Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Juliet Jewelery Box

I will never see. I will never feel. I will laugh about this when my heart isn’t beating. I will yearn for it when my heart isn’t beating. I want to sleep it away but where will I run? I will wake up again and I’ll wish it had never started. This hadn’t ever. I will think and wish and maul it away. Form my eyes. My ears that bleed with this voice. From my skin that is forever living in the limbo of a wound. Things heal and mend. But things leave scars. Then when I die, I’ll think of you maybe. When I’m walking, holding another hand, I will think why I saw your eyes. I will think about and feel all the longing of a meeting that never happened. I will think of every word and song and pain and sweetness of the whole damn rotting roses in a Juliet jewelry box. Somewhere in clever lines and vulnerable eyes and footsteps and fingers and paper and ink and water and madness and salt and blood that runs down, in reverse and gushes forth. I knew a boy once. A boy who would never sit on my bed with a book in his remembered hands and a lump of an anal girl between his knees with her head on his heart and incoherent mumbles to his blood and whispers through his shirt. Words to the song of his heart. Song to her words. Two pairs of sleepy feet curling into twin foot-shaped commas of foetal embrace on a quiet afternoon. When afternoons like hands, are remembered and are lovely and exist and live and breathe as a boy who I knew once, with a lump of a girl between his knees.

Lipgloss Facade

My skin is leased. Every inch and every second of every inch to a lipgloss facade.Obscene without it's sheen of processed liquid. Slow poison for slow smiles. The air that lovingly deposits its treasure of pregnant digress upon my skin. I wash it away with the see through poetry of moving water. As it dances like a naked sheet of catharsis on my minuscule craters of pores. My lungs, the biological apparatus of a living empire, their rise and fall unlike any political maneuver. Voluntary. Necessary. Automatic. They are leased too. Each breath and every second of every breath to a lipgloss facade.

A thread that does not bind, is my hair, left loose in the anti-thesis of its use. It is like every other accessory. Groomed for the best prices to endow itself in currencies of worship. The luminosity in my eyes and the enamel over my teeth.All will fade with the ending of this lease- that i have given to the universe in exchange for it's alchemist's gold. What worth does gold have for inches of skin and breath and luminous eyes and enameled teeth and non-binding hair? Not much as much as the lease itself. It carries the gold's weight upon it's atlas shoulders. Unto itself it manifests the exchanges. The lease wishes not to be undone. It wants every inch of every second of every inch to be a lipgloss facade.Obscene without it's sheen of processed liquid.


The Universe Never Lies

I will steal your books. Drink your lips and run away with the fire in your eyes. So much will splinter and be born again into a thousand tiny suns when two pictures break glass frames. Touch hands and what else. Ashes and water and blindness and reaching out. Everything is sudden and violent. Little footsteps are thrown away at the wind. Like caution. It will bring them back one day. We walk hand in hand. Through walls of brick and glass and time and bad internet and spaces of lost time. We will keep walking until the walls are real to touch and oblivion burns holes into the hands. Fear is a treacherous thing but. It will shuffle it's dirty arrows and cards of fortune into my shirt and maybe yours. Maybe. And then again hands will touch along walls of brick and glass and time and bad internet and spaces of lost time. Alone.Maybe....These shudders are yours to conceal and mine to show.Somewhere when we have lived for them. Or i have danced like a moon-swan. And you have seen too much of a hungry world. What else can i hide in these eyes? They are black-holes of dying stars and supernova smiles. Everything does end in it's beginning and begin with it's end.So will I. So will you.The universe never lies.

Kryptonite Heart

I'm alone.
I stand.
On the threshold of an epiphany.
With so many mouths to feed. My Kyrptonite heart that glows in the dark.I have killed so many sighs with my hungry hands.My salty soul is no more closer to Nirvana than when, it was in the womb.Pinched I have, so many eyes with their virgin stars. I stand alone. still. so alone. and all this liquid skin of blue and black with it's white snakes and whiplash foam. It will disappear like the tears on your face. Drop by mournful drop. It will cease to exist in this dream of soliloquy. So powerful, like the most accomplished of cowards' footsteps. Retreating. Inch by teasing inch, into the dankness, of my Acheronian square. My lone pedestal of onliest being.

