No Outlet

Velvet Reflections

2010-09-22T23:26:00.006-04:00

Velvet reflections
Shadows cast long
Forgotten collections
Of things long gone

We all have a past
Our histories tied together
And those shadows we cast
Our reflections with tethers
They all mean nothing if the things they’re tethered to
All mean we’ll not weather through
The hard times of our histories past
The things that made our friendship last
The strengthening acts we were thankful for
And everything, everything that we have poured
Into each other.
And, one friend to another,
I have to tell you,
I’m not ready to
Give up all of what we have fought for and won
because of some reason to me unknown
We’ve drifted alone,
Apart, away, from each other’s warmth
Without one sun in the cold winter torrent
We’re both lost.

The Mind: Unbound

2008-06-05T10:38:00.001-04:00

Sharing thoughts of the mind unbound
Flailing images leave us breathless and unfound
The power is horrible
The images powerful
And yet we prevail, in such a world where even the less meaningful sounds
Barely carry to our ears over the horrible images of a bloody ground
The feelings are incorrigible
The terror, the terror.

I Promise To Laugh

2008-03-22T22:57:00.002-04:00

I am comfortable with the ridges and lines in my palms,
the shadows spilling beneath them as the light catches on their peaks.
I am comfortable with the cracks at my heels,
the depth that discourages the engaged eye’s healing view.
Sometimes, caught in perpetual distance, when the sun hits perfectly
I see it refract upon my hair, I feel it’s warmth on my skin and
I realize that I’m in love. But I discourage the eye and its healing fits,
not because there’s something wrong, but because there’s something right.
I am in love, be it you, him, her I’m not sure, but I am certain that it’s love.
Being away from you, all of you, for long drains my spirit, and pulls my heart to shreds,
I take comfort in my ridges and lines, and the cracks at my heals
they reassure me that I’m not failing, but I also take comfort in this love
when I’m with all of you, it steals my breath only to return it in laughter,
it stops my heart only to force its beat with your fascinating smile.
Fortunately my love does not only apply to all of you, but to a beautiful day
or a towering employment of my attentions upon one unfleetingly tangible distraction,
it’s everything I need, and I always need a little more. I always know I can find the key,
if not in you, then in my heart; just know that it’s fragile,
like the shallow scent of a dogwood bloom caught on the wind in spring.

I Outran the Clouds Today

2008-03-12T23:03:00.002-04:00

I outran the clouds today.
I left their shadows racing
across the landscape behind me
And moving backwards relatively.
I could hear them cry, and see their fury
I refused to be conquered by nature
and her frenzied façade, and continued on.
I outran the clouds today.

And they responded, oh how they responded
“, as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.”
Draining, filling the ground with their blood until it couldn’t hold anymore.
It began to flow, overtaking beautiful landscapes that she created.
Overtaking beautiful landscapes which we created; but she didn’t care.
I left her empty, wilting upon the horizon,
and as night approached her demise became eminent.

And she cried out, her clouds gained and I watched,
Slowing down so as not to stumble I watched her raise
One mighty arm, then the other, static I felt hairs tingle
Her brow crinkled in the soft moonlight
and she unleashed her savagery upon all humanity.
In one terrible night she overtook it,
She squeezed our unplayable and cracking flesh.

I outran the clouds today.
And she cannot handle such an embarrassment.
She destroyed the witnesses, the innocent, everything – everyone.
Their terrible cries filled the night; their fear was a physical entity;
It pushed me on, and drew me away.
They refused my surrender to nature
and her moonlit brow, and pressed me on.
I outran the clouds today.

Fear

2008-02-12T22:09:00.001-05:00

I dare not tempt these odd encumbered human emotions
rage, and panic, lust and passion
for if they take me I fear I’ll never return.

I see you all gone in this whorl of affections
blasted with the simple nakedness of a child’s conviction,
but that isn’t what is bothering me.

I see you all moving away, and I want to pull you closer.
I feel that if I attempt to move closer you might speed away,
so I wait for you to approach, within my grasp.

I want to hold your affections, cradle them and hope they
simply fade for, I don’t know why, but they also pull you away from me
and towards another being I have no knowledge of.

The most accurate description of my disability is
I lack the majority of these affections; of course I feel rage and lust
passion, and love, sadness and glee, but I don’t feel the fear.
Fear is an escaped egg, it rolled out of my nest and I don’t know where it went.
Perhaps it smashed on the ground, and the anxieties and frustration I feel are
simply the auspicious odor of it rotting and wafting up from the ground below.
Why do I have to be so vulnerable, something so small is missing, I wish someone
would just fix me and reset my alarm, I can’t just be here; I wish to be here and feel it.

True Form

2008-01-28T22:12:00.000-05:00

A warm touch slides across my arm
Hairs prickle and shivers glide up my back
I see heat, fire and passion
And feel things that consist of pure charm
Thoroughly distraught I desist my contact
Coldness crawls across the floor
And I sit empty, hairs tingle
Shivers slither down my back and distract
Me from this one true goal that I can contain
Where harm is coupled with envisioned pain
I feel strength, adrenalin and face my face
Only to find that I’m not the one I chase
So confused I rely, upon a falsified goal
To dreamily follow these cased skulls
Superstition isn’t my best point,
But these witches drive and anoint,
Floating, maybe I dream, but I gave them everything they asked for
They promised me, everything I asked for, and gave me only coldness
And coldness crawls across the floor, greeting me with empty eyes
Empty eyes which hold within black water filled with sin
I can see foxes draped, and cold black cords bind, these simple
Small yet fixed objects in time, don’t vibrate, or reverberate
They shape, and tag like children, other watches and puddles to dance across.
I want my gray fox to touch the water, that way I can have him back,
It only takes a tiny trick and he’ll be caught
Where the cold stones crawl and the water runs hot.

