...i lost you in the morgue...

I lost you in the morgue...

Somewhere in-between mom's apple pies,

And endless weekend fireflies.

Lies a small smell, a memory,

An all too downer smellory.

The idea of a once remembered sin,

That quite to my chagrin,

Did actually factually happen.

The gap in fluid love,

And oneness drowned,

In a tiny puddle of mud,

And misplaced ground.

The smell of her perfume,

Dashed on the rocks by a tomb.

Forgotten popcorn,

And other lovers scents,

Skewered on the scorn,

Of a man misspent.

The smell of life,

That’s passed and left,

Side by side,

With babies breath.

Rattled saddled,

Soldiers for battle.

Blood poured fast,

Like wine to a glass.

Better or worst,

Drank or thirst.

They did their best,

And now it hurts.

That I know,

And their family doesn’t.

Didn’t,

Does,

Will.

They are gone,

Were gone,

To be gone,

Forever.

Decomposed roses.

I had to take a detour,

Boots on the floor.

Ground,

Dirt,

Sand,

Blood,

Trash,

Death,

Rot,

Snot,

Not,

Alive…

The surprise,

Are eyes,

In the skies,

Forever to remain allied,

With our good side.

A million unknown soldier angels…

Always just watching,

Protecting.

Deflecting asteroids and battling space popes.

This is what I imagine vallhallians do in their spare time.

After a soldier passes,

Masses of love reborn.

In torn teardrops,

In rippled stillness,

In crippled resilience.

In the makers will in this game of, yes, death, death, death, yes,…but love, so so so so, much love…love…love.

My minds readjustment was broken upon impact but I was chosen to live…or to exist anyway…

Locked in clay,

Or out to play,

Either way,

The saliva is real.

The taste on my tongue,

My finger and my thumb,

Some….internal,

Organ’s rumble.

Splashes of love,

In a pool of fear,

I fear,

It’s too late.

Too late to talk,

To write,

To spite,

To paint,

To profess,

To confess about my sin on your minds mantle.

I hate control on the whole.

Bathe me in a sea on unknowingness.

Regress my mind into babysitter door dreams.

Show me the split seams of reality.

Fill the loss with fluffy overflow.

Let my blood bathe in a rave of ecstatic erratic love making.

And when my only prayer comes in the form of, “Oh my God I’m gonna cum….”

Please understand I’m only human.

I can’t control all of me if I tried, if I died.

My souls searching for wholeness in another cardiac rhythm pattern beating close to my own cardiac rhythm pattern.

When I called,

That day.

From the barracks,

On the balcony.

You told me,

“I figured you’d go.”

And I didn’t know,

How fated it all seemed.

Joining in a hurry of flash paper and comeuppance for my past lovers, I smothered the flame of a young man and flooded it in sticky tar burn pits and moth ball blankets.

In the dark there was a light in the distance but the oncoming train ran me over and left you crippled.

Temporarily.

Only in my arms.

The harm I bled to your soul,

Kills me whole.

Reevaluates my coordinates,

Steals the show.

My face too brittle now,

To show the truth,

Dies upon the undertow,

Of my own uncouth.

My incense wafts,

Time in waves.

My mind,

Obviously unwholey.

Bestows me,

Pain.

Rain,

Running,

Purple flats,

Sad cats,

Hyper dog,

Morning fog.

Its sad,

With all I learned,

In medic school,

I never,

Learned how to fix…

A Broken Heart,

A Relationship.

A Bond.

Cologne and perfume,

Cut grass and balloons,

Flowers and spliff smoke,

Alcohol and egg yolk.

Campfires and smores,

New cars and shores,

Cinnamon and hickory,

Rain and the chimney.

Smores…shores….

Well I suppose somewhere in there, deep between the lines, lies where I lost you in the morgue.

...strapped...

stripped, strapped, and stripped again, for the fin in dory’s story of finding a new sun. fighting on through that burning day, peeled to the mattress like solvent glue for you, no you, no that other girl over there…just lolly-gagging in the effervescent wholly holy fight for my soul. struggling to maintain a direction or relationship to save my life. just a single lonely sailor drifting out across the sea to be. crying for my one to be. back to being stripped and dipped again in the molasses of sticky bureaucracy of and for my soul. i find a sober mind like pin-prick injustices though my being,… seeing the true light of being teething or a loose knot sandwich. for whether or not I am of my own accord will make the difference in being. seeing the chattering clattering souls delve in and out of the local jails impales my spirit with shit so stunk it rots corpses like a 1,000 year old whiskey. to see this plan for righteous adventankerous witherdoings i hold true to what i know. the snow falling like fresh angel powder. the heat of the summer boiling the lakes and ponds to bombs of passionate kisses and wishes from puppies and kitties. stalling yet stalling for the falling of loves inner light in the fight to battle rattle the true core of what we implore as love-making. the sight saddled breath left in the hole of the burning womprats nest. the holding and bestowing of spirit to the dearest. making love in a sweet sticky bath of pheromonal and hormonal wonder. and me, found alone un-stoned at least but with a beast of burden so cacophonally confounding it hurts my mind.

