Thursday, August 18, 2016

Mixed Mediums

Snide to deny the relevance
Entropy follows denial
That dreaded caving - in.
The decadent smothering of Man.
Musk - inhaled
As lament after lament
Bends on eager knees.
Let it begin then
That chiming of skin
The brunt of his expulsion
Feeds into Me,
Folds onto Me,
Fucks over Me...
Those were some times
Libidinous uproar revising its needs
On a day like today
The right prompt could entice me
Without hesitation,
To the floor
To the floor... the floor.
Momentum forgives egregious behavior
As the sweat of mixed mediums
Comes alive-
Each, inside the other.


Strenuous daydream
Take leave
That in your absence
Beauty reside.
A warm palm placed
Below the hairline
On the back of my neck
There, to find
The soft spot
Where vulnerability unfolds.
To imagine the dilapidated layers sloughed away...


Tuesday, August 16, 2016

The Ballad of the Useless...

I have been walking alone, a long time.
An ounce of closeness is too expensive
To interrupt this conscientious life.
In a blurry moment I might remember something sweet.

As sand washes platitudes from reckless pasts
My aging shoulders bear more weight
The sky widens as I tilt towards clouds
Seeking some tidbit of inexplicable beauty to tide me through.

Licentious times, this decade has steel fists
Claimed- a throat that squeaks for mercy
Who left the door to the devils idle fuck-ups
That came and tore holes into gladness that tried?

Tried hard to stem flows, trying harder still
To cage wretched wildness that never whispered of what a taming might do.
Ravaged at the nape, carving deep on the inside
The swollen tubes that once sung in honor of love

Their desolation swells daily at the disorientation of such destitution.
Fuck the traveler seeking answers
When that juggernaut of pain is always pouncing at the ready-
For this guard that's been too long down.


Shimmering disappearance
The ache of trauma
I wish to rinse clear
Bone on skin
Insides dissolved
This ain't no fuckin way to live.
Skin without sighs
No exit wound to speak of
Just an obliterated valve
Where tolerance once stood still.
A watchdog turned viral
Rabid and destructive.
Spitting venom to eyes
And accusations bitten in
Jagged-edged teeth
Tear, torn, turned upside down
These lacerations are morbid
They are deepest, they are darkest
They pounce upon weak
Veins are tied, pock-marked, strangled
This fate is for tumors
That grow upon backs turned out
Suffering the consequence of ignorance
Too gladly in spite of the options.

'...speak in this way?"

Today, the flaking of usefulness - purges.
What does it mean to speak in this way?
Where ink swirls around tongue twitching
Dropping everything but goodness
Onto the laps of any surface that will have it.

The listening is dense, dry- brutally manufactured.

There is a resurrection taking place, bound to fail
Toiling to beat hell for a time to return
When the liberty of happier pursuits might have lived
But, the disclaimer lives- driven in hard with energy fueled by facts

This 'supposed' time, sought out with conviction
Has profusely risen, error after error in designated haste

Due to the impenetrable truth that such a time
Ne'er existed. Not in this finite being's folklore.

That is not to say that happiness was not tasted.
It is simply the deduced reality that mine has been of a brand, obscure.

Even now, in sifting through what I think and feel
The choices I gather from my word bank
Fall short of the mark of what I want to convey.

Saturday, August 13, 2016

The Oil.

The oil is past impatience
Tired of my watery inconsistency.

The oil dares me daily, as I turn my back in shame
The oil has a face; stern, strong, arrogant
Frustrated beyond words at these 43 year old tendons
The bones crack, wince, piss themselves

Maybe jaundice yellow is the point I must begin...

The mud in my heart is too blue to know any better.

This wretched inconsistency...
Clumpy, coagulated, stolen potency- stewing
Fresh panels wrapped in plastic
The pine suffocates some 48 hours and counting.

I am not even humbled by what I am doing

I am green, like the mountain after battle-
Not fresh, clean, full of flavor-
Green like the ooze of infection - plodding,
Blood-stained, bloated, rotting.

Why do more words fall in line to define this rancid condition?

Should they not revolt instead and beat heavy
All the apprehension I hug like a child trapped in nightmares?
Fucking morsels of criticism, wedged in too deeply
Pop these fuckers like an unwelcome pustule-

And move on for once- driven.

Wednesday, August 10, 2016

No Names.

Turned, termed
Sand, sifted.
Gorge, indifferent
Metal nearby,
Decaying just the same.
Indelible- not the word,
But its meaning.
Stuck in that infinity
Where scent retires
And taste roams
And eventually - memory too,
Evaporating consciousness
Meaning dies.
Death really isn't death
Life in its meaning:
Live, laugh, then lie down
Making room for others
To spread and conceive.
Definitions, unknown
Science is the criteria
For what sticks.
No names.
Likeness, lost.
In the soil
Life, scuffing through
Burnt and endearing
In the blink of a moon
Skin too scuffs away
Life - floats on
Digging in land
For feet to plant in
For a moment
Plant, grow, sigh
Peek into dusk
Swallowing dew
The dawn has answers
For the well-rested.
Unscripted themes,
Dedicating love
To those of us that stood
On wings and shoulders
Ready to fly
When the night fell.

Day 1

We are private
And in our privacy
We can be useless.
Diffusing importance
Where it is most needed
Artifacts buried in psyche
Destroying conscience
Powerless, obliterated
Obtuse, obnoxious, scathingly unaware.

Fumbling in misguided unity
Over the upkeep of superficial relations

On legal documents
We inherit our associations
The proof of DNA - shared
Wandering unaware...
Or purposefully tilted elsewhere
Immune from acknowledgement of hideous beasts
That now malign the goodness.

For I am goodness
In a sea of obscurity
As I have been,
Since day 1.