Repeating

I am covered in a wet darkness,
viscously roaming my foolishly welcoming body
                               like a foreign disease
exploiting the tender territory
                               of sensible skin
for every worthwhile infectious moment.

-I can't help but think of analogy.


Breath: a precious thing,
turned
thick and heated
like the city pollution outside,
burning through my nose during each painful voluntary cycle;

carrying traces of pirate scents wishing to frighten
the modest treasure out of virginal sensibilities,
voyaging

             in and out

the plunderous space of craven lungs.


Pools of gasoline swell on top of stained eyes
unyielding to be shut by whatever frail power
still lingers beneath;
with droplets
cruising
       down
          a 
          flurry 
               of
                dense
                    flame
        filling up both ears
until sound from
all those pointless conversations
                    downstairs
ride softly into a dullness that fades to phantom impression-
I had a similar experience on the plane.


I've seen enough.
I've listened enough.


I cry not from anything to do
with the heart but from a build up in the head
incrementing to a growth where my skull expands
to trespass the surface of four walls
and the room becomes nothing but cephalic irony.


The body,
a silly remnant spurring feelings of what once was,
reluctantly obeys
the violence
of torrent waves,
and I submerge darkly on
                        the bedrock of bed-riddeness

                          alone

with the one activity that has solely defined me,
now stuck in loop.
now stuck in loop.
now stuck in loop.
now stuck in loop.


For the first time in a long time
I am not looking forward to the light of the morning
and the dry renewal that accompanies it,
                         which I know will not be there this time.



"You need a strong immune system to travel."
Repeating.

104

One shelters in a comfort where none can roam,
The other wanders with hammer, and crafts crudely;
The first finds security in a tyrant’s home,
While the second strikes against hidden cruelty.

A pounding of the hammer begot
The reprisal of a sordid weak-spot;

But the movement of a hammer had sought
Higher pillars to be erected in thought.

The first curse and condemn
At destruction’s wake;
But a hammer did mend
What was in their hearts to quake.

But,
When

Will the first realize the fortune of breaking?

101 (Death makes a Comedy of us all)

A smiling clown walks timid on tightened rope
And peers down thinking this day might be last;
The face of fear begs in frightened hope
As relentless laughter demands to move fast!

When the clown’s descent endows
The eyes with moment of great fall,
Boom! Goes Death, and humour bows
On knees bruised to crawl.

The crowd,
Sunken deep in whatever is felt
by fleeting grief,
Remarks: “He was a fool; it was to be a
Sudden leap that would make
his living brief!”

And so, from the first to this last fall,
Death makes a Comedy of us all.

100

Some choices
are rightfully decided
on great thoughts of gold,
but by actions blighted:
no similar story told.

Other choices, although maligned,
are means
to ends
deemed most kind.

But by the shining of a moment
awareness is afforded,
leaving the most secure actors
in acts contorted.

So, the dark,
in all its magnanimity
plays our secret muse,
for acts would not be
if light fully shown
on what we choose.

And I wanted danger in clashes of violence,
to break comfort with the frightened awareness rewarded from no reversing.
And I craved a madness where Pain would sculpt soft edges sharp
and rust shine proudly on spirit well-traversing.

And from the engine of a heartbeat cast a smog so dense it polluted the sun itself and the whole world became tarred with my choices that wrought it so thoroughly into my now swarming nature;

and I!
Wanted nothing at all but adventure onto death.

98

Travelling through a trail enlightened;
surely, many rewards to be gained
when led in hope and un-frightened,
but the longer the roads,
the heavier hope grows
and soon needs to be shed;
or else the path, turned laborious,
may leave a traveller misled,
and prospect of reward, now spurious,
can render all the goals dead.

For my ________ (freeverse)

Your eyes lie on me in darkening ignorance,
Like they fell down unstable earth
Where a bottom was reached 
That you and I now share.
 
And I had thought of my innocence in moment’s rage,
While yours appeared to me without time, in blank forgiveness;
Without the flood that withers us to its command. 

Anger was yours to lose, 
But you had found an anchor, 
And I, a lighthouse.

And from a moment I had discovered myself again, 
And discovered you also,
 as child, 
Without that weight of time you wear now so well, 
And sometimes wish to shed.  

From what becomes of reluctance
grows saving guilt,
And i forgive you, 
And in a higher self-defeat, 
You forgave me. 

We have both scattered part of ourselves, 
But in parts we newly assembled  
What matters after all,
Even though it is a reminder
Of hopes forever lost;
Such are the necessities we must bear.

The duty of an organ (freeverse)

Those restless moments before sleep have a-blazed tonight 
And from four corners drew a room wherein 
A flicker of sense and 2 gallons of heated emotion 
Spilled into the most craving cavity.

To wake up, to disappear from illusion 
As if curse enlightened some inner truth of character; 
Certainly, a tender meat luring animals inching closer 
To better hear harmonies of sentiments pulsing.

I am not satisfied, now wanting, wherein wanton 
Becomes of me in forced flight,
And left as if altitude stranded what is most heavy,
Which by another name... 

Steady, rich, fertile; such are properties of
An earth where a predator searches, yearns 
To be scorched, scorned, adorned 
With the presence of those things that cause a pressure 
Forceful enough to advance onto living futures, 
Or the most alluring prey.

In violence, struck and crossed, etched a mark on wood, 
On paper a pool of ink, for that ancient story blessed a symbol;
Engraved a line between two sides maintained by 
Fragile power;
A tempo dances to new fear, hope, love, hate.

To deny them and yet to also give life all the same; 
It's that which truth and corruption,
Haunted and hunted, damn silently by name:
The heart.