...stripped...

stripped of all my writing tools, the booze, cigarettes and weed, I need to find a new way forward, toward a new past. jail sentences and prison threats lay dangling like cat toys for my consciousness to play with throughout the day. old lovers like reveries playing with me. never to be found. un-sounded and mightily depressed. laughter in the echo at my let go of specific lovers leaves me wanting to curl into a ball, hurl the whiskey though my veins like dames asking for it. cannabis mistress no more i implore for a more thorough examining of my wrongdoings. finding peace amidst the fight i struggle to write under duress of a cleanly and pin prick sober mind. the beer oh dear and the marijuana wanna find me again in a dark alley and stab me full of life sentences. sober house searching for nothing, stuck, stuck, just stuck. nothing to live for, no urge to shower or brush, just touching the lips of death like a breath from a devil. devils breath coursing through my being, seething into the demise of fruition and maturation. just stuck. frustrated like an un-mated marsupial i spiral down into depression. not feeling, just reeling in a space of hatred for my common man and no plan I see from God, should it ever decide to hobble through my door.

...oh dear...

oh dear, the beer has spilt into spirits, fine wine, and lots of sweet sticky smoke. my whole home splitting yet again across land and sea, the speak easy gin mill hooch parlor of my dreams shelfed for punishment of a crime. redacted statements of over joyous occasion slammed to the wall for a stall of market and breadth of breath. my words don’t have to match or dance in accordance to this floor dance but simply sieve the truth from lies. my ties to that felony escaping me. running as fast as possible though dry tundra of spirit. claiming whole upon redaction my thoughts land restless in the moonlight of a temporary home that broke my back and tried to break my neck. now on to bigger and better circumstances i freeze as i speak into whole water mist. crippling circumstance and dead plants. i wonder why I trudge on through the yearning for more. exacted like a knife through my hearts infractions to the game. 5 days until release into the wild, pre-trial spinning off for a dated treatment of my service to this country. seething like breathing dragons they clench onto my being millisecond by millisecond, trenching the benched wafting of a seeming loser who can’t fit through the door. I cry no to this holding of soul, this clashing rattle for support and rapport. Dashed upon the rocks like babies breath death.

...the entombing of my soul....

writing free, writing me. writing anywhere but where I’m supposed to be. crippled crutch of a bunch of past mistakes and errors. my stoop with raven in northern oregon, pour it on me so lightly. these days pass like half forgotten nightmares. the past, dashed upon my tomb with doom from my actions, my words split surge across her mind like an untimely visit from death. i trudge on through shattered after effects of my soul destroyed on impact. redact the lines so fine from the seas in me and her. soaring, whoring, deploring the deplorable actions of i. why lie? why live? this life so amassed by pipe bombs and war songs,…my soul should split shift to the rift in the atlantic, my panic and freeze step questions the morality of why i exist. land torn and seas split. the day i live or die doesn’t seem to remind the gods that i exist or persist. just hail smashing, rotten fruit bearing, of the entombing of my soul. broken whole upon the deflecting of love from my once whole bidding.

...the hacienda’s guitar...

…i don’t want to remember, the life, the dreams, the split seams in the sofa meant for two, seating one. one, me. alone, stoned past, hashed out to the max. yearning for one more toke, to choke back some vodka in a half-remembered day-mare. i don’t want to remember.

last night like an asteroid splitting the night sky you appear in my dreams. me and you, remembering and singing the praises of the old days. i’m surprised i wasn’t awoken with the smell of tobacco and stolen whiskey.

the days of our past, just smashed like age old reveries haunting me. another affair with a dare to come back to you. something in my sub-conscious tearing at my soul to make you whole. when all i do is sing praises of your days.

if i could, i would rearrange whole the toll we placed upon each other and smother one another in molasses and sweet sticky love-making syrup. tear up the bad days and replace them with something more foundational for our relational toll.

