Whisper of the wind across closed eyelids
Gentle glide of invisible fingers making grass sing
Nightmares in green
All they ever wanted to be was free
Perils of the mind match the gale
Naked land, naked heart
Soothing flood healing ravaged landscapes
Drowning smiles in empty skulls
Grass humming its song beneath the waves
One like all the rest
No melody, no harmony
Category: Poetry and Prose Archives
Whisper of the wind across closed eyelids
The concrete assembly of minds keeps the world at bay. Ceilings of glass make rationalizations in the hopes of finding a week one to pluck from the trusses. Wedding rings constrict their binds on fingers too big to hold them with ease. The moon stays silent in her judgment of us all, but surely she is smiling tonight. The rain melts down steel rails fill of her released desires and how can we help but kneel before her innocence. If only abandonment were an option and the truth were the law of the land. Fear, hold me close tonight upon your purity of purpose and song. For without you, I would be alone.
Too self-absorbed to look at the stars. The clouds and the mysteries of the world beyond hold no interest to me, the ever vigilant observer. The child sleeps as I make my escape into myself. Lost within the void of the road. She bows her head in supplication to a creator that despises her. She knows. Because of these lips, full and lush. Cascading auburn locks that glisten with morning dew. Hips and long supple legs that tempt men to sin. Eyes that can haunt their dreams. She knows. As sure as a new generation is to be born to carry burdens of their parents and those before them. Armies will rise and fall for her, but with buried resentments and expectations within their hearts. The world is mine and I know it. If she doesn’t need it, then neither do I. Our chains reinforced by the voices within clamoring for supremacy. They know.
The book will unfold with every letter you take with each step. Stars bloom and unravel before you. Eyes roam the ground in search of where you will go. Hands trace the gravel to where you have already been. The pages always a step behind. Running in the world’s oceans to escape what should have been. Never learning to swim. To explore what already is. To hope is to die. To share is to be alone. A child lost in the ashtray at the foot of God’s throne. Apathy devouring rage. Storms raging in your heart pulling passerbyers into their destructive spirals. When will it end?
Not a nightingale. Do not pretend to need a heart that can not mend. Go away.
Compelled to wander the inner mind, explore where no other creature can reach. Caress and violate the most intimate parts of the psyche. Cosmogasm, the first leg of the journey, is defined by the initial euphoria of progress. Entry is always hectic and the passenger always half-afraid, body language laced with panic, eyes filled with unfulfilled expectations. The chaos of daily thought patterns passes through our traveler like waves racing towards a faraway shore.
If only you knew what color the sky is in my world. It is always the same wherever I go, same stories different faces. Crouched deep with my own mind. Always too busy reflecting or daydreaming to take in the humanity around me. So bored of this muted world, but wanting to experiences so much more of it. MY heartbeat is in-tune with the beat of life’s drum, The beating of our hearts is the blood flowing withing the world’s veins and the fire that lights my eyes feeds off it. Passion like a shot of adrenaline making my hands shake in anticipation of the unknown, the conquest over fear and convention. When the cage of obligation nearly closed its..
For such a small town, there are a remarkable amount of homeless roaming its streets. I was told on the other side of the tracks was where all the crackheads hung out. The roaming Celtic Knight took me under his wing and guided me across an otherwise treacherous Poe-esque landscape. Perhaps it is my naivete that caused me to trust him so completely in a matter of about three hours worth of talking. As the grass grows green and the atmosphere’s O2 supply is replenished, so does amazing talent that is one half of a whole. Both just waiting for winter, introvert and extrovert, musician and painter. Dax’s voice weaved in and out of the day like a whispering ghost reminding me of the life awaiting me back home. Unspoken conversation becomes a treasure that I find myself unwilling to sacrifice as the sun begins to dip toward the horizon in a defiant slant through crisp exotic smoke trails exhaled from ruby lips. Blessed now in two faiths, the Bible in my bag nods in sarcastic approval as I trip over my own feet getting ready to fly high above neatly manicured lawns and beautiful symmetrical buildings slotted for demolition.
“No true home to speak of, I find my residence laying deep within pairs of eyes shinning through murky water being comforted by the softness of ambiguity. Collecting stories like a toddler would horde sticks and fallen leaves. Pleasant voices and smiles that spoke of an honest purity emanating from refurbished hearts. The realization that the body is a tool to be used in every way as a bridge to the metaphysical.”
Collab with Black Moor.
In this corner, we shall see who the strongest is
tea of rust in cups of jade littering the tile
in fields of bodies cascading over their tombs
a barren sigh distilling moans of semantic overtures
all the while, the synapse change forms a sea of suffocation
decietful blood pouring down gauged cheeks
agitated, egregiously worship those graven eyes
asphyxation of neurons, delta alpha waves
our consecration, consumed into “the hidden”, hypostasis
orange tinted hemoglobin under watch and under care
a taste is such sweet sorrow, savored
like the sudden embrace of the starving
thrust into rigor mortis as designed
shades of monoxide engulfing craven hearts
Blind to solitude, deafening screams
quagmire of notes polluting broken hands
Collab with Randall.
Matted twig nest digging into collective consciousness
of black widows brains vultures lay their eggs to bloom?
To die or birth and have forth those who keep their kin-mind
while scorning their flesh-kind
treading in trenches on bleached stumps
scalding acrid bile of their world scarring sanity’s logic
so scar the world!
Let relative sanity and sweet, sugary bile be our sacraments,
our unholy articles of faith
faith in the lymphocytes that engorge the raging gash
or in the absurdity of the articles themselves
hail the lycan-souled! hail the uncontrolled!
Let our testaments be blood, our prayers be claw and tooth
clawing our way to darkened wailing leeches
in the cacophony of shadows
The creak of narrow stairs
Doorway to hell partially ajar
Sounds of flesh on flesh
Panting and angry words cutting silence
Stomach churning with anger
Fear clenching throats
Comforting children in humiliation
Refusing to cower but doing nothing
Defiant in our profane purity
Hiding in plain sight ever since
Cutting away at the psyche
Bleeding grey overcompensation
Until nothing is left
I hope you die in your own shit
I hope I get to watch as life
Slowly leeches from you your humanity
Becoming the monster that you are
I hope I can watch your limbs twist and writhe
Bones cracking and muscle tearing
Your body finally matching your true nature
In it’s ugliness
In it’s primitiveness
In it’s vileness
But first I want to see it in your eyes
Despised creature and all of your ilk