Wednesday, September 6, 2017

And So He Sings...

"...there's certain things that I adore..."
Of those certain things, they placate nothing in recent years
The notes, the husky gripe, that pond-hopping drawl
Seduced, saturated in the fuse he's lit
From billions of particles that pass between us
And the lifetime we lead in distant significance
My drunken state picks up where he left off
Carrying that tune further.. into ears, into hands, into night
Muting all the noise but one- on shelves of furthest reach 

Lament is a chaotic, beautiful, graceful suggestion
To peak in a moment and push outward,  to share
Blowing those needs that squandered resilience,
And tapered nothing of the long need of sighs gone mad.
Knees, having forgotten to genuflect to the God of Skin
Dissolve in silence as the greys arrive- unplucked.
Hands wither as autonomous, mundane duties abhor their routine...
Stray trinkets of possible positioning, align nothing by way of stars
Angled movement fits badly in this heaven for one.

How many more blistered commas must segregate this, this...
This cacophony of corrupted, course-ground projections?
Segmented nonsense, punctuated by the poof of malaise gone sour
Cut myself some slack, for Christ's sake.
When did drowning in dissonance become the preferred method of travel?
Instead, carry that note of his higher, onto laps that breed warmth
And seclusion into pinker shades and the fortune of limbs
Beckoning touch- approachable, magnetic.. unencumbered
Carve the notch and all those, 'Certain Things...' will come.


Saturday, September 2, 2017

Naked as Adam

Brace the days with light
Penetrating deeply, effectively...
This hoard of ghastly uncertainty
The newest plague in Modern Life.

Some, they mate for life
Able to stay the distraction of flagrant devaluing
Catholic beginnings suggested I should
But Matriarchal inundation clarified otherwise.

If we speak, let us speak frequently and open
Naked as Adam in all his finery
And if there is no other half to this dependency-
I will speak alone, loud and with urgency.

I wade a lifetime in conclusion forming trust
That goodness be made of the mayhem endured
I wake and reach daily for that same outcome
And perhaps, in this now - it has become 'ineffective'

Needing to bat hard, the dust from what I have woven
With severity and insistance
That nothing shall ever again stand defiant
In apathetic discord of all my new hopes.

I am peeling from the burn of four decades
And taking long to heal.
Unhooking talons from the hostages crouched low
Is tedious; boring, painful... Necessary.

A Time within A Moment

I hear you. But then again, I don't.
I feel you, perhaps, is far more apropos.
"...end where we started..."
"...You and I were never too small..."
You are feeding that line that I tow.
Dare me, instead, to tear open the truth.

You come here and say just enough
To elude to the heat that roasts
And for an addict like me,
That steeps your lava in - in private
I bubble in angst at the idea of acknowledgment

Your succulent thumbprint pushes hard
It is a listless existence to not plug the prong into its best fit.
But it is the advocacy of integrity that corrodes the would-be cheater
And it is with the utmost, utmost, utmost respect
That I suck these imaginary bones between us
And savor the marrow that will never be mine.

We need, and we need, and we want
Taking nothing to balance the deficit of all the unpaid due
The reconciliation found more in acknowledged assumptions
Will be all that is required, to make it past the gates of destruction.

The deepest needs bake infinitely
In an oven that stokes itself
Bound by the respect of those that we will never know
And the happiness they will retain
As a result of a perpetually well-maintained distance.

Oil Paint...

Handfuls of misunderstandings
Pouring out of my palms
A trusted bucket, at best
This dismal vantage point - played out.

That transformational lie
Has steadfastly infected the weakest of my psyche
And aged dissent - some 35 years long
Oozes yet, with its darkened pathogens

I couldn't find my shoes last night
With eyes closed, my blanket, the fan
I spoke to relevant strangers
Their role - a murky meaning, dubious, perturbed.

In the secrecy of night, I am a buffoon to my senses

An algorithm of dust, bones and fluidity
Strokes locked into sadness, depression, seething frustration
Captured, ruptured, but stopped, stripped infinitely
In the finite action of well-preserving oil.

Indoctrinated, into the sun
The privacy, this solitude, this devotion
I hear and boom, I listen - BOOM, I hear again - shaken
Safe. In what? In here, this hide of dank loathing

Such dedicated attrition, prevailing in vain.
What mode is next...to satisfy the hunger of starvation?
More stagnant air - more colloquial nonsense
Sent to fuck me further?

