tetra-hydra-ingestibles.

drank 'til it floated off
didn't bother here no more
to forget the looks that are lost
to forget the good smiles
just carrion and whiskey'd eyes
a peck for the vultures

if the cure was soft and white
and could only leave whispers
of the lights
gone off in the head
would the spark make cinders?

psycholojoy.

i could stand 'neath your shotgun nights
cringe my arms through to splinters
wake the noose, all lost in your heirs
if i'd only forget it.

it takes the breath right out of the life
to make us stand in these corners
put the fences over your eyes
keep us safe from a lover.

you raised mice in your men,
to run what is left of this labyrinth.
if there were crumbs left for us all,
they were long since devoured.

but i'll leave soft scratches
for the rest of you to find
as i find my way
free of this place.

the odd sari.

he could not pick up his hands
to smack the fright of off his face
he could not shake his head
to make the feeling dissipate
this is real
this is now
the only steps to take
don't mind the fear
or his frown
or the time that he could waste

this is wrong
and this is the fault
of all the rats that aim to race
this is first
and this is his fault
for inconsiderate things

take the lead
and take the pills that keep you sane
whats in your hands
is cracked now
and may never be the same

either put on the necktie
with razors in the way
or fight back inside.

love of dried animal skin. (ink included)

i've only watched you slither
up those old letters
a swell in your head
a stamp in your hand
find a way
to make it dead

if not for Moloch's watchful gaze
to keep the sheep in constant shame
i'm sure you'd've already been quartered
and quartered and quartered again

it is the rest of you who make me wonder
how long you'll bury your eyes in the sand
for these leperous, mediacal henchmen
to eat them whilst you pray
that someone else will make it right
because it is far too hard to try
and the only seconds for living
you must hold tightly
like the children you're forgetting
like the children from whom you're stealing
those precious seconds
onto which you're holding.

years twisting

If you stand on your head long enough
I'm sure that you will right yourself
I'm sure that you'll be alone by then
Annd you can look on back
At how it all slipped away
Neat and pretty
And in your way

But words are just blisters
You keep in your back pocket
To step on that puddle
And wait for the racket

All tears are just razors
And I'd let you eat them
Should you be choking
On everything you're needing
Here is my laughter
I hope you remember
Well enough to shudder.

as summer tries to sleep

The streets awaken early
The step of the stoop frightening
If only earlier had been
A time to be embarking
The eyes that have grown childish wouldn't feel strained or unfiltered.
There would be even keel.
There are several ways to heal.
But there are no seconds left
And the way out is surreal.

Does it make sense when these broken bastards become monsters or are drowning under?

Can you explain why none of you are that alarmed at how these beings have been harmed?
I thought they had the right to be
Happy or Free.

the embarcadero

you can step on your fingers
or swallow them whole
the lesson to learn
is you cannot grow old
in time just a trapper
as though sang a soul
if only this moment
to find to be whole.

a toast to the pauper.

he likes wedding tears
and dogs on their side
inviting yr hand to scratch for awhile.
he likes sunsets
and long drags
while the clouds are all ripe.
he likes soft eyes
in dark light
with smiles round the cuffs.
he'll take those good times
and great folks
who feel just as light.
really doesn't have to leave anything behind.

the back of his head talks.

you keep the finger on top of it
act like it's somewhat affectionate
par for the course and always dyslexic
personally with loving amendments

to break down the glass maiden
you strew forth your pillows
all filled with lead and thorns
to prick the surface and keep her hollow

let out the fire to stop the inferno
forget a person lived in here long ago
you should be ashamed and lonely.
you should be ashamed only.

for the city.

back to the trolley
the sound of alive
the scratching of buses
combustless and lithe
a home worth having
a place to thrive
maybe a family
this city
is mine.

handing off the wishes.

things elapse and fall on tides
takes a lisp to explain those eyes
a long winded cruise
a short goodbye
a second for having
a moment to cry
to hands full of holding
the resonating, this time
smelling of rhododendrons
and lilies
no needing to grieve
just futures and forevers and reasons to be.

mid-wested.

he supposed he could live without a heart
if only for a day
if only for a day
to pick up with hands and hold
a precious gift
a reason still left
to crawl
to exist.

combustion.

this is what gasoline feels like
a match slowly descending towards
a feeling to live and die for
and wait and watch excitedly
as that moment comes to me
here is something you've never seen
a new me to always be.

the devil speaks.

tipped low the absinthe
a sound to lie alone in wait
to scare and caress those unwitting charms
a blank disposition
a callous heart
to shore clean the wool
and make new a start
to bleed like the pig
to be what you are
an unfinished grave
an unnamed song
and just keep on pushing
til you find a home.

for little understood keepsakes engulf

these spoons
are for scooping out eyes
that don't want to see
how things break
how people break.

just get the machete
instead.

just remove the shoulders
from the head.

just don't forgive yourself.

hours past the ending.

the ribbons all inviting
the knives now coming in
to snip to shreds the light here
and fill the darkness in.

cannot keep regretting
but cannot settle in
for moments already passing
the seconds under skin.

and i forgive intensely
all but self that did
this tragedy commencing
this life that will not live.

aspertame

7 miles from meaning
and the last boat is half gone
could catch it by flying
but it's useless to flaunt.

7 seconds of dreaming
still waiting on the sun
for heirlooms and grieving
for things already done.

7 hertz in canals
rowing the way to eden
lazarus is screaming
and the harpies all come.


seven times until morning
seven times until dawn
seven ideas gone drifting
come back around again.

it isn't just this moaning
the moon low and the tide wrong,
it's all your amazing
reasons to go on.

the antecedent

just as it all comes together
it all splits and buckles
plans get washed under
this unknown space
this dictation of a future
scalpel.
suture.
keep in line the formidable rabble
the seconds and minutes
and truth that's been squandered
push on and make due with broken fingers
build this life regardless of the entropy involved
but as to this riddle
the one that can't be solved
just let it unravel
like the rest of what's going on
find yr way
wild one
find yr way home.

on oceans still floating

the easy way down to the shore
has no more bumps then your usual road
no more breaks then the normal tide
and no more reasons for me to hide.

last song driving.

minds to whole up
divvy out and reckon forth
reprogramming miscellany
introverses and EXIST ence.
write whole the prophet
self is the sayer
dancing on imaginations finger
this twirling lover
a thousand drops a second
and seconds = hours
and fixing yr fever
oh this lovers miser
awake again
dreaming
alive once more
and screaming
faulting the favor, a vice for the victor
hearts can soar without these wings
or the felonies that bind
another twisted fairytale
another right mind.

(do not awake the demons)
(do not be made a slave)
(if this moment is forever)
(then with you i think i'll stay)
(a flock of butterflies come to your bedside)
(a handsome riddle to fill your ear's eye.)