Tuesday, November 27, 2012

The Chapel

We begin, start at the bridge formed from
 a substance that is, in fact at both times the
most formidable of minerals my blood allows
resolute, indeed, in the evenings and much so
hearty and firm and bold in the quiet mornings
the bridge is the link, the line, the path between
myself and the esteemed chapel of Matrons
 as such it is the attachment and connecting
the bonding, joining, linking structure that
gives the chapel and myself the privilege of 
each others efforts and wants and requirements
I, the owner, captain, lord and master of the bridge
who by my will it is given purpose to rise and now
enhance it's efforts and prolong its structure in a brazen 
show of strength of not only character, but of indeed
the very essence of what makes is the post pure of 
the male for that I reside and take the greatest efforts
to embellish with every waking breath that I am allowed
And so, at the base of the trestle
extending over a massive chasm
of perhaps of fabric waters or maybe
arid overpasses that give way to
the pure majesty that is the gate
indeed so, for the tip of the bridge
bulging in comparison to the rest of its formidable length
extending outward to the warm, damp interior of the esteemed 
chapel that is made to house the inner most precious of thoughts
housing a number of idols, so crafted from a first hand knowledge of 
the figurers that they were made to represent and be made in the likeness
of, its is this that the bridge, the tip of which pulses into the gates, with
a measured, paced cadence, the likes of which flows
a material the is both vital to the self of mine
reflecting my pride, but also invigorating the
inner most corners and crevasses of the
this chapel so precious, yes this
material is most addicting to
us both the chapel and 
to the owner of
this bridge
Connects into and is gives warmth and purpose by what is the most delighful of wonders in the world
the wonder, so ripe and wonderful, so raw and bare, so much nesseary to the beating of my heart it is
untill my dieying breath the epacenter of my exisistance, the end of a pligramage that begins
with the courting of paticular soul, entrancing by way of the eyes and alluring by sounds of
the lips, the lips florid in color, reaching pitches of high heights, the melody of which leads me
to scowering the frabic seas of, toilings the grasseslands through, voyaging and scouring past
the worlds lands capes and villages and towns, all in the hopes of passage and admission
for it is admission into, admittance inside of, and access to that give me most pride that
I, am worth enough, known of great enough renown for, comforting in presence
so great to the master of the gate that I, a humble man, can be granted permission
to bury myself inside the dignified, decorated and distinguished hall of
a place that inspires me to acts that I consider molded of passion
passion that filled me from toes to eyes with an energy that if
I could but harness at will I could curse myself with perpetual
continual states of, never leaving, for indeed when I am in the
Chapel of Matrons, it is my greatest fear to be removed from such a sacred place
It is, a place that I dream of, spend hours of my days fantasizing about,  I have
in the twilight of my morning, afternoons, night, evening and all moments in
between, wanted nothing more then to drown myself in the depths of this chapel
in perpetuates my mind and causes me pains to leave
I can see it in my mind and as I ponder I can
smell the walls and the intoxicating air
I can feel the damp floors
sense the heat coming
from the
tip of
 the top

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Mania: Rollercoaster

Start low
dead in mind
sense of self none existent
my hands covered in sours
limp and useless
teeth so grimy
 may as well be toothless
Here it is!
The feeling rushes
crushes down the dark tower
feel it,
This is the hour
jump out the bed
shake the rage out of my head
move down, feel flow
here we go
this how it should be
my heart feels bliss
that quante emotion known as happy
ecstatic elated jovial gay galant galavanting grandiose great I feel great this is I can hold this if I just hold
and it never does.
Familiar territory. Here we are, the past in my hands draining through the crack
I could close them, but no no
the cracks stay
the past falls
the filter keeps the stains
all the doubt the grief the shame the pity the jealousy the anger at my self why why why do I do this
Night Time Now
Sleep comes easy
but the next hit of joy has to be scraped off the crust

Mania: Cut it Out

Grey matter
brain storm
take notes, this is rare form
Prime is my profession, optimal
drink the words in
this gourmet, format optical
I feel it in my veins
blood pumping with the pains
rains through to
the tips of my hands
dance on the keys
beacuse words are now out in the wild
Inspiring source?
Love-Hate duality
Complex equivalence
Stuck like in the brain like Excalibur
Now I wana take a .50 caliber
Shove it in my brain
slice it open like a halbert
Rip out the hate
and keep the love
but no
the old love, sweet dove

