Friday, December 31, 2010

047: Homecoming

Between cotton walls of grey
caravans trail and trod along
a flat earth nailed to paper skies,
marked with kurgans of giants,
mantled by glitters of cold,
decelerating just a bit
to usher in an age of questions.

Within sublime frequencies,
the movement never ceases
and shaking teeth keep grinding
with consummate dendrites
for the invisible door,
sat one step beyond
the mating point of sea and sun.

Striving to net parhelions,
our roots are touching rock,
with every dawn and every war,
yet we'll hold fast, like blades of grass,
each crashing wave,
each footprint laid
in swiftest sands the wind won't name.

Friday, November 5, 2010

046: Torn

Extract the truth,
like a tooth
- a fire lash
the horizon -
and drive the sword,
though the sea boils
with icebergs
The house I built
with sprinkles
of heaven
and pockets of forever,
between subway stations,
insane with wine,
drunk with madness,
at the seams.
My harbor
from atom storms,
forgive me,
as my days
are links
of bronze chains;
in the quicksand,
these astral rooms
have everything but doors.
A blessed life,
my heart's tempest,
the dream tempted
to compress infinity
in single
and no beacon
in the distance.
Slaving in freedom,
burning in thirst,
a vice of the soul -
I still shun this cup;
I know not;
I deny;
unkempt, unquenched,
mirror nemesis.

Friday, October 29, 2010

045: Living inside me

Standing on the pier
that pierces the seam
of a sea of stone,
sacrally alone,
starflesh dives the rim.

Breathing caves of fear,
housed in crumbling lungs;
if I dare pry,
hear the crystal cry,
bells of waking rung.

Trickling dusk draws near
and heralds the dark night,
lightning in the soul,
imprint in the coal,
the end in living light.

Stabbing steps do sear,
disease march 'cross the ice,
every breath, a knife,
still, the kiss of life,
building paradise.

Monday, October 25, 2010

044: Words for weak flesh

by somatic whispers,
cavern lung
caving in,
coiled by the black,
every breath,
a shovel racking
moist mud.
Strings of seconds,
shapeless, nameless,
rendering language useless,
always present
at the hours' cross,
sickness is,
silence exists,
clawing at the sun,
creeping through the seams.
Full speed ahead,
into the ice,
oceans of onyx
prepare the trail;
a memory
blown away
by a sour mistral.
This is a war
of still frames,
never fatal,
always wounded,
gleefully sullen
beneath a nova sky.
Ballast emote,
blast of emotion,
say the word
that's yet to be,
wriggling through the red
into the blinding
carrying on,
indulge / resist.

Friday, October 22, 2010

043: For a second, the world stopped.

There was agitation below,
splatter of leaves in stuttered colors
as the pendulum swung,
from nadir to zenith.

Rushed by vectors of joy,
a snapshot cyclone caved the bridge
only to raise it anew,
astray, yet cognizant.

Lifted the lid, in ache,
to the obsidian blade, wrought red,
smitten by the sun
before a perfect dawn.

And the child laughed,
his pearl mouth, straight from a scripture,
while darkness, amoebic, snug in,
like a pet, in his warm absence.

Within the morning gleam,
blood seeped through his feather crown,
along the scaly coils,
for dust to coalesce.

It took seasons in seconds
to remember the myth I never forgot;
and throughout the confines,
sleepless chains shook.

You whispered it gently,
in dual incarnations, guiding light azure,
thus, infernal and tender,
I will rest in awe.

Monday, October 4, 2010

042: Healing dance

Information amok besieging the gates of reason,
a stop sign is ignored in spiteful fashion,
ask questions but sometimes the answer is blank,
drifting on the river, fishing fragments of passion.
At the end of the hallway there's an unlocked door,
winding steps fly into equilibrium,
tectonics intact from petrified pumping,
still seeking the flame, burn cryptosporidium.
In a late hour, bleeding, reality serrate,
from the ramparts I still see myself, not lost,
with a silver bullet gun to banish demons from the mirror,
from sweetest lips, never ignore what matters most.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

041: No name

Black pearls washed ashore,
runes carved in driftwood
from an island without trees,
pins on a map, epicenter
of a mythical nowhere,
solar tears whence the sky
drinks the sea dry.