but all i’m stuck with is a protection order from another state and a death stare from you in my objectionable reality.

refract with me into trapeze flips and skips of the flip book into something more atoning for our home. my home. my stoned face staring at your goofy baked smile, laughing at something you just can’t quite place, at our second place, in parker. kicking it, and kicking me out before i could shout that tonight was gonna be a good night.

i suppose these poems are for me, and me alone. i write to the daylight, the sun strife, the moonbeams under sundae candy. the taffy dental floss in our teeth of grief with one another. cover me, cover me, cover me,…

i want to fight with you, for you, inside of you…or her, or that other girl over there, dare me to stress the seam and i will bend backwards to fill up and overflow your goddess goblet. straight lit with intention of no pension or mortgage, just a forfeiture of ego in a joker toked acid hit. with you,…god i would love to trip with you and see you flip at the sight of the one fight, the one goal of whole overfilling and undoing of one’s ego. and the jokes, and laughs, and acid baths we could have shared sear like hot wax off a car detail.

icicles at winter park know our name. my fame smeared around the internet like infant poo to call you home. so i guess for you, it’s either poo at home or poo on the road. stoned though. baffling applications of reduction. impossible concentration. redacted refractions. sightly deconstruction.

write me sometime, if you see this, which you won’t. i’m home most days and I don’t bite. hard. i bite very hard. but i guess what i’m trying to say is i miss you, her, it. that thing of youth swept under the rug like a bug infestation of memory. that’s why i say i don’t want to remember….the notes, the chords, the songs, i just want your bong in my hand demanding to be filled again to the brim with some sweet sticky icky. prickly pear juice and a noose around both our necks for the defeat we laid upon uncle sam’s feet. outlaws without inlaws.

i would cry to you, and i might, because it’s been so long even the fog song of your last memory echoing in my brain of you….you washing apples…getting ready to make caramel apples, in the saddle with you late night at mcdonalds, 120 degree heat and my stupid fishing trips to alligator lake while you at home bake cakes, and muffins with delight. teaching you to fish…i miss you.

but i don’t want to remember, or dream, or breathe, until you, or someone just like you, lies inside my arms. and i protect her to the ends of the earth, until the end of time.

where’d you go i guess i would ask. was it me? was it my anger? my youthful resentment that you had, and will always have your own life? was it my cheating heart? was it that other guy’s fart? i’m not sure most days, all i know is i continue to play my guitar, your guitar, your hands wrapped around my hands, wrapped around the hacienda’s guitar…rendezvous with me to the hacienda on fort sam. with weed, whiskey, acid, mushrooms and lots of cigarettes. kool’s i believe and maybe a pack American spirits or two…see you there tonight, and every night…in my dreams alone, stoned with you on a ride down south your acne kiss mouth i swear i could swallow like a bottle of youth serum.

dream britani…

...no time to die...

…as the snow melts outside the jail so does my affectation for relations. simple delve dives into sweet sighs of romanticism in this division. i scope on for a swan song of my bachelor days, looking to sweep away the days of intoxicated death dives in hive mind of recurring nightmares. i dare this soul to sit upright in flight to the tight overbearings of my future. through the days so repeatedly singing on i strive for a tighter upbringing of my souls hope for the moment. her, her, her,…stinging my bee belly into a hive rash of stashes and swallows of the bottles so fleeting. a dead love cried for and implored in my sword and dead memories trudging me through this dark day into a darker night. i search for meaning in the right song, the wrong bong, the pouring of the bottle into my throttle so festered by a pestering blistered past dashed upon the rocks. on the rocks, straight, still from the will of the distiller,…anyway to get the sweet liquor quicker into my bloodstream deeming me mad. sad reflections of meaning steaming through the night as my heart and soul lift into that dark ether of pinhole dotted nothingness. i cry on for a new tomorrow, something to borrow, to lend, a friend in the end of this sad unrequited love story. matrimony only for some but not for this bum. teeth shattered i clatter among the lost song. our little kick-roll, our little death dive, falling so far out of aspect into that deathly hallow of a borrowed time, a forgotten rhyme, a missed sign. i can still smell that sweet sticky icky prickly cologne of my home. buried in the walls after years of tears and shotgun blasts to myself and past. her ACU pants dancing in the firefight….firelight, so tight around her waist my hands demanding another second of peace. her service not put to waste but praised and acclaimed as the new GI Jane, her fame in my heart, her imprint on my soul like a toll to wake up. her. keeping me breathing in cardio-pulmonary sexuality. the memories haunting me like a deep demon i tackle her in her first snow and smear her face in icicles and snowflakes of no fake. my service woman, my embattled rattle shaking goddessship i praise thee for the weeks, days, months, and years you were dear to me and I’ll never let you go….for the snow…

...to sink ink...