Saturday, November 24, 2012

The Leopard

Exercises in recollection are tasks best done with care and patience. Forcing memories often leads to the wrong pieces being brought to the puzzle. One such puzzle that I have solved involves a leopard I once knew. Our relationship began simply enough, introduction at the behest of a mutual friend, conversations about past adventures ect. Then, when it became apparent that in the back of both of our eyes were glimmers of attraction, the course of this ship changed. It started when he made mention of his current arrangement with another fellow. I kept my disappointment to myself, but given his charm I should not have been surprised. Fortunately for me this was not an obstacle. 
My fasanation for him was obvious, so when he brings to light the idea of us become more aquatinted with one another, I of course lept at this opportunity like the grey eyed animal I was and devoured it oh so greedily.
And so I found myself waiting through the day like a turtle slogging through the sand. The time between us getting into my car and back to my house seeming to take the better half of eternity. The knuckles on my hands turned a particular shade of cocaine white as I waited for his arrival, then he appears.
In the waves of the croud i see him
His stride is like a Leopard moving through the forest
he owns the area,
 he loping with a confidence that inspires feelings in my heart long repressed
We drive to my home,
barely make it to my room and fall into my bed
He stars at me like a lion eyeing a fresh jucy zebra
hands are moves up and down legs
pants are unzipped.
The feeling is relieving in a way. I let myself go.
I feel years of lonely weight fall of my soul like leaves from a tree. 
Bare and naked in body and soul. 
The new feeling of freedom and openess that sprouts like a rose fully formed. 
I bask in this new from, the glow of his affection my ever nurturing sun.
Naked and at his full command, he lays down and tells me to take out his manhood.
It was glorious.
It felt like one of the best things I ever had the chance to put into my mouth.
I would nurtue it in my tounge, I would pamper it with my lips. It was addicting. I didn't matter where we were. I would willingly worship at the statue of his masculine pride.
But such passions end, and faiths fall
The echoes exist in memory and I
from time to time
Indulge in them like a snake drunk on honey.

Friday, November 23, 2012


The dream goes like this:
I'm at a desperate point in my life
Stagnate, loss of motivation, low on funds
I look around at my peers and feel hopeless
I see smiling faces
Relationships full of appended
Memories preserved in near eternal formats
Then the panic sets in and I go somewhere
Maybe I'm in a library and I run frantically out into the street
Sometimes I'm driving and I crash
Off a cliff
Into the river
Down a steep tree infested hill
Sometimes that ends the scenario
I wake up
Sweat dreanched
Eyes dry
Treming with the shock of the astral selfs demise
But each time though
 I have a bag in my hands
The book has notes, hundreds of them
The notes are written for a specific person
Each note having a different name
I recognize the names
Some more importent then others
But each significant
I offen wonder if these words are those notes made manifest

Thursday, November 22, 2012


I am blessed
For the complex cunudrum of sight
The lights of the world, the visual deserts
flashing pastries, neon candies
Filled the belly of my lenses with sweet sugar
For the gift of the body
Muscles giving me strength
Exerting my will in the physical canvis of reality
Painting it with my stride
Leaving marks on the great masterpiece
For the mind
It is my greatest treasure
Explorer of a space seemingly complex to infinity
The range of waters
So deep with knowledge
Vast with secrets
Waiting to be taken in by the gills
And fins and scales
Of the terrifying shark that I call a mind
I am thankful of my gifts
The times I take them for granted
But I am thankful

Tuesday, November 20, 2012


Not today
Or tomorrow
Or the next few weeks from now,
but soon.
When I least expect it
When the corners and crevices are dulled
When I have been quite
And alone
vacent of yellow delights and additional auras
The ocean of my mind will run over
Levees broken and turned over
Eyes rushing 
Muscles tense
It will be the stalling of the self
The collapse of my temple
How to fight this tide
I wonder

Monday, November 19, 2012


Consider for a moment
If you will entertain me so
On a question
Buring in my subconscious
Flowing through the cracks
Filling the holes
of well that I call my mind
When does obsession end?
Is it when the desire stops lighting your eyes?
when at night
alone once again in the covers
I stop thinking of it
No longer see it
hear it
Feel it when I dream
Maybe the obsession ends
When the dreams stop
But I dream now vividly
Wonder so passionately
Perhapse my obsession ends
When the heart stops, and no dreams flow


I feel as if this is it
This is rock bottom
Buried under an old blanket
Clutching a pillow as I would a log in a storm
I feel my mind rotting away
The value of self drowning in a vile mess
The room is empty
Bit of trash strewn about
The only things left serve to remind me of losses
I fall into the collection of memories
this room
and I let my mind replay a better time
If possible I do not wish to wake from this dream

Sunday, November 18, 2012


I see you in my mind
I see you as you were
In moments of passion
Pangs of guilt
Tears infested with pain
Smile riddled with joy
I have dreams of Us
I wake, some several monts ago
Before my tagities
My failures
And sometimes youre there next to me
Other times I'm ahead of the disaster
I cry with a soul overwhealmed with happiness
I run to find you
Drive my car as fast as it can go for you
Take you in my arms and kiss you like it is my last act of heroism
But then, in the midst of this dream so real
Fantasy so dear
Imagination so dire
I'm thrust into the waking day
The middle of actual afternoon
The cold autum night
The nold room we shared
Hidden trinkets of yours inside
Holding them drives me to dark corners
Deep oceans of pity
I cann see the sun above
And I can swim to the top
Should I choose
But for now I will drown


I drown in it
Inhale all of it
Sweat down to my legs
I'm down in dregs
Of this "feeling"
In my chest
The mist is healing
the center of my breast
wrapped in a widows grasp
clutched to my hair the fingers clasp
and I gasp
The fog has me
in my bedfellows eyes I see what we
could be
should be
Need to be
Hope to flee
from the pale blue permafrost
Escape to the mist
No matter what the cost
Hold the smoke tight
Don't slip
Please hold on to my grip
Can't survive out of the mist
with the sweat dripping bliss I'm lost.