Alone i stand here
holding your hand
a Kryptonite heart

Treadmill Inertia

There is a smell of burning tea leaves and 8:00 pm frustration now.The incense of innocence in the air, thickening with the ashes of a fleeting evening. A lazy bio-scope of stifled and conditioned breath. Whirring. With organic reels of nerves and blood and flesh and protoplasm. A constant shifting of it's anti-pendulum body in impossible lines to break. Small and big clusters of attentions spans, shifting in an odd square-tiled walk of absurd patterns. So much is seen and heard. Nothing registered. And suddenly you wonder where else you have been running. Where else indeed.

Cosmic Washing Machine

Chaotic.so much.so.Everything.nothing.bursting.falling.an endless spiral.denial.treachery.karma.
when does what end? Parallel universes.Parallel lines. Perpendicular bodies.never ending smiles. bad touches. good slaps. cold winters. hot days. moon obsession. friendship.lie. mirrors.so many. death. birth. rebirth. hating. hiding. penance. mountain tall. shallow hearts. unhurt. undone. lock. unlock. unzip. knots. opening. blooming. contracting. expanding. shiver. smile. lip. creep. eep. No. Sigh. Come back. Walking.away.reverse.rehearse.God.No god. Man.no man'sland.crawling.crawling.
crawling.ticking.no saviour.no hero. human. animal.mother.goddess. earth. rust. orange. amber. fire lit eyes. hearths. warmth. sleep. echo.tear jewel. silences. crippling hearts. paper. hands. broken. change. up. down. body. skin. shedding. selling.love. fears. greatness. worship red. living. bodies.lump. water. colour. diary. heathen. kilts. ogle.ogres. lamp shade skirt.tiny marbles.heat.heat.
heat.heat.invasion.excavation.extrication.embalming.taxidermy.life.less.little black dress.caress.undress.arrest.test.lair.spire.thud.crush.hush.much.such.butcher.utter.whisper.shutter.gutter.another.day.to.die.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

Shelters and lost pieces of regret. They are never coming back.Sisely springs and maulden stones, they are drowning in chores of haphazard misery and flower dunes and cataract moons. They are all vanishing under the ether of the earth slowly with whom? No one in particular you see. The bow-ties and red shoes they have a smear of age on them clinging and sticking like the Limanchi army. Leave it be, such eloquent notions of hard-boiled suicide.Where is it leading you haan? Nowhere is just beyond the pass. Turn left and straight towards the dead end and bang your head on the shiny wall thing. Such tsk tsk. Such plainness in your body and mind! Some people have everything and I'm so desolate. There you go again ranting in self pity and misery and hiding those dark thoughts of yours. Where are you hiding them eh? Come out come out wherever you are, you stupid Narscul. Hunted down since years of abject debauchery. Is it yet? No no. Shutupwhatcrapdimsums and fish intestines are lovely. You don't know the blithe of delicacies. Such warm dredge down the throat of wisdom and scientific nuisance. Such bull shittery. No no, distillery is a different thing. With wings and such of cockatoos. And fire and red and gray of the Pegasus horse painted with your grandmother's hair.She looked like vitriol poured down a transparent jar of honey bees. Yes she is a dancer of leopard jowls. She is.

The Awakening

Awakened after the destruction of the love temple.I am a harlot. A charlatan. I am a beggar seeking refuge under the alms of your outstretched body. So frivolous yet cunningly benevolent. Windmills of your vagabond poison will damage the threads of my soul in peace. A destruction so sweet and so shameless. It will occur on the day of the chameleon moon and phoenix sun. And this pagan surrender will cease to be fleshed and blooded. Like a brittle page of prophecy upon gypsy lips. Skirts of wonderment and finger nailed hands with the murder of dreams upon their brow. I'm waiting.To crumble within the opera of black lidded inner asylums.Some souls never heal.They wear skeletons of feeling.

Saturday, May 8, 2010


Leaving behind a parched desert throat of saliva pearls, the smell of a pregnant cloud is heady. Squelchy shoes will mark the footprints along home. A lovely homecoming indeed.

Friday, May 7, 2010


bodies grow old
and love molds
and fires get cold

Saturday, May 1, 2010


A taste of rust on my lips.
It's too late for the fever to stop.
Let me fade away slowly
Before i come back for the last drop.