If only you could see the rains I'm in
we would surely happen in flashes along the blackened skin
conjured among the shades jaded picket fences
postered boardwalks / mouthed planks shapes vowels
begging a shape not unlike that of a melting angel
whispers ash and the bone of a tail
beckoned by the lord our god
shadows temporarily scathed he points his finger at me
for the lake she slew you denied an ocean that grew
from mud she gestated forlorn and conscious obseletes
for we are sinful men pricked by atmospheres conquistador
your time is that of burnt paper blown from seeds and across the seas
well let me say that this crusade does not befit such a man as this
prove me wrong in speech like this
never has god heard a man speak like this before
he points his finger at me
my son take a grasp of my pockets to bequeath over days
and the skies took place on cached jaws packed with sulfur
that cried just the same as when she turned her head from
me in the flash squeezed sent slivers of bone bled rain
and I died that day in saturation sent fragments
though these quills harbor addiction this is not a poison that I can any longer use
after all this I feel like there is something so much more to lose
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Lithid Since Post Mortem
We always said that we'd hang ourselves from the ceiling
but now this is just the waking scent of still life memory that we've been dreaming
with eyes draped over our shoulders against the wind
and marlboros clenched between our teeth hauling on a whim
we said that we were meant for better things
songs of bitterness that the swallow sings
bird choke holds that the biters bring
and melodies from throats so cold the notes froze as they ring
the way the mammoth was destined to be swallowed over the by seething
all the while entertaining pachyderm sized thoughts
of elephant grass tall enough to touch the leaves painted green
we were as tall as this at one point / then grinning
distantly feral between jagged words that slither
leaving tiny stars in our wake across the television screen
cheek fulls that finger the macro shots in dissipating montage
on I-wish-there-was-anything-left-to-discover on those channels
and we snickered like we knew what they meant
we will find the paths and streets that they lost
abuse and reuse them to our own ends
these ideas made sense to us at the time
or so it would seem
bellies to the dirt
shadowed by taller growths wider ambition
obviously for we were sixteen then sunken and slinking
between the cracks in the road lost between the foxholes
and sidewalk chalk all for the cause and effect of one goddamn reason
for us to be acting no longer than the stalagmites that held us down
speaking on about how we'll one day hang ourselves
by snake skin from the inner peaks of the cathedrals ceiling
now all that we do is slipping forked tongues between the legs
of the memory of our sixteen year old selves slithering and dreaming
empty shells of the ghosts that we used to dream about
ghosts of the gods we worshipped in those worship buildings
and ghosts of the pilates that claimed we could not find salvation
in any other space than dark brick buildings built by dead men
under clocks tolling a time when the skies seemed higher than our limbless bodies could lift us
when our bow ties turned to necktied creating god caught by the tongue gutted to the knave
along the chest hair line to our shitsmeared crooked awkward who me grin
winking what with a dear god what have I done?
gleaming inside of our wide and empty third eye
pried open above our own reflection
concaving and convexing our thoughts into words
twisted as the infinitely too many times rewritten scriptures
whispered into the cut clean ears of disciples under fear
words that spilled from our throats
mouths draped open to dry to draw emotion from these spirits in a single moment
but it is certain that if I could be the one to tongue and wet our lips
that a prayer would flow from our mouths like the ocean
if only I could be the one to grasp salvation as it lingers softly in front of me
like silk in the wind dancing in slow motion
it is certain that a prayer would spill from our mouths like the ocean
for in the shadows of brick steeples mistook for shilouettes of hangman's nooses
I should hope to be the one to open my throat from ear to ear
and spill the wind of the words that dictate my heart
onto the coals of profanity and listen to it sear
I should hope to be the one to open my heart for a single moment
and then close it
hung by the fucking throat from the ceiling
we used to say we'd do a lot of things
but we used to say alot
but now this is just the waking scent of still life memory that we've been dreaming
with eyes draped over our shoulders against the wind
and marlboros clenched between our teeth hauling on a whim
we said that we were meant for better things
songs of bitterness that the swallow sings
bird choke holds that the biters bring
and melodies from throats so cold the notes froze as they ring
the way the mammoth was destined to be swallowed over the by seething
all the while entertaining pachyderm sized thoughts
of elephant grass tall enough to touch the leaves painted green
we were as tall as this at one point / then grinning
distantly feral between jagged words that slither
leaving tiny stars in our wake across the television screen
cheek fulls that finger the macro shots in dissipating montage
on I-wish-there-was-anything-left-to-discover on those channels
and we snickered like we knew what they meant
we will find the paths and streets that they lost
abuse and reuse them to our own ends
these ideas made sense to us at the time
or so it would seem
bellies to the dirt
shadowed by taller growths wider ambition
obviously for we were sixteen then sunken and slinking
between the cracks in the road lost between the foxholes
and sidewalk chalk all for the cause and effect of one goddamn reason
for us to be acting no longer than the stalagmites that held us down
speaking on about how we'll one day hang ourselves
by snake skin from the inner peaks of the cathedrals ceiling
now all that we do is slipping forked tongues between the legs
of the memory of our sixteen year old selves slithering and dreaming
empty shells of the ghosts that we used to dream about
ghosts of the gods we worshipped in those worship buildings
and ghosts of the pilates that claimed we could not find salvation
in any other space than dark brick buildings built by dead men
under clocks tolling a time when the skies seemed higher than our limbless bodies could lift us
when our bow ties turned to necktied creating god caught by the tongue gutted to the knave
along the chest hair line to our shitsmeared crooked awkward who me grin
winking what with a dear god what have I done?
