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 Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 5:55 pm
/Purpose/ -not-found-
Drinking my blue sky gazes down with a carton of cigarettes,
mixed brutal smoothie, chipping pieces off of the walls in my throat.
Its so hard to preach anymore to a crowd thats gone deaf.
I damn the little worms hidden in the crust, speaking to them in falsities and fiends lullabyes.
Tellin' them bullshit, gods sitting on the sun, letting the heat drown out his coughing.
His Mucus Mud forever caked on my wounds and scars, a dirty poultice.
My white collar gets stretched thinner everyday, losing pounds and rupees.
Mine is a dying institution, a heart that pretends to pump when its really looking up new ways to attract young vital veggies to digest.
In the end though, it doesn't matter, scoffing at my scotch, and hitting the battered table with a callused palm.
They can think that life is still worth living without imagination, and hope. For it does kill as much as it saves, like the mermaid it is.
But when those youthful grasslings, in the future,have trampled every garden, climbed every tall redwood, oohed and awed at all the polluted sunsets,
Where will they turn for more?
To me and his corpse, we'll both be a myth, a cult of charlie mansonry, thats all that will be thought of those who still hear,
And the purpose of a rose glinting stubborn health in the face of a concrete apocalypse?
That purpose will not be found.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 5:56 pm
The Bear next door
Oh Neighborhood legend!
That is if your corpse isn't already soupy with rot!
What I'd give too see your silouhette unraveling up my porch steps,
Walking with your back to what must be a luminescent perversion to you.
Oh suburban gossip wrapped mummy!
Do you work between and day and night so no one can observe your predator instincts?
I'd knock a baseball right into your tincan trailer if it would just avail a momentary lapse of the humdrum fear,we do all feel for the ultimate truth.
Maybe than, I could prove that this life of light and over exposure does not lead to a darkened photograph.
Maybe over a cup of lemonade sitting on your concrete pathway with its oddity increasing nic-nacs and collectible machinery riff-raff.
Oh Godless town Miser! Counting your friendly neighbors turned slaves to thier own paranoia!
Sitting out in the middle of the road, not caring for those blasted puff wreckers we bomb around in.
I watch your one and only uncorked window, all the others popped out from unknown segments of life.
Perhaps the reason you seal yourself in a motorized tomb. Was it the townspeoples puppy curiousity turned to a rabid hate?
Thinking on this, I realize I had been edging towards your door, a half melted candy bar in my hand to be a peace offering to this different world.
But fear sorts me out and stamps me in with the rest, and I walk away thinking theres no fruit to be knocked out from this hollow beating tree.
Oh! The one's who fear and fun the mystery that lies silent yet echoing of thoughts, so close to me, call him the bear.
But me...when I saw out of the corner of my cornered animal eye, a silvery curtain move away as if to spy on someone with curiosity of thier own, thought about extending a ceasefire instead.
I set my feet firmly on this falling fast fiery earth, and rung the flashing plastic button doorbell.
And if no one answered. I just might ring it twice.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 5:57 pm
Formerly The Conforming of Al Limbo/ Now the Freeing of.
Hello,
I am here/ Notski Notzip Notarino Notabee NOT!
To say a swivel hip clockwork tango finish up
because I am impudent of my own-
- Home- Zone- place to goddamn Roam.
Let me flash this Guitar banging colors/ Like you ever sold a strumming strobe--mister cut-off lobe....
To my punk prep gangster grungy emo american jock jerk pot smoking paradise serving BZZZZZT-----crackle'
/Oh will you look at that! The Puff of smoke that everyone was getting high on has fizzled down to a blunt of silver against a gold facade./
/Perhaps we should erase this race. Holocaust! Hollow Cost! You insignificance!/
You're everything to everyone// billionares broken dreams revived by best friend butterflies sprinkling of has-been happy dust// You're no one to your one.
The Speech to the press was held in solid ice limbo, The Speech to the Soul was about to burst in free fiery subconcious sizzle usurping.
Lets topple this priests podium, with its blood thirsty pagan gods on par with concerned psychiatrist meek men.
We were in awe as this it, became so infused with a schizophrenic tentacle bursting up from hydras trying to bite it down.
It became he. The former masks that cracked against pavement as I threw them away no longer weighed me down with thier solid steel and stench of rotting after-flesh.
Good/Evil? Being freed so bright and yearning? I would learn to choose (for now I could) in rose scented time
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 5:58 pm
The Highway Man
Salt on a frozen pretzel (Road)
Only I, Lonely eye scanning the twin backgrounds, both mutilated at birth.
