Sunday, January 25, 2009

pedestrians are getting run
over by large plastic trucks
that suffer from
post-postpartum depression,
them, they’ll spit their past
in your eye and make you
see yourself as another,
something else, in eventuals
a belief construction makes
available, and in all together
you’ll find a moon where
a sun was, once bright with
shinning rays of warmth,
turned to cold dust blown
across a burdened existence,
them, they’ll capture your soul
and turn it, decapitating agency,
grown determinism unveils
a giant jester slashed fool,
hacked and butchered, amputated
with a humoured secretion,
laughing ataraxia.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

I walked home in a winter soaked
white morning thereafter,
all is well that ends in emancipation,
a free-born radical, limitless in its
possibilities, equally destructive
in its awareness, three new tides
divided the rind, soaked into
it, lying because of it, the city
didn’t feel like home, deflowered
and deadened, basting over Christmas
delirium, they could forget my acts
and moral defacements, but those
actions have rotted my being, left
me with only my sobriety to
contend with, I’m going to juice
my soul and dump the sum of its
parts into the river near, go where
I fear, and live within earshot of
those and them and everyone,
to begin again and see clearly
into the strength I’ve been given,
cause it’s time for something else.

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

I curtailed into the rocks
bottom, where the jagged edges
act like jump points back
to a place you never wanted
back, re-visiting yourself and
with wonder of whether there’s
enough strength to stand against
those damning old willows dragging
their heals and wearing lead
parishes, a convents monk left-tag
and babies in a mail slot for
delivery, in resetting my order,
can I still stand motionless
in the face of my past, or
is the path that’s always
been there, can I follow.
multitudinous eyes prey on
some leftovers, warmed from
a nuclear microwave machine
with a steel cage and two birds
caught in crisis, modern ends
mean little bends and deviations
to straight up fucking crazily
maddening moments of sheer
decapitations and desperately
seeking silos, to fire away into
the stratosphere and explode
a rainbow prior to liquefying
en mass, blind and muted,
eye closes my I with the
remote and the lenses
to my lid.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

a tide of static rests over the bay,
the mines hack back to their swollen cough,
lastly firstly, sewage from a shit-bottomed
catatonic. Sitting near a park shaped garage,
she swung seventeen sixes and paralleled a
golden ratio, I dropped the dice onto another
in a freakish haphazard neo-tight. Betting for
a longer finish than a quick beginning,
there’s practicing to be done, cleaning,
swept corners and sucking the dust
through a well-boiled hoof with hints
of hair left to be found, tinted black
midnight morning moon lust, and
the eye of mine deserves a second
beginning, as the rest duals a clear
day ritual, I’m seeing like a five
time retarded sucker, born again
for the first time with all the
faculties of a man with half
a brain, three arms, and a lemon
for an ass.