Black Soul Afidavit

Death on the surface of a plague,
Spewing serum in rabid abdication,

A perjurers first instinct
To rot upon that vial,
Thunderously bellowing for absolutions he devoutly hates

Finding bonds with decrepit fellowships
A putty for a craftsman with distinctly darkened vines

Cradling close the dearly fallen,
An appetite whets upon in blackened anticipation

And as a feast of blood sates his wicked tongue
The beast acknowledges the impossibility of nourishment
As fatal pangs asphyxiate the morsels just devoured
The cravings emulsify within
Delineating the unrequited compensation
Delivered to those who discard the graces bestowed when choice was still free.

The Masthead

Label me an infant

label me a fool

do not trust the anarchist

preaching about rules

label me a scapegoat

label me a tool

do not dam the floodgates

lest inside they form a pool

label me a train-wreck

label me as blind

its good to poke holes in theory

so truth can breathe in time

call me what you like

call me what you don’t

it doesn’t matter to me;

I’ve learned to laugh at all your jokes

labels are scattered; they’re thrown around

labels are but words; always lost, but never found

they have no bearing; they play no role

in who I am, to what I do

they have no influence; they have not a say

as to what fate finds in store for me

your words fall deaf, meaningless and weak

never providing the satisfaction that you seek

your words bring pain to others, highlighting their many scars

but you should be reflecting, as to where the damage starts

your words are but a mere transference

of what you’ve been and where and who you are

sticks and stones…if it appeases you…

just know…that for each judgment cast

I’ll shed a tear in prayer for you—

Forever using those labels as my mast

Be sure to head on over to D'verse for Open Link Night.  The doors open up in just a few short minutes. Starting at 3pm the poetry is always fresh on tap. And while you're there, share a poem of your own. Cheers. 

Mechanical Claws and Guillotines

Chasing the mechanical claw

Into cabanas, run to strip

Outfits clipped before the Tiki flame

         Discovering hanging nails

Feel no pain

         Fragile dichotomist

Blending thick

                  The rationale of a slouching pessimist

Into the frothing arms of hope rustlers- dribbling along, hair slicked back as they pass along, equipped with antenna high, enough to catch the temperaments wide

Vanity is proclaimed

Acclimated as order

Shown the seams

Bathed with justice’s daughter

         Knock on door makes a hollow sound

Hollow flavor once more, even though the scene couldn’t be more clarified

Occupado/occupied

         Just in case foreign fingers flick knuckles into

Rat-a-tat-tat, rapping again and again..

         Shut up I swear I’ll kill you…

Arresting looks received

Eyes start drifting

She better not reach for the buckle

Better not kick the shoes on

                  A MAN CAN”T PERFORM WITH ALL THIS PRESSURE

Quarantine

Five fellows dined on a meat-filled donut

To which they exposed their innards out

Created mass discombobulated screams

Breckenridge

Skiing

Slopes of downy flakes

Frosting up the arterial landscape

Rubbing palms together

For warmth

Then use that heat

To wipe away the fogged window space

Buckle up

         A job well done

                                                      Rolling eyes

Toss a coin

         To the sentinel by the door

A timid fringe look upon the scowling upper lip

         Twip twip…peacock’s got some plumes

Kick up those spurs

         Clink clink…

Looks they come but I don’t care

         I’m rocking away in old justice’s chair

All darn night if I choose

Not a law around here I can’t abuse

Broken staccato

Encumbered legume

Senility

Lying fleshed

Provoking enjambments

Hardly created for purposes of this ilk

Guillotines, HA,

Sharp blades to necks

Peacocks

Exposed

HA, Guillotines

Poached remnants

Of puffy lips

Chasing the mechanical claw

Sometimes leads you to the bull in the center of the bar

Some days you’ll find justice saves

         And others…

You’ll find not to piss justice’s daughter off

Bounty

Undocumented

Roped into a corner

By men with dollar sense in their eyes

         “Would it make a difference, any at all, if I blamed it on the man outside the stall?”

         Arms held by each the companions’ swift marching feet

         So fast in fact the floor beneath

         Became but grazed by the tips of my feet

Into a room,

So decadent and dark

Through the seventies beads used for a door

         And their stands old Justice with a glass and a cigar

“I don’t suppose that’s water there in that glass?”  trying my best to speak in a similar accent

         Notched his brow and tipped his brim

                  Never once connecting Vis a Vis to dear old me

But I Knew, once he said, “Clear the room” that the outlook for me would be mighty grim.

         Then he spoke but one more time as his daughter waltzed through the opposite side, dragging something behind her back,

         “DISASSEMBLY” Justice sharked out again, just one word in a tone that couldn’t be proper for a man of law

         Wriggle, jiggle, tossing about, yet I couldn’t elude the grunts holding my arms

And at this point the glowing daughter embraced my face, was but a little bit ago-sure she could taste her taste, but even so…

         She yanked at the rope that she dragged tow,

Berated sure, but I’ve got tough skin,

         Confidence in the system beamed from within

Lawmen won’t do what dangerous folk think to do

That’s when the confidence drained, as the daughter’s gift

Came to be saw, to which all could be said “ Guillotine, ha, ha, ha”

Punishment

CRIME

AND PUNISHMENT

The Asking

And the receipts we keep

Fleeting hands of a wooden God

Counts the hours till a readied time

Where dementia will cease, the suffering will end

Could there be fragments left

Of that person I knew long before

Someplace behind the diabolical and the discontent

Could that person still breathe inside?

Or are these thoughts but deluded dreams,

Are your eyes even salient anymore?

I know they tear in joy

When your victim begs for you to stop

But these tears you share are nothing

But an anticipatory salivating ploy

I cycle this progression more times than I should

Begging, seeking, praying I find the version I once knew

I struggle, I fight, yet to forget, I too must overlook all the cries

Sisyphus acts a lot like me

A sacrifice would imply I’ve given something up,

But to forgo without a reason,

Outside the cloak of lazy

I have no permission to use such a word,

Another time to open my eyes,

I still see a darkened chamber

Where a brief triangle of light pervades,

Bound by not knowing what else to do,
Arise, awaken,

The day is half way through,

Hours grow strained

And time seems trivial

Information is thrown about

So quickly I cannot reflect

Before the next barrage comes to,

A cyclical persistence and the rut it forms

Endless walks with déjà vu, an automaton I’ve become,

Pushing rocks up the same old hill,

Imprisoned by the actions of a former self,

No voice or choosing which stone I touch,

Ever-knowing the outcome, with each push I wait for progress to appear,

The view is of dreams, with hope alive, and then I reach the peak,

Then what follows has before.   Tomorrow I shall push some more.