Words about words,
tempt to paint a lash
in Mayan blue, no rhyme,
a wake so dark, a fall so deep,
awake or dreaming
lost in fog, a reality,
in questions of time spent.

Spitting out cupfulls of bile,
black lung haunted by fear,
look into the rising sun,
beyond shivering green,
a wordless answer lurks
where white whales spurt
and the moon drowns.

Monday, September 6, 2010

040: 3 days

Within the halls of seeping time,
in the glare of your footsteps,
tonight, on such a sacred night,
my soliloquy resonates so barren;
there's no answer form these tender bricks,
the veins of my temple are sewn shut.
Silver serves the red, to open the skin
of a butterfly wing, of a crimson king,
of an animal fighting its shadow
for the last splinter of sanity.
The night decays, yet you fail to see
how the fireplace caresses still
a newborn ember from yesterday,
petrified to a fractured rhythm;
I don't fear the winter, freeze my tears black,
for you may destroy this temple,
but it will be raised anew,
with every dusk and every dawn,
until the moon drowns away
in silence.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

039: Hours passed in exile

Again and again, faces dance,
music helps, still condemns,
visible husk gets banned, inject
the serum of empty days, cutting blade,
the soft fabric of todays, elastic
against a hungry vortex,
a faint eye, library of pain on paper,
selfcollapsed beneath its weight,
a volcanic cenotaph stands
where the crowning jewel
should be.

Waiting hours, days and seasons,
waiting for the snow to flee,
for gold to enter the cathode sky,
to wish upon an icy star
for an earthly paradise,
sweating to hold handfuls of utopia
to build a structure
that renders tomorrow benign,
pointless within the absence
of answers, a celebration
to the fall of the word.

[title borrowed from Dark Tranquillity's eponymous song]

Thursday, August 19, 2010

038: For the second time

Last night I watched again
my own stake
in slow motion blaze
from the bottomless bog,
then drifting further
on the polished onyx,
away from clouds of flesh,
albatross air cleans the sweat.

Using crash logs
as ocean maps
to the chapterhouse of failures,
collections in agony
and the guillotine blade drenched
in azure, from the veins
of the invisible,
a saline aftertaste.

I scrawled with incisors
and lifeblood from the cavity
in the heart of everything,
the precision of creation,
ironcast cybernetic
like glacier lakes,
with nitrogen rage
beneath the mantle.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

037: Life in the shallows

In the shallows, writhing,
in the shade of concrete reefs,
fish colonies migrate
in clockwork cycles,
dead hand precision
beneath uncaring gaze,
salty, liquid today,
the dance of anemones reflects
the demons' tar,
the dark side of mirrors.

Tomorrow, the dawn of triumph
will take us all away
into the blue,
yet the flame's still unconsummed
the epic of my pitch,
Fish swirl around in steel tornadoes,
but I cannot give birth
to so needed new words
for a cardiac language.

Pearl fishers from the other side
observe seconds
of these fleeting lives,
another fold
in the same veil;
and the doused embers are voiceless
as lightning sparks run
through Ranvier nodes,
on highways of grey,
never far enough.

Words fail again
to redeem the mute,
before the reach of dreams,
the thrust of exile, when gills unbreathe,
so I'll paint the blue
with burning oil
and elect silence
as my new tongue;
as long as these fibers pump and grind
I know I'll never die.

Monday, July 19, 2010

036: Dissolution of the unborn

From beyond ramparts of time
and columns of rue,
they sing and call to their mother,
echoes storming the firmament of bone,
their song to my pain, the words I never said,
winter flesh, siamese grief.
Beneath the roots of my castles,
their frail bodies linger,
bugs traced on a windshield,
bellowing deep, till I fall asleep,
build my temple of dreams
stone by stone, preciously,
a religion of images iced, sanctified.
My children, stretch your watery wings,
for the abyss knows your names
the way I never will.
I'd force the arms and stress the springs back
to return to the source, the starry womb,
for every word unsaid,
every glance unreached,
every line not crossed,
every name not written.
In golden sand, the imprint of your mother's face,
her unbearable beauty
still burns like an open wound.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

035: My only carriage

Tonight the asphalt seems to cushion my steps
as I'm trailed by a procession of bards,
weightless and smooth,
bearing fiddles like feathers,
poised for a touch.

