This ? Social

   As For The Girl...

And as for the girl...

She arrested me

With all the brute force in all the known world

She was brutal

And I learned the negatives of leaning against the 'less-than-beautiful'

Accompanied by the pitiful

      and in the end, I was the carrier

For all she sought to become was pivotal in a point of (yes) return

 

 

   My Voice

 My superficial voice was once defined by an oracle of life as a broken and battered unofficial rhyme scheme, and then it was relinquished and it soon felt the urgent need to give itself up to it somewhere out in some mossy northwestern lodging in the mountains where the masses come to sit because they've tired howling heals watching us tie down our embellished convictions so the soon-to-be devoured can still remain devout despite all isolation revealing its mouth tonight.

 

  

   Continuation

       fired everything

       kept the animation for the underground

       overrun and underfed

       they could not band to be disruptive if their motion was interrupted

 

  

   While You Pose

Everyone was standing in my way

And the powers that be were far enough up to bring me down for days

And you knew this would be the perfect time to become an opportunist

And if you wanted to cultivate my soul...

You would've had to kill me first

I gave you all that I could take away

I'm amazed

By the way in which you've answered every question that I've posed

  "by the way..."

                "can you look like heaven to me today?"

I gave the time that I could give

Always

While you posed

Your same charades are all I've ever known

 

 

   Chocolates In the Music of Queens

 Chocolate-covered peanuts remind her of taxidermy. Yeah, weird...i know. And the babe, she'll never go down. She's a kitten in a den o' wolves, and she may never come back. No. She was too oblique too,  'til the melodies came about, lest they held no grudges. She was sex as a weapon as seen through her bony, blanding face. She can't loosen her control. And be there no blotches nor burns from an awe for passion. And no denomination to fabricate. She knows not how or cares for no y's. On queue, she finds herself lost in lust and using. Using it all up. She dreams of queens ever after...after what? She's headed for the wounded night; in for alchemy. She can touch her deadening ends and make them feel like new again. She likes the look of scissors -- she steals them from all kinds of places. Turning corners, she prepares to gain a way to see it like the way she wants to see it. Fools herself into fairy-tales. She's never hurt a thing only because she cannot find us. Evil has always had a heart. It fights...

 

 

   My Left Wrist Hurts

I can't think of a single thing to wri({[...............]})ing. Whoop! S**t, here's something.

 

 

   Hanging Up the Bodies of the Captured Enemy On Old, Rotting Telephone Poles with Live Wires All Along the Interstate of these Inglorious Nations, In the Name of Mine

     In the red and distant west where the worlds were lost to weakened hands like aphids and ants, fans remembered the fellow creatures from the desert singing limericks

          All throughout dead-pan plains and with the next to last reformed from mutton to a delicacy of sorts, there came a click and over what followed stunned the laws of men with sticks

   Adamant, they married and minus-ed and mused about the other Betas

        Took them all for Alphas; took them out of place and finally to a palace in Oasis

                     They took them to present a mends -- an offer to the Highness -- then ate of them for dinner abolishing the past by passing hand to hand to mouth, but alas!!! They have been had and it has been such a

    wretched b***h

 

 

   Ripple

   As we're sitting on the ripples she leans over and has an incredible remark: "It was this energy...and it was fixed on serving me an ecstasy and it whispered things to me..."

   "Some things are as impossible as they seem." Each one of us converts to our polar personality.

   "You can see them...the twins. We all have one other familiar person here with us at any given time." She says, one we are willing to show and one we try to hide:

   "It's an endless dichotomy of alliance."

   She goes on, pointing at her sternum, "Like a hounding ire here...withstanding your carcass and filing upon your shores -- into the memory of the times when we could change."

   "From blue, shadowed hues...we hazed." She went further to explain how when Earth and God would not elude the loss of the pyramids, but would raise the rest of us on up to them instead."

   In her struggle of disarming day and night, she kept on reciting: "I grasp your deepest secret, so my Love will be at rest...all the while, we horded the vodka as they wept.

_______________________________________raised

___________________Then all of their glasses/                             

 

  

   At Work

  Yeah, there's no one quite like me

An ambassador and I;

A latent request for the bigger piece of pie

And I'm here to tell you how easy I am to snag

Kept a hold of me for a bit...but...

Got caught on your command...a little...but...

