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The Chamber

The Chamber

 

Maria Morisot

 

Published by Moan Lisa Press

 

© 2016 Maria Morisot

 

The Professor’s Little Angel

 

In reference

to our tomorrow’s

night; only

God has

escaped the confines

of our dimensionality

 

And while we

suffer at each

other’s hands

the silent

prayers

of faithless

angels dance

through lightless

space and time

 

He knows only

the weightlessness

of God’s confinement,

here beneath

the hinged door;

Hades’ house

shines a light

so ever black

and loathesome

 

That one cannot

ignore the

calling into fleshless

sea of foam.

 

Mucous Membrane

 

Caught between sleep

and a

motor bike; tense

and settling

against the backdrop

of a stream’s

sychronicity

 

In a land where

legs are myths

and made to stand;

one pedals,

one lands,

 

Opening the pages

of a dirty look,

his drunken lips

the spiral

of sweet September,

 

An ocean prism

gathering tomorrow’s

lightning ball,

in heated argument

with the

tide; to where

the Romans built

their palace gardens.

 

The Voice She Used to Usher Me Out With

 

A storm’s mark

distilled and sacred;

his breath

is holy and

his heart

is full of

sentimentalism

 

From the moment

the sky lit up

and fire

descended on our

lawn; here

in the plain,

black curtain

of our insecure

idolatry,

 

We wrestle

with what we know

to be our little

lies, wrapped

in alimony

and child support;

 

Our damnedest selves.

 

A Codename for Our Conversation

 

He’s shared his world

through stationary

cycles in the rusty

concrete California

sun, my cracked

lips; split

embitterment towards

the fumbling tell,

this rancid spill

 

ERROR IN THE GARDEN

there is an ovulescent

ERROR IN THE GARDEN

pill misshapen as a

ERROR IN THE GARDEN

has-been, would-be

ERROR IN THE GARDEN

 

Tomatoes, bright red

and bleeding their

not-so-sticky sap,

while we sap

ourselves and

revolve the doors

of ecstasy

around.

 

Pompeii

 

Ironic how it

all begins,

with a slashing

of the wrist

 

And there are

two tell tales

that opened up

the door

to

my discomfort

 

An angel spokes-

person of God;

descending out

of the sky,

in shallow

steps, drowning

me in light

 

And his face

becomes

the shadow

of the night,

burying me

in

existential

ruin.

 

Retitled: Untitled

 

The smoke, burning

rot; smoldering

principles of

engineering, conducted

experiments too soon

out of

the laboratory

 

Swarms of incoherent

blasts, peppering

the horizon;

as the

walls betray an inkling

of proportion

 

Symmetry as the lines

crossfeeding our

elementary perception;

fading lights

play out upon

a stage of secrecy,

 

And my veil

secretes the beauty

I have hidden

deep within

the recess of

a propagandist facade.

 

There is a Maker

 

Echoes angle; street-

light serenade

complete with unrequited

passion. I am

the consequence

of this

 

I am the sin

at my disposal;

I am the disposable

upturned face

laughing at the

sediment

of my maker

 

And in the center

of my pain

there lies

a course of

action;

it is in

her eyes,

&

in her touch

 

The complications

of my diminished

humanity

ignite.

 

Mississippi Climax

 

He’s straddled

and secured

my obligatory isolation;

gauged my

tension and the

uniqueness

in this firm

and everlasting

sun.

 

The Banner’s Perpendicularity

 

She’s a stage name

headed for disaster;

my mother’s

incoherent memories,

blandly butchered

for tonight’s close-

shaven lullaby

 

Weird erotic dreams

with a wet sun

burning through

the sheets,

my only persistent

memory, when we were

three; and fourteen

pages crumpled

up in heaps,

those dirty words

 

Those

filthy

memories

 

Depletion of a Hydrogen Counter

 

An elevated

construction sea;

the beds of

which lie

over an unanticipated

projection of

our hot sun

 

And here the

fire burns,

dissolving

all the sediments

of war

 

It’s in his mouth,

the language

with which we

can make amends;

and in her heart,

the language

with which we

can make amends

 

Story hour,

the glue by which

we fold our

beds,

and cradle

our sons & daughters.

 

A Dip Into the Cold Water

 

The categorization of

futurist film,

protagonist; antagonist

syphilitic urges

set into still

life,

 

The thoughts of him

fulfill the pages’

blank desire

and encompass a

still yet beating heart

 

There is too

much

of an element

of mind,

 

And far from

happy circumstance

bleeds into the

bouquet;

an arrangement of

stylistic serendipity,

edging ever onwards

into the peaceful

form of forgotten

fantasy.

