Thursday, April 13, 2017

mud

the sea is stretched out
like a rubber band
till the horizon
as far as the eye can see
it's taut, ready to launch
a missile towards an unsuspecting target
the sea is
waiting for me
but I can't go yet, no
there is a quicksand traveling with me
hands and feet stuck in the mud of my fears
i keep the mud wet with my collection of tears
all the anger, all the rage
i stick fingers down my throat
vomit poetry on this digital page
while my head is engulfed in a jagged cloud of pain
a little piece of my heart remains
in some forgotten mountains
as a hobby, just a hobby
i build pieces of my walls with my quicksand
just a man dealing with strange thoughts
thoughts no one can comprehend
and if my walls are not enough
if these bricks are much too rough
i'd build fences on top of them
trust me when i tell you this
these walls are not for keeping you out
they're here for keeping me in
i sit here in the prison of my making
silently rocking, smiling, shaking
my masks are wearing masks
and the man in the mirror always grins back at me
asking me if i'd ever see the sea

Sunday, April 9, 2017

bees

i've got bees in my head
yes, sir a full hive
they buzz around all day
24/7 alive

a live wire of my thoughts
i think even when i'm thinking
in the quagmire of my head
i'm so slowly sinking

but the bees grab my hair
and they keep pulling me up
i tell them to let me drown
but the bees give no fucks

we're your thoughts, you fucking ass
we just can't let you go
we're in this together, fucker
don't you already know?

so i surrender to these bees
and they fill my head again
i think i should stop thinking
but i'm addicted to the pain
---
Procrastinating parrots propped prophesizing prophets permanently punctual.

Friday, March 31, 2017

Not In Days

I woke up a millennium ago
Stitched my eyelids to my brows
I've been walking these wastelands ever since
Till how long, fuck knows
My open eyes have seen it all
How kingdoms rise
How civilizations fall
But I've longed, oh I've longed
For just one thing
Through it all
To put my face on a pillow soft
A bag of feathers to keep my head aloft
Just the image makes me want to weep
Oh how I wish I could go to sleep
And then I'd sleep and I'd dream
I'd not twist or turn
I'd just lie in my bed and burn


Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Opened A Vein

the sky is a filthy mouth
open in a maniac grin
a demented black hole sucking sin
too much feedback to take it in

reshaping fucked up realities
twisting colors into infinities
dreaming dreams of death and doom
civilizations buried in underground cities

sit back, grab a drink -- relax, my friend
we're here to watch it all burn down
to dust, ashes and a strange crop
take a bite of the chewing gum of hope

now stare at the teeth of clouds that grin
snapping shut like a trap around my shins
the teeth they chew like a dog, and so do i
my chewing gum of hope is stringing thin

---
I built a spaceship from chewing gum and hope

Sunday, March 26, 2017

clockwork lover

the doctor smiles at me
under the frigid lights
there is no need to worry, he says
everything is alright

i see the nurses gather round
like vultures on a dying man
the doctor wields his scalpels
do i spy a tremor in his hands?

they pump me full of great drugs
someone puts on some heavy music
the nurses take turns to give me hugs
but the drum beats are making me sick

finally the doctor is done
he hold his trophy high in his hand
a heart -- red, violent and beating still
is replaced by a clock in a can

--
don't ask me why, ask me why not.

Saturday, March 25, 2017

In The End...Only Smoke

and so
the war is done
fields are strewn with dead
carry on, carrion

blood rusts the ground
a muted sun bursts with hate
no cries, no one begs for mercy
the dead have sealed their own fate

a hole opens up in the sky
a host of valkyries descends
they walk among the dead, empty handed
all same, the dead -- foes and friends

in the end, only smoke
the smoke of life ending
once we're done pretending
isn't all this, but a joke?

--
Tonight's music is stairway to heaven and unleashing the bloodthirsty.

Time to re-roll the poetry machine.

Monday, March 13, 2017

the circle

the circle opens
sharp prongs of a ring
the animals walk in
to hear the ringmaster sing

the crack of the whip
the thwack of the chair
if a beast manages to slip
it's shoved back in its lair

the ringmaster swings
he spins and he twirls
the curve of his mustache
makes puddles out of girls

as the lights dim and dimmer
he sits in the cage alone
and the ghosts crowd around him
in the space that he calls home