle of light came through.
How lost are we? How defeated?
Lips that can only shape hymns
to a broken sun. Meanwhile…
A category of aches…
Believe in the crash. Pictures, sweetly…
The gravel bed… Harbor of our undoing…
The doing spread sinewy fingers
towards a dull heaven. Outlasted…
Diligent fire marches along the rope.
We leave in pieces
or else combusted.
I listened and went along
with the delicate subversion.
Another version of the story
quickly erupted from the exhaust pipe
of a ’92 Buick careening over an embankment.
I get it, it’s like I’m something inadequate.
Yesterday glazes the mirror with apologies.
A camera preserves its forgeries.
In the engorged moonlight,
I can hear my thoughts whispering
amongst themselves, and I wonder
if they’re conspiring against me.
I’m positively perspiring!
Siring a mire masked in blue perfumes,
the taste of tombstones on my tongue.
A collapsed lung would offer better shelter
than this sweltering apartment.
I listened and went along…
Strong weed and stronger nausea,
take my hand please, before my hand takes me
on a backward flight over a land
of placid distraction that conceals
destruction in its belly.
Somehow, I can smell the fever…
Hastened to sleep, diminishing
in the continuum of privilege.
What matter meets the sweetness
in bloated lungs so filled with gloating?
The metamorphosis jingles
and I can feel this tingling in my fingers.
Can they feel it too? Can they feel
the cool blue waves of restlessness
purring through the heat?
An accident is happening
but draped in calculating flesh.
Unspoiled sessions of rectitude
plying their focus. Several of us,
silly putty saints, tainted underwater.
The high road of false dichotomies.
I stretch my feelers
looking like an insect tree,
hypothesizing with strays as the meat
loosens from my garish bones
and shimmies to the floor.
The guilty get gilded,
the fearless get frisked.
What was it for which
we risked our radiance?
The arcade ambiance here
really doesn’t fit,
which instills in the spectator
a sense of disjunction.
Clearly the higher functions
of the mind have to be suspended,
midair if possible,
until we get a better look
at the possibilities
wavering in flight.
We’re tactless but tasteful,
so you have to give us some credit.
Life is a feeding frenzy
and little else.
By the time the others arrived,
we had burned out.
And then we were the others.
Those formerly known
as the others
with belles lettres
and left us for dead
in the desert.
a delectable spread.
But in the distance, a sandstorm
was coming to a head,
and with our bellies
so full of sugar,
we just couldn’t outrun it.
We were sleepless
on the shoreless sea,
barely afloat, with bruises
on our knees,
you said to me
“Should we not seize
the next breeze
the horizon heaves our way,
let it carry us up
to the crest of the Day?”
What I wanted to say was
but why even try?”
Instead, I just sighed,
and the sea sighed with me.
She’s a weeping whisper,
She’s lissome and lascivious
as a summer’s evening.
You wouldn’t believe
what she has me believing.
We get silly in the sheets,
and the heartbeats
make the rhythm
her melodious moans.
Turn up the terseness.
All of my verses got vandalized
in the vibrating web of precepts
prefabricated to save everyone
the trouble of thinking.
As the sinking ship said to the sea,
“Well, let’s get this over with then.
Devour me. If this is destiny,
then so be it. And if not…
Well do I have an alternative?”
These sedatives have their own way
of doing things. I tie my sentiments
with string and drag them along
as I scout the cartoonish wasteland
for something to chew on
before sleep sucks me into its kiss.
He enjoys all the wrong transgressions.
Pure and simple aggression
just doesn’t cut the mustard,
though it cuts through skin,
sinew and bone with relative ease.
The detritus he leaves
as he weaves
through the street is well… Shocking.
He has a noxious aura
whirling about his head,
a halo parody to scare the passersby
into submission. I sometimes
like to envision him
with a tree up his ass,
diverting the flow of blood
to its branches, sucking its host dry
before he has a chance
to do the same to the world.