Tonight my lagging limbs feel lighter,
animated to a thought,
a nimble leprechaun laughing crystalline,
carefree below observant chords
in the moonlight glaze.

Tonight I can hear firewood crackling
in my abode of loneliness;
and those present in faint corners mean no harm,
for we're still young, we still have time
and our song still glides above the waves.

Friday, June 11, 2010

034: We will never meet again.

Step by step on the electric treadmill,
an electric tombstone epergne
in a funeral of watts and what ifs,
cask laid bare like a pirate ship
ghosting in the unbreezed milk, without refusal.
And few extol the throbbing thread
of vivid smudge by sprawling palms - tendril tight,
internal to digest the charging tides
that ooze and roll throughout
lives of commutes and numbed prayers,
in conked out breath, condemned and wishful;
lifelines connected in needle eyes,
sowing strips of spent skin and dried digits,
seams in desert camouflage outfits
and noose neckties curdling a dirge pattern.
Another pint of Greek fire concurs,
submerging the candle, nurturing the rage
to spit in saturnine hunger with a stabbing spine
spitefully built against the dexter branch.
Hark! Your fixtures are graves of ice,
your speedways slope into incisive winds
that jag against our fragile flesh,
so boil and distill - and let only such elect few
as pollen drops be spared from consumption,
for flashlights are futile in the conquering dusk,
appropriated house of fog, where hunters stalk and nail
mere exhales of long-gone gods;
in the churchyards and broken plains
of this earth never will you find me.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

033: New Text Document (4)

In the mug,
the coffee's dried
to crust.

In the air,
summer smells
like rot.

Down the aisle,
nothing but
a blank wall.

In memories,
the glow
of a flame.

How do you
say hello
with a smile?

How do you
think goodbyes

And the gold
burns my hand -
still clenched.

And the longing
drifts and whirls
like sand.

Let the night
slowly creep
from the sea.

Let the light
dim away
into sleep.

Reaching higher
than towers
of glass.

And my footsteps
are my only

Monday, May 31, 2010

032: Midnight sun

A day of more, a song of meeker noise
that gently weaves upon my inner ear,
a whisper bailed to slip in deeper poise.

Against the strain, to falter skulking ploys
and bring down towers of encroaching fear,
a day of more, a song of meeker noise.

By tender touch, affable vaster joys
and bosky groves so still - and drawing near,
a whisper bailed to slip in deeper poise.

That day I'll pass the plays of girls and boys,
pursuing inklings far from savage drear,
a day of more, a song of meeker noise.

The blasting gale that graven stone destroys
will never rake this image I hold dear,
a whisper bailed to slip in deeper poise.

Redemptive notes from trumps of dream envoys
in velvet dawn will find my vision clear,
a day of more, a song of meeker noise,
a whisper bailed to slip in deeper poise.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

031: Perched on the sill

In a slow scuttling breach,
mild leer of shimmer peak,
toast to the health,
as dragons clash,
and obfuscate face in silver shards.
Lance a rope ladder
to the tempest rush,
broken bottle neck dibs
a bronze coin flip.
Dam sour streams in my pulsing bulk,
in his drain I've slaked
far too long.
Screwed driver, asleep
on the wheel, stern against
tender innards.
I've ground and gritted to karst
on muck road miles
on the science of fiber in action
to botch revolutions,
springs spun sinister,
undone metabolic.
I've mustered mobs and armies,
filling nil with clamour from their mouths in rot
and parting brakes to gauge
whether the sun will fuse
feathers of lead.
Read canine spill scribbled on pages
of diaries oiled sky crimson, to expand function,
outstep logic
and razor rust dull;
and who would align to seek debris of me
in the resplendence
left over when the grime is purged?

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

030: Stand at the crossing

and bleed
in the unknown.
Red line focus,
twist the neck
and plant
colors of war
on a wave battered shoal.
Power vertex structure
of maternal ground
I raise
as my jade lifemask.
In weakness,
so strong.

