Saturday, November 9, 2013

"...that I am."

It is, it is this thing
This 'defiant towards labeling' organism
This Aura of Mine.
This drips in slowly
As though a warm needle were gently pushing through
A landscape made of wax, with a pulse
Welcome, initially, thus the escalation of "Mercury Rising..."
It's novel to me, this funny little unspoken curse
And a curse it is- if I am to remain honest,
And I am. I am.
But a fool to none-the-wiser in claiming that a 'curse' does not become me
Wired for this- this discrimination
Wired to untangle in perpetuity, this attempt at understanding.
But too true, the inherent understatement that 'yes'
...there is something more here than understanding...
The need to Master the facts is cumulative- continual
It is there that I return, suspended in my thirst to define
Locked in a limbo I love.
Questioning everything in silence
This Abyss of intrigue, where the quiet crowns my efforts.
You see, I am stuck in the transition
Not for any other noble reason than 'being'
I am flush here, in the flux of all things unanswered
And it's more sane that they remain this way
Privacy- Adored.
The multitasking of emotional discord is my calling
For I am most familiar here, in the dark foreboding,
...of all that I may, 'suppose'.
Unanswered questions gain in value, their intricacies float nearby
That visual/cerebral liaison has been made affluent in its seclusion
I am making love to concepts daily, even when they pain me
Deep down, I am carnivorously aware of my own aptitude
And I fucking love the Beast that lives here
In this hired flesh, born to do the bidding of this soul
This soul who understood the inequity of the human spirit first,
And then made to love- post trauma.
In satisfaction, I own my conflicted complexities,
Own them to perfection.

Rhetoric, Expanding...

Tongue is tied
Riddle, unsolved.
Rhetoric, expanding.
Yes, so what if I understand
The lessening never appears.
Yes, so what if deep down, it's unfounded?
The patina of piss left behind is unchanged
I can roll these fingers relentlessly
Within the continued bark of this bite
What good has it, will it, can it- done/do me?
I am cloistered in my irrelevance
Darkened permanently from the stigma of elsewhere
Deficiencies grown from emotional rot,
Leaked near me, and I became host to the despair of another.
But, too true, how often can coincidence suffice?
Think not of the lesser, life discriminates EVERYWHERE
You need only possess the capacity to be infected by it-
To buy into its greed.

I am ugly- personified
 I beat into every layer of sensitivity
Pummeled from all angles, inside and out.
Therapy for these contusions roams aloft
On a smooth sea of unrealistic ideals.
This is why and where, the muse gains ground
In this immaterial plane, safety exudes
In a place where potential floats
Awakened to every unnatural bend and contortion
Here- I am perfect,
In all the certainty of my faults
I wiggle away from shady concealment
Warmed in my naked, unworried release
Laughter and the splatter of bullshit both cease to exist
The ache of confinement eases immediately free
I take control of nothing, as the rules of nothing surround me.

This imaginary world where the language is inaudible
I grow ever-loved and admired.
I reflect only acceptance from every exit wound I bare
I am oozing with confidant love
In this place, on any given day
I am gifted by unnatural belief, that hidden deeply within
That soul that dares to see
Can look with open eyes,
At all the experience my pain has afforded me-
And continue in quiet haste, cradling my Being.

Bubble of Conflict

Wrapped in plastic
This History has become, celophane.
Indeed awareness is useful
But what, pray tell, is the answer?
Awareness rids me of nothing
I am merely made all the more defunct
In the aftermath of acknowledgement.
Heat to melt?
But there is no logic there-in
Melted and boiling would then fuse to my skin
More discomfort, molting in, instead of away.
Meanwhile, this pondering is nearing uselessness.
I suffocate under the admonission that more contemplation brings
This is not imagined; I lived these slimy, uncontrollable que's
What 'pawning off' of insecurities made this transference- legal?
For someone has been offended here, in this stark & brightly lit confinement.

