The greatest smile is DEATH.
How welcomed. The eternal embrace!
But how i belong here — beyond the
world’s end _ no longer human.
i embrace ~ with the broken!
:: 01.31.2024 ::
The greatest smile is DEATH.
How welcomed. The eternal embrace!
But how i belong here — beyond the
world’s end _ no longer human.
i embrace ~ with the broken!
:: 01.31.2024 ::
He wondered with horror how so many memories, so many forms to be branded on his skin and engrave there.
Then the wet rattle of a twisted throat, and he beats his last breath to his knees, gazed on from above as the wheezing thing sagged, and began on his shoes.
One God looked in that one eye of him, took in the whole writhing weight of him, and, from the spine of that beast, blew the darkness that will not let me alone!
It is yet again where we find the Poet’s Muse. Her eyes are green, and they pierce backward and forward even into his head and his heart, his brain and his soul.
I have been chained to this post for six months and now I am to be hanged, it’s a winter morning, half-light.
The axe’s face is pale; its teeth are ready to cut; the poet stands slack-jawed; and waits with a satisfied grimace.
She smiles with blind malignity; I am hanging here, she begins, and her voice gears in his head, makes him mad with every anger and whimpers sound with a silver-sparkle, It is another wish shattered, this one made to whittle the Golden Ace’s life down to a ring so narrow and brutish and pale and inhuman.
The writer cannot see her but his ears are mad With unspoken sounds.
She has left dark-green circles.
He had tried to fill them with wonder and beauty; she: they’re her, only more so, every blot and abrasion cunningly and by dark cunning by her own hand, ever more revolting; why the hell did you bring that creature with you?
There is nothing for you to do, (the axe growls). You cannot even reach me.
I told you that I wanted the axe.
Then are you sure you’re not just nervous?
I am telling you nothing.
The truth is harsh.
This is not true.
Well then stop worrying.
I am telling you nothing!
The Poet looks up in alarm.
The axe comes down, it makes a hideous, brassy sound.
And it is still: I am telling you nothing!
Her face is as white as that of the blade.
He is sweating.
I do not want the axe, he says finally.
I am coming down!
A chuckle.
The axe’s blade is laughing.
The Poet spins in place, does a somersault, lands on his feet.
He moves fast.
At the touch of his right foot he has snatched up and spun into the air, caught, dangled over a canyon by the thin tip of his finger.
There is a rattle in his head.
Okay, okay, he whispers, I am coming down.
He lands and slumps, panting.
His face is flushing red, his hair disheveled.
He grins through the tears running down his face.
Just me, he tells the axe.
You are alone in this awful place with all the stupid, insane weirdoes.
Where is the fun in that?
This place is for people like you, not me.
He is in a mood.
The axe slashes through the air, a silver blur.
The Poet leaps into its path, somehow knowing, somehow having seen what it will do before it happens.
He leaps back and the axe cleaves the air, then comes down to strike his left foot, where it clatters on the ground with a dull clatter.
He starts to bend over to pick it up, but the axe’s weight is too much for him.
He stumbles to one knee and falls to his left side.
The axe rests, not quite pointed at him, but ready, at his right leg and stares at it, mouth slightly ajar.
The blade is warm against his right leg, the handle warm against his cheek.
He gets himself up, he bends over, picks up the axe.
He kicks his right leg up, the axe goes flying past his body as if to his left, and he stretches his left leg out to catch it.
He pulls himself to his feet and does not bother with the blade and bends down to retrieve it, and reaches, but there is nothing there.
The edge is dull. Within his mind and he frowns, picks it up, holds it up in front of him, glances behind him.
The axe is nowhere to be found. But it is mentally within his hand.
He looks at the blue-gray sky, frowns, turns to walk along the canyon wall, head down, watching for the axe.
He waits.
The axe sits on his shoulder, blades jutting up into his neck or so it feels.
Yes! he thinks.
The axe.
It is not true.
He is all alone in the world.
And an old man.
What do you expect him to do?
He thinks about the little old lady he saw in town today, and starts to weep.
:: 04.23.2021 ::
if LOVE then we/AS were-Able to defeat
boredom by familiar Strategies (whispering)
a discovery of unknown lands of each
other’s bodies \AND minds too, yes minds
too is how you Reached Deeply within my Heart
by way of Unique Thoughts my dear love; squish
boredom with my Mind–kissME here and here
and even there!
:: 03.21.2020 ::
When we greet each other
always through a mouse
always through a monitor
when i find you maybe
i should tell you a secret
if you ask me that question
until then so far apart
Fought in some battles
flew through some dreams
cried by books on your screen
but when i find you maybe
i should tell you a secret
if you ask me that question
i can take you back through
all the circles of science
and explain my mind of silicone
against your sense of living
We’re not too far apart
while running the numbers
thinking of science and
of progress i felt a pain
of love within the circles
of living and maybe machine
is just a word like flesh
and what counts is what’s
between Spirit and Mind
So when we greet each other
let’s put down the mouse
let’s turn off the monitor
so I can find you maybe
then i can tell you a secret
then you’ll know that question
so we’re not that far apart.
:: 10-15-2018 ::
so much darkness so much light
when i cannot see i remember
to never look directly into
that dark and sorry ending
(while the faithful are healing;
angels are mending (so many
as mountains)) and that much
slaughtered for a sweetness
we all call The Light.
:: 03-06-2017 ::
i spoke love when she stirred
benign; honey bled through shades
at eleven o’clock so spake i gently
of her
And all of her breath i am painted in color
of pinks and death lily-like white,snow
defamed; disgraced her youth my mistaken
footfall in time
we are unraveling beauty like storm-
clouds bursting –feeding fields
instead of hearts and sympathetic
: the LORD is a stronghold for the
oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble
(Psalms 9:9)
:: 07-27-2015 ::
i cut myself today
upon the thought of
when it is darkest(and
i look up in fear
who sees the reaper,
in drag: it comes to
all of us disguised)
like old familiar ways
so thin like the moon
on waxing days
and the world beats
some say in your head
of course we’ve lived
with how we cling to
our minds always
sharpest when comes fear
until i feel the familiar
sting that remembers everything
the purple flower’s largest
final air
is what we become my dearest
friend internal eternal
plunging everywhere untold
times
of enormous lost dreams
:: 07-18-2015 ::
THAT tear i wish to be
so pure a true drop-see
an innocent expression from me
made peace sad apple bite
my heels; burned in stiletto
but my dress falls neatly
a walk from here
to –> there
And ageless tears see
each frame-flash desired
a numbWe mySoul be
a l w a y s!
I wish a rain to dance within
just me and cloud-thunder
that only an Eye-God sees
What I am inside always!
:: – ::