…to sink some ink deep in this creeps life. putting pen to paper, writing to spite the fight in me to defeat and relapse, mishap, and forget about how far i’ve come in the sun’s rays. fighting for another day of making my way. reaching, creeping, out into the manifold of told truths and severed bonds.

her, her, her, just repeating like a bell’s whisper in my dashed past of a ship set to mast. i know another day will never come with her in my sun, but i sit. guilty of crimes i cannot name and re-framing my purpose in this life through his wife. my dying sighing on of a lords song just sifting ashes and waves to come. undone the belt of my relapse and attacks on my soul from unwhole biddings overwhelm my spirit, and clear it to a new past of highs and death defying corkscrews of consciousness expanding heights. i sight my demise coming like the sunning of the moons rays at night. the light of the moon crying on for me to find my new love, my new coven, but all i can seem to muster is a whisper into a planned future escape.

i plan to kill myself with my addiction as soon as possible, to no ones chagrin, just a passing whisper of dust settling on the manifold of time. it would seem my time here has been spent and will be spent refracting back on the misdeeds and actions i have chose to make as an addict.

no one tells you as an addict how difficult your life will be in the long run. just undone mishaps and violent rhetoric and attacks on the ones you love the most, left with a contemplation after the high and drunk so sunk into the suicide you hide from the sun. my gun robbed and actions refracted back upon my soul of a toll far too costly for me to see with.

my vision blind and trudging on i cry for a new way only to find old memories and new addictions to friction my bent and broken chalice of self.

i can’t wait until i close my eyes for the last surprise of being and no longing seeing this reality and its shattered past clattering on in my mind.

i cry for an end to the bending of spirit and die everyday i don’t see her. i wish for my last will and testament to be nothing more than a gentle breeze. leaving behind nothing more than i took. the hook in my brain for substance has me at my end.

i will dearly depart to the stars far from here and hopefully smile back upon those i love, my family and friends.

...the russian spy...

…the russian spy, spying my eye. spying my heart for a start anew. her eyes, her hair, daring me to plunge inside of her at the speed of light. i might, seeing her beauty, truly shining through the dark like a heartbeat starting to seep deep green into my soul. on the whole she make me smile, for a while or maybe more. i implore her of her story, in me, outside of me, cruising for a soothing of her heart. in formality i’m falling deep in love with another…not another cigarette kiss….but a morning toast christmas wish list of twinkling presents in her whole eyes…her, she, we…daring to split the soaring sky so high of implorable impossibilities, and she….so perfect in her style and smile…lilting my spirits into a fervor of dance even the elves couldn’t match. just edging the corner of our relationship’s twists and turns. i speak of the russian spy in my eye with her glances for chance at enlightenment of temperament. she came to me like a flash in the night, afright with how hard my heart may fall for her that night we met, like she was sent from the spirits on high. this big bang soaring across the vacuum of time and space just to see her turn and face me. i facing her. staring…wondering if this could be something. like silt from sand she demands my graces and spaces my smiles like dominos falling one at a time, cascading my being into seeing something more than pain. my refrain calling her to come back home. come to me and dance…dance girl dance…like this is all we have. let me hold you and mold me into a sculpture that will rupture my past and let me lay you down like a fine cloth, so soft her grace and why. i cry at the thought of not seeing her posture every day, time separates and debates may re-rake the takings of the hourglass, but lets last. let’s make something more whole of this. twist and shout about the love you found amidst the fight…this night, this day i will pray for her swaying hips, her giggle to be the squiggle in my eye. i give breadth to her composure and bow at her altar of her supposition and grace. this face has my heart in a headlock, crying not for air but to die in her arms. to fight inside her battle. to live inside her life. my wife. my…gahhh….