Continually fucked by the passing off of inadequacy that was not my own
This is a grave business, discerning who's at fault,
And yet, what gain in more assignment?
Will the toxic wafting odor of blame, rescind this banishment from kindness?

So self-aware, and selfless
This is madness to define
But if I don't-
Only further offending.
Why do I continually give a shit to blur these borders
With logic, sense, understanding, or intelligence?
Truth is,
Life is fucked when the meddling we loathe
Whether administered once or forever
Originates from those that our blood demands we trust.

Tuesday, October 15, 2013


The sound of morning is resting
I look up above the awkward bright light
Issued from this source of whining attention seeking screen & keyboard.
I test the actions of the night prior,
Have they benefited me in any way?
Yes, there was a thought,
Lent to another in the hope of restoring his own roaming soul
Back into his focus.
But it has also awakened what I know to be my own greatest weakness.
I need to suck the fucked sadness out of my skin
And spit it out for the last time.
I need to do this-

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Warm Sand.

Bury my feet into warm sand
Warm, inviting, squeezed.
Sunshine felt even in the overcast saloon of my mind
But why slice open and issue nothingness?
When the assumptions to be had work less in reverse-
And more into open.
Widen again this crevice, reveal an interior cortex, that
Lives in opulent boredom. A cerebral whiz
Waiting on the dumbfounded muscles of a doubting tom.
Foolish, fucked tom-foolery.
Noiseless and yet, so fucking loud.
Wiggling toes now find warm sand inviting,
Creating more down for the cortex to unwind
Relaxing as it undulates in perfect misconception.
I am wallowing in my wanderlust, feeling the evasion of time
And the punctured illusion of practicality.

I love and love and love so much. Too much. Not nearly fucking enough.
This skin is moaning with a conscience,
That despite all the proper notions and responsible alignment,
Finds madness looming in virtue.
Kantian ethics engrave a plaque that can, and eventually will
Hang in hell for the lost reprieve of ugly Golden Years.
Truth is, I know, I know, I know, I already know.
And yet, I make the same decisions, as the beast of other paths
Would create much worse.
Much worse a tomorrow than any mislead trade of today.
There will be a wonder, a backtracking orbit when the last dark hair gives in
And a gentle sigh for the path taken that led to cleaner slate.
Continue, continue, continue, the reward beaming out is far greater
Than all supposed woes that will greet me when the grey takes permanent root.

But I will still know sorrow, and the rancid odor of decayed lust.
I will still backpack into yesterdays when self-loathing kept the wolves away
Pheromones snuffed and swallowed in return for a memory of loathsome stagnancy.
In a time where matters are taken into my own hands
I push the svelte bitch that dared too much many thousands of hours ago
Push away and punched, her perpetual willingness to yet rise is unfailing
For now......................
Until 50, 55, 60. It is unknown, when the time will come and safely I can venture
Away from despondency and into companionship.
The richness of full-throttle maturity is indeed an emotionally lucrative prospect
But the dying skin that begs forgiveness yet writhes.
In agony, agony, in agonizing defeat.
Begging for a morsel of acknowledgment,
That somewhere on this incline to independence
There will be a detour into sexual hysteria once more
That land of Milk & Honey, oozing with Moan & Bone.
Earning more memories of the greatness of a good fuck
Adorned in every pliable decorum that the skin has to offer.

I am kidding nothing.
I am aware of all angles.
I boast of the high road, where lanterns never die out
As the intention of the 'best choices' wrangle free of wind that can diminish their light.
But too well I know the difference, between a wholesome goodbye and indifference.
And while I remain indifferent to the body's song 'for now'
I am ever-vigilant and dedicated beyond all fucking reasoning
To notice the tides of change.
Somewhere roaming in that hall of all my drive and ambition
Roams too, the decadent flow of unspent touch
Walking tall with all my 'best intentions' fastened tightly
The courageous heart will find a way,
To notice when time is of the essence.
And eventually, in no uncertain terms, pores will open and flush
Out and away all this body-wracking tension
Singing far into the night and its indigo wind, the sound of lovers voices
Made whole in their co-joined madness.