Blind

2008-01-21T18:27:00.000-05:00

I appear stuck in a rut
With miles of emptiness surrounding me
People mistake me for a simple site, something to pass,
Something to look at, but they don’t know
I move, I breathe, I beat, I feel.

I can tell you why people mistake my joys and empathies for
desolate relations to what appears ugly, they’re blind.
An old Spanish game, la gallina ciega.
They’re reaching out with a stick and we’re all dodging and ducking
Laughing and spinning, hand in hand, but why is it around me?
I’m not blind, so why does everybody else have a stick?
Why are they hitting me, I’m the one they want to surpass.
I’m not an obstacle, I’m a force.
Tempests pray with lightning dances to me
people used to know, but knowledge is too much sometimes.
Lost I am too the ancients who are no more.
The oceans will tense, the seas will rise, I will gain ground day by day.
I move, I breathe, I beat, I feel; but I’m not the only one.

You are a force, though I gain ground you build it behind me
Though I make oceans tense and build the seas
You calm and lower my tastes. We can douse fires,
We can move, breathe, beat and feel, but why are we something to surpass?

There are times I wonder why we, so close, must battle, there is no reason,
we can become the same, playful mixture; colors of all types and taste of
all sensations, what would it be if it wasn’t forced? I hate you, you are
my antichrist, yet I cannot surpass you, we are forever tied in this gyre, and upon us
they’re destined to live, blind, beating us with their sticks,
Moving, Breathing, Beating, and Feeling.

Unbound

2007-12-25T23:36:00.001-05:00

The fox slips through the small puddles of light, disappearing and emerging with an

abundance of futile emphasis upon the jumping stones.
Here the river runs hot,
The fox unwary doesn’t know
If he takes to the water he’ll be caught
And this isn’t just a simple undertow
He won’t be dragged under and drowned
Oh no, he’ll be draped across the slight’s shoulder
A right hand man to the darkness crowned
The prince, seeded in the hot water but never colder.
I’ve felt his presence; you have too, that malice, that deviled intent
You catch it in even the most innocent eyes, crossing lanes hell sent.
I’ve told you before but I think it might need clarification
These aren't your ordinary minutes or hours
These days are flashed in peoples’ eyes just watch, be patient
It’s not their fault, almost ever, but always, they’re sour.
The deeds committed in the most private thoughts don’t rival these
No, these are so much worse than those
The very thing you seek to separate yourself from with some sort of ease
Is the exact thing that has bound your heart in black cord and chose
To destroy the living breathing thing you call humanity with a noose.

Starlight, starbright, what wish could i possibly wish tonight?

2007-12-13T20:42:00.001-05:00

The crescent moon reveals his smile in the tempted light
With flutters of air and small doves abreast to settle the night
It’s cold
I can see my breath on the wind and I hope that these beautiful leaves could hang for just a moment longer before settling on the ground
This is the inner darkness
But I feel like it’s outside
So maybe today I might seem confused but I think you tell me lies
So if I feel that it’s outside it is
But today it’s inside
Again I can tell you’re out there
Though out there could once again be inside
It doesn’t matter I can tell it’s not worth explaining that aspect of this decisively self-destructive vision to you
It’s dark inside, or outside
I can tell you why
The absence of light isn’t enough to explain it
After all there’s more than one level of darkness, I can tell you them if you’d like.
Human emotion makes up the lightest of the dark, spanning from jubilant to dead, or something near death, I don’t know, I’m sure you do
It’s usually a wish
I wish I was dead
That’s what the dark says
The darkest part of the human emotion, but luckily it’s more like dawn than dusk, dusk is the scariest time; you know right before it’s dark.
The dusk is a repercussion of the day though
It’s only our fault that light needs a reciprocal, our human rational dictates light and dark, it couldn’t be something less black and white, that’s what human logic tells us, I wish I was dead, it’s really what the dark says. It serves as a warning
A severance of the life that supports you
Because the opposite of light is dark, and human reasoning states that what’s light is good and dark is bad, but the in-between it’s neither, you can run wild in the dusk, rampant with human affections that shouldn’t be restrained but are. Freud was probably right.
I lied
There’s worse to come
There’s midnight
And evening
And every minute in between
The haunting silence the darkest dark
There’s almost always light. The stormy nights or the quiet caves and houses are the worst. That’s where the stench of human decay lies. Look closely. Dust, you, that mirror that’s managed to distort your beautiful smile once again and twist it into a decaying jumble of white and red smashed against the pavement. Such sorrowful intentions left to rot on the street corner and to poison others. These are the minutes, can you imagine the hours?
I can, I’ve seen them. Hour after hour, horror after horror, raging war after distilled and sterile ground couldn’t hold any more blood. Slick with sanguine mud to trip the weary warrior and simply impale his last breath upon a vaulted metal tip. Empty space say I. but that’s not the problem
There’s more than one hour
More than one day
There’s more dark then light, it just happens to be that lights a bit pervasive
It goes where it shouldn’t
Starlight starbright, you know. It’s erroneous, but that doesn’t matter; I know that caring implies that you’ll acknowledge how ugly humanity is.
Midnight.
Sometimes described as the blackest black
But I know blacker
This darkness hides
In your shadow
It’s sly
It’s unconscious
I told you Freud was right
You’re mother taught you to hide it. This bloodlust that isn’t the subject of your mother’s love, this is what you were beat for as a child.
Such a simple thing
It’s disgusting, blood, sanguine, and the mud that that poor soul stepped in and died from. You’re the darkness there. You created wars, you made the minutes. I know you did, don’t try to lie again. That little watch in your hand knows no love, and you know it well. It might tick, and tock, it might be fretted with golden fire, but it burns black, just like your soul. There’s still darkness after midnight, though this one hides in your smile, and skulks with that same darkness in your shadow. Your human perversion can’t even imagine what darkness can behold your truth. But I can, this time I’ll spare the sight from your beautiful eyes that are distorted by the truth, I won’t lie though, it’s worse than you, it lives inside of you, the black cords that surround your heart and hold that pitiful soul inside, they can’t even contain this darkness, so beware, less this darkness escapes, it’ll be the end all, judgment day, Christ can’t even swear upon this image, it’s broken from his love for all, but this tar has stuck in heaven’s gate, it’s best you hurry, less you miss your chance to pass through.

