ideology

evangelical vocabulary diffusing elements shooting through with eyes wide open every fiber of your being— intertwining through the primal human urge for some classical iconography, its simple sets in play—the world revealed inside its way

completion

there are patterns in the world that speak to those who listen to the crackle in the flame echoed as the radio plays-- to the catches in the voices permeating through the waves-- representing ocean currents trickling through the mesh of threads trembling through their speaker heads.

letters to a fiend

last night's raid
hums in my mind- the
swaying of
underground street signs
ringing with the blinding
hysteria of passing lights--
a lover's ignorance
becomes my crutch, but
no order in time
except for the illusion of
growth. no reason seen in
passing nights spent
parsing shades of
black and white--
empty hand and honest action
brushed aside in gathering
questions and fears, new paranoia
tainted moments previously
held endeared.
mind me not my disappointment,
held parallel with my enjoyment--
nothing like the awful remembrance,
always young and effervescent
lost moments and pointless times
i once knew as transcendent moments
now faded grey and ground to dust by age
and relocation's way. an evolution
bridging brides,
bringing us to the realization
(or the failure) of a destiny--
memorized in daydreams and awfully self-serving
fantasies, we're dashed upon the
evidence--a ship among the wasting glaciers,
wasting in the present (progressive) tense.

misled the tribe of
animals incensed and heaving
primal verbs the beasts priests monks nuns
ravaged by the empty tongue
the simple evening lullaby
sing sweetness of the afterlife
ferry rides, fantastic rates
and parking to the upper decks

gimme rains in static torrents--
dusted and committed to consciousness,
their coded addresses
flashing and jingling
in the bleak early hours of
endless end days.

in time i'll buy your lives
up in the madness of a gory summer,
lifted by your tragic hearts jingling
with nickels and dimes bitten and squeezed
fore surety and stacked in moments remembered
you need

6th ave

sore folks break
bullets deep,
sweating minutes from the morning
silences dreaded under rusted iron bridges, their
logic splintered by lines of laughter, like
floral patterns dotting
print paper advertisements,
peeking from every dirty corner
and rustling breeze.

spring sprung

draws close
slowly silken curtain
graces the air, its embrace
singing in its rattling rings,
singing across the golden rod
humming with ticking clock
burning with candles at this low hour.

my finger waiting on a
milky hand
older than I to
signify 12, the hour, and the sky--
games of chance
while the springtime
tries my mind
in riddles posed askance
from topics intertwined.

love me stupid i'll
ruin your beauty