5th and 43rd

Exsanguination in the darkest of alleyways, where only a flickering sputter of light permeates the afterthoughts of rats and those who've long since distanced themselves from the at-large biddings of incorporated vampires and conglomerated succubi.

The temptation to scream is ever prevalent.  Yet inactivity has rendered you mute.  Dissociation has severed your linguistic abilities clean and deep. You sit in the corners and alcoves.  You've done it for so long you remember no other way, you are invisible to the passers by and even when noticed, there isn't much left of who you once were. It's hard to fathom that this is the same person we all once knew so well. And to see you here, in such a state, I have to wonder what could've gone so terribly wrong to pen your conclusion in such a way.


and I can't help but think,
that penicillin is everywhere.

Found dead on 5th and 43rd.  A situation that easily should've been avoided.


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Shards of Mankind Broken

Nostalgia burns a fever

In the caustic river’s eye

Tidal boundaries shatter, flooding shores,

forcing debris to swim, well before it's learnt to drift

Ill-equipped thoughts addle. Matted wings resign to weight.  

Flailing, it all feels like flailing….  

The crows nest dangles. It's broken pole slivers.

Remnants linger upon distressful seas.

Venial thoughts are left to stew. Eventually weariness ripens.

The polished and hewn wilts alike.

Overwrought. Ambushed. Daylight is truncated. Evening falls to Stygian design….to those daring enough to dream.

Danger paints a dragnet from your plaster. Hunger feeds the gluttonous rill. Currents, replete with paroxysms, commiserate.

Tragedies offer casualties alone.  In such moments, mankind as a unity is shattered.  All we have is grief and mourning. 

And a river born from sorrow.

Addendum:

If you believe the vortices will calm their vehement swirl, I pray the shoreline shackle heel to sand.

If you believe absolution will quickly cast it's net, I fear that catch shall never breathe again beyond it's gnarled mesh.

If you fear that time will not heal such lacerations, I pray support is ever by your side.

Tragic Witness

Coliseums of departed faiths,

where all equilibrium forfeits,

Imbalanced by how the

Ground once shook

I am but a victim of such

Tragedy.

I watched it all.

And heard everything as well.

Therefore

I am resigned

To a life

Forever stained

With such sights

And sounds

And I force myself back probably far too often than advised

Trying, to find a way to save but one, perhaps then, it would

Be such a face my memories today would continuously trace.

Tried out a bit of different voice here and went with more of a choppy, sputtering type of style.

Sashay (Suburban Slake)

listen to ‘Sashay (Suburban Slake)’ on Audioboo

Sashay to chasse

the heel’s followed close

by feet that flow—

so smooth, it seems

as if the toes really do

float

Antigone, a girl,

condemned to death

in a tragic display,

disobeyed

the edict of a king, which

forbid the flames to encompass

the air, avoiding the traditional

sense of burial…

Toggled in immaterial surrounds—

you peer the sky for answers found,

and while minutes fleece the glass it’s

sand, down stream tears to salten your

already softened cheeks—twas when hazed

eyes did glimmer, a reflection of a sinner—daft

as the street kids would call, scaling long the rails

beside that radiating hall…

In seconds sweetly tripping breath, your blood curdled

but not cold—for destiny had, in such a somber sequence

of might, may have offered you a second chance—as here the glass

of emptiness wince would not, and there, the ledge unseen

appeared as clear as dry your voice had been…and sidling

across you’re form inched slow, until opened a concealing grate, where frame and pane connect, but are not the same, but enough is much for foot to foot to enter most forward

of arch to heel, and into safety’s unsure blanket once more…revealed

First you drank your thirst aright, and then…then

you joined your truth there at dawn

after sashaying deep

until the night

was all but 

gone