Lullaby

Once I have gone

the ghosts of your discontent will devour the landscape entirely.

As an imitation of the genuine, the world will unfold as a stage that you have set for yourself, and yourself alone.

As eating in isolation has the effect of being eaten

this over-acted tragedy with no chorus and no audience.

Playing the victim, like a performance where all parties are playing the victim

Pantomime Rendering the mask of your own lies,

confronting the masks of yourself.

You will break, because you are soft.

crumble in the moment,

realistically never reaching the moment at all

lacking in the capacity to do so.  

Knowing this grants me no solace,

Sharing in some derogatory atonement.

to be released of this charade

where sirens wail in the distance

the low rumble of the streets

putting the proletariat to sleep in mechanical whispers

Glass beads

It is foreign to me

That’s why I like it

The glass-bead-game

Being played out in its most articulated level

These young men

Brought here for different reasons

Competing for different thin

Weaving it from the membranous thoughts

It is the mystery

And I pursue, stupidly

There is so much I don’t know

There is so much to understand

As I am wrought and rendered

These stupid activities

That have come to consume my life

in their complexity

I am made

simple.

  

thirst

devouring my resources like vultures

emaciated and emaciation

they land upon me like a vacant scarecrow

as a carcass being rendered by crustaceans

pulled apart with diligent little claws

I am suffocating under this veil of incompetence

And the tears are all but a play at catharsis

Pantomime silhouettes at reality

As a delectable tryst

I hunger, for the effervescent soul

Awaken something within me

As thunderous hooves rumbling against sun-scorched earth

The regency of all of my ideas

Bearing down like a raptor on fleeing prey

I am overwhelmed in the asphyxiation

How long it has been without love

My visage casting a tremendous shadow

Against the manufacture

A wild heart proliferates endlessly

Unrefined, unconquerable

yet crippled with yearning

my life is this endless, relentless adventure

with nobody to share it with

like a vortex

that holds a billion stars in place

invisible in its own magnitude

Night Cranes

There are those crepuscular moments

Where all seems right

In the setting sun

When the cranes come out to feed

Flying low over the bay

Their dark forms cutting

through the sunset

like silent black kites

they are yachts of dusky skies

behind a stiff cocktail

and hilarious company

we are made ephemeral in the laughter

shimmering in the distant darkness

they drop into the harbor

plucking fish out of the

reflective membrane of an upside-down world

they harp into obscurity

their casual patience paying off fortuitously

with the distant strumming of a guitar

I am plucking the waves of their minds

we rock through the wake

where brevity is a lantern in the darkness

effectively illuminating their humanity

in simple wisdom

framed in simple emotions

genuine and loving

unable to see the emergent night creatures

perhaps unable to see the darkness at all

Degenerate King of the Desert

 

They move like fidgety mannequins

Under the pale sunrise

That came upon Suddenly

dancing smoke clouds in the distance

shaded into the sky,

the never-ending desert

creepily quiet

with the ability to juxtapose

the macro and micro

in the same instant.  

Of feathers and fabric

I feel you through my being

you call me here before the

depths and the darkness

the light and the beauty

and all of the spaces between

to what do I owe this occasion?

I did it entirely of myself—

Because you made me this way.

Haughty and powerful

An unhallowed stamina captured

Envisioned through obscurity

We move though the vapor

This danse macabre

Wrought in fervor and mayhem.

like the volume being turned up

the sky fades in gradients

holding a magnificent pink  

that Exposes our human forms

In our worn frames

Degenerate and regal

With all of the privilege that comes with it

king of the underworld

Framed in the writhing sisters of fate

To the sound of mortal whispers

Their visages looking delicious—

until you see their ancient faces

eyes as vast as the wreckage of man

infinite in ephemerality

ancient in persistence

combatant and competitor

The game and the player

Complete, within this kingdom

the last raptor of the desert

Lekking without equal

Bathed in filth & prowess

God of a realm reduced to memory  

August 18, 2016

Guys, I cant do this.

I cant sit here and comb through this—

Looking at whatever emotional angle

As I return to the house I live at

Where discontent floats like a ghost

through a cat-scented museum

where every day is spun into the one before… and after.

I can’t care—

For the injustice, the anger, the emotion

I’m so sorry.

I can’t feel right now. In some kind of cyclical sandstorm within the depths of myself. My apathy to your perspective condition, makes me feel barren

As if; burning

in the firestorm of my everyday

hardened over my fragility

I can’t love—

I’m overwhelmed in the rage.

Consumed and distracted

In this cacophony

I want to cry out:

Relieve me of my thoughts

Lift me from this wreckage

Heal my wounds

make me whole

but my voice is swept away in the sound

diluted into absurdity

lost to conversation.

Beauty is not something to be obsessed over—

It is something that is experienced

Chiseled into us as we pass through it

And I realize so painfully
this has become integrated within me

the inconsequentiality

of any two-dimensional world.

32/100

An emerald Posse

Floating @about knee-high

Like Lovecraftian færies

Mechanized in their movements

Droning through their final moments

In the desperate search for proliferation

They are dying—

They have come here to meet their end

And I have come here; to put ideas to rest

As they list & fall from exhaustion

In this excruciating heat

 Their polished bodies become undone   

Their tiny machine parts scattered across the surface of the earth

As dreams of the future  

will never be known

entropy like a wind through the æther

blowing us all into the remnants of what we once held dear

 In the distance I feel the supercell

The dropping pressure

The forming vortex

That begins to pull everything into it

I hear the sounds of your thought

Like voices pleading out from underwater

Raptured in the storm of myself

In a Relentlessness that is drowning everything around me

Somewhere within, thunder erupts

rewritten into each pressing moment

like savagery blooming in the night

in a way I am jealous; that their journeys will end here

on this fine Augustine day

I am taken by the empathy that I will persist,

as pieces of my mental landscape

gyre to the ground, buzzing in confusion

fighting to the last second

in a hardwired fear of being

forgotten.