While the scattering
runs on
all around,
chasing the light
across cold void,
I'll wallow in
the black unseen.
His aeon fingers secure
my speck of sand
as whole
as can be,
in the mind of a man,
in the heart of a child,
in the eye of a mouse,
roaming the field.

Demons deny,
turning face,
turning back.
The granite star
is a mouth ever-hungry
to replenish desire.
Don't stop.
Don't break.
All I possess,
reduction to unreason,
wish to mire
rotating arms.
Field mice dream
of being children.
Children dream
of being men.
Men dream
of sleep.

[last 2 lines adapted & expanded from somebody's Y! messenger status message]

Monday, May 10, 2010

029: Levers & cogs

Drink away the night hours
in fume fried brick bowels
and sing to mend an aching back
and a staggering dream path,
with the drained withstanding
of plastic film marked,
waxwork heartsease kicked in the groin.

How long can this conversation wander
before the fracture erupts
and the slimming seams can't hold out
the shimmering rain any longer?
How quick can I spin this bottle
to match the revolution of a silver barrel
sporting five vacancies?

Still mooring of sultry arms
stripped by morning blades,
a free ticket to the house of exile;
rebuked bill sticks to my neck, ink ingrained,
as I roll the boulder uphill,
the ticking haunts, unfading,
the noise of the world.

Condoned in cardiac entrapment,
lung wrestling and touch duels,
within gene strands, smoke grappling calisthenics.
Yet, should the burning wheel retort
I'll burgeon my spider legs, I know,
to stride the glass divide,
fleet-footed slip to the other side.

Friday, April 30, 2010

028: The flower thief

With trembling hands on the viscid scape,
to never spoil a precious petal,
pickpocketing sights in subway cars to relive,
to recreate card chapels of sincere prayer,
of unbecoming words trepid of loss.
Modulate memories in gold and black like she was,
thoughts to fornicate in sagging anthills,
escalade in grasshops a private mountain
straying the escarpment of a lost Naraka
whence cells crystallize in human tidbits to be
a feeble abode of instinct and love
and culled fear, skulking in cherry groves.

Here, a collection of coincidences
ascribed to paths of stars and cold bodies,
in a neonate game, older than my forefathers;
here, a bardo trap, a keep of comforts
of empty presents from a wishlist in tar
that spells like a last will protruding
through cracks in my undying joy.
Within gardens of evil and hope,
roots of rage reel to acquire frail flowers,
pollen of pictures in blood ringing
on the limbs of butterflies washed in sunfire.
Test the finites of absolution, alpha and omega
in one single consummate image, nerve induced
through the pupil of the third eye.

Friday, April 23, 2010

027: Amber

I subtract another brick
from the dank foundations
of your mansion cenotaph
to coalesce spazzed tension.

It collapsed in seaward breeze
as a waiting game missed,
reveal your features binary,
your tempest embrace dissed.

Distraught your elysian effigy,
rooted guilt in seams;
now and in aeon moonskin denied
the solace of the mean.

Inner workings of a manic queen
spearhead in vision songs,
occult forgiveness the earth knows,
lead us where we belong.

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

026: Empyrean damp

The tape is torn today.

Attire your life, still fits like a glove
encapsulated in blood tartan bearing threads,
autumn leaves shelling finite encompassing.
Knuckles redden in the mud of jest songs,
commuted ends of microscopic worlds
and wishful violence - butterfly wings.
According to nails, a vertical borehole
from the stem that aborts sandstorms,
you dig and dig, towards the black bone,
to find a scoreboard answer dry.

Tag. You're it.

Full speed ahead and the captain shouts
restraining orders, passengers selectively deaf,
blue murder sprinkled on cone cells.
Re-emerge from the drill shaft to find a dimness stained,
displacing stars, an iridescent graffito spells fracture.
Shoot you down with my silver bullet file,
inside your protection reach, a trail of cruelty,
shovel shallow graven, in a shallow riverbed
of trickling salt, raise you a new home
in an arctic stalactite confessional.

Tag. You're out.

Wear liquid red
against the grey
and drain the storm
caught in the fray,
our words' decay.