Trigonal Planar

2007-11-03T22:39:00.001-04:00

Sad leaves drift through the mist
Conjuring spirits of old loves
And supported on a thin veil of moisture.
The rocking; back and forth
Down towards the ground
Save the nuisance of a sound
Croaking as the wind changes
The crickets crick and leaves shift.
Cherry blossoms sent assail
By the chance wind that lifts the mist
And the leaves stop drifting
They fall
Pelting towards the ground in a spiraling cloud of pink
I can’t think, surrounded with this infamous vision of love lost in paradise
The tears can’t hold the leaves above the ground
And in the center I see one white blossom
Spiraling; but not falling, spinning; but not rising
And the mist returns, away from the white and towards the pink cloud lifting as the petals fall and the leaves are once more suspended
One red leaf, the soul tainted with blood
And I can tell you now, that if I were here
Or if you think it matters, you were there
Things would change, not in any way that you might notice
But the tears would fade, smiles would grow
And the beautiful scene on the hill with leaves sauntering towards the ground in a spiral of cherry blossoms, so pink, would not be tainted with this one red leaf upon the blanketed soul of a bare cherry blossom.
And i might scream, but you'll hear a whisper,
Don’t touch my soul; it’s too black for you to bear
I wish one thing from this small comment that you drive through with a stake
Don’t touch my life, my domain, my range, for if I catch a single glimpse of you
You will never know what happened, just that you would not be anymore, and I
Will have nothing to do with innocence again
As your taint is gruesome, dead, cold, hollow and shouldered by atlas
Despised you might be but this range and domain, this is mine
It's pure, black with love and emotions so raw one touch would drive the
Insane man past the barrier and back again,
Realizations this cold have never told you more than a fiction
But if you come too close the truth is
You will die; your blood will blacken my black, and broaden my smile.

This is for you, but i can't give it to you.

2007-10-12T21:50:00.001-04:00

Galvanized with crusted silver the door knob can’t move any more
Draped in the ferried shadows the keyhole is old for a skeleton door
I peer through, with the interest of a panner for shallow gold
looking for anything that catches my eye that perhaps I can hold
My shallow grasp on the frigid door knob, so intensely cold
I twist and pull, I know what I want, but the door’s so old
Desperate now, I want what I can see
I know in my pocket I have a skeleton key
I produce the shiny steel key and slide it carefully into the corroded silver lock
I twist and pull, I know what I want, and amazingly the knob moves with a tock
I wake up in a peaceful place, laden with flowers and jaded azaleas
I think twice and sit up [or is it down?] It doesn’t matter.
Today I think, I think of a crusted silver flower, gold stamens are my soul injustice
I need three or four, if only I could open that cold old door.
The door swings open, knocking me down, I look just in time to see the soul’s back
Poor, dead, jaded like the azaleas in every dream,
I mention to the singer that it’s not for him to sing
And soon I see the glint of my hands’ sole purpose
Stretching far without fear nor hate I cling
And the sweet realization
The moment of ecstasy when my hands grasp the knowledge of all things
I wake up; this place so dark; the soul so black
And I in fear gasp and fall back
as if an invisible door flung out and knocked me
But of course it’s invisible so it will never see.
And all I can feel, all I can see, touch, hear and even smell
Is the black
So dark that it envelops not only me but this faint reality
And with all things lost, their knowledge a useless cacophony of cantankerous amounts of dreaded black, burned, dead, and dying souls. There is no light; there was no warning, just marriage of hand and death, and a startled smile in the peaceful day died in shocked horror during the unanimous night with a musical voice singing faintly, almost hideously alive “,I love you so, so I love you.”

