Now Playing Tracks

.O u r F i r s t C o l l i s i o n.

Twist my hair into your fist
with the sweat licked
from the nape of your neck,
the rhythm of your jugular heat
pressed to my swollen lips.

We rocket together
slipping through the candlelight;
Perfectly Oiled Machines
to rake the debris of lust
and cradle my body
with your animal palm

While our souls
take breaths
deep enough
to split atoms

.C l i c k C l a c k B r a i n T r a p.

Like Spider water
or old-time hunted, haunted,
face-down map places

I had a memory and It dug itself flat between
and word

Lick the dead-pan off
peel away the winter time face
the manifestation of my secret pain

The rain comes in
on a click-track,
Day in day out
the cities end of winter has no sun at all
deafening me from without

Time is a click too
but an insignificant consequence
but a consequence all the same
its something to wonder at
or be galled by
but i can’t make it freeze long enough to nail it to any useful reason

.W a r.

Countries menstruating
On fellow fingers cloaked with the dew of pained earth
Their cotton candy flesh melts the tongue of a doomed warlord
It savagely bores through each tooth
Decaying mouthes lost beneath the elephant mask
Blocking out the mustard mucus that tarts young lungs
In the silent, celibate fields
Moses parted the seas, devoid of rats
With waves that cover so called men in a shallow grave of shells
And the gassy aphrodisiacs linger in their loins
And they cry for fertile sins
Sputtering a cherry exhaust
Weaving through the amens
They erected a wooden treasure mark to nail the world upon
Here’s to a heroic lullaby, wept by our mothers
As we sharply kiss their hands
Stigmatic halos still hushed
All quiet now on the Eastern front.

.Y e s t e r d a y.

That subjunctive history
Stopped in its tracks
Euphemism for hypothesis for lost meaning
For fractured communication
Then lack of conclusion
Frustration, silent movies and emotive dance

Changed course
A definitive sea.

Conditional nonsense
And screaming clinical hesitation
Robust reformation
Reluctant to settle with culture
Or within history

Seldom do they quantify those broken stones
Broken records
Lost track
No place for brainwaves
This subjunctive history
And that forgotten time.

.E n t w i n e d.

I can feel my vessels of salt bursting
Through these fielding eyes of iron
And my milk rotting ankles
And under my nails of rabbit fur and flesh
Delectable, and sweater strung
His Arabian muscles fluttering for freckled pulp
And that skin of everlasting elasticity
Embracing pomegranate salutes, subtle dances
Behind fumbling talons
In the debris of rich fury
Among barbed veins
Where we are united
In the bliss of deicide
In the yellow froth of wheat
Under the drunken shade of the frail ferns
The mountains gushed forth over her flayed lips
Hot and scarlet onto his lingering neck
The warmth of exuded night time through ebony hedgerows
For malevolent hogs to follow
For carnality to wed

.T o r r e n t R u s h.

So mentally tired
Physically slow
A matter of time
Til the last fuse blows

Sick in the stomach
Heart seems to have stopped
Capsized by my brainwaves
When the boat was rocked

The transient nature of overnight success
Vendetta of fluids
As I watch you undress

Omnipotent moment
Lost joy division
Promotional stopwatch
Blurring my vision

The closer we are
The further away
And permanent battles
Keep germs at bay

.R e v e n g e I s F o r g e t t i n g.

My part time factotum
And jack of all trades
The reverie stops at your limp wrist
The sarcasm fades
Everything was out of sync
Resting, yet without punctuation

Only cheap clichés left now
Forgive my trite sneers

Force hatred to your lips
As you neck a few beers
Concentrate on distraction
There lies our sanity, in tatters on our used up bed.

.M o l e c u l e s A n d F o l l i c l e s.

Hair is dead, dead follicles, skin and such
It is impossible to make it ‘healthy’
So stop trying

Kundera lulls me to sleep with poetic notions
Everything is beautiful in black and white
Possibly due to the grey matter
Though talk is cheap

Where all is lost, I smile cataclysmically convincing
Only, I am dead, dead molecules, skin and such
My will to remain is pure, and painfully sadistic
And my consciousness independently and deliriously dissolves
Now watch my foundations crumble as I rescue you.

To Tumblr, Love Pixel Union