 

Get Down, Make Love

 

Ridiculous fever felt

beneath my

breath, in my

lungs the

calculation made clear

 

September’s sprinkles

kept me cool

beneath this

hot, hot mess

of slowly

fading heat

 

And his gravity

foretold

to me my

indecipherable pain

made plain;

disorganized

and then sorted

into order,

neat little piles

of sexualities.

 

About Her

 

Inverse recital of instrumental decay;

florid explanation of a dissonant despair,

The vine & the world are shaken,

 

Through the escalation

of distorted

facts, Vesuvia’s spillage;

utterances are had &

 

Every tickled neuron—

spits out

expository spaces, & I

saturate their deaths,

 

A frigid love,

without the concreteness

of a smile,

no metal. No

perfumes

to fill my

lungs.

 

Just the sure

incapacitation

& revolt;

 

of a girl.

 

Peek

 

The signal from

the mountain top;

it bleeds the pieces

of your broken breath—

 

What escalated

madness I have drawn

from within your

vacant

 

Placebo

respirator,

tired from

simplification

of her cuneiform

palace,

 

Where one

would stalk the

night; in

Pooh pajamas,

 

Orienting South

towards her hiding

 

Place.

 

Dizzy

 

Seatbelt surrender,

an unpopular demise;

life’s organs

spilling out the sides

 

And as the world

decays,

so you and I

believe

 

&

Non ho capito

 

The text of

our indirection;

the gathering

frost, the way

you say

to me,

 

“I love you I

love you I love

you I love you

I love you,”

 

That makes me

glad to

be alive.

 

The Professor’s Little Angel

 

I don’t know

what time

it is; but

I’ve got

you on my

mind. Something

like seven hours

since we parted

ways; something’s

gnawing at my

insides;

 

Sweet home, of

the seventh

collective, my

dear, what would

you have

besides? This cold

tower of isolated

loneliness,

peeking watchfully

through an ever-fading

mid-

night

sky.

 

Deceased payment

for a bed;

triptychal amusements

playing in my

head, a seven

story assignment

for a fourth grade

orchestra;

 

Love the ones

we anaesthesize,

our common courtship

pleading, breathing

washing up on shore;

 

Two grains of

filthy rice;

cataloguing

 

Dusty old sentiments

the way

we used to

play them in our

ears; never mind you

hear; the descent of

angels in our song.

 

A crack in

the code;

parenthetical

apostrophe,

Caesar sacked-

cloth, dried

marble membranes

a disgusting

shade of pink;

 

Okay so,

we’ve been

talking on and

off for a

month, month

and a half. It

didn’t seem

to be going

anywhere so I

dropped it. She

dropped it. It

was void. Then

out of the

blue yesterday

she texted me,

asking if

I like sex;

then things

got interesting

quickly………….

 

Her voices peek

through polyester

sheets; and see

me incompletely,

shaven and

pertaining to

some imaginary star.

 

Please pretend

we’ve diminished our

speech,

and given our

deference to

the chicks that

dance on

stage;

 

A watermelon corpse’s

incumbent parade;

we all should see

the flesh and

lightning fireworks;

 

& Only the bold

and intermittent

sky breaks down

the habits

of apocalyptic

enzymes.

 

Police stretcher,

holding onto thunderous

champaign bells;

that toll for

 

My inconsistencies.

Every hour, there

are wells of

incandescence

 

A fleeting thought

of my inebriated

conjectures; you are

the hospital institution

that feeds me

propane and butane;

morphine’s sink

sustained.

 

Concentric serialist progression

doubt was

the wrapped phenomenon

causing us to utter

sources of our

fears in

the pages

of an unbound

book;

 

Sympathy takes turns

echoing the madness

of our laughter,

that common

cause of

dumbed down speech

 

Centrifugal forces

pinch my hand as I

take you up

in the whorls

of self-

afflicted

biology;

 

Only the camera

speaks.

 

Little angels, all

in a row

ducking

in their

beds, giving head

 

Watch their grave

stones, watch their

movement as

they fly; through

skies

of everclear’s

consumption,

spinning wild

with passion

and with nausea

 

And the voices all

said there’d

be death

and there’d be

disquiet. Prove

them wrong,

help me step

out into the

harsh ammonia air.

 

The moisture in the

atmosphere; collecting

dreams of her, pieces

of tonight’s realities;

 

And for a time,

I listen to

the speaking woods

and peckers there;

deciding where

to take this

instant polaroid

 

And it’s alright,

it just gets better

over time;

 

What lurks

beneath the surface

of my infatuated

score—

 

Is there a loch-ness

dark-ness swimming

inside of me?

 

An open house

transportation

modification of

the self; to self-

inflicted identity

 

We’re all dreamers

at a certain point

in our lives,

we all melt

into pools

of toxic water

 

As see-through

stars collect

the common wealth

of God’s abiding

deforestation

and turpentine

stains the carpets

where I had known

you one before,

my little dove;

 

My roaming angel

from above.