If You Care

2007-09-15T18:40:00.000-04:00

When you weren’t there it wasn’t it like you were
I know it doesn’t matter just because I’m sure
If you had been there I probably wouldn’t have known
You could have snuck in and just not have shown
That you care
If you care
I know you don’t want to know but I’ll tell you anyways
If you really want to stop it I’ll tell you another way
Because every time I see you I think this shouldn’t be
Anything that would matter if you could only see
That I care
If you care
So though it might not matter all that much to you
I’ll give it all my best tries if you just do it too
I think if you think that it could be thought out loud
That if we just don’t say anything at all about
That we care
If you care

Well

2007-08-06T00:33:00.000-04:00

Well, I don’t care what you want
I won’t do anything for you
It’s not that I want to taunt
It's just that I always do
So one day when you’re all alone
I’ll take everything you need
I’ll make it so that you’re the only one
The only one no one ever freed.
I’ll take all the haunted times
You crossed that un-timed line
So all the things you care about
Are hidden where you’ll never find.
Well, I don’t think you’re even here
To hear the desperate cry
The things that I stole from you so dear
It’s your life that I’ve untied.

If you can't get the rythm listen to the song My Moon My Man, by Feist
here it is http://youtube.com/watch?v=zWrNCCx2p5U

Like Stone

2007-08-04T22:53:00.001-04:00

I wish to imbed myself in brittle stone
And stay forever in this safe place
But unfortunately I have always known
That the stone who’s love I give my face
Will grow impossibly hard with age.

I wish to forever remain in a passive state
Suspended in a decisive vice
And for my friends I wish to create
The day that the rolling favor of dice
Will grant a fervor of magnificent gait

I wish that I knew the real you
The person you hide inside
Maybe you would know the real me too
And if our fates do collide
I hope that they tangle forevermore.

Jasmine

2007-06-11T23:06:00.001-04:00

Jasmine in jade set in the light
a rose in a park set into flight
and a quartz diamond set aside
with hors d'oeuvres for the rich
fixed in emerald for the old
and crab cakes encrusted with twenty-four carat gold

In the stream of running stones
the water runs hot
the kids play polo and the old are all shot
in fear of control for the dead presidency
the kids turn fifteen and are
brainwashed by the detrimentally disturbed agency
to believe the superstitions
of the long gone religion
and assume the positions
of the new requisition
for a dangerously disturbed mission
for the holy crucified mother of the dead.

Disillusioned

2007-05-25T22:22:00.000-04:00

Cultivated in the darkest dark
And divorced from the thought of happiness
There was once a petal laden demon that sat upon
The highest tree there ever was.

Though high the tree might be
There was no light to caress this gentle darkness
The petals of the demon disturbance perched upon the tree of life
To entice the wanderers of darkness.

This simple waiting game, divided in the dark
from the day when one might catch him in their sights
and relay to him, the demon, every thought
that kills his innocent soul.

A demon with a soul? One might ask; but this is no ordinary demon
deviled in thoughts of darkness. You, my dear friend, must realize
That without light there is no darkness, without good there is no evil
and without you there is no demon.

Amber

2007-05-23T21:37:00.000-04:00

Creaking like old wood I allow myself to sway
With wind in my heart and cold rain in my veins
I sway in harmony with the rest
I’m on the island
The island of solitude
I can see you, but you can’t see me
All you see is the wind and the rain
All you hear is the creaking of wood
I’m life like nothing else and I hold nothing more dear
Than that driving sword whose edge you stand on
A perfect balance
A crying note of pain from the sounding sword
A crying note of pain from me
If only the creaking translated in the sway of life that I am screaming.
Screaming for you.

Distortion

2007-05-19T22:20:00.000-04:00

Incentives
Derision
Distortion of the body and thought
Fields of slow moving souls crossing paths
On the never ending planes of existence
Infinitely many stars
Colliding, exploding, creating, dividing
In one colossal decision that only you can make.
Perhaps
It is a statement of faith
If you take a step to seal your own
You may find that perhaps
Isn't what you thought
The body and soul cannot
If that is what you want
Perhaps.

Ashley and I

2007-05-13T23:13:00.000-04:00

Tell Me Once

2007-05-11T21:01:00.000-04:00

Vocalizations are a simple formality. Humans have truly lost the ability to communicate. Our emotions, so complex, are supposedly explainable by psychology. And the decision to die of late has been explained by no one but no one. No one cares to delve into the true meaning of human existence, Instead we waste our time furthering the comfortableness as we pass through this promise-less existence into perhaps the next one; but even that can't be promised. Can it? Suppose a child dies in a car wreck, is it any more important, or less, than a massacre involving armaments? Does it matter? Can it matter? Explain to me the true meaning of life and I'll tell you why I think you shouldn't exist. If we take away the mystery will there be a drive? Is the meaning of life to die? Is the meaning of life to destroy our ability to contain life, to further life, to control life, to falter in our flat and lengthy human existence that isn't but a shadow of the intricacies of the development of life on this planet? Do I even exist? Would I exist if you read this? Would I exist if you didn’t? Why won’t you tell me?

I won't lie. I won't tell anyone. Just, tell me, please?

Rust

2007-04-11T21:24:00.000-04:00

Corroded in red, like rust
I feel the blood spoiled thrust
My intentions misheard
My divisions disturbed
I can’t undo the past.