The tap is closed today.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

025: Numb and numbered

Toddling tide already worn,
swim in faces, reading episodes
of ache flicks and ether exits,
in a precise drift silence signals
a sniper reloading datum trace.
Her length and width to southern winds,
we count in seconds that won't sit still,
hypertension housed in heavy husks,
landlocked within shelves of stardust,
intimate whispers mantling cathedral walls
upheld by matchstick counterforts.
Glints in grinning eyes shed light
on catapults of word and bone
with torment tongue armed, milk white,
chalk black cadaver silhouette,
but candor ships sway tenderly,
just beyond the morning rim.
Play chords in red, cast self in sleep,
the music of mountains built on clouds,
hear and see with concrete sense
a ravaged circuitry bouquet,
killing fields of fear and desert dissent
playing for keeps, praying for rain.
Paste on the pavement a human smudge,
a fragile grace steals my breath away;
never account for a ruminant string,
we'll ride to the sun on wings of night.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

024: One noise

Acid whimper
corrodes concrete
and angels speak
in sprawling tongues.

Refine vision
in saltwater lens,
before the gates,
request astray.

Salient roots
through barren soil;
crumpled Atlas
to the weight of all.

Array the nails
to shape a crown,
with absent mounts,
a cavalry charge.

Temple shores
reached in time due,
to drink the sea,
absorb the clouds.

Blossom of blood
springs from my bones
to color these walls
in violent dawn.

Monday, April 5, 2010

023: Amphibians

In good hiding, sullen damp dwell,
in black paint behind glass, behind eyeballs,
in tender flesh, coiled 'round rugged bone,
'round spines of strangers I know well;
think you can tell the scalpel swirl
from a puncture wound in the sun's skin,
raped in stoke, reaped in smoke,
this man-made geology carousel
spins us all out of control, autonomy spilled on walls
cold, concrete fall like machine music.
Locked cobweb can-can in crumbling opium dens,
our obtuse, trussed livid bodies,
obscene eye peering through the lens of a noose,
as I know your name, you know mine,
yet we're caecilians to the play above,
beyond the reach of the Methuselah moth,
cellular lives in bardo, years in the clock's tick tock,
tongues will be mute before the echo,
the poison will dry before the ocean.

Monday, March 29, 2010

022: Ever newborn

We crossed blades of grass,
crossed blazing sands and permafrost,
crosses' bipolar digest steeped along the road.
I exiled your secrets in the carnation of a butterfly,
omens of a petal pandemonium, greyspoken in black tongues,
sculpt a thorn whirlwind in the bowels of a nourishing tuber.
Together we used to pierrot and curse our echoing halls,
dug and ground through generations of rainfall,
as I would imprint vivid memories of you on petrified trunks.
Your sly sihlouette, nimble cryptid,
within carbon domes, mythos uterus spawn,
still contorts my logic; blood sylphen,
let's swim a leaden transgression in feather snowstorms.
I witnessed autumn blossoms painting rage across your brow,
reverse salvation, clock disarmed,
all the while you suckled at the sunset's throat,
whispers preserved in amber amnios,
your cyclone pining windpipe to fertilize Jupiter's womb,
to shine your life unto constellations far beyond the anvil flow
these Hyde clouds sweat in mouths of expired soil.
Save your request to repair quartered royal lines,
for metric symmetry took breath right here,
in the pattern origin where your song did reverberate,
serrated against solid walls damp, so silent
and my cry collapsed in molten wax, to turmoil bellowing below.

You'd wither should the sun reach your innocence.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

021: Alchemy

Black hole
fold back to waves
of noise monoxide synod,
restate and return,
Fibonacci reversed,
to the rocking hand,
to a gentle hell.
In a struck pose, basalt doze,
breadcrumbs on frozen lava steps,
all the way to the mantle of the sun,
where the thread dies, the monolith melts.
Incandescent words,
cables dissolve
and to vapor ships' song we dance.
How do you feel about this stray note,
the shattered basalt lock,
orogeny of our souls
in the harmony of chaos.
Dislodged, defunct
architects of shrines,
photonic sequence stems
from their quiet graves;
my libel 'gainst the soil
drawn on silver lids, dispatched by aching meat,
across cold voids unseen,
whence no lungs drink.
Beyond ramparts of ash,
to the translucent bustuary
in his nuclear heart.

