Well, I decided to clear my writing notebook up. I left the full poems I haven't posted yet, but I have hundreds of fragments and bit lines and once In a while I'll combine them up in one monster post. I'm sure many of you recall my having done this before. But anyhow, this is not one poem, it's a lot of miniature lines, stanzas, thoughts, ideas, rhymes and random scribblings. I did go through and try to create connections here and there, but didn't want to effect the "whatever" effect the pieces held. So, it is long, but it's all little pieces, so feel free to read it all if you like, or read at your leisure if you prefer that. Thanks again to everyone. With so much negativity in this world, and for me personally, still trying to crawl myself out of this hole thrust upon me a few years back, you all make it all that much easier. Thanks again.
Arms
stretched forward
hinged
just below
the
vision’s height—
a
hemline frantic and a barren stressor pained to please
Elbows
point to points opposite
Locations
left upon the other’s side—wide and widened, yet continuously widening the
distance of the air…
Knuckles
interlace as hands reverse, leaving palms hidden from the scent of vacancy’s
unwashed thirst
There
comes a point in time where every dagger stabs the man in possession of the
hilt
The
coma feeds the frenzy and the diet wins
Lost
forever on a hog tailed echo of a spiral wing
Arched
in hospital on vacation watching the ravened crazies shock the stalls with
their balderdash-inspired ribaldry and a fourteen oz. bag of salt, spread and
strewn across the black ice stash
And
whispers form
Ale
tongue diving deep into the waxen portrait of grey-faced felt, walling time,
dividing in two, the supplicants from the shortened flood of formless fools
Calliope’s
solemn dirge hums beside the whimpering well, where wishes are rued and are thusly
un-enchanted by
A
fortune telling machine
Built
by turban steel
That
ever seems to shackle
The
cards that ever bend our gleams still
The
fingers hurt,
The
wrists ache
The
knuckles stitch the pain on high, still in that capacity known as, and for, the
hidden diameters that have since lost their frame of view…flush…flash…filch…bang…a
rat-a-tat-tat-CraCK, to which The mounting tension’s sizzle slowly, slapping
back
before
the flood relinquishes it’s flowering attack
All
the while, a puppy prances across these cobbled streets
It’s
headed somewhere, but I don’t follow…
I
did consider such a path though
Yet
fainted fragrant rope burned cedar and therein lost I became, lost in plight,
tremor-sparks flickered bout the base of skull, swell till the blank page fully
animated some mysteriously ancient script to scroll
Shanty
town seems much, much cleaner than it did that night I was pursued by the
hackneyed cockerel singling with upturned shorts, heavily laden with guilty
streams of splattered stray
I
recall that butcher’s chop shop very well.
How clever-clean it was so well, shining, sparkling, cleaves and tines,
puncturing the once pleasant crowd with hunger pains so deep to purge that it
soon became the opposite of intended verse
Herenowthen,
a chorus of happy-go-listlessly heavy lilting tunes of tumultuously damaging
storms of strength unseen
and
I wouldn’t have been the victim, if I hadn’t stood their laughing in glee at
the comedic statement draped across the bloody smock the fat guy wore, besides
his lockbox armory… all in all, legally paid for…
Feigned
momentum tragically stirs the kettles
Crock…Sheppard’s
crook bent unhooked, hanging,
Aslant
off the bent foundation of toaster stands,
An
oven once stood
As
only the mourning knew
So,
well
So,
well
Never
a bad time for tea…
Hands
qwerty set and spread along
Verse
is sharp, can be retooled into song
It’s
about love
It’s
about pain
It’s
about pleasure
It’s
about shame
It’s
about greed
It’s
about meandering…
Mind
traverses the eagle’s lair
Hunting,
pecking, orders that
Ever
stir…yet…the second skimming
Seemed
to skip the second-hand’s hourly groove
Vaulting
refrains of haven’t-been(s)ipping brandy upon
The
roofs where sooty
Ash
infiltrates the crescent’s mask
Standing
alone amongst the pigeon shit
Not
knowing where to walk
Fearing
I should fall, that’s when the magic
Began…steps
opened up the night to all
Climbing
straight under a midnight’s swell
Dancing
cantilevers cock and crow
Fauntleroy
is here
So
is that sentinel James, every preaching his brand of crock-pot philosophy, always with a wicked tint of
hair, jealous, yet not really so, yet amazed as to how, one with words that are
obviously curmudgeonly spoiled could cause so much strife amongst a supposedly
happy, happy bunch
And
all I can think of, all I can do is but recall the drunk kid at the corner
stool,
“nah,
nah, nah…she’s uglier in person, believe that, believe that…they say the screen
adds ten pounds, I say they cover a lot of unfriendliness up as well…fifty
inches of
Grotesque
perhaps” to which he realized, amazingly so, as tipped as he was, he knew, he
knew the line he just crossed, “but every creature is beautiful in their own
way…”
Soft-serve
of un-dairy dream
Chocolate
flavored icing built upon the
Cone’s
waffling, as sprinkles rainbows assort
The
slopes of the triples scoop…how many licks
Does
it take?