A Demon I Will Slay

2007-03-12T23:06:00.001-04:00

I spill my blood on paper
To kill the demon’s spirit.
The demon I posses,
Will never find a slit.
In the defensives of my heroine
I will defeat my heart,
A black coal to be burned
A shallow worthless art,
I can only express my gratitude to my hero in this way
Simply put I’ll kill myself
A demon I will slay.

Uncertainty

2007-02-21T20:20:00.000-05:00

Convoluted trains of thought
Welling from your mouth,
These broken lines of poetry
Tied within your words,
Sufficient to say, the words are able
To give the hint of the mind unstable
Hating, perhaps thinking thoughts
Tomorrow’s tomorrow but yesterday’s not
So what’s the problem again?

Deviant

2006-09-03T00:14:00.000-04:00

One

I burnt my hand again on our kitchen stove this morning. It's getting to the point where I think I don't mind the pain much, just like the heater being out. It's always cold; I got used to the cold. I am in our empty dining room where only the morning air lights up our glossy table and the chandelier above it. Our walls are oblique, set at angles as a hexagonal room, though elongated with a large window at the end. Our white curtains have dust on them. I walk through our house. Correcting one's self is evidently required, but, never is there a thing on our floor. The dust will never stop falling like snow; I've accepted this. The harsh fluorescent lights in our room make it seem empty, as it does when we're not home, but that doesn't really matter. I touch our dresser and run my finger through the dust, stirring it around and making a small tornado; I should clean our house. I sit on our bed. It's lopsided towards the side we slept on last night. I don't know why though, we always switch sides.
I left our room, and I venture into the coldest place here, the heart of our house. It seems fitting that our house's heart should be so cold, even though the woodstove is here. I could use it to heat our house, but, I dislike it. It always smells a day behind, and burns too much ash.
The shadow on our bed frightens me. I'm not sure why. There are shadows in patterns everywhere and the dust is the only comfort. I like the snow. It's snowing outside again, although, I'm comfortable in our house.
The sun is as bright as it will get today. I manage to get our front door open even though there is snow in the way. I sit on our bench, beside our green garden. The snow doesn't fall here. I catch glimpses of the fish in the water; the koi and smaller minnows flit around. The green plants in the water are large and spread a sense of joy throughout the garden. They don't have to deal with the winter. They never have to deal with the winter.
Our house looks bigger from the outside. I walk around it and eventually I wander back inside, through the snowy dust and I go back into our kitchen. I am hungry. I open our freezer; there are shadows here also. I pull out frozen veggies and toss them into a fry-pan. There is no olive oil so I put in some vegetable oil and turn the flame on high. I like the flame; there are no shadows in the flame. The frozen veggies are crisp and they cool quickly. I can't eat them, they taste like yesterday, and look like ash.
Staring at my plate of ash I stand up. I take my plate into our living room and put it in yesterday’s woodstove, it belongs there. It burns too much ash.
It's dark outside. It's cold inside. I go to bed and sleep. The shadow on our lopsided bed is watching me, but what else can it do?

Two

I burnt my hand on our kitchen stove again this morning and it caused me to realize, I heard sounds last night; the woodstove was chewing, chewing yesterday and burning too much ash. My fingers are numb. I can't tell if it is from the cold or from the burns. It doesn't matter, they're numb. I wander through our house until midday; there is nothing else to do here.
Today, I go out our backdoor, being careful to avoid the snow that is balanced on the edge of the roof. When I shut our door I run out from under the ledge. It didn't fall. I follow a path for a minute or two and find myself at our garden. I sit on our bench again and gaze into our pond. The koi move slowly. The plants are still larger than usual, and the joyous feeling is calmly lingering. The snow will never fall here. I become nauseous, and run back to our house, through our front door past our bedroom to our bathroom. I kneel on our floor by our toilet and lean over it. I feel it come from deep, but not far, and the retches begin, for almost an hour I am seized. Ash shouldn't be put in the toilet, but it is easier to flush it down the toilet than it is to put it in yesterday's woodstove. I go back to bed. My stomach hurts. The shadows are restless today, but I still fall asleep for a few hours.
When I awake the shadows disperse. The dust has stopped falling, something is different, but I do not feel like finding out what or how. I go back into our kitchen and today I pull out a small chicken breast and put it in the fry-pan with salt, pepper, red curry and red wine. I cook it on low. I watch the flame as the wine boils and when it is done I turn it off. I miss the flame; there are no shadows in the flame. I smell ash and when I look at my food I see yesterday. I put it on one of our plates, and throw it into yesterday's woodstove. It clanks, but does not hit yesterday's plate. It's not there to be hit anymore. It's not yesterday.
Sleep is calling me again, and the shadows are back to their normal places, so I ignore them, like usual. It is cold. I go to bed with blankets covering me and the shadow on the lopsided side of our bed is watching me again, I wonder if it knows.

