Friday, June 27, 2014

Shut It.

Who edits raw candor with a straight face?
What scholarly program dictates degrees
That allow for elaboration on the intimacy of reflection?
Grammatical error can fuck itself sideways,
Impulsive confession is bold and should hold all acclaim.
It is ignorance to think that editors need exist in the world of intellect.
Ingestion can be the only examination- held
Honored in the integrity of trust without options.
But are there enough learned minds that leave the scroll on the floor where it fell
Opting for the heart and its innate sense of 'being', to temper nothing but the will to rest when weary?
Adhering to the gentle bubble of the unexplained, surface tension breaks for the beauty in that fluidity
Yet how many recognize and encourage the depth of shared perfection,
Leaving behind all manner of recognition and peripheral distraction?

None, in so far as I have sensed.
And even I, in my convoluted state, lack the sense of such statements;
For if I seek that which seems to be left uncovered,
Am I not the very banal cretin that I myself dread?

For now, I lay 'understanding' on the floor, and walk away quietly
Whispering of forgiveness with every barefooted inch that expands...

Pattern, destroyed.

Terse, spread. Congeal.
Parched, cracked- unforgiven.
Knowledge, nonsense
Right and wrong- blurred.

Tension, snapped. Wrecked.
Burgeoning, blooming- spent.
Selfish, succumbed
Flexing at the hip- nothing.

Disjointed, insanity. Spoiled.
Cocky ambivalence exudes
Fuck the pattern, swerving
Hit everything until it breaks.

This is a Post-Modern
Boisterous and yet hushed.
Playing with 'suppose'...

Foreplay rots in my mind
Aged in conceptual platitudes
Forth & Back, Back & Forth
Marching sideways to nowhere

A lake, a farm, a midnight clear
Spontaneous ramblings appear
Ejaculation of a promise
Disappearing in the 'yes but no'

I've come.
Void- widening.
Textual perversion, exploited.

The night knows of secrets
That lie as they lie in wait.
Tossing and turning into,
Cul-de-sac's of waste.

Gas-less fumes expand
Carbon exudes from lungs that contract
In an ode to joy that perspires,
From probation that longs for closure.

In so many ways and on so many days
The hunt for protection from delusion dips further
Canyons of claims, and chasms of chains
Chink against bruised thighs that lack fusion.

Milk drips from a tap made of flesh
Lips purse in angered revulsion
Bivouac anywhere, just to get this 'fuck' on.
But the courage of a soldier kicks dirt into such thoughts

Knowing full well that the lingering doubt behind the reasons to pause
Will screech louder than all detonated bombs in existence.
And the rotted cake with its rancid cream
Will linger longer in the belly of regret.

So which the greater demon to suffice?
Who knows, in this world of symmetry
Dug into the prosperity of those that came to be
As a result of the love spent in worry-free youth.

Famine of the Heart

Yesterday, cries like an unfed infant
Consolation of overlapping hunger lies
Invisible in its non-existence.
Healthy leaves, manicured in care
Grow in love but a mere foot away
But a plant on the table, no-less
Can steer ache from the growling of this core.

Energy, poured everywhere.
And everywhere too, there is mess
I am unkempt in my administration of the 'just'
Regret is a rust stain, too far from the tongue
For I am yet not ready to taste of its poison.
I lick, instead, the barbarous (lie) promise, of 'soon'.
But not enough pound-for-pound evaporation has occurred
To illuminate, "yes".

Pervigilium swallowed the most recent bouts
Legions of erupted negligence, oozing out of dry pores
A leper in heat may know this iron stake
Jabbed in heretic-like nonsense
Caving in to nothing, but the arduous task of defeat
The mania of the moment slips menacingly away
As exhaustion surrenders to the border-less dark.

My heart is an unshaven prick,
Souring in the sediment of untouched beggary
Vagrant whispers pissed away all the love-songs
Written last month, once the cycle resumed.
My center of gravity, is a Madman's menagerie
Overgrown, wild, uncivilized, in revolt of the rest
Of this instinctual lawlessness.

Greed, replaced with heavy-bodied nothingness
This is the sentence of unplanned impulse
Those hands that once clasped in erotic delirium
Grow bony and cold, on this island of 'One'.
I gave the lead away to a beast reigned by senses
Who now, mopes in turbulent isolation
Happy to have passed on alleles before the severance.

But- happy enough?

Raw, from the throat down,
And God forbid anyone detour into that chasm that drowns in forced solitude
The sanity of man becomes easily destroyed from one sip
Drunk enough to consider nothing
But the appetite grown from the taste of something infinite

And even now, in this early morning hour-
Post coffee covered tongue,
Reprieve settles softly about the shoulders that tensed in composition
The quiet comprehension lives on...
A plain, somewhere high on an uncharted sierra
The meaning of restraint hangs high
Handed down in time,
When my isolation shifts tenderly
Into understanding.