...this cigarette kiss...

this cigarette kiss….not the old worn out, torn out, ripped asunder kiss….but a new, true, under the moon, for the love of god, renewed my soul cigarette kiss…with her,…she who cannot be named…soon to disappear into that near death of a relapse,…or hopefully into a new stage with me and our rage…and our love…shoving our organs into one another to smother the hate and malice fed around the world on a daily. pay me…with her kisses daily and nightly and I will bow at her feet, worshiping her as my teddy bear goddessship. ripping the scabs off from old love and stiffening at the sight of her lovely face and her lip gloss smeared all over my lips and chin like a sin I dig to find. into her I want to be, night and day, praying for a new way into her hips holding me like hot ice on my sins. the thought of her, has me addicted to those securing hugs and her life beaconing me to be free and live now and shower in her morning smile. crying in my sleep for her to lie next to me, her cries affect me. I want to protect and deflect all pain and trauma from her. wishing for a day in which we could snuggle in a bubble of tobacco, cannabis & red wine. her sweetness overcomes me with a gratitude of being alive. writing songs and singing melodies for her friend in me. i need her. like the stars need the sky, like the moon needs to cry, like the sun oh so high…i need to be inside her like a tiger hunting for passion, her cigarette kiss floods and flushes my body with blood erotic.. I need her. I can’t stand her away from me….her tender love lighting my darkest night into a fight for passionate orgasms. my mind spasms with the thought of seeing her again…only her, in my periphery, in my front and center, legs spread high like eagles with the steeple crumbling as we shout our ecstatic moans of joy. her toy, my play thing…us as a couple for the doubling of joy….just a week or so more darling….hold on for me….hold on TO me…I need her, I need her, I need her…

...stiff collar...

A stiff collar, and even stiffer drinks I would assume, tonight in a torn asunder wonderland of amazement and wonderment, I find the time so fleeting through this keyhole once whole, flooding the up and coming fighting masses with disaster for a clatter action stacked racquetball overcoming, un-dumbing the sung color hung for the order of the mortar spread across land and sea, the being fleeing the scene like a listless Christmas, the colors of the halogen bulbs flicker in a repose of wonder and colors unmatched by the spectrums of electrums floating through a sea of charged particles, frolic the dairy aisle with rough and tumble melodies from we, those hung on a color, those battled for a rattle, clinging, stinging we press on to that over amassed oneness creeping through dream and wake. taking this chitter chatter over the whipped batter of ego and coupling with a suckling of love I devote to you, the glorious implorable worshipfullness. of this is it. the timing, structure and lining and lust for her. the daring soaring spirit splitting the ions in the air with a truth or dare serum too true to bruise to, just cruise control from here to the daring inoppourtunistic wishes dangling from the remnants of a once whole regime. just being the seeing and tasting the sweat on her breast like milk for a baby still suckling on the pain and trauma, just for once, trusting the golden scepter of her. I climb on into this, forever, forever. 19FEB2023

...the quenching of the tears...

this new day, claiming whole upon impact, redacted dreams about her, or she, or that other girl over there, this pair split asunder by the wonder of the breath on my tongue. conniving and tying the sexual knot tighter, we seek to defeat the elf machine madness and drown our suffering in a ring of attachment and correct erect presence of self and being, seeing these broken stolen souls, even mine, just defined by the rest and activity, but never seeing we, seeing truth, the spirit ripped and torn in two by the boys in blue, my broken back and shoulder trudge on through this dream of tricky words in a sticky keyboard, could we afford the depths of God’s graces in our dreams so blind do we even then reach out to the aspects of other and smother each other in a suckling, coupling of hearts and souls,…bodies breaching out for another in the still darkness of this night to come, undone upon her aviators and navigating eye I cry, no, weep,…for her stillness, lost in my early morning dream like steam from her perfected laundry. Pawn me. Sell me door to door for a sight of something more to come yet undone upon the shelf of a redacted attacked lovers scorn, this door, cracking open to re-amass this dash of airlessness in this. buckled, coupled, suckled and shoveled for the right to love, and love, and love some more. sliding into her like a sir destined for retribution with my past amassed pipe dreams and split seams, I listen for my Goddessship to cry and moan with her orgiastic self, flying through, quelching, spastic, wet, death defying, whore-moaning screams of agonizing pleasure, to measure the depths of that which we will call our love, smothering ourselves in ourselves, leaving only time to tell the story of we. tying the knot of our connection into the very atoms that burst into existence billions of years ago, simply to get us to meet each other. her star stuff checking my star stuff, stuffing, and untying knots, while wrapping the present of presence to one another in a matrimony of honey and liquor…19FEB2023

...the burning of the soul...