gleaming inside of our wide and empty third eye
pried open above our own reflection
concaving and convexing our thoughts into words
twisted as the infinitely too many times rewritten scriptures
whispered into the cut clean ears of disciples under fear
words that spilled from our throats
mouths draped open to dry to draw emotion from these spirits in a single moment
but it is certain that if I could be the one to tongue and wet our lips
that a prayer would flow from our mouths like the ocean
if only I could be the one to grasp salvation as it lingers softly in front of me
like silk in the wind dancing in slow motion
it is certain that a prayer would spill from our mouths like the ocean
for in the shadows of brick steeples mistook for shilouettes of hangman's nooses
I should hope to be the one to open my throat from ear to ear
and spill the wind of the words that dictate my heart
onto the coals of profanity and listen to it sear
I should hope to be the one to open my heart for a single moment
and then close it
hung by the fucking throat from the ceiling
we used to say we'd do a lot of things
but we used to say alot
Tongues in the Stomach of a Wind Doe
A hawk child enamored
earth blazoned under a false pretense of free to let be
you are now free to scour harkened the dove mother
you know that I've been waiting for you to drop me from the branches
for some time now for weeks I've been speaking of it in my sleep
remember when we used to dream each others dreams when I shook
from the apnea and you whispered soft blue winds to calm the veins
of the leaves in my mind that tugged my spastic muscles
into fearful frets that could not stand the test of your fingertips
across my bald head the softer 'settle, settle, shhh, it's ok, settle'
dripping into my ears until the willow branches graced the dirt
leaving me calm and steady and sleeping sound once again
remember how we seemed to float in those days?
remember how we just fucking floated
we were birds and spirits and jet aeroplanes
waterfalls and free falls birds gliding on fire doused in flames
we were all the things that never touched the ground
a perfect silence under tilting wings
moving together never a sound
stronger than cornerstones
more resilient than cobblestone
we were the wind and the clouds and the rain
and lightening that fell from them
we were a four lunged entity separated at birth
and every time we made love every time we fucked
was an effort made in futility at linking rib cages
sewing hearts mouths and throats that twisted
between jaw and spine to find perfect new homes
in each others palpitating craving bodies
palms to palms and bones to bones
finger tips pressed into joined ellipses
falling into the cracks of you because
those were the spaces left for me to fall into
remember how we seemed to shine in those days?
remember how we just fucking shined
perfect setting horizons cradle
the rising stars in night casting
shifting silhouettes of us against the sky
I was the hawk and you were the dove
two spirits clashing then residing
a storming subtle wind that I am
destine to ride the tides of
a hawk child enamored
earth covered now after the fall from our tree
after the free fall turns to waterfalls under
a long awaited pretense of free to let be
you are now free to scour harkened the dove mother
I know that you've been waiting for me to drop you from the branches
for some time now for weeks you've been speaking of it in your sleep
but I fear if we do not fall now we will never again fly free
frozen in the snow above the rutting of the wind does
we will surely cease the blood in one another
never taste the west or southern shores and sea
the tides are rising and the weather is changing my love
in time with the falling fruit rotting resting
to breathe once more to live and grow again
two spirits grasping for the seeds sinking
into the moss of the morning glory trees
two spirits grasping a talon full of fingers
ellipses parting softly whispering blue winds dividing
the child the hawk the lover the dove
clashing then residing a storming subtle wind
that I am destine to ride the tides of
well perfect as we may have been in amongst
the leaves of the trees we built for ourselves
we will always fall through the cracks in one another
for those spaces have now become too wide for each other to cover
the child the hawk the lover the dove
the tides are rising and the weather is changing
it is time that we shed these tired and weary feathers
and reveal the true colors of a dividing flight path
the last of migrations and long journeys that we will make together
birds do not fly backwards over the hooves of the wind does
for this has never been nor will ever be the way the grass blows
earth blazoned under a false pretense of free to let be
you are now free to scour harkened the dove mother
you know that I've been waiting for you to drop me from the branches
for some time now for weeks I've been speaking of it in my sleep
remember when we used to dream each others dreams when I shook
from the apnea and you whispered soft blue winds to calm the veins
of the leaves in my mind that tugged my spastic muscles
into fearful frets that could not stand the test of your fingertips
across my bald head the softer 'settle, settle, shhh, it's ok, settle'
dripping into my ears until the willow branches graced the dirt
leaving me calm and steady and sleeping sound once again
remember how we seemed to float in those days?