A word like bereft should only be but used once in a lifetime,

Enough nocturnal exhaust.
The hours past midnight were created for two speeds
None-of-which a restlessness following gross uncertainty - applies

Isolationism is a terror of a circumstance
Disrupted- only, from the harmony of a resting heart-rate.

Knot

It occurs to me
I act out on nothing.
Subdued. Restrained. Stuck.
Stuck. Stuck. Stuck.
Stuck fast, dreams clutched,
Squeezed without yield.
Squeezed, squeezing, coddled.
Consoled for lacking conviction
To tie the know and swing.

Thursday, August 3, 2017

Afar

Days linked in succession, life- moving.
Shelving on the interior grows taut, strong, transformed
In becoming, I find roots that entangle endlessly
Into the cornucopia of all I have amassed.
In volume, there is no need for containment.

I seek to blow out rigid outcroppings that have overstayed their welcome
Long before I knew they would attempt to become- permanent fixtures.
Elbow grease and the unlimited syrup from unspent tension
Lubricates the engine in continuous grace- by default, and with that comes
The indelible belief that the construction of credibility and character
Can often build-on when reserves feel dried, withered, wrecked.

The boom of strength sought, brings too, hope beyond measure
For a life better lived in light of understanding.
Elusive logic had robbed enough of me,
Bruised into thinking that without preparation
Countless tides of unwelcome envoys could board without pass
And with ease...destruct more in the wake of apathy, ignorance, indecision.

The nonsense too has a purpose.
I'm leaking with reasons for why the cattle-call need blaring
Potency lingers everywhere, round tufts of sweaty curls and lips gone mute
Mute from the swell of what love creates, caters to, and, cavorts with
Is it enough to say enough on this day?

From one to the next I am still holding my own hand
Touching lightly over pores that ran amok from their last leaking...
For it was so fucking long ago when clouds cloaked moons 'round Jupiter.
When freckled limbs took what was owed from olive-toned lilies,
Moaning before dawn.

Back to this, this need, this glaring wound
This hole both within and without..
This metaphor, parading itself as a half-filled glass opponent.

Drink and be free of toxicity that blisters and scorches the anterior dome.
Set free the bicuspids of love to prowl and wait
Wait for the tearing and crushing of  antiquity lost
Swapped for a new breed of satisfied momentum
Robbing legs of their loneliness and pits filled with steam.

Absorption of senses that wound themselves senseless
Their binary needs- fulfilled.

The mania slams into me sideways tonight,
As gestures in kindness reveal deeper meaning
And in that revelation, silence .
Words lack evidence of proper conveyance
As a General is backed by his history
So too is the silent, brooding integrity-
Of admiration from afar.

Monday, July 31, 2017

Obey

Confiscated, the peace I rely on, to rest the weary being that I am
Tossed to racing pulses of the non-attractive variety
Robbed of the song of night and her trusted lullaby
Stolen by hidden mood swings, burrowed deeply in
Craving the stillness of peace to wreak the maximum dose
Over wreckage that ricochets painfully, purposefully, prominently.

That wide stretch of unknown, luring me into its grandiose niche
Cumulonimbus fingers jabbing me in the neck,
Taunting me in my jackdaw-like deliberation
"...soon, soon," I tell it, "...soon will be the time to inquire within."
But too many years have slipped away since the last promise passed on
Into the motion of winds long rustled and removed

This road I find myself on has splayed open aged dreams;
I have been long away from desert dust and emotive antiquities
That inhabited the cage inside me.
A bony rack of resolute indifference;
Astute to only the practice of existence.

Whose riddles match my own,
Compliant to restraint and responsibility?
And why do I beg the question be asked at this juncture?
Inquisitive weeds have choked enough of my momentum; my mood, my mania.

T'is a torturous web to stick to and rot away on
Inhaling the beefy energies of limbs too far to travel to.
Shifted sleeves of processed countenance, shared in good faith
Stamped in the dutiful fashion of what society has agreed upon
And whisked away to the Eastern side of all I continue to ruminate over.

There are too many dead-ends I have crafted in sincerity
Flushing the blackened carriage to no avail, to  serve to polish the bleak
That has, for far too long- eaten away at my ragged edges.

I wither, I stumble, I absorb the soaking, painful, belligerent truth
I need to bend elbows back this way, into and around my own sense of self-worth
Looking for ways of penetrating that stout and honest willingness to earn,
Into buckets of 'owed'.
Owed to self.
To love,
...honor,
Obey.