Steam chugging out of a whining engine,
Or am I, Giving back the exhaust?
In hopes, that my brother wild stallions (who enjoy sacrificing their glass masks with a rebellious buck) will see I am no outcast.
For we are both belted in by perverted hands and forced to bob and weave through each other,
circulating blood cells in a body not kept in shape, but in style, with chrome craniums and rocket thruster throats.
One day (my pothole lined hands pointed at the snakeskin street)
we will take back what is ours, no more prodding from their wart skinned glove and teeth ringing steel fingernails. (No more exposing every rusty screw, and pulling it out just to see if you can sell the remnants of the backbone for money).
Setting my eyeballs down on the icy veins circulating through blood (oil) soaked puddles, spying down this misty floating disembodied avenue, sunlight blasts out of the far corner.
(Gangsta mobile, made to flex the black sinewy muscles of its stereo.)
“My brother! Hacked up and left exposed, air flowing through your wounds, let me bring my body into the play of this war I’ve only fought in phantasmagoric fever dreams, all their illusions of safety will crumble with this stand (Fall).”
Than he lobbed himself like a rag doll thrown up by winds, the light blasting across became creased and demented.
Donating his body (intermingled with metal and bones) to the cause.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:05 pm
Lone.
Nursing for a burrow from a thousand eyes,
thats all you count for (Count your wishes before you count your sins)
Wheres my hollow telephone pole abandoned in a dusty gulch?
=To hear the worlds wonders, yet also the lonely
staying breeze.
To get away from the walking dead, on their feet for no reason at all.
If god is everywhere, than i want to be a hermit and go to hell.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:07 pm
A life just for me
Frayed knots
Holding up my vertebrae,
Smile shaped
Particles explode
Off of the whining twines,
When I question big pez dispenser maws,
(Mimicked reactions=Brass orchestras falling off multinational bleachers
Collection population= Gnat swarms eating at blue whale pile-up)
They widen and suck in the plastic colors (I used too)
The artificial edens’, with corner grocery, friendly barkeep, and radioactive fiancee’.
(I used too)
Turn my clay features from the sunrise,
Come back with a scabby diamond mask at the twilight,
My towers used to hold up a shallow pool, (I used too)
Now, Bending down from stormy murk, they go, spilling infection into my ears.
( Believe)
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:08 pm
Moth Mouth
London bridges…falling down
Deadpan
(Pale milk sitting to stand to cream to spoil,
its too late to set some mouse bait.)
Smiling Jack
(My friendly daggers! Hung on the hips or spouted out of the lips,
cutlets off meatloaf face forming a grin. But it’s always
Uh…Off kilter…. Off balance.)
Goes off to the burning capital
(I’m Lugging stitches off of healed up scars in the melted metal soil,
where they dropped the bomb just to see if it would satisfy their spicy appetites…But…why?
MOVE trembling tack tests, and window whittling bests away from where…
BRING THE BOYS BACK HOME and TELL THE GIRLS TO GET AWAY FROM THE GUNS and LET ME SCREAM OUT VIBRANT BIG STICK A’WHACKING EULOGIES FOR ALL THAT’S BEEN TAKEN! )
To see his lovely winter (diseased whispers thrown around like paper footballs in the unruly classroom,
can’t keep my e-y-e-s- on you all.
Seeping stink, urine dog rolled over’d rug held over your face for too long, One chime rings another, one pendulum knocks a skyscraper into a freight train, one…is you.
Cold beauty is just cold. )
But goes back home, instead. (Turn your escape hatch eyes to the sky,
but the red button is jammed.
You open wide your clown ripped smile, but dust flaps out…. Moth mouth)
London bridges falling down, onto cacophony crowds, onto quiet me.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:10 pm
Will and Circumstance
The Red crusty eyes (E-a-ch- F-i-ng-er-t-ip)
Woken up screaming
Cyborg shifter shaft steps, (Ka-chung)
complete with steamy silhouette wettening my tourniquet (‘s)
Could there be a?
Nighttime widow in the salad bowl window, cheering me on?
Should there be?
Rosebuds without thorns growing at my veiny feet /no flaws in my mimicked pink crystal thick lenses?
Would there? Be a chance on the dimming florescent (old blinky) horizon that my dead eyed wishes at the randomized office supplies in the sky could come about?
My wish for crayola drawings on the poker face panels to not be my own.
My wish that I was being guided by sky lit fingers with angel feathers raining down,
Rather
Than two crows pecking behind my shoulder, trying to wear nursery white?