Three

I burnt my hand on our kitchen stove again earlier this morning and again it reminded me of the sounds. They were louder last night. The woodstove was chewing; I heard our plate shatter and the ash crunch. It burns too much ash. My hands have blisters. I can feel my fingers again, as I can feel the shadows watching me. They move now. They show up in our kitchen stove's flame. I do not like the flame anymore.
Someone called earlier, I can tell because our answering machine is displaying a large, red, glowing and blinking one. I hit play and jeremy's voice comes through in a robotic tone; I should call him back.
It is midday again. I go through our backdoor again, and run out from under the ledge. The snow doesn't fall from the ledge today either. I follow the same path today, kicking the snow as I walk, it reminds me of ash. I wish I could put it all in the woodstove. I get to our green garden. Our pond is still today. The plants are different again, they are changing colors. There is ash in our garden. Why is there ash in our garden?
I run back to our house. Something is wrong. I go inside and lay on our floor in our room. The shadow on the lopsided side of our bed is watching me. There is dust on our floor. There is never a thing on our floor. Something is wrong. There is dust on our clean floor. I fall asleep.
I get up and go to our kitchen. It is dinner time. I get another small chicken breast and put it in the fry pan, with pepper, red crushed pepper, cayenne pepper and paprika. I add a little water and turn the flame on high. There are shadows in the flame. I don't like the flame anymore.
The chicken finishes cooking and I put it on one of our plates. I take it into our hexagonal dining room with its dust covered white curtains. Today the chicken doesn't look like ash. I eat it quickly for fear of it changing into ash. Our dining room table is glossy. I run my finger through the layer of dust. The dust has stopped falling. The snow has stopped falling. It is dark outside. Something is wrong. I throw our plate into the woodstove. I'm not sure why. I think it looked hungry, craving wood and such.
I glance in as I throw our plate into the woodstove. There is no ash in the woodstove. Something is wrong. I am tired. I go to bed covered in blankets again. The shadow on the lopsided side of our bed is watching me again, it knows.

Four

Our kitchen stove burnt my hand again today. The woodstove was silent last night. It misses ash. I am in our dining room. Something is wrong. It is midmorning. I go out our backdoor again. I shut our backdoor behind me and run, realize I need a coat and run back inside to get one. I come back out of our door and shut it hard behind me.
The snow fell today. A cold burst of wet ash on my head. I ran to our garden. I sit on our bench, beside our gray garden. The sun doesn't shine there. I remember the fish used to swim in our pond, the koi and smaller minnows flitted around. The gray plants in the water are small and spread a sense of dread throughout the garden. They don't have to deal with the sun. They never have to deal with the sun. There is ash in our garden.
I go back to our house. As I walk through our backdoor, I see myself in our mirror in our hall. I look gray, like ash. I am tired. It is four o'clock. I walk into our room and lay on our floor again, the shadow on the lopsided side of our bed is gone and something under our bed is watching me. It’s the shadow. I fall asleep.
I'm awake. I lay on my back, bored. Ash isn't in the woodstove. I know because I heard ash walking across our floor. I lay on our floor. I start to fall asleep when something touches my foot. I'm frightened to look, but I do not know what else to do. I look down. Terror isn't the right word for what I feel, but it can describe it.
Stretching across the floors the shadows devour my fear. Sliding across my body liquid ice a touch of hate; drowning in the heat distant from the tiresome retches; sordid upon the floor, creeping upon my brow, teasing against my eardrum the sound threatens to blow it to pieces as fate lets my candid cough upon the air that is breathed into through the slits of cantankerous amounts of legs squallering upon the floor for a proper footing a "leg up" on life; and only when the fear returns do the legs become mine and I squaller across the floor fidgeting bursting eardrums. Pollution in the form of sound dredging my mind of habitable hiding places to keep the life's secret shadow locked up once more terrifying only in the mirrors cracked surface. There’s blood on the floor. Sleuthing and dragging three against one, three limbs fighting a leg nothing to hold me down now, leaving it behind only to find another has replaced it to drag me back; leaving fate to her own devices an arm against me and I have half. Blackness fills in the rest as my heart is split in two by painful sounds and the unbearable light. Pain is my worst enemy; yet, fighting is my only chance as I fling my arm and my leg into action slipping down sideways across the floor; black trails. The door is locked. Treating my unbearable touch as if the blisters, the cold, the dead un-living thing sliding under the bed is my shadow once more and I, I am still here.

Flow

2006-08-26T22:24:00.000-04:00

Start with a caterpillar
and watch it grow
when it becomes a butterfly
it wings shrivel as life flows
and then the satiny wings will die
flaking silver upon the ground
and life will soon begin again
without a loving or hating sound.

We are lucky
we have two,
they stick with us forever
through and true
maybe spoiling, maybe not
it's sure to tear
no matter we've all fought
and though they care
we sometimes hate
as do they
after all we're human,
so are they.

Mirrors

2006-08-01T16:06:00.000-04:00

Catering to the source of lies
under the fig trees
on the isle of flies
a powerful god
set the trap
of dark seizing cold
a heartbeat's life,
stealing its soul
and becoming tied
to the old
memories
contained in the
oceans that wield
a wave of truth
against the gold painted god
on the isle of ruth.

Where It Lies

2006-07-12T19:04:00.000-04:00

Is there more behind the eyes
than the heart cares to show,
where the sleeping wolf lies,
more than anyone could know?

A secret shadow,
a ball of hate and cold prejudice
that lives in our sorrow,
our society and unfounded armistice.

The one that lies beneath the grudge,
a demonized thought of lust and rage,
caught in a whimpering child that needs naught but a nudge
in the wrong direction at the right age.

A Dance of Two

2006-06-30T23:34:00.000-04:00

Gauche pas de deux
incremental in it's value
a dance of l'heureux
representing romance
on a biased account
a small taste of France
a minuscule fin amount.