remember how we just fucking floated
we were birds and spirits and jet aeroplanes
waterfalls and free falls birds gliding on fire doused in flames
we were all the things that never touched the ground
a perfect silence under tilting wings
moving together never a sound
stronger than cornerstones
more resilient than cobblestone
we were the wind and the clouds and the rain
and lightening that fell from them
we were a four lunged entity separated at birth
and every time we made love every time we fucked
was an effort made in futility at linking rib cages
sewing hearts mouths and throats that twisted
between jaw and spine to find perfect new homes
in each others palpitating craving bodies
palms to palms and bones to bones
finger tips pressed into joined ellipses
falling into the cracks of you because
those were the spaces left for me to fall into
remember how we seemed to shine in those days?
remember how we just fucking shined
perfect setting horizons cradle
the rising stars in night casting
shifting silhouettes of us against the sky
I was the hawk and you were the dove
two spirits clashing then residing
a storming subtle wind that I am
destine to ride the tides of
a hawk child enamored
earth covered now after the fall from our tree
after the free fall turns to waterfalls under
a long awaited pretense of free to let be
you are now free to scour harkened the dove mother
I know that you've been waiting for me to drop you from the branches
for some time now for weeks you've been speaking of it in your sleep
but I fear if we do not fall now we will never again fly free
frozen in the snow above the rutting of the wind does
we will surely cease the blood in one another
never taste the west or southern shores and sea
the tides are rising and the weather is changing my love
in time with the falling fruit rotting resting
to breathe once more to live and grow again
two spirits grasping for the seeds sinking
into the moss of the morning glory trees
two spirits grasping a talon full of fingers
ellipses parting softly whispering blue winds dividing
the child the hawk the lover the dove
clashing then residing a storming subtle wind
that I am destine to ride the tides of
well perfect as we may have been in amongst
the leaves of the trees we built for ourselves
we will always fall through the cracks in one another
for those spaces have now become too wide for each other to cover
the child the hawk the lover the dove
the tides are rising and the weather is changing
it is time that we shed these tired and weary feathers
and reveal the true colors of a dividing flight path
the last of migrations and long journeys that we will make together
birds do not fly backwards over the hooves of the wind does
for this has never been nor will ever be the way the grass blows
The Faults of Peace and Safety
Under the willow tree I sat and wondered
how the shaking limbs of an instrument can make our hearts to fall
and how the number of leaves upon the dying life of this broad tree
will only lessen in the shadowed spaces over growing the grasses
of where we once grew tall / of what we will become once we
are no longer dredged in a false sense of peace and safety
set upon us by those dredged in a false sense that
we were at one point left unprotected and afraid
of what we will grow into / our faiths our disbeliefs
our sudden realizations / our aspirations caustic as waterfalls
contemplating what words we hear when the violins
overcome the static under the radio
bleeding out from the edges of our refrigerators
meaning what will we be when our sustinance
dries out dries up towards the shrinking roots
will the apples fall farther from our tongues
than once predicted by our predecessors?
and will the will and whims of impulse
slow to stagnant palpitations?
