WHERE are my poets? I wish to play
a game known as, “Exquisite corpse.”
It also goes by, “Cadavre exquis.”
We should collectively gather
our words and images so lovely.
I cleaned my parlour for this game,
and have wine and foods for all!
Let our hearts and souls gather!
:: 08-30-2014 ::
THE embryo’s skinny fists reach the skies
and hides a face yet born
in this summer of burning children you
call a name and the world is asleep.
the fitful swings the stuffed animals
the tired friends called warm winds
have long thoughts of buried snakes
and within the many undreamed thoughts
of a lost world the embryo’s skinny fists
tear the skies apart — the revelation
of new nails grown for 2 months that never
had a drink of the blood you spilled //
some hang their hand and drown within fear
yet, and, with unborn eyes very open, to pretend
a gently passed hand over a baby’s head —
THIN new hair that does not die, long nails
within a soft chest — licking the bloodless
wounds of survival.
The sound of the surgeon’s scalpel.
:: 06.20.2020 ::
INVISIBLE and broken
are we
unknown to our own kind
are we
indefensible and ruined
are we
Our life is mystery
Our life is heartbreak
Our life is evil
Our life is worst off
together
so broken
and shameless
No heartbeat between us
divided between day & night
gazing from the gutter
of a private dark heaven
is our life
Getting closer to god
Getting closer to life
Getting closer to meaning
it will never be
it can never be
forever stalking
those unlike you and me
We are the creatures
of the Night.
:: 09-29-2018 ::
WHAT fear that burns
that all the eye can see
the morning bird upon a tree
such burning truth that melody!
sweeping morning clear the night
erasing visage of thick-white fog
and the mortal soul
who is lost within last night
upon this beautiful day
of mourning light!
:: ~~ ::
Today I threw up breakfast and my platypus licked it
a regurgitation of heartfelt platitudes on the floor!
Today I kissed the toe of a gnarly God who likes
to burn ants with stolen lens
somewhere within my swamp-born brain
I have almost a clear thought; like the chimps behind the
clear-glassed walls that angels see through
and I’m ashamed — a diaper upon my head
a shit stain on my heart like all the horrors
on two legs begging more
:: – ::
Today it was the, “short-sharp” pains
of a 5th Avenue-dressed-like soul catcher
that teased my spirit to life. Tomorrow
I believe the Southern attire with bare teeth;
a Mississippi-mud soul variety who will greet
me. The crickets have clamped their thorax-
heart and swamp frogs bellied up in boiling
bayou of THAT ONE. There’s still Southern
Comfort!
:: 03-23-2015 ::
Don’t let the light shine upon me–
I am the need, usurping life.
I am the ghost of need.
And you, so nice in all your life,
took me inside and gave to me
a reason to live– I threw it all away:
don’t let the light shine upon me —
I am the need, usurping life.
I’m the ghost of need.
I am the city inside of you.
People living, walking, sleeping,
loving, and dying.
And the justice, jury, and the one
who wears a black hood:
throwing the switch watching you
dying wishing you
never had — never let
the light shine upon me
I am the need of the dark light
:: 10-25-2014 ::
my profoundly friend
in my daisy-eye
summer breath,
one black day —
who turned diamondHeart
into coal (it happened)
beneath an artist’s hand
where i forgave forgiveness
that i(my heart so such)
writes and paints skies
of fiend between immortal friends
:: 10-13-2014 ::
A walk though my valley
and even death —
laughs, and snow-shower
— lives disheveled
sparrows
: hope! it’s very small
my delicate dying paradise!
What’s cold to him
makes that thing live
trip, sliding-banking
death, a thing nothing like
twenty-three and living
in a violent paradise
A universe full of motion
and the power of money
hour after every dying hour
watch out where your talking
the devil smiles sodium lamp
— light in my darkened heart
We’re all living in a delicate
situation, a dying paradise
where mothers and fathers too
contemplate skipping life
for that dying paradise
We’re all living, oh yeah
in a world of hurt and pain
We’re all living, hell yes
in a dying paradise!
Where death is nothing but
a heartbeat away and we sing,
“what’s cold to him makes
that thing live, trip, sliding-
banking death, a thing nothing like
twenty-three and living within
a violent paradise!
:: 09-22-2014 ::
 | asthaisha on L I S T E N |
 | Abhir Khanna on A LARGEST NIGHT |
 | kgbethlehem on MISSISSIPPI RIVER |
 | my valiant soul on DEPARTURE (EPROBLES) |
| kgbethlehem on MISSISSIPPI RIVER |
