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.