the hand grasps quill across parchment
to scrawl what we thought we meant
that perhaps all of it may not all just go to waste
destroyed / empty as the heart compartments
cut into our gasping dusted chests
withered as the cysts upon the skeleton
lips of our dead and dying christ
the flimsy matchbooks under our lapels
busting at the seams fractured and flaming
there will come a deadly wave
that will leave us with nothing
so as I speak so the words dissipate
as I love still still my blood will stand still
and the spirits of all life on earth
are expendable / just as the broken chords
may sing loudly cannot help but one day
sing a little less than yesterday
cassette tapes disintegrate
brittle bones may fornicate
tearing heads and limbs may
scream out to another
clawing scratching to communicate
and the light gracing our scalps will fade
there is no hope but that which we create
and there are few things that I know
and there are fewer things that I know to be true
but one of those things is that
my soul is as full as it is desolate
and yet even at this very moment
the light runs deep through my
head with love and a reason to be passionate
and even in the static and death
and the running shaking cold
the hate curling around the earth
grasping taking hold
it will sing to me from the hilltops
and I will on concave heavens stand
and let hate know that it shall not pass
and when my voice fades and cracks away
and smokes away from the radio waves
look and know and see that I will always be
everything that I need to be
look and know and see I gained it all
the day life's waves crashed over me
how the shaking limbs of an instrument can make our hearts to fall
and how the number of leaves upon the dying life of this broad tree
will only lessen in the shadowed spaces over growing the grasses
of where we once grew tall / of what we will become once we
are no longer dredged in a false sense of peace and safety
set upon us by those dredged in a false sense that
we were at one point left unprotected and afraid
of what we will grow into / our faiths our disbeliefs
our sudden realizations / our aspirations caustic as waterfalls
contemplating what words we hear when the violins
overcome the static under the radio
bleeding out from the edges of our refrigerators
meaning what will we be when our sustinance
dries out dries up towards the shrinking roots
will the apples fall farther from our tongues
than once predicted by our predecessors?
and will the will and whims of impulse
slow to stagnant palpitations?
the hand grasps quill across parchment
to scrawl what we thought we meant
that perhaps all of it may not all just go to waste
destroyed / empty as the heart compartments
cut into our gasping dusted chests
withered as the cysts upon the skeleton
lips of our dead and dying christ
the flimsy matchbooks under our lapels
busting at the seams fractured and flaming
there will come a deadly wave
that will leave us with nothing
so as I speak so the words dissipate
as I love still still my blood will stand still
and the spirits of all life on earth
are expendable / just as the broken chords
may sing loudly cannot help but one day
sing a little less than yesterday
cassette tapes disintegrate
brittle bones may fornicate
tearing heads and limbs may
scream out to another
clawing scratching to communicate
and the light gracing our scalps will fade
there is no hope but that which we create
and there are few things that I know
and there are fewer things that I know to be true
but one of those things is that
my soul is as full as it is desolate
and yet even at this very moment
the light runs deep through my
head with love and a reason to be passionate
and even in the static and death
and the running shaking cold
the hate curling around the earth
grasping taking hold
it will sing to me from the hilltops
and I will on concave heavens stand
and let hate know that it shall not pass
and when my voice fades and cracks away
and smokes away from the radio waves
look and know and see that I will always be
everything that I need to be
look and know and see I gained it all
the day life's waves crashed over me
RESCUE
..but the sky scrapers skinned us into a hole of hard earth...
exasperated and tired out a trusted pendulum swinging heavy
a shining star scaling the blanket it clings to wide then gaping
against the grandfather clock the nine planets aligned
brandished behind the sweating sun setting transient in a long line
of what used to be the time we wouldn't consume
the skyscrapers may have us skinned at first light
under the pungent afternoon of waking to the still scent
of draping locks of lavender lapsing towards our palms
the tunnels we dug in the hills keep our glowing mosses warm
ambient under the darkened bodies of deciduous and coniferous
a descending place to sleep calm and steady
for years to come for days on end if that’s what’s meant for us
waxing and waning deep inside this heavy mellow earth
substantial and brooding smolding coals campfires litter the banks
river fires visible from space music that connects us
resounding through the halls hills for homes
heavens shaking stalks quaking at the sounds
columns slim and ascending waves of rain and light cascading
directions converging on the swelling life the light's depending
what animal will I be when I’m the one
with heart strings and conscious lines connecting
a vessel on all fours my heart is sore from the pounding
break beat chambers within me are a map to my surroundings
a muzzle muttering for more softly in his sleep
can you see my breath on the floor
filling footprints sparking toenail filaments
traipse over the threshold set against the bottom of the door
these are the paths I set for myself in remembrance
paths I knew I would one day need again
to follow four footed and vicious
calm and steady a glass sphere on fingertips
mellow and heavy a warming earth eggshell fragile
a whisking existence treading so lightly
amongst the shadows watching my scalp sweet and supple
