...yanked far back

Hunting resilience with a bow and arrow made of glue
Rubber knees, gesticulating ineffectively
The grandeur of my incompetence is opulent, orgasmic
Orgasmic - Hmm, a choice word
Yes, for it is delirium that has piqued
Puckered ass, without a brace for what's coming
A kick and fuck to wail into eternity
Of the blessed loss of fiduciary branding.
Cathartic catharsis, not enough well-intentioned anything
...can swerve me from this wrongdoing.

I suppose, I suppose, I suppose - enough
Why can't what I imagine serve to suffice all I pursue?
I'm climbing forwards into a sea of heat
Hues of red, magnetized to bone marrow
Gnawing these limbs for a year, in purgatorial wait
Stock, boiled from sweat and spent pores
Bloated energies burst in a millisecond
Transpiring to evolve, yet yanked far back
Before any real ground gained, boneless feet go nowhere.

I am hiding.
Hiding from a rocky sea that backhands my face
Salted, rippling surfaces, implore me to act
To trim away moping tendencies and wake instead
Alongside arms that understand temporal pleasure.
Love: Aged, wise in caress, longstanding in flavor
Twirling still, the grey hairs earned
Admiring daily, the compelled need to stand tall
Softening taut spines that ache for affection
Within the duty-bound day.

I am bruised in my method, flawed theories tear
Ripped in several places as I mend one hole to form another
I want to place the menacing hands I own-
Away from the unforgiving fire of distrust
Into rough and learned palms, seeking as I do,

That world of slow-pulsed delicacy.

The intimacy hung between long-cured affection
Blisters in a distance-bound union.
Venturing out from my cavern of safety and impermanence
Is something that I must do
If I am to give myself the afterlife I long for...
To make memories that glow hot among the living
While fire yet backs loins and tongues
And ghosts can die out - smiling...
Carted away at sunset, amidst the glow of soft reminiscence.

The Lullaby of Intuition

Echoing rhetoric studies the lack of action
Precipitous errors drizzle in orderly succession,
As though years in the making,
The lack of 'unkempt' moments stakes itself once more
To a wall without feeling, lost to the shrill chime of 'error'.

What trips this gentle caressing of investigation?
The urge to vehemently scratch away this leathery halt
Beckons like a drunken, burping beggar; messy, brash, guilt-ridden.

The organic oiling of a healthy breeze has reacquainted limber needs with lust
Cautionary flags bullet the sky in their vomit-like motion
Proceed with claws retracting, there's consequence lurking amidst intention.

That green meadow lives on, distortion of deeply effective safeguards - have loosened
Camouflage, made less effective in the melted heat of refracted light
The bending lens of love is carousing without regard for the footnote *beware
There seems to be a confidant hybrid, a being of 'innovation'
An Alpha heart with no weakened immunities: to life; to love; to living.

What courage is this now surfacing, that seeks to rape the cruel memories away
To not only ruffle greyed feathers, but to rip them out - to be freed from the calamity of waste.
There is no greater dilemma;
To be fucked from the negotiation of experience, and fucked a second time - through 'hope'.

I am unable to accept my plastic confinement any longer.
The gale-force wind of time-sensitivity is usurping the crown
A throne built on tinsel and spit, dug into this back that bends unnaturally lower
In the event that a definitive 'break' will set me free for the last time.
Free from the guilt of what I crave: the flight into skies exempt of reminiscent filters.

Warm energy swirls, defervescence expounds from everywhere
My quill floats in a place that I cannot yet touch
I can smell it, and sense it, even if I cannot yet see it
The strongest sense bonding me to all rights of this passage
Is the mellifluous chanting of sound... an intimate algorithm that flows effortlessly

Into me... Into all of me... quietly, and without threat of any kind.

A lullaby of intuition that lays me down each night, with care enough to last the Ages...

Curl Away... (10-15-12)

There he is again, that archetype of male that has been living beneath my skin since birth.
That masculine component that I long for like no other, to come in strong, and never let me down.
Why.......... there is no why. There is only, 'eventually...'
A time I am sure of, as there will always be the possibility of inviting him in.
Him and many more prototypes that come in so many shapes and sizes.

I am careful these days, to steer clear from clutter.
To veer sharply against the tide of the next onslaught.
...and that's just it, I never make eye contact long enough to entangle the mind of any- I don't want to.
I am done playing games with boys.
Even when the bastards were ten years older than me, they still held fast to their slingshots.
The muscle in my shell has retreated, to a time of recovery and preparation.
For I know that even within the midst of all the memory of my downfalls, I would yet again,
Choose 'yes'.

In that moment when the Yin to the Yang is matched, I am at a loss for 'why not?'

I have been a sexual philanderer when it came to love, but not of the promiscuous end-
No, in fact quite the opposite. I dove into the cliffs, heart turned outwards, ready for all
I will want that again someday, and I won't shy away when it finds me.
I am immune to barriers of the heart when I roam in that realm with another.
Sanctified in our vulnerability, I want to dig in to all he has and trade him for my own.
I pledge well, and you can be sure, when love finds me again for one last time,
I will be ardently aware of everything, and the flow of my plasma will sing in song and glow-
Inwards, outwards, forwards, backwards, all direction, up, out and inside... reverberation without end.

Until that time, I am cloaked, I have no knowledge of anything concerning who this stranger may be.
I only know that while I steady myself throughout each day that passes, I take comfort in my longing.
I have stored away carefully, all the conditioned excess that lay unattended:
Grieving on days like today. The well has deepened considerably and surely shall continue to do so-
As long as I have it in me to believe, Believe in myself, life, love and understanding.

Nothing is in vain, for though I will myself to curl away from love today,
A steady tomorrow is on the rise.

11-5; 11-5

Two months progress betwixt the Skewer and Army of One
Where have I been, and in the long-run
What had I done?
There is naught to be told of days that brought nothing more
Than the same of so many moons passed.
Feelings to surge and overwhelm
To bring to the brink of more nothing-
To reach for and let go of-
Nothing.
Time has diligently laid down its life
Yet no markers to indicate abnormalities have arisen.

I look back into sixty-some days previous and see fog
Useless greyed mist to blur the degeneracy of 2 more months of idle
Most days' purpose are bathed in familial bliss
Colluding with the contaminant of 'complaint' seems bratty:
Ungrateful.

Porous limbs never cease in their duty
But to ramble on too, to their silent cravings
Seems fucking irritating and degenerate, in and of itself.
Maddening these limbs to alternative actions are a conclusion- preferred.
To take this mewling skin's misery up the mountain
And beat it into submission- Yes. Yes.
Now, I feel I can get somewhere.
To sweat out the impurity of 'need' is an addictive contemplation
To leave arduous yearning on the dusted path of rocks quickly passed-
Yes. Yes, an innuendo is forming.
Comprehension- lifted.

Trip to trip-out and overwhelm secret creatures
That dwell in the casement of all that lie open to any ensnared
Yes, try as I might, to underwhelm and emit contentment
The boiling excess of everything untasted burns the muted confessional.
Fuck the longing, fuck it into oblivion.

Army of One.

Permanence

It came. 

Here I am, the lone entity-

I had so longed for. 

Stripped. Severed. Derelict.

Still.

Blame is a skewer, long and perfect
Precision is its only partner;
Thorough, effective.
A heart - staked and still pumping

Shrugged...

Wrung with enough torque to tear into tendons
Taught taken far into the danger of implosion
Skin, gone greyer than the hide of petrified preservation

Skin is useless
Nothing more than an untrained atom
Threatening explosion
Running off the impudent whim of immaturity.