To…
Falling.
Falling….
I
am in some other soul
Not
like that, no, I’m truly inside, within
The
flesh is altered but the mines finely foundered find of mind, will never know
as well as what it could have known so well to one day be,
a
Beautiful
dreamer on a paranoid charade
Armed
with a zephyr’s gust and a keepsake left in trust
He
barked about
Faith-and
time
In
a
Tone
and accent
We
all too well have often heard no matter which side the arch we were born to
climb
I
falter as I stage the concourse
To
repeat the sorry, tragically inspired ending again,
Just
as, might I remind you, at the point the
Story
ambled north
Vixen,
fox
Livid,
hate
Staccato
groove
And
troikas stare
Gestalt
Underpinning
Meets
the world
Under
the Waldorf’s
Historic
glare
Mind-winding
Side
sloping
Slithering
incarnation
Of
some Judas fiend
Sells
the father for a
Promise
and a noted
Safe
passage that only
Leads
to gnarled root
Falling,
falling, falling
And
the noise begins
Bloodhound
gang and streets
Align,
one cloud offers the cover
Of
a roof, burning, lit, and the other
Chirping
about came by the song sung by, some conceited skirt
Lost,
alone, cold to a cold filtered stare
Silent,
apprehensive, despite the meshing, a
Blender
of two songs that are alone yet
Together
they refuse to face the wayward sky, I
Meant
them to be like that, or, perhaps it was the air, where uneasiness
Was,
exactly that which what the cloud dweller wanted from me in the first place, in
which case,
It
was pure genius,
pure
brilliance,
even
if the bulbs not too bright
And
I remain as me, as I stand,
And
he is I, and
together
are gonna fry
Tormented
talisman
Upon
a sentry’s sky-line left
Vacant
by the snobbish songs
Of
spoofs unreeled, remembering only
How
zombie’s can be tamed if you stick them fat
Behind
the couch, as a game of video steers the wheel
Awake…
Forget
the verse
So
I forge the words into a note
That
reads
A
little like…. shorthand legalese
Inane.
Grammatically
putrid
Swords
of succubae
Teeth
of Tetley
Tea—zing
Not
the hair, not the heir
But
the lemon lingered
Pass
the steeping stone
To
the apocalyptic knife used as spoon, ever stirring, stirring, and stirring
through,
The
garlic-filled breadth of air
Row,
row, row your boat
Rub
a dub-dub, four blokes in a club
Sangria-blood
red sunset at the crack of dawn
Never
get that image out from in
And
I don’t know whether that thought consists a sin
Sword
swallowing gambler
Poor-poor
soul
Challenged
ethically to pay off a debt once forgotten yet not to be absolved, as it was a
debt accrued, nevertheless
It
was a foolish tilt,
Truly
shameful, but it was done at such a time,
That
I had completely blocked out from that particular BLOC of time
Made
to claim, the winner of the contest played, at this time’s dancing crown,
Corroded
entries into a tableaux stoned, silent shifting naught-naught with
Mimicry
and
Apes
and
Chimps
and zzzz’s to slide-rule us aweigh, unto, until we
Awakened
it to scream
Glimmering,
yet gagging still, and its geopathic shockwaves surged
completely
through and through…until, I knew, I was in
in
so,
in
so, so
deep