afraid that the may bes maybe gumless mouths
Shovel wide teeth grinning shameless a universal scream to behold
barks that bite at the sky and chew through you
hair and bone endless valleys of chest and stomach
shadow scathed in waiting sweet and supple
a bleeding weightless bite to reconcile
a continuum of you star eyed and powerful
now what I mean to say is what I mean to be
that there is star power in your eyes
a depth that reflects the Saturn ringlets
of timeless and endless open as the atmosphere
controlled chaos swimming wise among the silence
past the vanishing point of mine your’s or anyone’s perception
through what we think we know of the tangible world around us
eons away from what our elders preached about redemption
all the supposed salvation we once accepted
simply because it was an answer to all of those questions
no know that behind our eyes reflection is more than just a window
but a spiritual silo busting concerning something more something deeper
than earthy religion with all of its deteriorating connotations
something that shoots through my veins rittles me to the core
shakes detonates my bones an inner arthritis I am begging for
what animal will I be when I’m the one
with heart strings and conscious lines connecting
a vessel on all fours my heart is sore from the pounding
my eyes are tearing bleeding exasperating I have found love
under the skin that the sky has torn and stripped me of
high above my soft scalp I have found answers in atmosphere
and with every breath I take I and every step I make
I am learning of my already present salvation
it is out there far from the mountain peaks and past the clouds beyond any solar system
past the scientific and artistic vanishing point of any universal perception
it is here behind my iris behind my eyes photographs of it are caught
in the tears that run down my cheeks drip onto my arms and side
I can hear the vibrato echoing in the chambers against my heart strings
we cannot smell or hear or taste or see
but I am touching the connection
it is warm and it is breathing
a glowing reflection
I am rescued
exasperated and tired out a trusted pendulum swinging heavy
a shining star scaling the blanket it clings to wide then gaping
against the grandfather clock the nine planets aligned
brandished behind the sweating sun setting transient in a long line
of what used to be the time we wouldn't consume
the skyscrapers may have us skinned at first light
under the pungent afternoon of waking to the still scent
of draping locks of lavender lapsing towards our palms
the tunnels we dug in the hills keep our glowing mosses warm
ambient under the darkened bodies of deciduous and coniferous
a descending place to sleep calm and steady
for years to come for days on end if that’s what’s meant for us
waxing and waning deep inside this heavy mellow earth
substantial and brooding smolding coals campfires litter the banks
river fires visible from space music that connects us
resounding through the halls hills for homes
heavens shaking stalks quaking at the sounds
columns slim and ascending waves of rain and light cascading
directions converging on the swelling life the light's depending
what animal will I be when I’m the one
with heart strings and conscious lines connecting
a vessel on all fours my heart is sore from the pounding
break beat chambers within me are a map to my surroundings
a muzzle muttering for more softly in his sleep
can you see my breath on the floor
filling footprints sparking toenail filaments
traipse over the threshold set against the bottom of the door
these are the paths I set for myself in remembrance
paths I knew I would one day need again
to follow four footed and vicious
calm and steady a glass sphere on fingertips
mellow and heavy a warming earth eggshell fragile
a whisking existence treading so lightly
amongst the shadows watching my scalp sweet and supple
afraid that the may bes maybe gumless mouths
Shovel wide teeth grinning shameless a universal scream to behold
barks that bite at the sky and chew through you
hair and bone endless valleys of chest and stomach
shadow scathed in waiting sweet and supple
a bleeding weightless bite to reconcile
a continuum of you star eyed and powerful
now what I mean to say is what I mean to be
that there is star power in your eyes
a depth that reflects the Saturn ringlets
of timeless and endless open as the atmosphere
controlled chaos swimming wise among the silence
past the vanishing point of mine your’s or anyone’s perception
through what we think we know of the tangible world around us
eons away from what our elders preached about redemption
all the supposed salvation we once accepted
simply because it was an answer to all of those questions
no know that behind our eyes reflection is more than just a window
but a spiritual silo busting concerning something more something deeper
than earthy religion with all of its deteriorating connotations
something that shoots through my veins rittles me to the core
shakes detonates my bones an inner arthritis I am begging for
what animal will I be when I’m the one
with heart strings and conscious lines connecting
a vessel on all fours my heart is sore from the pounding
my eyes are tearing bleeding exasperating I have found love
under the skin that the sky has torn and stripped me of
high above my soft scalp I have found answers in atmosphere
and with every breath I take I and every step I make
I am learning of my already present salvation
it is out there far from the mountain peaks and past the clouds beyond any solar system
past the scientific and artistic vanishing point of any universal perception
it is here behind my iris behind my eyes photographs of it are caught
in the tears that run down my cheeks drip onto my arms and side
I can hear the vibrato echoing in the chambers against my heart strings
we cannot smell or hear or taste or see
but I am touching the connection
it is warm and it is breathing
a glowing reflection
I am rescued
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)