Welcomes indeed to the rising sun,
an eyepatch fucker blessed to rain heat
a tidal wave of heartless blistered air
nuclear semi-shock of exhalted explosion.
Soaked in sweat, dribbling water,
remembering whethering worse weather
and praying for that bastard to set
while pondering the insanity of sweaters.
Living like a hillbilly hodgepodge
happily met with tight stagnant air
stuck in the sky crossed room,
we are feeling less like “human”
much more like baboon.
White toothed grin wholesome and out of place, build me a river with curtains of tears from a different space.
Washed out playground full of mice and mace, deny me witheringly those indulgent ways.
Nevermore inside compulsive daze, shackle those bodies into wandering maze.
Labyrinth mode to occupy the days, if not for you then into the blaze.
Truncated meat sticks all bundled up warm,
I’d advocate for less layers,
We’d look less like worms.
Ever have that moment,
When you have to peel words off your brain,
There’s almost a physical sensation,
Like the tactile release of an orgasm,
Only small like,
Sometimes.
Composite a spectrum,
Diagnosis alternative nostrum,
Qualifier doctrine placenta,
I’d call it a kid if only it were one.
So, birthplace be lobed,
Rounded and gray matter globed,
Because words man,
Them is the things that I once loved.
Another night is gone,
The goddamn birds are chirping,
And while I think I was productive,
I’m sure it wasn’t worth it.
My eyeballs ache from skullbound flashes,
Each tendon in my body is moaning,
The sun and sky are so bright with light,
That “back inside” seems to be an order instead of what’s right,
I hang back at the door, or sheet, or flap,
Screwing up my mind and face to think about,
Why despite the price,
I race the setting rays into the West,
A challenge that bears no chance to win and promises self inflicted malice.
Yet….
It feels so nice to taste the liquor of the stars,
While moonlight drips down as whimsy scented honey,
Transforming us all into the Cosmos serving bar.
Thick blue hued amber smoked into an untouchable glow,
Spirit boosting tinsel to top our nightly gifted box.
Conjures whims and true lunacy,
Sets the true Faithful afloat,
In a boat atop the inbound light.
So freeing,
So, so, slow.
Living like a cat last summer,
Couldn’t afford sheets or real food,
But the room was a soft pink,
And the lumpy mattress felt softer than the bricks.
Living like a cat I was,
Crawling under piles of clothes to nap,
Eating cans of tuna (pocket sized),
Basking in the sun so the shade felt cooler.
Cat life is great for those critters,
But at 6’+ and a bundle of seething “more,”
It’s feline for some but didn’t sit right on me,
So I’ll gladly hand it back this time around.
Feeling a bit more canine today.
Though cans of tuna still roll free,
I have a forever human to lick,
Hopefully I’ll get older than a pup –
— goddamn pet control still wants to lock me up.
wearing an embryo,
would prefer a large flopping sombrero,
small skin means tight fit.
bedazzled rodents fly,
as shockingly agile bullets,
spreading feet like wings.
plastic horror show,
melts to a puddle of goop,
Barbie versus torch.
Spoken word is coming shortly…if you haven’t seen it, I’d really love to hear some of your own work…take a look at the Studio34 for the listing if you don’t see it a post or two down. Cheers!
She told me in a voice that wants for something more,
“I’m stuck with you and you with me,
But I don’t want to be stuck,
I just want to be happy.”
Simple words of wisdom,
Drop out the only mouth from which I tend to listed.
All around life is in tatters again,
It’s a battle of just going and going,
Churning up the ground as I try for traction.
People ask if I even know what I want,
It would be easier to drop my head in the sand,
No one wants to be confronted by the fact,
That survival doesn’t constitute a plan.
No goals
Just obligations.
Another sick hollow spot,
Self-indulgent in wasted life,
A never ending emotionless vacation.
The idea of walking a road with no end in sight,
Sounded so peaceful when I was younger.
I can’t be old enough to be this tired,
Those thoughts drag my feet,
Mired in mud six feet deep.
When you’re bound to the pipes,
The needles, the bottles, the pinners, the caps, the strips, the tabs and the doses,
The misery never knowing, always moving,
Chaotic insecurity, discomfort and the fear –
It’s easy to lose yourself in the haze,
No rag can clean vision so glazed.
Occasionally you need a multi-colored head of hair to show you that there is still more to be had.
That whatever tomorrow brings,
It’s worth holding steadfast to belief in something better.
Even if you have to lean on each other to get there.
She told me in a voice that wants for something more,
“I’m stuck with you and you with me,
But I don’t want to be stuck,
I just want to be happy.”
Long night, long day.
Screeching whistles from the bat winged harpies playing in the sun.
I swear I put a dog collar over the tree stump last week,
Wonder what happened to the dog?
I should probably go out and check,
But now it’s impossible to tell through all their beaks.
Should have embellished the points of each ear,
Small silver trellises of moonlight into nursery rhymed eyes.
C’est la vie,
I’ve got a lockjawed dedication that demands fevered lacerations,
And if they leave a few eggs on the ground for breakfast this evening –
-so much the better.
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