Monday, March 8, 2010

020: Merde de nom

You know my name, the one we share,
you did suspect a thread, osmium chain, weightless,
with the weight of fire bearing on my back.
Portraits bloomed in the bark of trees and dogs,
yours is housed within my bones,
within the burgeoning tendril rose.
But that which burns my fingertips chars my head,
I'd char my hand in the black box,
I'd choke them with the primeval astronaut cord.
Tribulations and plots against architecture,
devised in the hour of the minotaur,
seconds that time forgot, times infinity,
to the rhythm of temptations, to banish fibrillations,
bang the drums of war, bang the heads on walls.
All the ruminations, all the grime,
entwined 'round the spine, mirrored in obsidian.
And as I curse my face of glass on your marble flesh
the circuitry collapses without haste,
the letter of light slowly inverts to point the way,
all trudging mercenaries, ragged,
chasing desultory splinters of their lives,
while my scope was smudged,
they know my name, the one we share.

Monday, March 1, 2010

019: While the world sleeps

Every evening, as the light sinks dim,
armies march homeward in cardboard discipline,
on the crests of waves through lunar seas of salt
to the cadence of recurring dreams
and the tepid isostasy of illusions.

Every morning, as the noise explodes,
the whipping hand quakes the cradle
and bottom deals a newborn flaming wing,
I take it for a walk, a ride, a flight
beyond steps and seas and silver lines.

Then the lid is regrown, the chrysalis resown,
sprawling dusk heralds the lachrymal feast
for Icarus, motionless in the perpetual abyss.
Egressing these frail walls on tippy toes,
I leave to dream of the blue curtains she wore.

Monday, February 8, 2010

018: Naunet

She marches at high noon,
golden cross on strong back;
a leaden tick-tock clamours her presence
to all living witnesses.

Strength of the sea, shining bronze waves
ride to the night and other lonely places,
through branches or through roots,
but it's no coincidence.

Below the velvet, tense fibers;
strings collude to bridges
and my wishes bloom in the sultry moor,
under the warm, dark cloak.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

017: Black water / Winterdance

I stared down the severed neck of an antarctic exoskeleton
into reflexive waters that thirst for moonlight,
no echo made it back, fish and fishermen extracting
glum notes from the cayman's jaw grip.
Shoelaces and tongues tied in an effigy of disorder,
inviting me to dance the scalpel can-can in clinic waiting lines;
I declined politely,
as they were numb to the workings behind sclerotic curtains.
Your name, exotic, ringing of distances and fractured meanings
superimposed on the desert masonry of my nail-carved chapel
and the epiphanic wake left me to wonder the icefields,
stormwatching for signals of all too familiar alien life.
Adorning my wall, golden calculus table to determine
whether to apply that soothing litany;
maybe the polar twin of my nemesis is impervious.
Spotting the angels in the architecture of deathbeds
seems to have become the new national sport,
for soft-spoken words are blood kin
to those silent waters.

Monday, January 4, 2010

016: Plowing the fields

Velvet concrete drawn, yet the voice lingers on,
drilling rusted joints for anointment oil
to bless the spiral word meteor
adored in doomsday clock cult cogs.
Hushed in oxide parlours,
a colorless rainbow to hang from;
hear the waves, fear flavored,
mother the conjectures of revolutions,
in ebbs and flows, chart peak mountaineering.
Subject in silence, nerves meet air,
exposed in the flaming wireframe,
shoulderblades to sever the neck.
Aeries loom above the inside,
third eye retinal scan, the obscene abyss
reflects starlight from hell's firmament.
If I'd build a bronze serpent from the ashes of the unborn
to douse the radiance of the night
and terraform dried candlefields,
wouldn't such absence bleed the vision
with toxic subsequence?
Dip the spear in tranquil ebullience,
monotony is but covert self-fulfilling prophecy,
while correction fluid stains the body (subtly),
one can trace antidote formulas
in the secret discourse of tenants of wings.