 

Angelic conversation lasts

well into

the night; where

we pretend to

extrapolate

each other’s

dirty minds

 

Holding onto

something that’s forbidden,

seasoning the light,

we’re peppering

ourselves for

tooth decay.

 

Fluid dynamics and

the shift

towards instrumentalism;

no more constituent

sunrises,

 

No more conditions

of the heart,

 

We fly as we were

meant to,

in the dust

of an old page,

 

Turned about

so we could

peek

into the

dynamic structures

of our

conditional

behavior.

 

Insistence on the

ground; makeshift

movies

and unforgotten sounds

the kind

which grates on

the nervousness

 

Of my body;

goose pimples

and bleeding scabs

peeled remembrances;

plucked off

within the darkness

of our conversations

 

When only you know

the let down

of a misanthropic

mind.

 

The heart bleeds

it says,

“forever is a

long way past

midnight,

 

and there’s

shooting

stars in my

milk; a hunter’s

quarrel buried

beneath my skin.”

 

I’d like to know

the throughput

of this infatuation’s

synergy; the

symphony that’s

been awakened within

these crow-like

appendages.

 

Depends on who’s

in charge

of this replacement

operation,

 

What scars removed

and what

scars remain are

taken into

account;

 

A holy order

with ordained

precision bombs;

detonator in

place

 

And ordered

arrays of thermo-

nuclear reactions;

 

Can you feel it?

The wash of

someone’s spit

echoing through

the distant

stars tonight.

 

His skin is

almost faded

and his lips

are set and

faceted,

 

No companies

divide our bed

 

Beside the watchtower;

a Herculean

sunset

blisters a clouded

sky and ravages

the bodies

of two lovers

as they die.

 

Slow and painful

musings of the heart,

respiratory sentiments

stripped bodies bare;

his crushing words

spoken to the oak,

as I lie

in sweet despair.

 

A linear arrangement

in traditional

style; formatted

for magnetic tape

 

Sealed with his

perverted imaginings,

we write

complexified expressions

of what we are,

who

we were when

Dorothea’s sounds

swelled inside

and startled

the fish

(within our wombs)

 

But Lesley’s

bare remarks

of synthetic

reprimand,

stylistically

approved for

the condition

of my embitt-

ered embroid-

ery; set to

the music of

my soul's in- tent.

 

He said to stain

the pages

with ink drawn

from the well;

 

He said the

sheets were

too symmetrical.

 

“My body, in your eyes,

let’s dissolve our

differences tonight.”

 

And in his vacant

gaze of my

iridescent

form, playing

screaming violins

like dying cats

breeding amoxicillin;

 

I beat the pulpit

black and blue,

my deranged god;

the semaphore

of distillation

I once knew.

 

When I reached

for the

cup; of my

expressionism

 

Settled figuratives

sunk within the

pores, I

rediscovered concurrency

and domestic evaluation.

 

At every juncture,

mind split—

and through this

rift, becomes

a skirted obsession.

 

Falling hard

into pools

of necessary

guilt & pleasure;

disentangling

thoughts & pressures

to please, please,

please.

 

I drop his

cacophonous,

indirection; surreptitious

state of enemy

intrusion, this super-

stition drenched

in turpentine

 

He broke

my heart.

 

Whatever extract

I had planned

to carpet

these floorboards

with, as if

dreaming of

our one

night stand,

 

He is indecision,

he is a thorn

in the side;

a stinger, a

sharp incision

a shooting

pain; a heart-

beat’s bruise.

 

My lover’s lifeline;

a bad expository

burst

of fluid dis-

entanglement; green

decay, elements

of style of

gray matter dis-

emboweled

 

And he lies there,

unaware of my

persistent glare;

 

nurturing

this shadow

of a beast.

 

Infused with predatory

information; scratching

the iron chamber’s

six-inch-

thick

door, hoping

for a miracle to

unwind itself

 

The pennant

reflected through

glass sheets;

bears his mark.

 

The unimaginable

derivation of slowing

sides and still

surrender and

I can’t breathe

through all

the smog

 

I simply close

my eyes and

let the world

hiss into non-

existence.

 

I’m out of

breath &

control; these

little disasters,

breaking bread and—

uncorking a bottle

 

And in the Summer,

without the shade

to keep

my reasons broad

enough to temper

ill complaints,

 

I dangle his

bright feather

down below

the rails,

 

And let it

slip into

her unquestioning

reprimand

 

See through

Summer

time.

 

He lights

the darkness

between my thoughts

and his respite;

our dysfunctional assignment

of glazed over

eyes, peeled

 

Thoroughly

through his injections

into my arm,

into my arms.