Ask them
Nicely (They’ll stockpile chalky missiles in your bomb shelter unless you do otherwise)
To please (That dripping fish scale visage of mine, with trenches dug in to trap cowardly thought police not doing their duties)
Turn off the damn (Nothings scarier than having to sleep next to a boiler system, reminds you of where you are on the food chain)
CLOCKS.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:14 pm
The birth of the cannibal.
She danced a daintily dance,
Whipping up roses with every fall of her wedding gown
Hums intermingling
With vibrating thorns.
Her backbone held a flaw of architecture,
Too many years of bending and weaving,
Led to the injection of (the wrong) fluid right into her spine
Every paper cut on the bridal haze was fused from
Five finger discount glue,
Lying down on the job was her job,
Lying up to your face, with her eyes gilded in purple gold, and lips sealed golden silver,
That was her motto.
We are on! Forward all machinery jacks, drop them into the furnace, stir up those weak old coals, count how many are accessible and lob them in! Break your guns, if that occurs, break your arms! If that occurs break your jaw, if that occurs
Beating back blackness with pretty rouge hot spots,
She started schisms with coconut knocked promises against your head,
So fast and so simple, you woke up for one sec. Oils flushing out the drowning water,
Than fell into hydrated outrage once again
But she twitched and spasmed like the heroin overture addict she was
For too long, the eyes gathered on her like flies she swatted so easily,
The stink from their maggot filled bodies were drawing different bots,
Ones with pincers and fangs.
Our mission is to breed, and lay, and copulate, and be insanely groping on the mummified remains of these forgotten souls we stalk and swear are really still breathing. Our duty is to drive our thumbs into our eyes so that we can grab onto the nearest fixture blindly and delve into its hot streams just to relax the aching muscles…and perhaps soul for one solitary second. Our mission is finished tonight
A sallow face grips her veins in a cold compress
Staring out from a crowd of hot bleeding stallions and mares
Knowledge decays her desires
And the nightlife is over exposed like a pretty gothic picture
Grabbing up snowy (nose puffed) tiles with catching steps,
Out into darker hills where the sun refuses to glance at you
And snakes slither around your heels as you try to keep on dancing
Futile efforts.
Target has been sighted, seen, strained to been soiled, and found!
Finish this anti-copious existence I have lived, deliver me from evil by letting me commit a sin, cannibalize, realize, sterilize! Eat me alive!
Slammed so…. Till she was slimmed into stone granite…than screams muffled by puss filled skin…can’t feel the jammed gun into your…only the odor of mold and carcass cakes…coughing and screaming crimson colors into her visage…stained in more ways than…falls back…on back….
The red seed eats the white ones in the tainted basket, till all that’s left is it and the egg.
Her cawing fury
To peck at seams holding stitches which were lovingly knitted
Alternating with soothing cow croons assuring that
Everything will be all right, light though edges at her smile
Cutting through her mop covered face,
Vicious light that burns and sizzles love
Frying it up to coat it in hooked crusty batter
Sweetened so poisoned to eat to make yourself as polluted as the world
Around you.
That was all she taught to the blood eyed woom regulator
Who interrupted her good times
So briefly.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:15 pm
Roving gangs of Silence
It was assault
powered by
alkaline batteries, Officer.
The
kraken/ blues
pulled me down
into a
circuit board
sub community.
I’m nothing to them
but pothole
fodder filler.
They were high on
cold coals.
Laid
underneath thier
tin can hearts which they kick
at each other.
Too bad
they bounce off
of paranoid riot shields.
But useless secrets are like
calendar tacks:
They keep up
all are
bad days and
worse days
Officer,
just saw a bit
of burnt mold.
Looked a lot like a
certain
spider-webbed caterpillar face,
ready to seal itself in metal, and dark.
But they want it to stay in there,
and not to show any
colors.
I know
your cold shoulders
gone frostbitten.
But sir, what
should leak from my mouth
if roving gangs of silence
stuff organs and mathematics into
my jaws.
Officer,
are you listening?
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:17 pm
Heartworm
Regret is a tapeworm.
It devours you over time.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:18 pm
at the heart of it all. (Bluebird lullaby)
Blue bird baby
Sing me a lullaby
Don’t tell me
If I’ll go to slumber
Or just lie down and die.
Seizures at my fevers,
The diabetic medic had,
As he walked down the sinew lanes,
Complaining of a late helicopter
Carried by a train.