…burn in, burn out, just don’t forget to shout,….about these daily miracles, shackled or soaring we implore to delve into the deepening maddness stricken in our wicked souls,….crossing that border or insane lamented in a repented love of the above,…and the below, we stow our tear for days past and to come, into that fading sun we race to pace the ever forming outcome of one sum lump payment of hallelujah!!! for we reach so deep and breathy into that rising moon, soon to be abused by our minds and bodies toll to hearken on into this love affair and daring, splitting of spirit, tying the knot with our hearts and in our stomachs to conjoin this twin of sin, and evolve into that fair perplexed monkey we seem to be, soaring on an aphrodisiac of God’s pure intention for our souls and lives, we strive on for another sun, moon, deep sleep, creeping past our minds eyes to deceive of us of what we know is true, the delving into matter and the sparkle of the soul, whole tolling upon our hearts like fire quenching the waters of our fathers and mothers ignorance. this whole tolling of love and being climbing into the ceiling like popcorn butter, we flutter our little hearts into that still small moment of grace, placing our belongings in the upright and forward positions for take off we we dare to split that sieving seam into something more becoming and revelatory for we,….singing off the ends of this bender we cry for humanity and love in this twisted puzzle of a game we call life, the strife impacting the whole, lifting and splitting in a trillion refracted attacked atoms, just crying, singing, being for one, we sludge on through the deaths and depths this world so orgiastic and plastic ended, we lilt our hats to the ever present oneness and cry for forgiveness of this. this tearing multiplicity in this city. i pray for you all..may we find peace, wholeness, oneness, and an end to the madness, or a beginning, I just pray for another day, another way for us all….18FEB2023

...right to choke...

The bridge crossing so slowly faltering into the past, dashed across the rocks, my hopes. Dope for a new light shining on that fading light, drifting day by day, away, from our grasp and into the fermented everythingness of this. I hope for a day when everyone can invent words and turd with the best of us. But we is stuck, in a doing of our best. Rested souls deploring the rafters for Saturdays new high. Why cry for another day of pain and rage I stage an eviction of my soul from its hold on the cold and entombed, the dead dogs, goats and ex girlfriends are rotting in my soggy bottom boy jeans. But this spleen, this liver, criver cries out in pain for an end date rapidly devouring me in time and shitting me out dead like the rest of them. But I will dutifully fight for the right aspect of this book clubs agenda to switch out of Edgar Allen poe and into love, love, love that one shoving spite despite the scorn, but to quench the kiss upon her lips with gifts of thisness and returning the love she clenches into the cleft of his chest slumbering off soundly for centuries. But the rest of we, trudging on back into that war zone, where dead friends and relatives be-burdon the surgeon general warning on the back of the pack of their cigarettes. This deftness, clefting the stone with bone on bone skull crunching action of french fries and repeats, delete the creep and keep the steeping tea in the gauntlet of souls, why I can't write a song to hit the bong, beyond the steepled in we. Crying, crying for a day in which we can say we are, free, bleeding teething into that good night for the right to choke.

....elves to meet...

Something about the allure of the alcohol and the blackout passed out aspect of living a life as an, “Addict.”

Some may say, oh some may say, these drugs and chemicals are bad for you but I say rather. Splatter the clatter with talk about the things these drugs and chemicals like alcohol do. Soaring through heights like magnanimous steaming cleaving being. Pure being, just distilled in cans and spirits around the world.

The downsides of death and homelessness are just misnomers of a society that gathers we and steeps its tea in the richness of expression of being in the world but I say rather the true essence of being is the death, the drunk, the high, the life, everything in-between soaring and diving like an eagle steepled & stapled to the roof of the ecclesiastical acrobatic fanatics fan club email list shove it up your fist until it doesn't fit anymore.

Gaping.

Raping the dated aspects of refracted impacted reality singing on we song the wrong locket to talk to it again like a long lost son or daughters, dead veterans and maidens whipping him for the sin on the mantle, the halo swept deep into the bereft clanging of insane lamented depraved insane brains twisted to the core of the door leading them back home, or out the other way, onto the street, deep, like her wrist scars.

I remorse, of course. But detour from the murderous, suicidal recital every day repeating on like a BPM of one-hundred and hate. I can't devise a plan quick enough to spin, write, draw, animate or rape my way out of this cage I've trapped my life inside of a small white unchecked box next to insane on everyones Christmas shit list.

Widening this slit wrist cursed Christmas kiss I find Peace.

In her pain. Her confusion, I feast like a beastly rage of delving lava quicksand demanding the rental check slips, receipts, and bank records, record this. Take to wish the delving of self in we, but the test of limitation will remain un-satiated in the regression of formality in we, delving, delving, delving...

Maddening, the sliver of focus remaining in the brain of my command the demanded repent upon the broken altar of my mothers womb.

