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Collision: Larynx crushed//            //Enter: Pantomimic reply

Kill. Queen. Green. Flag. Capture. King. Within.

A bull and the belle…a message for…

Unmask the luchadores. Show them for all that they are

Bric-a-brac. Banderillas first. In seconds, heart-ATTACK.

What may seem like forcing, isn’t even the crux of it.

This biscuits gone stale.  Pour another round for eachthemall

Horrible what they’ve done with your grammar.

Porous sieve you’ve become.  Drifting round with that afadavit sleeping sideways off your tongue.

Don’t sleep. Don’t sit up straight. Pretend. Dream. Just pretend it’s all a dream.  Stars, they shine. Big. Bright. Here. On this, impossibly broken narrow string that once was just a normal night.

LOUD: Tralalalalalalalalalalalalalla. Sings them all.

SOFT:  whisperslayuponthetonsilstill…[trails off] \\ for silencia’s sake.

INTERMEDIUM: For thou shalt not covet thy maker’s SUN.

THE poltergeist’s a sparrow.  The cardinal’s a fence.

CRETAN: “I’m truly saddened by your loss…{Extremely Edgy}

)you should see the other guy( as I lay here in my bed…only I know. And I can’t help but cry. “How do I tell Daedalus that his toreador is dead?”


A Swift Uppercut To A Variation Of One’s Divine Self

Caterwauling from within,

A dilapidated deconstruction

Bred by inconvenience; born

Through the unusual circumstances

Courted discretely by the furrows of

But one of many, altered states of mind


Curtailed, passionately kissed, inches pronounced

Indecipherably above the location where normally

Resides the space reserved for lips


Sanctioned by crowdedness

Ransacked internally,

And yet the ovation grows loudest at such moments of

Indiscretion—to which you succinctly wipe away each tremor of saline from upon your ashen tint, allowing for the applause to ensemble truthfully, permitting yourself the vagrancy of substitution—an imaginary lapse of being, so carefully crafted from denouements cloth itself—overcome and swept up in a mistruth punctuated with a bow


Is A Spark-Plug Too Timid To Ever Be Tamed?

Sorrow is felt for the unmasked and

desolate like the winter that clings to

the hope of a late summer


Where the thread strings bare, lines

expose divulged infinities—protracted

endowments of curious fruit and bloated

realms within fragile casings


Persistence of knowledge, and it’s diligently uniformed

regalia, concentrate upon details and facts alone—prorating

discipline, like a tenderized justification born of tedious decrees =


Correct posture. A beckoning of the invertebrate—to

slither strong—amongst shattered glass and upon leaves

bled bare by the new moon’s rain, all while eclipsing shade


Solstice bourgeons vermillion sequestered from the untethered scars of a forgotten sacrament—it has yet to taste the tonsil’s groan; it whispers amongst the coagulation—only to bathe in the light of dreams


A focus group will someday encounter a mind it can

not dissect—for the knife will refuse to desecrate such

beautiful craftsmanship.



Abstraction Of Infatuation (Paralytic)

The wrinkled tarmac dreams in satin.

It’s perfunctory locale serves as ammunition—

Motivation for scaling the throngs of peril—

Otherwise known as time.


Adrift upon wreathes of sand—

The dried eyes of tears stain the sundries

Breaking fast


Abridged patterns tread the veiled scape—

Bequeathing absolution while bludgeoning all

Indicators of who I am


Turnstile apothecary

Devising thirsting schemes

Blue, green, Lavender and Red

An arc of whispered runes

Outline the weathered face

You’ve often doted daily upon


Contrivances, stillborn in the comforting frame

That is, and has always been, you and you the same


I don’t know what you’re thinking,

Yet I’m thinking the same thing


When you’re near

And I am here,

I can’t help,

But be subdued

By the sludge within, coursing through

In which, all visions become similes

For my every sight of you


All thoughts are pliable,

Flexing for the call,

All movement is tense

Until you release me from it all

Short Poem 8-16-13-3

Lost amidst the trellises of radiant glitter and crimson scaffoldings, is corded insignificance.  Such passageways endear their exteriors to those impatient with palatial gardens and the valleys of waking doldrums.  It is here, in such dominions, where the keen blend fastidiously with the ermine, slinking about in secrecy, gnawing upon the vestiges of dignity, and all the while creating a martyr’s trove of varicose reactions. Beneath this new estate, there are magnanimously enriched life forms, biding their days with the frailty of a past-lives’ prognostication citing the prominence of the days that follow suit. They flee beneath the radar of disconcerted eyes, collecting and scavenging whichever degradation their fragile frames can amass beneath such convoluted armor.  They collaborate with their brethren, engorging upon the hollow earth with their so-called civilized modernity, enriching the soil with the well-placed trinkets they’d ensnared from the last descendants of humanity itself.  These gathered idols are reminders, of just what the tiny form can conquer when cooperation and unyielding belief coincide so generously.

Thou Shalt Kill

I’m a flamethrower

I’m on fire, burning from the core

I’m a blazing gun

I’m smoking, imprinting

My scars upon the unsuspecting ones


Flash-fire, acetylene, etched to glass,

Unstable, flames ignite on premise alone

Nitro-magnetic, a glycerin unglued—a fiery speech

In a land of apocalyptic truths


Charring crisp the color’s door

Singeing all the scenery one abhors

A tornado metes infernal, basking in its char,

Evaporating things once taught that now lay scattered far


You’ve got the heartache like Jupiter,

A Crucifix, a rood, upon that hill,

Where only the crows and nomads go


When it’s down, it’s done

When it’s downed, you’ve won


And then you look skywards, upon a patronizing dawn,

And then you remember the directions you’ve left behind


And then, in circles, you covet the sparrow’s mournful song

Awake, with circumference as your guide, webs come undone

Aware, of words in falter, understanding your solution’s wrong

Unto horizons, well past the stifling shadows of a bitter sun


On my chest there breathes an adage,

In a language as dead today as it’s ever been,

And if you can understand it, then you know

And if you can read it, you better run, you better go

For within my own dominion, the adage has control


The hours therein acts the perjure

It’s sounds hold me fast in peril,

I am bound to this translation,

Where the lines spell it out succinctly,

Reading thou shalt now kill,

For each misdeed you’ve ever done


Stolen Leash





Unholy declarations devour even the purist of minds

When the purest of minds have been consumed by unholy declarations…SALVATION becomes TAINTED at best…



SEPPUKU covets Psychology… {Trembling, quivering, convulsing about} THERE IS NO ENTRY…  ONLY EXITS





Open yet oblivious. Lines of discourse dissolve into melting pots of fear—Regions fade into non-existence, strangulated by the sinewy cord of what’s been told as REAL…Dimensions shatter…as nomadic mantras infect…{coursing through UNSTABLE veins}… PULSATING…until PULSE is no longer yours alone to share…


Windows, SMASHED by invisible rocks…siding, TORN by limbs unseen…basements FLOODED by the tears of gods…foundations CRUMBLE unattended…there is no entry, only a terrifying SOLUTION…. AN EXIT out




Within the framework of

The internal PAUSE…


the body is a tempest, my tempest is STRONG

the body is a tempest, my tempest is STRONG

the body is a tempest, my tempest is STro…