PleiadesOnce there were a thousand wishes falling from the sky,But when I tried to claim them, my words would not comply.Choked upon and gone unspoken they fell to Earth to die,Unformed and nameless lovers' tokens wasted with my sighs.Once there were a thousand stars that shone within your eyes,But now the wishes all were false and all the stars were lies.Once there were a thousand hopes hidden in your face.Now you are as dead as any rock from outer space.
MatchgirlI struck a match and watched it growInto an all consuming glow.Through the window, I discernedThe routes by which the heavens turned,and as the pyre grew in sizeReaching upward to the skies,All around stars fell like snowInto the ragged streets below.Blue and white, their blinding flameWhispered things I cannot name.I saw your soul within the dance.I saw it in the heavens flung.Burning like a thousand sunsIt fell and melted on my tongue.But now my words are numb and cold.What won't be heard can not be told.In the black between the stars,Is that the place that must be ours?where love once burned, it frozen, diesand only vacuum now survives.
CrashTrains of thought crashing,Yesterdays flashing by,I still don't know whyIt came in the night,This short flight to nowhere,To anywhere but here,But now I find an open mindThat's left behind yesterdayDisarrayed in your arms.Is it safe to sayThe part we play is small?Is it safe to sayThe part we play is allFor nothing?On quiet nights I am remindedOf how we're blinded by the world outside,Of how we hide within ourselvesA world that's filled with stars.No holds barred. We dream in solitude,Calamity crashing,Introspective intersectionsOf dawn and dusk.Then, merely a huskI'm left staring into blackness,Just clashing synapsesThat flash at random.Our hearts in tandemCould beat something betterThan this soliloquy,Sing out in splendor,Scratch our names in the dustSurrounding us,Shake the rust from our mettle.Don't let it settle,This whirling stardustBetween our worlds.Just let me crash again.
Sherlock's BeastFace value is the beast's skinStretched thin over conversational context,The do's and don'ts of polite society,Convention's muzzle, my dear Watson.Deeper in we see extendduplicitous differentialities. We deduce,Juxtaposed betwixt the 'tweens and twines,The twirling tines of truth,Those vicious teeth which biteThe hand that feedsAnd feed the mind that needsTo dark digestion.There in lies the lynchpin,What words will never tell,For the devil may well dwell in the detail,But his whispers sound between them.
ButcherMeat before your knifeSkinned and waiting to be slicedLeft danglingHoping you will cut me down instead of up.With strokes both careless and preciseThe blood - the blood that stains your knife
I would have given you my life,But you have taken more.
Rosemary For RemembranceHer hands in the waterShe re members the freck le s o n hisAs th e wo r d s d ra g h e rD ow n D O w nDOW nGet t he e to a n u n n er y
G E T T H E E T O A N U N N E R Y
.she'll hold him tight tonightand dread the coming mo(u)rning
a picture of perfectionShe was a painting;not a Rembrant or a Da Vinci...much more vibrant than those, she wasthe fade of Monet,her quirks just shy of a Picasso portrait,and at the same time not quite shy enough.She was a Van Gogh landscape:full and bright and articulate and beautiful-but a real mess up close.Like someone forgot that when you make peoplethey're supposed to stay inside the lines.
Night SkyPaint me a story of words,the clouds and sky sit as a attentive audience.The stars outline filled with memories of our epic journey.Hands will be joined together underthe light of the Haley’s Comet.The man in the moon will stay hidden in the moon,we’ll seek him out while sitting on our picnic basket.
Mask Pt.2Dissolve these demonicMasksWe wear,And we'll seeWe all look the same.But I've foundThey aren't easilyTaken off.I've found it too difficultTo undress these thoughts,Instead, I wrap themIn jackets & scarvesTo match this coldWorld.
GoneGoing far awayObserving the road aheadNever considering going backEnding another chapter of my story
ways we constellate/a. dictitious/iam well-woven.iam a spellthat does not releaseand never tells.these constructionsi allow,and betterawakento speak in hearttonesand hymnbeatson rugged pavements.ihave builtart./b.beautine/this body hasforgotten its infinitebeatings, denieditself the luxuryof acceptancethis body hasremembered its lovers'last names, phone numbers,birthmarks and kindnessthe only cruelty this vessel knowsis from its middlesi have riddled myself intowarmth/c.capabuilt/these handsare imbuedwith patient dynamismand ichorthat the goddessessavorthey have movedmountain rangesand hoisted dark seasoverhead,then returned themdeftlysuch instruments deserve morethan my doubtsihave cloudedthe veins tenacious/d.aitbaar/i allowed thesehands to hold me.i have yet to feellike lessthan a Dalidreammy little ashesare coming closethe Gangeslost its murkto me; i carryremainsi house brokennesstill it is perfectedkintsugi
i saw, and i learnedthere are several ways to voice thisbut the geometry of a bridge. thrashingcrystalline fish. it is a caseof damaged magnetism they sayit is a dark maze they say and someone will greet you at the entrancenow, she gestures, watch me unravel-there is a sense of napalm in the third lane. a liningof damp thread, animal saliva.the woman leans on the tailgate, exhausted.what are grey curds? skin coming off or caked mudas a car splashes her standingmotionless. the revolving doors of her arms, crossed over chest, as the wire is cut.the girl tumbles into the back of the truck. you were the water, snake and corner, watchful with the wariness of all things orphaned.in the shadow of the aircraftall colours are muted.now which wire is red?this frequency is resonant:a hard labour
MemoriesI would spill gasolineOn my memoriesAnd set them on fireIf it didn't implyMelting the outlinesOf my beingSpreading the atomsInto nothingnessAnd losing trackOf my existenceCrafted fromMoments
au(roar)aa shy glow of apologeticsunrises, she will neverknow how beautiful she ishis magpie eyes, they pryat her colours, leavingher with onlythe itch of dried tear tracksat 3 in the morningrough tissues scrape at herdelicate nose,strewn around her like white flowersthat he never gave to her.and he never showed herthe glow of the stars,a bond between this morning girl and the universehe could’veshe would’vethey should’ve beenentwined in dawning light, buthe was a night guard and nightis afraid of staining golden black.so she took the light caged in her heartand threw it intothe abyss of sorry’s and i love you’snever saidas the moth he was,he followed.she wanted him to catcha spark (on fire)instead, he never came back.sometimes the midnight feelswarmer than a sunrise-it guards her and between the blackshe is beautifulfinally, the emptine
Huh?Cracked booksand open handspoint the wayto martyrdomwaiting to happen,but somethings are worse than death.Yes. Somethings are worse than death.