  Yeah, there's nothing defining me

I'm a castle in your mind

A never-late-objection to which nothing can permanently bind

And I've come to tell you what your grip is bound to let go of

You'll get me for once,

Until I start listing my demands

 

 

   Until Then I'll Just Read From My Deleted Notebooks

 Until there's only death to become of us we'll tear our feet away from the ground and try to find a home with no reflection of soul. Even in the infancy we're hiding from, the dead and resurrected...they know. Machines of God could have created the Earth but flame and snow certainly shaped it. Broken apart and followed to the one who's seen as the wiser one, we're only left to gaze upon what should surely be left alone. It's been written in its place. So-to-speak, God and his abandonment of us and what we've written about him into stone. It's true that delusional power has both the strength and intent to end our days. And truth will never leave us alone. We'll see an end through a higher dose and we'll be the end inside of our growth. Until there's only life to become of us. Until there's only life in our bones.

 Truth experiments with all who follow along. There's someone hiding in the closet leaking out the news. I've been enchanted by my everyday blues. For here and now I am allowed to counteract my truths. I do, after all, bleed red. For all who follow along do not find an eminent good-will. We'll lock that closet door and hope that nothing escapes. We'll craft our traps and press record and stash all of our tapes. They will reveal things to us later. Perhaps we'll think twice. The morals of our years drain fast.

 Concrete white lines stay distant in his eyes. He woke up this morning with the news of transcendence. Between the forks of what became too dismal to be the fluorescence of chance. He swims without a motor. He levitates just high enough to avoid the Autumn crumble. "Emerge," say the voices. His shadow as his guide, the raptor flew alone. Across the fields of bodies. Amidst a field of holly...'O, what a beautiful sea. So they were rescued; sectioned by their love. They don't mind missing much of the familiar because his talons gave them reason to shove through eyes and ears. Faith comes without senses. For the touch of the holy is only in the joke to be played, and yet, their tongues will remain to induce proper praise.

 What could possibly be chained up to the back of my skull causing the walls to rust as pure and whole as any psychosis? The cold and cramp of the tile may cause a blind man to want to donate his eyes. Something's waking. Tainting my innards with lead paint from the canvass of its face. Un-answer my questions!! And although I've asked for a prayer of reason, this painting should serve my lords with justice.

 Unveiling you as a mute with no conscious contemplation of yourself. Bellow...belt it out, you Luscious Wonder. Stop sweating those bullets in your sleep. Almost. A wake. In your abscessed oblivion you keep spanning dimensions and climbing over stars to reach your destination. You are subtle in your shifting of space, but you flinch noticeably when my psychology claims your time and puts you in your place. Coming close to turning into a morphing closer for me.

 Lay like leaves. Autumn has arrived in graceful swarms like honestly earnest ballerinas in rehearsal. A cosmic, calming storm. In episodes of withering delight things begin to crisp and I'm guessing it will all subside to dancing superstitions currently positioned to greet only the lonely and save the forlorn-ed. It is a pleasure to adore you, Fall. Don't spare me your sessions of crispy spite and go ahead and bother me to link up to each and every synapse port. I may suckle the noose above your lattice of leaves and lay crisp and crackling in my own height but I'll never be as special as the leaves that you are shedding.

 Young in my heart. Old in my head. The chill is coming in. The dunes are cooling down. I salute my sinking feet and the aroma saturates the spice. Look at that cape that's jetting out. Pretend the spray is letting you in. Meanwhile, I want you to wish that when men fall they will not tumble. No fear of broken ankles; only liquid angles here. This date is now coming to its end, and what is serious is pretending just like you. I am peaking. I'll say hello.

 What we do...respect it accordingly.

 Too sinister to repeat though it seems so serene -- it's spreading. Make no mistake about that. Repeat. Pause. Repeat.

 There are stranger things than alien domains. There are stranger things than some solemn war syndrome partially connected from you throughout my concave DNA. Theatrical occupants collapse into an elliptical savagery. In the furnace of our fabled victories; king of slight distance; legends of mythology. In time, I'm told, the panting will diminish; hopefully as soon as I scrape off this cramping sensitivity of the devil's complaints. Cremation leads to charcoal. My multi-personalized world will submit its resignation to the material of my out-of-date and finite numbered synthesis -- provided the provided is the profile as I need it. A rescuing mirage reinvented as one exam for the education of a singular, solid existence. All for one. One for none.

