all of these eyes upon my head
follow the crazy flitting flies
small-scale mass distribution
garrulous in lunatic behavior
steady stream, bombardment
micro-stab, macro-stab, injected
my eyes burn, all of these eyes
subjected to the fresh green press
(Damien Cadio - Remo on skullofjoy.tumblr.com)
days and days and days
fall and fall and fall like
raindrops upon your reflection
on the surface of my longing
where have we come from
where are we going to
where are we at this moment
ripples distort
and
pull you apart
our love is the river's current
our love is battered in the rapids
our love is peaceful in the pools
always pulling us forward together
will we always be an anticipation
will we become a weeping memory
will we be allowed and celebrated
days and days
just
fall and fall
and I just want
something
to hold onto
(Image from fravery.tumblr.com)
in my mind the winter comes
piercing through albino eyes,
blood turning blue into red
such a season'd evil
pretty as she is the hanging
frost that glamorizes scenery
from east to west, north of here
but I know her greed
throw the lantern into the snow,
the house is dark upon the hill
where no one ever seems to live
but her this time of year
devour all in clear and white,
suffocate vibrancy with angelic
grace, bellow loud O life below
I too shiver with death
(Evil Eye by Vickie666 on deviantart.com)
exasperated
accumulated
and let go
calm disrupted
by storm and
conclusion
its enough
dropping into
the cycle
(Image from video on twitter, source unknown)
I wonder if the smoke alarm up there in the corner actually works. The worrying never stops. We test our own boundaries. I am fragile underneath this thin layer of cold. A fire burns for... well... it always gets through. Alarms go off. Smoke curls.
What's a prayer's answer outside of coincidental luck? What peace lasts beyond a handshake? I've seen the afterchurch hypocrisy. And I doubt. I struggle to forgive. I have moments of jealousy and vindictiveness. I feel rage.
Loving someone hard and real doesn't mean that they'll love you back. Play the odds. Seek out honesty. It still hurts sometimes. To lose. But the winning comes eventually. Hold the one that reciprocates. Let the rest go. Their wings were already flapping anyway. I have regrets. They hang from my porch like wind chimes. Fucking annoying, their pretty off-beat clanging.
I hear sex in the distance. Its not mine. I'm right here, stuck in these footprints. I've come to accept the sounds of others. Nature varies. I've tried placing soundproof material between my skull and the dura mater. Its not effective. Sounds travel. Thoughts are non-transient. I sit with them. They're quiet in the morning. We sip coffee together and slowly adjust to the day. By night we're at each other's throat. I stay away from mirrors. Especially after dark. I can see them then. Sometimes they smile.
The beach is so peaceful at night. Two feet splashing through the shallows. One by one they sink in the sand and lift out. It is my will that they do this. Being naked in the night ocean is both terrifying and freeing. I haven't decided which one of these feelings I enjoy more. I know I'm a little more alive in each. Walking out of the water naked into the night air is similar. I feel more exposed and seen. There is comfort in the total body hug of water. Safety. Protection. The night air offers none of these.
I followed starlight once. I walked right off of this earth. I can't remember when the walking stopped and flight took over. It was a seamless transition. I left my body. I didn't miss it. (Leave ugly food for ugly creatures.) I felt beautiful for a moment. Beauty was light and airy. No taste. No smell. No sound. I wanted to stay. I almost didn't come back.
(Image from mirrorsinner.tumblr.com)
gorge on phenobarb
open the throat
... swallow
detach, relax
little by little
... .. .
when the entire room
is dead black
any incoming light
becomes blinding
corner of fallen bones
corner of splattered blood
corner of desperate voices
corner of piss and shit
in the middle of the room
the rest of I
disappears, torn apart by
tiny black holes
of thought and reason
chaos
reduced to
a simple handful
(Image from shutterstock)
to the well, so long I've never been
to the mystery, the wet hollow
pleasant nature provides a path
the thicket lush in its splendor
leads to, surrounds, beautifies
I float above a perfect geography
amazed at complexities, simplicities
smooth and rough highs and lows
to the terrain, towards the well
I am ready, I am prepared to enter
(Unknown internet source)
dawn in resin
a lone body
drowning in the vase
with the flower stems
I've been overborn
and undernourished
a time of need
unheeded
love, she comes
like the midday sun
on the outside
streaming in
rising through the stems,
a body reemerging
a body blooming
toward dusk, unencumbered
("Vase in the sunlight", Francis Sullivan fineartamerica.com)
chaos of this fantasy
tease-play, skin to fire
igniting the put out
humid heat of breath
congestion and choke
settling lip to tongue
phallic shadow sliding
towards, into chasing
words coming too late
abrupting intervals pausing
cause for alarming effect
rippling out and returning
what happened to smiling
eyes scattering to run
weeping weeps the weeper,
killing kills the killer;
the entrance
was never opened
now the hands are touching
wanting what wanters want
while wanting
(Image 1: fineartamerica. Image 2: George Platt Lynes)
I'm having very
deep and meaningful
conversations with
all of the furniture and
appliances in my home
they've each seen me
baring my body
baring my emotions
baring all of my words
they laugh
I hear them
the lock on the door
turns itself tighter
the mirror warps
the dresser is brown
and uninterested
I'm looking for the pattern
in the wood grain on the
floor
but it doesn't exist
I make my one phone call
someone answers but says
nothing
I tell the silence everything
I hang up
I look at my empty hand
my phone is
on the charger
on the table
unmoved
the silence spreads
everywhere
I open a window
the bottle had already been broken,
smashed upon a beach post
pieces scattered, chunks and
shards lost in the sand awaiting
the innocence of unknowing feet
I held the crooked neck of it up and
admired the art of feeling shattered
until she walked up, out of the
blurs and ghostly visions she came
had I been sober I'd have thought
I was drunk, but I was drunk already
so she was as real as anything
she sat by my side, inquisitive and
leering, inviting me into the night
there was a pause of harm, a low
intensity bend of reason that came
had I continued I'd have severed
half of myself away from decency,
but luck took my hand and we ran
a flesh wound, a strange angel
saving me from my own horrible self
(Image from allpoetry.com)
smell of wet
midnight street.
trust of movement
in isolation. fear of
barks in the distance
or just awareness of
their presence.
the stride. the breath
in calm equations
continuously balanced.
I am.
moon from cloud. hazy
alabaster glow allows
shadows dwelling in
pavement puddles.
temporary lives of each
splash-shattered by foot.
endurance. repetition.
nothing but time and
time and time. as
hollow cars pass. jaded
transients. swish and
whispered gone.
flickering neon occasionally
or abandoned abruptly. one
dangling streetlight. one
flashing yellow hush.
one more mile. one
participant. no
spectators.
I am.
(Image from sportsister.com)
inception of a rally;
quietly drape the arrival
the emergence
with contraceptive motives
its better this way;
sleeping eyes never awaken
never get exposed
to the finite truths
folly of dumb luck hearts;
tell the tall tale of love
to the weary
to the underachievers
smoke out the outspoken;
broadcast the lunatic's idea
from his asylum,
let the hungry be fed
(Top image from shutterstock, image below from michellesclutterbox.com)
