it’s too bright now
eyes soulless red stung
see and take note
this can’t be all
the vast void turned
into the window framed
with nothing that was
something in the past
next to the hands
that are cut from
the palms bruises witnessed
how she tried against
the tides of repugnance
the moon births change
the breath shallow grows
exhausted surrenders in the
prophecy of city walls
final mortal sleep tonight
so long clandestine wallpaper
hey it’s me
walking the street
mid day time
end of summer
meteopolitan smoggy air
how are you
maestro viejito hermoso
noticed he’d fallen
sweet weeping child
or is it
you haunting me
either way i
need to say
there’s thunder sobbing
up from throat
in the sudden
downs of life
he sits there
back to me
but back when
i sat there
too stoned to
hide my face
there is no
art in suffering
beauty estranged in
white soiled nothingness
grace crosses street
no one to
touch his shoulder
three six opened
her eyes dewey cold across brow
another nightmare dissolving
the peace facilitated by round artificiality
three six rose
from the grip of lonely cold
the cat slept
nestled in the sheets quietly being
bloated eyes blinked
flushing stinging light out from them
three six returned
to the place of internal judgement
law of conscious
almost crying she looked around slowly
there is more
than the stark rawness of soul
somewhere is warmth
stomachs unknotted free from evil butterflies
he’s in a little cedar box
with an American flag tied to him
she sighs through the cat hair
and dust in the sunlight of the room
particles dance float and flip
she speaks in tender fondness
sweet pink cotton candy memories
for my ears to receive
now their father is gone too
the remains? they will cremate
him soon
she ponders for 37 seconds
should they share the cedar box
then she changes her mind
the radio music pounds in fog
from somewhere in her bathroom
i don’t think the children would
like that
for my second husband to share
a resting place with my last one
stone sure smile again
fuzzy end of lollipop
empty glass comfort
Maestro im just another number at the DMV line of life im tired of crying im tired of laughing im tired of hurting im tired of wishing im tired of living im tired of dying surely truly this must be purgatory
pain in her matrix is rose blush
cool as the skin of a pebble
her pain is cause for joy
smile beaming straight ahead
pain looks in the depth of their eyes
her lips part to say i love you
the clouds away frolic in ozone
pain not dulling with enhancement
then what
than what
so what
during the given 72 hours she will unscrew the wings from her back and hope the breeze will take her
on the Vin it is recalled those summer nights high on poppy brown smiles and warmth
when in the past oh how she misses discovering the awe in the hand of God when the orange peel was made to dry in the sun
https://www.instagram.com/wordslessspoken7.0?igsh=OGQ5ZDc2ODk2ZA==
i have walked in the magic and slimy entrails of the night you can sniff the carnage reapered dreams collected bodies bought sold butchered put back whole on the cool objective table of community tax payer yet the sheen and cigarette scent of your rugged lips captures what is left of my imagination the face ive worn the whole day through with guilt rage pain and embarrassment in the pores cracks a useless smile thinking of our bottom halves entwined twisted and penetrated in a vortex of denial and after all of these years that calloused touch of your hand intrusive through the strands of my graying hair
dull the sky amid smog sin cocktail
thoughts blunt against my skull
drink without soul
noir talk lady cries
her man is always right
yet never is he there
crescendo music hear her cries alone
on the sidewalk
on a night like this which is all the same
my glass runs under still they eyeball my keys
do gooders young and haven’t lived long enough
to feel to feel to feel
words less spoken 