Saturday, February 14, 2009

I remember seeing how your
magdalene eyes choked
a listless voice mute,
burned in silence and
reasoning judgments
past off as molecules
within a viral bacteria,
inhaled in the subway
after chewing on
everybody’s leftover
fingerprints, worming
intersectways in and out
like some looming
spools of worn yarn shorn
from a baby sheep good
enough to bottle feed and
better than enough to eat,
I consumed you daisy, twice,
and in daily rituals I mythed
you like a myrrh rhinestone
headdress made from the finest
human hairs collectible,
toys adorn my bookshelves
and move at twilight,
dancing for myselves and
our reflections, twirling infinites.
There might be one
left on in the closet
hollow rang in sixteen
death votives waxing
spindles of sinew younger
bottles erected and spent
on a high-end sonic after
shock and low settled hum
seeking missiles
killing two miners
who sleptwalked through
a c-keyed harmonics their
ears bled purple kale and grew
to belgium
only to invade passage and
leak out seepage across
torches and napalm garbage
barges that drip across
technospherical canals.

Monday, February 9, 2009

sustenance geared and smearing
shit covered diapers drawing
lines down the walls for a
tad-pole sunken below
the sea-belted pieces,
he rang out a song that
distorted our being, sight
minds and running along
paths that are as worn
as they are nude, there’s
a fancy to replay it over
again and in reverse but
forwards in slow motioned
repetitions that bestow
daring winds across avid
fields of the most precious
floral arrangements, those
impossible configurations
shorn to a bartenders coffin
fingered toe nails, shaken the
latest stirred boredom, my
bedlam of rosary, roses for
myself on the days where
I matter most, sent from
an alias while wasted, so that
upon arrival I’ve forgotten
who it was I became, and
like a magician who loves
his shaman like he does his
exorcist, counting my days
in your head so that in keeping
with intervals, we can
empty ourselves with envy.

Thursday, February 5, 2009

to get what you wanted,
you had to leave everything you had,
and shedding skins, many times
in many years over many springs,
winters, summer stares with longing,
those lies, they were many and
untold, but I always knew what
you never said, in hidden there
was a rotten stink of well-being,
my keyed sunrise never felt
the lock of your moon-light,
although, your beauty deceived
by way of ruse, loyalties
outweighing self-worth, if there
is any gall left within the sack of
memory, it would be thrown
into a ever amassing pile of
sewed excuses and manipulations,
praxis relieved my theory, one
way to the other, the forest
of oaks is your table-food,
for you see nothing but your
reflected tautology, repeating
your lies to exhume what lays
cancerously buried within,
retribution damns the longing
waters, pushing with their
very force to one day assault
that which once contained,
pausing in the seconds mist,
to shed anew skin once more.