Deeper into the well we go.

  Ah yes
Here are
Down a well
How deep, how far
Does this pit go?
Don't know, can't say.
Seems the hole gets twenty yards deeper
Every single day.
I'd say
That it looks man made
Hand crafted
But why?
If I'd wager a guess
Judging from the sounding mess
The perpetrator
instagator
The architect
Dug this hole himself
Why I wonder
Why indeed
Most would have no need
No use for
The pit of pathetic
Sadistic
Malicious
Self made
Self doubt
Built from the finest bits of leftover selfesteme
Painstakingly hollowed out, to no end
No rock bottom to hit
Just dive in and fall
Wake to the sun, dried up on the ground
Pit to your right
Feeling down, champ?
Jump back in.

Superheroes

I recall the first
Discovered in my youth
Stuck in the house
Fog so thick your eyes chocked
I saw him on the screen
Red cape, blue tights
Faster then a train, leapt tall heights
Mezmorized, I watched him battle
Men of evil, corrupt wrong doers, vicious monsters
Other pantheons appeared
A pride of catmen and women, crusading against
The Everliving
A man discovering
Through great tragety 
The power of responsibality
A league of Gods
Masquarading as men
Showing us the power of the human
Defeating the dregs of the inhuman 
I saw the future, some alternate for good
Some bad, some obtomistic fantasies
Others half-empty nightmares
In all of this gospel, be it composes on the TV screen
Or crafted in trade paperback
The end result 
A bible, tailor made for my wonders
Inspiring me, day to day
Still I see them
Heros.

Nostalgic Cocktails

Woke up drubk on nostalgia of days long gone.
My dreams sreved the drinks.
First  Shot
A cold day
we're bundeled up
smiling at each other
a joke leads to a kiss, leads to sweet sleep.
Second Shot
mix with a hit of bitter remorse
we argue, fight, reconcile, fight again
you cut yourself off
I wonder when i'll see you again
I walk the the long cobbled halls of regret
Wondering when i'll see you again
Wondering what went wrong
Then my luck changes
I find you locked up in my car
half awake, my cheeks perk
ears get warm
eyes ache, throat fills
I could cry, but I wanna stay cool
keep my mask up
so I jump in the driver side
we reconcile over dinner
Third shot
you in a bikini
forth shot
we share a room, impossibly hot
Fifth shot
reprisal of the former
Sixth shot
reprise again
Seventh, Eighth, Ninth, Tenth shots
Hands through hair, clawed backs, fangs in necks
eleventh shot
we ride, through some town I can't recall
on some night I half remember
you turn to me, I kiss you on the head
morning comes
Hangover for breakfast.

Moonlit Canvis

Coming through
the pages of
my piecemeal memory
I see shapely hips
captivating me
subliminally  winding
and binding and twisting
the fibers of my desires
drips of sweat dance around
our newfound embrace
passions perspire, as I
or rather as we
see one another
through the fileter of
the silver slivers of sight
and kiss goodnight.

A moment to think

Sitting
Pondering
Wondering, if given the motivation
if allowed by way of self
if time had degradated the will
corroded the support beams
the pillars of the soul, holding, desprately
My image of myself above muddy waters
Could I make my down the lonely road?
Would I steal off into the night, late in the spring
Play a song and bellow and wale at the oppertune moments
and drive myself into the rives, casting off the mortal coril?
Perhaps too Dramatic, lets take a more mellow apporach.
Knife in hand, hatred of the man in the mirror ovewhelming
I've seen this scene before.
Start at the eyes, cut curves down to my neck
dance the blade over my stomach and follow the trails
down past my navil and end at side of my legs.
This method perhapse to painfull, coweradace would impede progress
Or, maybe, insted of all the sitting and pondering and wondering
I will take the initiative, get out of this chair
and try to find a sunset.

Adoration

Seated off somewhere just out my grasp
there you are, 
bending the light around you
absorbing the colors into yourself
molding and twisting and turning
forming, contorting, the space in my mind
filling it with your image, painting the walls
hanging the draips and lighing the candels
of my waking hours, you seap, like water
through the cracks of my mind, winding your way
down
in
to
the
tips of
my hands, the edges of my fingers
wherein your presence lings
filling the very being of myself with
the idea of your delights
until, of course
my hands stop and eyes open.

Showcase: Capsule

Once upon a time
when I stared into the
crippling conundrum
confusing circumstances
complex conundrums
and compounding complications
that I call my day to dusk
hour on holiday
 minute to moment
section to sequence of events
"Life"
Staring the 20 year vet
Marcus Antonius "Azriel" Cox
Now playing, see your local browser and get a peak
a view into the machinations of a man
lost in what appears to be pools of self
so pitiable
yet the words scrawled on his walls see to show
display and represent a boy
still and some other three letter emotion expressing disappointment
the images of which boils in the back of his head
burning a hole in any engine of esteem
but, fret not
Sifting throughout the waters he finds a bottle
white with labels
take a pill
and soon the room filled with muddy waters
dissipates and evaporates into a dry collection of images
the past and hazy screen of the future
the boy closes his eyes
Dreaming of the man he wants to be.

The Voice

Lets set the scene.
It's dark. Not a cloud in the sky
Check the rear view
no cops tailing,
no other auto-motive assault waiting.
Excellent. Steep on the gas, see this metal fly
The wind sweeps by in streaks
grass blurs into a single stroke of green
The engine, reaving and roaring
like a man possessed, a hungry dog, a caged animal
propelling myself towards a voice
the source, not heard from or seen sight of
since times, long passed
so I asked
what made you call? The reply:
Thinking, wondering and possible fantasizing about
paused breaths
Where, I asked, are you, sweet thing
The place in the hills, far far out of sight and mind
But you if you'll recall you've been before, one occasion
by my invitation, on the day of personal celebration
Ah yes, I'll make my way you
See you soon, said the sensual tones coated with moans
Foreshadowing
My arrival, subtle
ridding down a road cobbled together out of gravel
Exited the vehicle, pensive, was this the right house
right place for me to be, what if
I though smelling my doubts, this venture proved to be
at least for me
a wasted opportunity
squandered time
then I saw the source of the voice
the my doubts went quite
Trailing out of the small home
extra long shirt on
brown skin illuminated in the glow of my headlights
We exchanged greeting, huggs
then I was presented with a surprise
the voice wore no single cloth more
this settled the score
The voice, not purring at the look on my face
pulled my down and
at my direction
Began to Sing