 My Juliet won't find her imagination. The supposed Romeo can't hide his frustrated powers and neither can I. Neither of them holler. Still slithering, we all share bliss together between the sheets of sex and peaks. And looking at the hour-glass, we lay stomachs pointed to hell and transfix the others' organs to make damn-well sure none of us make even a slight shutter...or a pleasing kill.

 Ridicule? An indoctrinated festival of lights placing those under arrest who would allow such a formula to fester from a shot in the chest. I need a rational geyser of powerful inFlection. I need it to stay pristine for hours. Balling up in towers for a downward and turbulent ritual run by a bunch of bawling cowards. Magma from their mountains shall overcome from under, and from the roots of their villages, it will fill their world with the land of Luna. Their footing shall slip up four slick walls and scatter them like glass all the way up to the moon. "No gravity here!"

 So she walks into the room; wants to get out of this season. She says, "They'll take me with them." But I helped her ignite all the cannibals. We had to show them up. We reduced them into symbols. Soon more jumped from wall to wall. From the walls they pounced and mauled; turned our shoulders over head and leaped around our throats. We were stuck at bay and we were finished in the end, but after all, we came out as friends.

 A white noise shattered against the hall and went up against my bones. The ghost made the choice to suffer and here is what I know: "Its white hair captures blue from the light coming from the other room."

 So she walks backwards into this church; looks into the holy water and bleeds into her lap. She laughs. She mutters something about..."too much dependence to depend on our own."

 If my mind dies before my guilty hide, will you lay it to rest? I would dispose of it myself but I've been distracted by candy. I am punished, but I hate to be blessed. My hide of jewelry flesh can be chastised so long as I get some points and you don't hold me down. My politics have become a pest and I'm as happy as a w***e in this crowd. Here...I'm subject to the boars but I'm careful where I step. Unless, of course, I'm dead -- by then, my diamond-plating will be used for safe passage. Or I might decide to use it for holding myself in both your way and theirs. You all must kiss me quick; before I get away.

 Treading and soaking herself in a coy but not uncommon wealth, she's had an ivory epiphany. Standing naked and tilting but far, far and away eating pearls. Along her side, she lay in shambles with me. In a filth; in a quilted sea. In the silt there hides the gift of grief -- so no more swimming. Just grit your teeth on pearls. She knows her wish. The contradiction and the witch have sold it to her before. But seldom does she see the brink of hell. She says, "I lied like an enthusiastic paradox before I died."All for pearls. 

 Hunting It beside the wolf. By the manner in which you speak, I'm surprised that you want to come along with me. Hunting up and down this coast. Up the meter and off by leap-years. It's icy on these streets, but no one has the right to leave the mountain. We'll need layers for the trek and being that we're stubborn, we'll be sleeping on our feet. And we will achieve what we came here to fail at. Still, no one is in the wrong if they feel the need to weep.

 The gracious lions are about to wake up. When they yawn the background sweeps in with a most ,'mo;ns,t;''ero',u.',s: thunder. Even in our chains, we sway like liars. OOoops, I guess we pinched a nerve, and they went straight to the problem. In minutes, we lay dead as fodder.

 In a cup of sand, picture an absolute source and an infinite span of all directions. In all directions...sand. You're twirling it with an elegant intent and your pulse goes sporadic. There's an underlying current spiraling. Its waves are cresting into vast, intersecting fields with sheets of individually unique frequencies vibrating themselves into a consistency of some optional state of being. And so it happens that this new state of nothing is perpetual unto itself. All in all, you're adrift. Ever-altering. A static. Chaos thickens then, suddenly, when form comes in the way. A tension of all that tends to meet...

 It's safe to say I'm divorcing the lot. I've decided to sit and stay for a glass of cheap booze. I'll stay longer if the list gets longer. This shot I can take. I'm okay with these paradigm blues curving the posture of my frame. Island contentment -- deserting my own. I saved the second-to-last one to say to him what I have lost.

 Live this wanderlust movie. Save your silence for the narrative, and pose your poetic politics into an environment of circumstance. The narrative follows the leader, and there in lies the dance.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Pen Draggin']

'While You Pose' really stood out for me and I liked how the length of the last piece really anchored the rest. "Evil has always had a heart. It fights..." are just a few of the thousands of amazing strings of words riddled throughout here. Inspiring as always.