Me and Jeewon

2006-06-29T00:29:00.000-04:00

Suck It Up

2006-06-27T00:02:00.000-04:00

Taken
for the old
they can't say that I was told
not to cry or saunter about
it only makes me shout GET
Away
you can't have it all
you act all cool and tall
they always say the bigger you are
the harder you fall away
From
the world's divine pleasures
and driven from the treasures
it fails to match the decadence of you heart
and you try to take a part away from
Me
but the fates have a different plan
and you've been picked, you're the right man
you can't run away from the past anymore
so take a trip to hell, take the grand tour
And
get use to your new home
but that's not all you'll be shown
if you take a step to your right
you'll see that, that is a flight
Given
a name, Neptune express
it's a stairway to heaven, more or less
but it's not for you, you're posted as dead
and you should know, if you read
To
find out more information on the house rules
you should know not to touch Pluto's jewels
especially when they're not meant for you
it's all your reality, all to true for
You
to cope with this new sensation
your hopeless fear and desolation
I want it back, give it to me
and heaven will open up to you, you'll see.

Drifting

2006-06-24T22:08:00.000-04:00

Your beautiful eyes
robbed of sight
carried through life
void of light.
Sounds Fade,
touch grows
sensual pricks
trickle
blood flows
into a pounding river
contained in your head
fueling your eyes
but they
are dead.

A Titan Is Lost

2006-06-24T22:01:00.000-04:00

Diseased and distraught
detached so I thought
only I cannot be caught
for all is lost that we can see
and only when we wish to be
does one realize I can't be forgiven
I have committed the most ultimate sin.
Caught by the light is a simple moth
caught by luna enchanted by cloth
only in life can it be forgotten
that in my life
there was a past
but it never did, ever last
it grew and grew into the cycle
and onto the second phase of existence
only in a distant sentence
can one explain the instance
caught inside a shipper's bottle
in that bottle shaped a soul
blacker then black, black as coal
there is a person left
to witness all
of life and
only in it
will I
die.

Tangled

2006-06-24T21:58:00.000-04:00

Because Cleopatra gazes down from hell
and we still think were looking up at that lovely bell
we find it impossible to gaze upon heaven.
It's corrupted you know those deadly seven,
we'd drowned without her, Cleopatra
the solid features of an Egyptian,
pitch black hair,
eyes seasoned with fear
an old glimmering myth
for the young to chew on
unfortunately, the bliss
they seemed to miss
was that they were
worshiping demons
we'd call them heathens
they'd call us apocalyptic
the universe refers to all as sadistic
the Devil stole the whole universe
and made Adam and Eve
so whoever believes
we have a chance at love
well now, they just never met me.

The Last Light Bulb in the Cabinet

2006-06-24T21:57:00.000-04:00

A gentle sarenade caught in the shape of a Y
only to fade and blatantly side
on the candela of terms
to the bright future
return to the dead
only to shed
the beauty that embraces the body
can't you just sell out and be haughty?
Because only in the light of the day
does the fire within burn ever so dim
and only to be brave in the night and say
nothing

Syaesthesia

2006-06-24T21:54:00.000-04:00

A cheap picture from the photo booth
a striking memory
meant to soothe
the pain that is on eve
and the whales that are on graves
casting a shadow of might and courage
a distinct flavor on the air as the yellow smell
distinguished by fear
creeps upon the floor.
Moonlight's dance in the might, and courage
that will never cast away the power of air
and the memories that the yellow provokes.

What's the Time

2006-06-24T21:50:00.000-04:00

Giving time again and again
flawless your caring, you always give in
to count on you
is like watching a clock
it ticks and ticks
driving on, ceaselessly in it's clicks
as if it's enough
a clock's a machine
a simple piece of gadgetry, omnipotent as it seems
no one cares the time of day, if all they ever do is stay
in that same boring place, never moved or out of sync
since only the mind creates the concept of time, humans
we rule the time, but only in a stupid forward motion
I want backwards
always, nostalgia drives me on
to find that simple gadgetry to take me back in time
and kill the concept of time, itself
along with you of course, flawless.

Paint

2006-06-23T20:53:00.000-04:00

Destruction grinds away the cardboard
paint applied to irreversible aging
and aided by the cigarette hoards
it peels away in the ceaseless changing
of styles and stories
and trials lead their dreary
gray and unfashionable lies
about in gyres towards the ground
and eventually without a sound
the capsule of life will sink down
beneath our very feet
and we will be catapulted into oblivion
on the sun's simple whim of fire.

Me and Amber

2006-06-21T20:06:00.000-04:00

Chennin blanc

2006-05-09T19:32:00.000-04:00

On the wind you sent shouting
hinting from the texture there is fear
a taste of splattered freedom
and into all you peer.
The eyes of God are unforgiving
Grievances give God godly given gains,
above abandoned Adam
elates emaciated Eve
containing cordial Chennin blanc
failing to feel fit for
procreating pitiful painful
hurtful hating humans.

Prophecized Predictions

2006-04-26T07:04:00.000-04:00

Absurdity rushes across the floor
we're left wondering what's happening
the suspense is invalid
the characters are flashy and distracting
pulling our eyes away from life
and towards computerized images.
This cannot compute.
Mechanical monsters take over.
Computers with Napoleon complexes
become our kings, ruling,
absolute monarchs,
merciless in decisions
at which point civilization is no
longer a human possession but archaically mechanic,
a simple set of rules once broken
twice shamed
thrice insulted and the emotionless ruler descends
from the heavens to dance upon your grave.