Stitching the sore in core atomic trauma while the sauna and steam drain on in the back end of every song, talking on, to the beat, on repeat, until the elves come out to meet.

...this dream....

Seeking what? I don't know, the look on your face at snow. My amassed pipe dream of cataclysmic cartwheeling consciousness contorting the face of God, or the Devil, I'm not sure which yet. But the yearning, the learning and the burning forever passing on like a gong song rocked bomb locket socket tossed into the rocket. This dream seemingly endangering the living, sieving, breathing of being. The untouched bunch of losers we are and dare to go too far as to say, this day, this moment a miracle among miracles the virtual reality insanity of pander to we. Un-bought sought across land and sea the dream, weaving into this or that moment so untouched by the graces of space nations and rations taken out of a basement. So poor and untouched the retch of the stench, beaming on through my being of seeing, seeing. The trees sway listless by the demands of the breeze, so immaculate and stature attacked, the defining rhyming moments of love and grace so spaceless in the beaming dreaming of we. The stinging defining moments of wholly glorifying divineness awareness aware of this trods on through the cleft bereft stinging clinging of the maddening divining plan. The sand in my eyes though times of lies still sticks likes prickly pear juice in the sutures of my deadened core. The roar delving on through the gong song rocking rocket popped socket lost locket in the demands of the rewind of defined purpose. Rehearsed and diverse from nation and key, we, stacking like action attack pack rats munch on the carpet on seething believing, teething to the suckle of the air. Bear bones and all we stall on to the wrong aperture of seeing this dream. This dream. So crumbling and wasted the dream seems. Delving deeper into a deepening of being so sufficient seeing the dying masses attacked backwards for this dream, that seemingly reprehensible thing. But dig, this day is so great, the night even. The tithing, rhyming and surviving. So breathless an inhale the stale meteorite crust breaks right off and this ever loving covening present is birthed into a mirth of orange afterbirth once more. And to be remissed is the tongue touch grace of space ladies sweeping the incoming and outgoing space cars into respective lanes of dangerous galactic presence. The essence is of this,... to breathe deeply, sleep seemingly, and die frequently. Stiffening the collar on the knock off bomb scoff t-shirt. Righteous fight this in the parking lot for free, seemingly indicted on your own causality. Reality stumbling on into the daylight, while they trudge back into the dark night of the eternal soul. Coal in the rivulets of their Christmas. The seeking, the constant yearning to burn the air off your chest with the best of them, sinning, winning, being everything in this thing of being. Crying dying for a manifestation of question upon the altar of being, seeing. Dying, trying to surmount the efforts of a once dead regime so seemingly alive. The striving for immaculate oneness in the tongue touched orgasms splitting the seams of reality, we cry on. For song and more bursting effervescent fizz on the stiff whiskey and coke, the toke off the bong, the spliff of the seams. Dreams daring to rupture on past the amassed pipe dreams, we singly spirited on, fly for more.

...the soaring light....

The soaring light strove on into the limited lower atmosphere with little hesitation, pausing upon reentry with a flash bulb puzzle thunder crash dashing the tombs of the unknown soldier into boulders for holders of the pot. The simple spastic, frantic rocket combusts spraying praying remarks upon the mantle on the rental unit I lost my love in. Shove the knife in again to befriend the end of dissent. You, blind chugging on, we sipping delightfully in this twisted thorn in the side. Frail crumbling remarks undarkened by the angels remarks unstained to the brain drained of LSD and suppositories for the sin in the winning. Delving down deeper to the core I implore the second. The second of this now to slow the course for we are on a disillusioned course for the divorce from time and high dive in the madness of the one. Still, one. Climbing, falling, rapidly, dissolving, resolving, the talk in we the steeping tea on the shelf for weeks, the cry unanimous of freedom, even among the dumb.

Those that would devilishly delve into that sacred womb of her. She. We. Her. The free reeling in disposition, at the winning smile of crying stye eyed boys. The torn socket, popped lost locket for the mother of the soldier. The locket holds a key for the rocket to be set free. From We, the, the, the one touching uncovering smothering, orgasm wrenched in the stench of sex and candy and steak, the break from tossed lockets, popped sockets and the like. Some other thing delves into me, telling me to strive to the edge of the cliff and jump, take a stiff bump and a shotgun pump to the roof of your mouth in your mothers bath tub. Do I have something to say or is this the way? Maybe just a reeking spirit falling out of my imaginary asshole of spiritual dialog on a log filled with rot for bees, the stinging we in the dream stinking out the dying I, in the try. The floating question mark block floats on among the assumptions of one touching the endeavor of this one play, one stage, one dream, fleeing on we, sing, play, dance, cry, cry, for the times and ones lost, the angry remarks lost to the heart of a lover and now you discover,...ahhhh. For stinging again the bees in this alter bridge are getting into my teeth and beard, the searing of the hot sun, too bleached white and white, and despite the dying and trying of the under colors, white again. The friend in me soaring to deplore the retractable action fallen upon the graces of the one sun, the one breath, the river crivering the crime of unwinding the winds steep ascent to madness, this glorious we. Crying.

