Can't Break Me Down

You can’t break what’s already broken

You can’t take what’s already been stolen

You can’t

You can’t break

You can’t break me

You can’t break me

You can’t break me down

You never could.

When the head hangs lowly

And when comfort’s gone astray

Just remember, it could not have wandered far from here…

And when you need it,

When you need what’s inside

The heart will find,

The heart will find it there

And then, all things

All those dark clouds and shaded smiles,

Will become those shapes, the epitomes of clear

You always knew, exactly what to say

Heart Song's Devastation Device

Corridors of ancillary porticos and retractable switchblades, Macrocosmic sentry’s patrolling the scenery’s v-cut scape,

In their boots, the sole is clothed in lathered concrete—

Worn

Sworn

Torn

Devastate

It is but a foundational approach of beheading—An arsenals instrument, still clanging, even on into the post-mortem survey of disciplinarian design.  Shackles are chafing the inner thigh—its lines are brutal and corrupt, bankruptcy in a cauldron of maleficence, proposing nightly, during the encore, upon the stage crafted by a lightning strike—filibusters become the lucre, the damning suet of exsanguinated space

Damned.

Crumbs

Of

Neer-do-alls

Devastate

And then the heart sings, in putrid voices made from crocodile tears. They are all combusting at a euphoric pace, blinding the children and heiresses alike.  With dreams of tomorrow, they thank you for the kindness you share with them now. Their liner notes have since been blurred, recollection transformed into an absurd shade of paste-framed blonde. 

Devastate

Alleviate

Pulsate

Palpitate

Crush.

Swing.

Heart-aches

This sculpted axe swings it’s arms short to long. While the pastry chef expands his tonsils, still reddened by the convoluted inhalations that have merged too often with the birth canals of silent screaming.  Squelch. I love that word. It’s influx settles high. Into, and exchanged from without, the assistance of a predisposed effigy, some creature you wish you never had known, all this, during the moment of argh.  The agony of the ecstasy…the shifting sounds of sighing SHHHHHHHH’s!!! And listen, to the highways divided and the sky, as it sends forth its parade of effervescence, one, not yet diluted by life’s hologynic rapture—

Diodes

Implement

Salvation

To those

Of us,

Those among us,

That still cares….

I sing with a vociferous tongue.

My heartstrings are frayed

My range has betrayed my trust

Drawing mute, I reflect and clutch,

Unto a prismatic unveiling,

A claw used to scratch away the damnedest itch..

Simply put

Devastation,

Devastation to,

The most heart-curdling degree

Shared with the outstanding poets at D'verse for the incredibly potent evening of poetry that is Open Link Night.  Haven't had the time to properly spend swimming the seas of poetry lately. I've been in the middle of something and trying to figure things out for myself logistically in the meanwhile.  Writing alone has been much more sparse than I'd like.  I have done a fair share of writing lately, but still far too less than I'd like.  But again, it is something that I'm working on, trying to regain the groove of writing and reading the amazing poetry that is available across the world daily in the poetry blogging universe.  Hopefully things will trend back and soon for me.  However, until the end of the month at least, I doubt I'll get much time online, let alone the time to write and read, as I'll be taking a flight out west for that time and while I'll have my Ipad handy, it's the wifi only kind, so, I'm somewhat at the variable fate of wifi availability.  Anyhow, for those who follow regularly, thanks, I do appreciate it, and again, hopefully I'll get back into a regular routine sooner than later.  Until then, thanks for being there and bearing with me as I attempt to logistically sort things out.

The Senseless Spending of A Shopaholic.

It was half past four

And a ring stopped Melanie Moore

While she was but two feet from her door

She had to know, she had to know

So down went the purse, off came the coat

Ring a ring and ring again

Yet instead of answering the call

Melanie Moore stalled and stalled

Waiting to here what the message said

It was half past four

And the caller chose to ignore

The answering machine of Melanie Moore

Who picked up her things and left through the door

A few hours went and Melanie spent

Too much time and money in the store

Which was nothing new for Melanie Moore

Dollar bills would fly, and many swipes of cards were sent

And on went Melanie Moore

As she was not done

She’d just yet begun

Spending the inheritance

Of her first born son

Melanie Moore

Oh Melanie Moore

You shop and shop

Having no reality

That one-day, oh what a pity,

The bottom of your endless crediting

Would certainly drop

But Melanie Moore would not hear

Logical arguments to what she held dear

Store to store went Melanie Moore

And her husband simply shakes his head

Each time he moves boxes away

Simply in order to watch his flat screen display

Freshly to the wall from the store

Bought by,

To no surprise

His loving wife,

The one and only

Miss Melanie Moore

A Song for the Doubter

listen to ‘A Song For the Doubter’ on Audioboo

You got people telling you

You don’t know what your doing

You got people telling you

You got no place pursuing

                                                  But they don’t know

              But they don’t know

Just cause something’s never been done

Don’t mean it can’t be done

Illogical (E-Lodge-Ick-Uhl)

Is

Phenomenal (Fee-Nom-N-Uhl)

When the

Impossible (Imp-Pah-Sip-Uhl)

Becomes

Probable (Prah-Bib-Uhl)

Then real (Re-Uhl), then real (Re-Uhl)

You got people telling you

There’s no point in dreaming

You got people telling you

There’s no reason for believing

You got people telling you

There’s no chance at succeeding

     But they don’t know

              But they don’t know

Just cause something’s never been done

Don’t mean it can’t be done

Illogical (E-Lodge-Ick-All)

Is

Phenomenal (Fee-Nom-N-All)

When the

Impossible (Imp-Pah-Sip-Uhl)

Becomes

Probable (Prah-Bib-Uhl)

Then real (Re-Uhl), then real (Re-Uhl)

Always going to be people saying

There’ll always be someone talking

But they’re isn’t ever going to be

Someone like you/Someone like me (Repeat while fading out)