Interference

2006-04-15T23:50:00.000-04:00

The throbbing pain behind my eyes
passing back and forth
right to left
left to right
clicking and dripping the faucet drives on
my restless night distracted by feigns
cursing my mind
blinding my sight
and the pain is relentless.
Burning and trembling
I fumble across the room
slamming into the wall
the floors icy cold fingers slam into my face
the floor is sticky
and the pain is gone
my sight returns
and the horror of love reveals to me
a conquered beauty, with sins in her smile
half broken reflections a mere shadow of a human
who sold her soul to humanity for 50 bucks on the street corner.

From the Top

2006-04-07T22:38:00.000-04:00

We spawn and die
we cheat and lie
we live for nothing
and die for an idea
that irrationality
and sanity begin in media
and grass root movements start at the grass blade,
terrorist are feared and feelings fade
into a whirling mass of gyroscopic dust
made of evil and human lust
commanded by men
provided by God
is the world we made
and destruction's been bade.

Modified Rituals

2006-04-07T22:36:00.000-04:00

Daily life is subtle
rituals rule our souls
defying common life is mutiny
breaking loose and out of control
losing sanity drifting away
letting everything go, every day
until you get bored
with your irregular intentions
and you modify them
stop being habitual
have a great life
not ruled by rituals
then when the angels
come to claim your soul
you learn why it was worth it
being out of control
without a safety word
you scream for bananas
and finally you perish,
you die in this world.

Burning the Bricks

2006-03-30T07:08:00.000-05:00

Fingers flickering across the keys in the still of night
a perfect word my face shows the harboring of delight
pounding stealthily away upon the keys my fingers hound
pounding and pounding a deafening sound
pounding and pounding my demons pound
and pour from my soul onto the paper
slowly falling, ever so slowly, into the sea
indefinite rhythms false melodies
encumber my thought and elevate my spirit
release my world, wind blowing rough, thunder, lightning.
A pinpoint of light, my planet must strike
or else all is lost, to the cold dead night.

Love is Greed

2006-03-19T20:08:00.000-05:00

Sage tinted curtains
beige ceilings and floors
globes of light with teal,
shimmering,
on candy apple red rusted steel
the crystal blue moonlight
slides through the silver cracks
illuminating the maroon doors
and vibrant burnt sienna coats the scene
and as the aquamarine reflections cast
away the charcoal shadows
and as the plum stain on the beige carpet is revealed
by the teal light and the candy apple red rust on the steel,
the sage curtains float mysteriously in the crystal blue moonlight,
Wandering through the maroon door the shadows cover all
except for that vibrant burnt sierra
and coating the air is the voice of a stranger
whispering awkward lies under the aquamarine distress beacon
going off in your pretty silver tin coated mind.

The Bomb

2006-03-12T00:23:00.000-05:00

Radioactive emotions
gamma rays and pies
ultraviolet white
so light, like snow.
The motions of the ocean
deceive the clever soul
driving deeper
and deeper
desperate to behold,
the eyeless world
where the sounds receive
the image of life
and what lies beneath
[pitch black,
fuzzy sight]
the wind worn stone
and the stable pinnacle
that supports you.

Lock the Door

2006-03-11T06:38:00.000-05:00

Cold and scared alone at night
sacred shadows find delight
in the slivers of moonlight
they play alone just out of sight

Taking in the world to be and last
we see them as our dreary past
shaking in the dreams we cast
a night exposes life goes by to fast

A shiver up a cold crows spine
a silver button of moonshine
to spike a drink and miss the signs
of a glinting eye and a shattered pine

Lightning strikes to play a tune
hound to our sacrificial moon
along with a wolf's cry in June
tangent speaks and I weep to soon

Velvet trust break their binds
relieving all of untruthful minds
a desperate play at night by the blind
will only lead for me to find
a heart in a cradle
by the moonlights peak
set aside a running creek
of sedated metal full of eyes
watching all and selling lies
to the needy and the poor
all the crazies and their whores
who lost their lives to the devil’s sores
and are rotten to their very cores.

Sapients

2006-03-09T21:32:00.000-05:00

Conversion in the waters
from hollow mirrors
of silver and gold
whimsical sculptures
of the young and the old
and the waters are clearer
as if made of crystal
inferior to all
shattered
from the pistol
destroying the beauty
the body replaces the soul
heartless creatures
caught in hell's hold
nothing more
than play things of the gods
we are their servants
their heirs and lovers
we are the serpent
in the painter's mind
in Eden we reign
as the last Sapients

Revolution

2006-03-07T21:49:00.000-05:00

Shattering mirrors
seven years bad luck
so inferior
it was but a pluck
a pluck of the heart
a rip and tear
a careen of the eye
a sister to stare
green and red
a startled soul
and you have your cistern
your cavernous revenue
your life and blood
your body renewed

Simple Math

2006-03-06T21:47:00.000-05:00

Supple hues flash in flesh
catching visions
no more no less.
A borrowed breath
a ragged sigh
caught in the throat
a desperate cry
for sister currents
pulling your heart
down past your knees
your every part
stolen by the Devil
in a shopping cart
is the soul you crave
minus the heart.