I could carve them in
Sections of my form made canvis
The curves of my arms made jagged
Muscles on my legs defined
My chest clawed with parallel lines
I would have to hide them
Each detail masked
Errors filled with ointments
The passage of time editing my work
Concerned looks garnering unwanted questions
I would see them as a marker
The lines and edeges marking a moment in time
Mistakes and moments segmented from my flesh
Penance overflowing from the admittions to the ground
They will heal
and I would wear them as reminder of myself.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012


It is there when I sleep
Taunting me with moments of bliss
Past lives of union
Squandered extacy
When I wake it is there
A face I cannot bare to see
A face I would give the world to touch
Give the wold to hold
It's is in the mirror
Full of judgments
All unfair, but just
All irrational, yet grounded in truth
Or perhapse ground in doubt
Self Made and distributed to the temple of the mind
But it is there and it will not leave
And I fear I will carry it to the end of my days.

Monday, November 12, 2012


Sunny days
No cares or concerns
Snowy evenings
Hours spent playing in the watery cocain
Distant futures
A family, nice house, big yard, maybe a dog
But those only come sometimes
The majority is spent is a state more unbalanced
I can't recall most of them
They end to fade as my eyes regain focus
The ones that stick are like honey on a Afro
a carpet stained with red wine
Blood on a suit
A small piece of corn in your teeth
Their in for the long hall
Rummaging around in my mind when I rest
Parading through my waking hours
They are as vivid as life itself
And they make
But sometimes they make not want to ever wake up.

Saturday, November 10, 2012


I have an enemy
This foes does not know of their transgression
at least not from my perspective
the are unaware of my motives
oblivious to my reasoning
in the dark of my bittet light
They have stolen something
not irreplaceable
but very unforgettable
this impecable
the things its made me do
made me feel
see and say
to this day
It taunts me
It shines without me
It's sun covered by the clouds
of my enemy
the cold chill of a warm day
The waves of my calm seas
Makes me think
could my enemy
be my friend
be a source
by the power vested in
the Sun would illuminate the world
and I would see
along with my former enemy
the joy of the sun shared
but I suspect, no I know
to the center of the clouds I will no go
for my wings are coated
in bits of jade
my armor made of emerald
It weights me down,
its color bright in my mind
a blinding, burning glare in my dreams
but its allure is intoxicating
and my heart wants the enemy to choke


I think about it in my quit hours
speculate on fictional futures
wonder on withered worlds
ponder on particular pasts
looking in the mirror I see
the most brilliant reflection
stained with cracks so permanent
so harsh, I often wonder
could the cracks be beauty
maybe they could be painted on
smoothed out
filled with diamond shavings
maybe then I'd stop craving yesterday
or perhaps yesterday is just a dream
a mist that now I come through
mind and body all new
See the mirror and see new purpose
look back and hold the tears
the breaks in the mirror won't change,
but perspective does
so look back and
Remember the cracks
Love the mirror

Monday, November 5, 2012


It starts with an action
The wrong words said here
The improper deed done there
Then I fester on it
Nurture the insult
To let it wast in the wind it to denigh feeling
I could wash the poison away with clear waters
Mental purity curing the rusted bit of thought
But the joy comes in devowering the toxin
One grievance, small or large, becomes two a eight and six
You mix with one half wistful reflection
One half demented fascination
A quarter of self justification
And mix in a bowl of passion
The batch sits for days
Months if your angry
Years if your obsessed
But the tast never goes away
You can wash parts of it out
You can find the source and return your anger
(you may or may not receive a refund)
You can try and over come the spiritual vomiting
But the bitterness
The green repetition
The fogs of doubt
And the horrid fantasies
They stay when you drink the mixture
And it is addicting

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Reminisce: The Late Nights

Sleep called
I cancled my subscription
Reminice with silver light in my eyes
My old passions addiction
In the emitions of my dreams machine
The figure is obscured
but the voice is clear
Old pains pray in vain to be cured
New inspirations come and go
To and frow
Tried to let go
Fell back to dreams of that face
That laughter
That's what I'm after
Visions of old flames
And old names
Old games
More of the same
But what can I do?
Try something new
Meet up, joke around, play the clown or fool
Remember the past and ask why
Why here, why not, why the new thing, why not the old
Am I not bold enough
The riches of new ventures not gold enough
Sometimes yes
Somestimes no
And so
I find myself looking in mirror
Of the mind and see
Behind me and I wonder