words:fail:me

intravenous fructose enfilade
Wednesday, August 31, 2005

waves of ignorance...
bringing heat,
bringing hatred.

brave men buried...
the arrogant soles, however,
trample honorable retrospection.

impasse presidenziale

up the stairs,
looking down at a tattered courtyard,
littered with the effects of beings human.

breathing into clouds of stale cigarette smoke...
the blaring of televisions,
cheap medication, oasis from desperation.
sonically, surgically blasting pop-music-anti-reality dialogue...
haggard parents consoling colic children up past their bedtime.

passing
door then window,
door then window,
door then window,
door then window,
vignettes of disparity elapsing and beginning anew.

this is life.
the only life we've ever known.
consider yourself lucky if you aren't welcome to it.

uniquely american and typically out of touch.

thought it was the moon, turned out to be a thumbtack
Monday, August 29, 2005

a message,
written in dirt,
covered by winter's frost.

[here's to hoping that you'll be around long enough to read it by spring's thaw]

high yielding discord fuchsia

you. don't. belong.

three words,
cut black, white and dry.
translucent in its opacity.

coddling smug insecurities behind picket fences,
the mask,
the smile, both cracked.
the granted chance to live another day in this.

i wonder by your efforts
if you think you are making me feel unwelcome...
it becomes obvious to me.
the better question:
do you think i care if you think i belong?

thumbing the ridges of my black plastic pocket comb,
counting the teeth carefully,
fat segment first, thin segment next.
i notice it reads Unbreakable.

i concur.

prison blister wave
Thursday, August 18, 2005

striking me again, i show a sneer.
you would think you would of knocked it off of me by now,
checking in the pools of blood and teeth
you come up disappointed and short.

is death the worst you can do?
when one has nothing to lose,
you'll find that action to yield a sour fruit.

i am leaving this earth knowing i am a mere animal:
flesh, blood, bone, soul.
through beaten eyes i see the real you--
false deity,
conceived in quarantine,
a decorated complex.

get over yourself and pull the trigger already.

stone flavored solace

i am a stowaway.

hiding in the cracks of your life--
a stranger, walking...
treading lightly upon familiar,
yet unwelcome, expanse.

able to navigate for sustinence
when no one is looking...

[they'll surely ground my heart into food for topsoil if i'm captured]

the soundtrack to rows of burning monuments
Friday, August 12, 2005

words discoloring the sky
like a thousand fire-tipped arrows.
blue interrupted, replaced.
red.orange.black.

5 worn puppets
all taking turns manipulating strings,
rubbing salve on raw crawling stomachs...
a slackjawed insect choreography
smokescreening the masses by curtain's call.

"stay where you are, ladies and gentlemen. be comfortable, don't inconvenience yourself with thoughts of revolution."
[cue drunken, hand-over-heart pork-barrel proletariat ovation]

backstage bowing heads
preying for silence,
for distraction,
for unconsciousness
to live (crawl) another day.

epilogue:
clicking in a smoke-filled back room...
********a telegram:**********
end of days
[stop]
coming soon
[stop]
mission accomplished
[stop]

refrigerated indifference listing
Wednesday, August 10, 2005

i shift in my own sweat
knee deep in thick alibi
carving the flesh from knuckles
frantically fixing this engine.
dumbstruck casualty,
straight eight reality.
feeling the pairs of eyes--
1.scan.
2.organize.
3.throwing knives.
a task destined for the finest failure:
replacement parts,
locked in a soft brown leather briefcase,
sunk long into the murky deep.

i made such quick work of sewing the martyr patch to my sleeve
that i hadn't stopped to notice that the sleeve was now sewn to my arm.

sin via antigua
Tuesday, August 09, 2005

popularity has an insatiable hunger.
you are nothing if you're not
defined by what you do.
narcotic personified.

the wares of the mundane are washed clean
hung to live another day
the exact same way.

pardon me if i sing out of key,
but that doesn't seem like life to me.
medicated magazine page gloss...
facade.
facsimile.

living lives like stacked plates
when bowlfuls of emotion are offered.

polite electronic termination
Friday, August 05, 2005

linear conversations with myself
a life tumbles behind the glass
i watch, mesmerized.

the universe contemplated
in cycles, cycles, cycles.

thoughts left incomplete,
incoherent... a sullen carcass.
their cords cut,
sent into outer space...
out there, fending for themselves.

i feel the despair
like an old woman's wrung hands--
i knew my time would come sooner or later.

technical concussion leather
Tuesday, August 02, 2005

conversation or prize fight?
words spit bloody,
like loose incisors hitting canvas.

jagged angry knuckled volley--
swinging to become emotionally righteous,
to join the ranks of the brave.

one of us is
outweighed,
outclassed,
outbound...
and
never
coming
back.