Until that time,
The smell of smoke, sweat and evaporating spirits
Penetrate a palette that delves deeper into its consistency
Laboring in the languor that lingers.

Monday, July 1, 2013


The accumulation of waste is evident only to me
Stilled by my own blackness, waste, it is as I mentioned
Waste. Heavy. Burdened. Fucked.
The lighthouse in the woods is diminished...


I am estranged
...from myself.
The generalization has found me
A statistic of one, in a sea of too many.
I have to get dirty here
To shake the disease once and for all.
To be found in this mosh pit of filth
I am sickened beyond description-
A dialogue I swore I'd never adopt.


The day has slated me
I am deaf about the ears, again
To any reason that may float nearby.
No metaphor for cause
No drastic queue to prompt
Nothing but the numb
To bruise bruises that have grown stale
Ages and ages ago...
When the day was blue and floating,
Unlike the now, green with envy.

Fornication of inanimate objects
In its senseless adverbial prison
Seems a likelier conclusion
To this yesterday that I bid adieu.
'Yesterday', I speak of it as though it has passed
Not, in all the welcome of tomorrow is that coming
Thursday, twice past holds no greater value than my now.
The crutch of this pause holds me fast
I am revolting in lurid form, yet without gain.

What then, I ask, is this questionable attitude forming?
Why, when the rotted expiration has come and gone and still
De-oxygenated flesh moves on, as if to harbor hope
Hope in longing.

Hope in longing, yes.
It is there that I roam; soft, warm, still breathing
Half-moon eyelids at rest, as another imaginary pulse lingers.
Who knew the flavor of waste would become so addictive?
The bane of existence has been clutched close
To an untouched breast that lays in dormant haste-
Or waste.
The distinction in today is futile
For the knowledge of tomorrow is had;
I am still miles away from that awakening
When senses long dulled by the heroin of loneliness,
Drink again from a cup; a cup strong, potent, worthy.

Crooked are these assumptions, to push forward in virtuous haste
Relying on a tomorrow that can never guarantee
Absolution from the stinging cause of going without.
There is reticence everywhere
Swimming in the deep water of all my refluent thought.

Saturday, April 27, 2013


Wading in again, hoping for something more
To be courageous enough to push away from the safe, loose gravel
Multicolored and forgiving in its camouflage
The delicately rippling surface is sending secrets
I look away as though to promise myself that I am unaware
But all too well, I know the routine; I'm here for hope.
I sift through the unknown as well as I do any known comfort
Kissing whispers into the path they form, unscripted and free

That tall, thick and solid hum is vibrating in its chest
Patiently awaiting the nothing that anticipation brings-
Seeking instead, the constant quote of self:
Truth in waves, further and further they lap against shores unseen
Clean air comes with penned reminders of who is living here
What shadow cast leaves room for assumptions? None,
For within the collected down of ostrich strokes
Parchment sings of many years yet to be written upon
And of love that grows deeper even in the absence of a nest.

The smell of something close and trusted
The warm crook of a wise and understanding yesterday
A yesterday that smiles longer in the evening, as memories stretch and yawn.
Love turns darker shades within the aged moonrise
The midnight clouds travel slowly,
Painting portraits in the glow of its soft focus
Naked reprieve has taken this lifetime,
Allow these tumbling limbs the long flex of relax
 As muscles unfold, skin composes sonnets
Too rich with longing and filled with need, poetic justice is a mime

I like this place, where gravity carries a comprehensive role
I'm jettisoned in quietest haste, and with eyes adjusted to the indigo moon
I feel energy that imbues a concerto of reward
A payoff that leaves me lathered in a care so great,
The skeletal region need no longer exist to uphold the soul inside
Tendons renewed and relaced, into a muscular system that now pumps in perfection
Renewed in the soaking of Springs that carried the high quality of standards held.