Sunday, October 30, 2011

- you see...

I woke and felt loss
Loss for lost security
Security that had padded itself down, undetected.
Undetected and now, revealed in the aftermath.
Aftermath, apocalyptic in its damage
Damage unaccounted for.
For I have fucked my life up- you see.
See here how I took little comfort in the 'leery' side of life
Life that has shed skin and persevered despite
Despite the painstaking awareness.
Awareness that rosy-colored shades can become tolerated
Tolerated for the greater good of all components now lost.
Lost to a cess-pool of indifference
Indifference, consternation, cowardice, caprice
Capriciousness...such a lively word, with sinewy meaning
Meaning, that in this instance I would trade had I the time
Time to rewind and make better
The decisions of these tomorrows.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

...such a highway as this...

Mature love has evolved as the day has ripened
Reassurances are no longer needed, wished for- required
These seasoned feelings walk tall, unabridged
Living for every quality moment,
Earned in the wake of their new-found 'knowing'.
As time climbs fervently on... unaware of its escape
Thankful only for 'everything' and the breadth of its meaning.
True retirement of the senses,
At last- the Soul- now comes to Life.

It could take a thousand lifetimes
Of recycled spirits to reach this exquisite, desired end.
To finally lay the exhausted soul to rest,
That wanders not for freedom's sake-
But for the gratitude it seeks to be made worthy.
A man-made sole has not the length in store
To tread such a highway as this,
Therefore, hope is born;
Into the heart, mind, handful
To coddle, make love and adore.

Even now, eager eyes, tongue's and memories
Linger in hallways; hidden pathways, and
The emptiest corridors, aching in their cognitive fear
Concentrating deftly on peripheral nonsense
That often belies the wounded heart...
Let us not mention again, such minute trivialities
The scorn of bedside manner at their end-
Bodes the suffering enough, for what is to come;
Another Birth, purgatorial puberty and again
Blistering through the same  mistakes, scarred and error-laden  
To the yet, impotent youth, stifled in its own arrogance.

To curate and revere the outcome of our pain,
Glorifying the burn-marks of experience;
What a lily-livered lament.
Bosch told his visual tale in great detail
That we may see with visceral regret,
How the Soul can come to fear Hell and all her belongings...
Who chooses such a fate as this?
Who takes that malevolent hand of emotional destruction
Kissing into the bleak and curdled coagulation of nothing...?
Comforted by the 'void'?

But Oh, there is a flip side...
Where wrinkles form through smiling;
Despite the greed of ignorance
...and waking from yesterday and her many moons,
Filled to the breast with affection and joy
Milking these truths for what they are,
...coming away with wisdom.
Mutating beautifully into a cocoon of completion.
I want the afterlife of understanding
To look back on a sunset filled with honeyed aftertaste
...and tangerine tinge...
Bestowed upon, in gift- to my ever-loved posterity.

Thursday, October 13, 2011


I suck the words and they squeal
They are fat and overripe with promise,
Bursting at contact with the moisture
In my mouth.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

...that burrows...

Tickling the lobes, Ideas beware
I am pulling through this sludge
Shoulder deep, strong
Fuck the grip.
Bound but still in control
The deep end is my home,
...and I have to wonder,
Chilled grin in tow
What life would I know- without this?
For there is, invariably...
The 'Flip Side'
...and eventually, I will own it.
I ask myself
I stop myself
I wither from time long-spent in the galley of 'why'?
...and then I re-hydrate...
From hope,
When I'm sinking,
The squeeze and squelch of my swallow
Delivers those tears to the depth of my belly
Sucking in...
Slapped by the dreaded, '...but...'
If I am to succeed in this life,
I'll fuck the '...what if...' into the ground
And ride it's wake into Victory.
I never got ahead thinking that I may fail
I never smiled wider from taking the 'easy route'
I need do the slapping now,
Taming fear that burrows beneath my nerves
Attempting to fuck my love for the 'risk'

Risk is everything,
When the gamble is right.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011


Oh, the slow blinking eyelid
Filled with cream, it slides down
Saturating the ocular portal
Dilating pupils declaw themselves
Myopic in their motive.
For therein lies an hour
With each muted flutter of shutter

As lashes protect,
Each, its own entity
In deep love, they have fallen
From the angle they inhale
Select to the scope of themselves.
Tunnel in their vision, they
Wander in unison
Taking in with each perception
A dialect- unknown.

The eye, without ear
Understands each sound.
The eyes without touch-
Feel every tantalizing skim,
For fingertips whisper too,
As they graze in assumption
Of what the gut now shouts.

The skin- each pore though blind
Can see the beating heart
...and all V8 of its power.

Thickness of the 'Human Will'
...along with everything unsaid
Polarizes 'need'
Where growling starvation intensifies.
That magnet draws life where it is dying
Dying to be seen...

Sunday, October 2, 2011


I rot from the inside out now.
There is nothing about my physical condition
That has played a role in my eventual fate.
My emotional context will turn every last strong ounce of me
To lifeless waste
I have directed this voyage of life
In error
To pride myself in remaining sensitive
Has been my clever downfall
I built a weakness beneath my stronghold
A foundation of fools
Cracker-thin and without insurance.
Had I spent more time in the pool of disdain
Absorbing the hatred directed towards,
Eating and learning its coarse and poisonous habits
Making them mine...
Habitually, Dedicatedly, Morosely and Distinctly.
I would be stronger today.
Double-fisted and gifted
Able to make assessments and Strike
Straight to the heart of every heartless foreigner
Known to me; to my life, my loves and my woe.
Hardened, strengthened, cornered and full of spite
If I sucked in all that fodder
Chewing and learning every fucked and dirty secret
Each connived and devilish act-
Would now belong to me
I would own the gift of War.
Able to lift a finger and win
With little more than a fly's deflection;
Ease of the opponent's surrender would become futile-
More evil would become me
I'd need blood, bones and their Memories
To feel a worthy win.

Deceit, disgust, derelict and divisive
To allude to myself that this may have been an easier fate
I am comatose in my thinking to have even travelled that path
Who I am is a mixture of Time;
Tenderness found its way around terror
A child grew to love Hope before Hatred
A Home before a Hovel
...and escape the consternation of a broken spirit.
To write is to remind
To read is to remember
To share-
Is my attempt in letting go...