I said, “Don’t scold my ticking ash pot
Crematory sample of all my friends last linked thought
In me the memories shall soon grow still
Lying down underneath the silent approaching crows,
On “Bluebird’ hill”
My beat was a sickened pail, sprouting holes
Late night meals became weevil-digging moles
The medic saw I was sick and pale, groped my fingers for a promise,
“Is their anything I can do sir, before the dust in your tubes, runs dryer to fluid,
And you sink to the bottom of a dark squeamish due lid. “
And I searched deep mines, of the drilled out mind, lost without a cause,
My closing closets, skeleton wardrobes being switched with bloody paws,
And a bluebird arrived just in time to warble a tune, Out of the corner of my eye
I saw the boom, but said,
“Its alright, I see a faint but glowing copter carrying light,
on trains tracks kneeling and dealing decks of noise,
soon I’ll be back to know my family not ashes but young girls and boys.”
The medic shun one last blue clapping light fall, in the eye of the man at the heart of it all,
And the blue bird flew away, his wings flapping up light beams.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:19 pm
Together we stand, divided we work and shut up.
(Checkers on the floor) Pretty waitress gals
rolling their bodies like steamrollers
towards the away from me.
Light bit water logs,
in the soap drain.
I’m just Mr. Clean well
aren’t I?
I love this,
Echoing effect, this friendly tennis game, and this bait for debate.
(Move pawn forward)
Girls never say hello anymore, but “Hell no!”
Is a conundrum I cannot
Hello operator, my seasoned grandfather time clock
has told me I need to pick up
the pace.
But I’m on a spiral in the sanitizer, the metal edge has collapsed and I’m hand-washing my wrists down to my elbows.
Could I have a raise in conversation?
(Pawn shall now attempt a take on king)
The girls are afraid of me,
salt on the fries, salt over my shoulder, salt lick=
undivided attention.
No more.
I’ve decided a start a small chess game outside
of this rapidly wrinkle webbed
fluorescent glowworm congress established,
Porcelain panel city. 00000000000With the lemony scent.
Listen to the talking free radicals,
Infecting my ears to mutate my ways,
"Together we stand, divided we work and shut up." They all seemed too
“I couldn’t agree more, sir.” I said
Silence, let close a swing bar,
And the sanitizing door shut me out.
(- 1 pawn)
I don’t see the funeral dream
girls anymore,
nor the others who
ring a neck with political hypodermic
hypocritical needle aired words.
For I’m clean of my want to understand,
any one tinkling acrobatic sink diver,
any mass of dirty devices.
Correct me If I'm neutral, but don't, for I would not exist no matter.
But I am just sitting in the sanitizing fluid now,
purified of sanity.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:21 pm
(And the sun went dark)
Crank lever, (ka chunk-
Stand up) legs.
Spit fighter spiral, upward whirlwind,
He goes dancing.
For he is sparking at his Einstein crown,
clockwork conspiracies
like
chalk work against him
are no more.
The eraser dust,
pads his beating black-hearted feet.
As he jumps away from the collective,
(Radiant with terror)
Onto a streetlamp,
sings a sharp bat loop,
from a musical he keeps dear
in his casino coward mind.
He is in lights,
but the dark bashes the neon charisma
felt in his felt bowler,
But not in the backward forward lapping
eyes of irritated citizens. (Radiant with error)
Monkeys of unseen stooges stupider than him,
dance with his king Kong grasp of the streetlight,
but a copper man with a wire to wrap the ape hands arrives.
And leads him into the waning gray world,
which edges towards a seething black.
Every damn broken legged day.
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Posted: Fri Jul 13, 2007 6:28 pm
He wore a tuxedo to the theater house, and lived
to regret the Pantene musk,
fogging from his salty scalp.
Whenever he tried to be debonair,
And dare to lift the heavy cardboard top hat off,
he swallowed his own god given gum.
When he lifted up the penguin flaps of the suit
scribbled onto notched soupy flesh,
the hot hairy eyes, of surveyors, not on Romeo and Julia,
but this
man with the sparrow’s swivel neck, trying to wear an eagle’s mantle.
Was drawing a picture that erased the show.
A tick tock clack bounced from his heels,
as timepieces went off in painted over sneakers.
He smiled in glimmering dried drip-drip hope,
but a voice just said
“Sit down or get out, get down or sit out.”
He got the message, he got the telegram,
and not the singsong bellhop who should have been some
tacked down sink fixture of the movie.
He did wander than; gruesome snickers left behind
along with uncharted milky way galaxies
(What does it matter? Its all melting my heels.)
He must have been some sort of burning sacrifice,
for the empty black before him,
turned out to be a searing red.
The angel goes out the skylight,
the devil goes out the fire exit.
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