Friday, December 16, 2011

One Touch Swirl

Bone stick strumming strings of violence
acoustic singing in supreme silence
writing in a dream of darkness
my melancholic conscious
contrived from contracted talents elastic
spitting ramblins of a man off axis
not knowin balance until the ground collapses
eye flashes,I-lashes,when dendrite synapses:
fashioned fluent actions off omniscient ancient passages
penning messages in a bottle cork capped wraped in mapped sorrow
purple wallow sentences and a purpose that
..i don know..
makes me let go sentiments
that id rather borrow
and it dont stop
the clock of tomorrow
dying star locked in the linings
of all thats astral
lookin for the light
and the here after

Rained In

Tracing the wind current
with my pinkie finger licked
drenched.. soaked ..
amidst the heavens heaved torrents
standing.. staring..
at the murk pouring
spinning skies grey
pink and musty
smelling of dry dust
that frames the painting
if you can't see
it seals the salivating
for the sunshine in waiting
in the waning dusk
wading in thoughts
of lush clouds crushed
steeped in that blue lust
perplexed by the luck of wet brows
and rain drop bumps.


General malaise
dystopian texture
pleasuring the haze
gazed @ the abyss
coined the phrase
days.. minutes..
hours.. seconds..
an oppressing premise
boundless by limits
on the fringes
blank spaces
between the edges
tallying the inches
with no images or digits
deliverance of the head
the death of id’s presence
the collage of innocence
and instincts retribution
a savage marriage of force
and inherent contents
constantly colluding
a brooding montage
repetitive and cyclic
nihilistic feeling fully conscious
dueling the ever ending psyche
of reality and what might be