Marvelous, absolutely marvelous. Sinew on the bone of this home is leaking like mitochondria mycelium. The helium depleting the balloons flight.

....to write...

To write, to spite the flight of the one so numb under the pressures, the vessels of coming and going and where to we go in this ever present snow is to be amassed in a rain cloud from the spring to bring,....a life, a wife, a struggle of bubbles in the after-form of drinking this sinking down and frowning of culture. I am an American and will be, this or that psychological logical conclusion to jump from bridge and switchblade the family sinking in we. The dying the tying of formats to acrobatic flying cartwheels of unanimous famous amos cookies. Book me for a grin and a wink, but never sink this vessel, crying out at night for flight from this species to a more affordable part of the universe. Tertiary the fermented garden for the wardens new boots. Clue in the suspect for a breast check of rights and privileges. Forge the whore sword debacle the sovereign right to float. Simply floating in nothing. Nothing at all, just crawling back to front as the hunt goes on for a more affordable place in this universe, the verse sinking and stinking reefer billows with the rights of a once whole bidding, but this ring, this sinking, the depressed restless mornings, the angry nights and the sovereign days. Playing for more while the whore sucks his cock for another child in womb, the entombing of spirit ripping it, until the split seam reality, lifts we, out of this pain. The pain, the pain, the pain, the raining of death in ones hearts for an untimely departing of spirits from flesh, the devilish relish the fact that this breath is all we'll ever have for....

....when i find a way home.....

drinking stinking like a wreath laid on a naked chest the best succumb to the numb after toning of death. i choose life. i choose me, my destiny, this freeing thing we, how the alcohol compunkulates me into this reality the lithium leaving liver see to be with he, my love so soothing the truthing to the blue do true you to blue crew. do it for the 22

...best schism....

Ringing, clinging, sieving death. A breath of effervescent wetness, on this lips Christmas. The dying, the death, the what if clinging to the side of the cliff. Bereft I jump and land, demanded and living on impact, the redacted impacted sore locket popped socket tossed to the side like a wet pair of panties dainty in the wind. Some fog shore offshore beach tour detour for the implorable imagination station. Through wind and snow and sand the man tramps on to the destinations of his forlonging in the song we sing dying slowly. As a pair of handcuffs tightened and waiting for the saved date of reprimanding and sanding down the tone of one who. Suffering on the sands of demanded airlessness the wish list of forlorned lovers and spasming orgasms so insufferable in suffrage right to fight the dying of this now. Steeping your heart in my guitar chords I implore you to a date down south, the deep southem, where gators and laters could recombine us with a love so untouched the gods would cry. But this date, this now, implores only a lonely tone we shift from dereft clefting of the rock into doe-like pigeon pot pie. Why die in this living ever breathing now. The stowing of time unrepented and repleted suffers upon itself. Chalk dust waste to paste another implorable action of the fractions of souls untold and resold by common lies and factory ties to the dead. My friends come in, sit down, we have all the accouterments, the flaunts, daunting and daring with the best prepared, daring and flashing though the stolen key hole to bring we back to the city. Some cats backed by the rats attack in this, we kiss the dance, air fair, dare the spirit to split me with deep dream. Crying forlorned the sore attacks back with a refracted camel back. Speak to the weak, to those unaffected by the dead bread in their cheeks. My lies could drown an orphanage to suffrage to taxation rates speaking the price of gas as last demands a way home from the entombing of spirit we clear it and load another. Brother the spike in the end zone too re-thrown across land and sea, denying this miracle of life but stilling in the strife the wives club drones away from my destiny of we. Orgiastic split seams, with wet marks and liquids splashing and spraying and swaying the demanded orgasms of vessel. Wrestle the knot of ecstasy out your lover and shove her another meat spiral denial. Hands down the best schism I've ever had you mad woman of my nightmares. Tearing the toll of what was whole, from my once whole soul.