black cloth constitution
Monday, November 28, 2005
this home,
an above ground grave.
the bastard son of long lost revenge
contemplates his hand grenade love affair.
a murder of crows
swooping in swirling formation,
cutting boundaries of sky and schoolyard fences.
free will handcuffed,
walking six feet in reverse.
the heart is an empty consignment,
ever searching for its steel solution.
calibrated stepladder conveyor belt
once meaningful rebellions,
revolutionaries,
wrenches spraining oppressive spokes...
all have become
convenient,
vapid,
capitalist conduits.
faces on a teeshirt.
worn to the soundtrack of a barren culture.
time spent in an icon vacuum,
never to see a day's enlightenment.
a cliche celebration:
western demise,
pulling facade counter-culture youth,
heads throbbing, bobbing in unison..
accepted rebellion,
under watchful eyes,
safely classified
in their mall-shaped boxes.
sneeze and your soul escapes
Monday, November 21, 2005
the gods had finally had enough,
and as the city burned in chaos--
burning down around my ankles--
i cease my rapid gait
and realize this is what i've always wanted.
i trace my finger against glass,
pushing the ashes
into a portrait of her face.
move along. enjoy the madness.rows of beautiful women and men,
tied to vanity,
embodied as giant stone blocks.
they are gasping,
reaching,
begging for freedom.
a moment's hesitation spent,
contemplating...
attempting
to care for their plight
but coming up short.
three shots, three days (no reloading): random pieces of matter II
11/18: this bullet, in my black (heart) shirt pocket, has a date with an evangelist.
11/19: i am the product of years of haste. wrecking ball electric alive.
11/20: fiction. romance. the technicolor dreams of the black and white living.
the end of book one
Monday, November 14, 2005
it is in the places you don't see--
behind eyelids,
behind the doors of dark rooms
and long homebound commutes.
these are the places where only the heart of hearts can be held--
unguarded,
solitary.
it's a glass antique. fragile.
out from its smooth wooden case...
a pine box with creaking hinges,
the inside encased in velour
protecting its contents.
an integument,
the automatic marionette.
programmed by social animal instinct,
well versed in the alien dialect
of humanity.
this dance in rhythm quells the committee.
alas, inside i pray:
dear sweet agony and misery,
you have given me life--
moved my blood about.
i repent and vow my allegiance.this man,
a weak being
behind the puppetry,
impatiently waits for his impending demise...
grousing about,
knowing the karmic bounty paid,
the subsequent disappointment pushed upon the masses
if his mission,
though capricious
was aborted early...
...though plans were fantasized about loopholes and quick, clean exits.
[please let silence be my only eulogy]
ink path escape hatch
Sunday, November 13, 2005
the moon loiters,
lingering awake to see the dawn...
a last stand,
a celestial standoff.
refusing to back down
against the star's might,
this so-called dead planet
finds the life,
the will,
to defy.
eyes crescent,
pupils straining to accept,
i ponder this unnerving madness.
this isn't a family reunion, it's a massacre
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
assassins
versed in the art of emotional murder,
complete their task accordingly...
fading out,
eating their shadows.
men with success suits
equipped with shovels
covering.. always covering...
their voices echo catch-phrase sentiment,
the assurance
that everything
is going
as planned...
yet the treason pours like sand,
falling from their lips.
your lips.
this government,
this family,
this regime...
poison genetic politics.
[ we grew tired of sharing blood with you. ]
the march and fall of emotion
looking through evergreen,
pulling the tides
by the gentle flick of a wrist.
an ocean,
she nutures,
covers,
creates...
the sentient beings admire her shimmer.
i am awestruck,
a mere mortal.
the beauty of it all--
her presence
motions the suns
set and rise,
set and rise.
thread, gut, or wire?
Friday, November 04, 2005
designer suicide...
sometimes liquid,
some die solid in form.
a favored savior,
limping listlessly along.
a black hole,
spiraling, sucking emotion.
the wound drains inward
with no help from a suture like you.
the poison vote (criminal thoughts of you)
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
our love was a pipe bomb
and baby, you were a lit fuse.
your words incarcerate,
separate,
saturate...
soaking in flammable material.
the sparks from the flip of a switch,
the snap of your fingers,
have set it all ablaze.
trapped
scurrying
from corner
to corner
to corner
a fate inferno--
my fate.
i faintly remember a porcelain face,
a perfect kiss,
a crashing ocean...
a muse...
an imagined, prosthetic romance,
rusted out and useless.
a burning, horrific lie.
i found out too late.