 

There’s no

more coalescing

medium for our

forgiveness

 

To pool

his waters’

microbes;

so we will

vaccinate

my troubled

mind, we’ll

make static

rings

to settle

around my waist.

 

A fluid necessary

to take

into the chambers

of my heart;

 

In padded walls,

where I

wash

the sequence

of deevolutionary

marks, erase

the pain

 

Inject myself

with an auditory

stream

of information;

and when I close

my eyes,

it feels like

nothing’s

as it was

 

And the halluci-

nations

dripped down

my cheeks,

 

And I could

hear his voice.

 

A lump of

poetry caught

between my teeth;

his sentiment

brushed off,

my mouth open,

lips spread wide;

isosceles September

 

His mouth spread

wider than mine,

as though we were

repetitively

positioned

as inverted signs;

reciprocal documentation

phrasing the prospective

rioting; one

man’s hand, twisting

the foundations

of my faith

 

I am faster

than him;

my soul’s

spread thin,

and in this house

the lights drip

red/orange.

 

His back to

me, tightened

as a taut

commiseration

 

No more warning

signs, no

advanced conver-

sations

 

Just the dull

aching pain

of his voice

stepping out

of rhythmic waltz;

and we are

wanting of the sky

to make her rounds

as he and I

penetrate

the pyramidal

and reflective

pools

of self doubt

at this

inauguration.

 

In reference

to our tomorrow’s

night; only

God has

escaped the confines

of our dimensionality

 

And while we

suffer at each

other’s hands

the silent

prayers

of faithless

angels dance

through lightless

space and time

 

He knows only

the weightlessness

of God’s confinement,

here beneath

the hinged door;

Hades’ house

shines a light

so ever black

and loathesome

 

That one cannot

ignore the

calling into fleshless

sea of foam.

 

Caught between sleep

and a

motor bike; tense

and settling

against the backdrop

of a stream’s

sychronicity

 

In a land where

legs are myths

and made to stand;

one pedals,

one lands,

 

Opening the pages

of a dirty look,

his drunken lips

the spiral

of sweet September,

 

An ocean prism

gathering tomorrow’s

lightning ball,

in heated argument

with the

tide; to where

the Romans built

their palace gardens.

 

A storm’s mark

distilled and sacred;

his breath

is holy and

his heart

is full of

sentimentalism

 

From the moment

the sky lit up

and fire

descended on our

lawn; here

in the plain,

black curtain

of our insecure

idolatry,

 

We wrestle

with what we know

to be our little

lies, wrapped

in alimony

and child support;

 

Our damnedest selves.

 

He’s shared his world

through stationary

cycles in the rusty

concrete California

sun, my cracked

lips; split

embitterment towards

the fumbling tell,

this rancid spill

 

ERROR IN THE GARDEN

there is an ovulescent

ERROR IN THE GARDEN

pill misshapen as a

ERROR IN THE GARDEN

has-been, would-be

ERROR IN THE GARDEN

 

Tomatoes, bright red

and bleeding their

not-so-sticky sap,

while we sap

ourselves and

revolve the doors

of ecstasy

around.

 

Ironic how it

all begins,

with a slashing

of the wrist

 

And there are

two tell tales

that opened up

the door

to

my discomfort

 

An angel spokes-

person of God;

descending out

of the sky,

in shallow

steps, drowning

me in light

 

And his face

becomes

the shadow

of the night,

burying me

in

existential

ruin.

 

The smoke, burning

rot; smoldering

principles of

engineering, conducted

experiments too soon

out of

the laboratory

 

Swarms of incoherent

blasts, peppering

the horizon;

as the

walls betray an inkling

of proportion

 

Symmetry as the lines

crossfeeding our

elementary perception;

fading lights

play out upon

a stage of secrecy,

 

And my veil

secretes the beauty

I have hidden

deep within

the recess of

a propagandist facade.

 

Echoes angle; street-

light serenade

complete with unrequited

passion. I am

the consequence

of this

 

I am the sin

at my disposal;

I am the disposable

upturned face

laughing at the

sediment

of my maker

 

And in the center

of my pain

there lies

a course of

action;

it is in

her eyes,

&

in her touch

 

The complications

of my diminished

humanity

ignite.

 

He’s straddled

and secured

my obligatory isolation;

gauged my

tension and the

uniqueness

in this firm

and everlasting

sun.

 

She’s a stage name

headed for disaster;

my mother’s

incoherent memories,

blandly butchered

for tonight’s close-

shaven lullaby

 

Weird erotic dreams

with a wet sun

burning through

the sheets,

my only persistent

memory, when we were

three; and fourteen

pages crumpled

up in heaps,

those dirty words

 

Those

filthy

memories

 

An elevated

construction sea;

the beds of

which lie

over an unanticipated

projection of

our hot sun

 

And here the

fire burns,

dissolving

all the sediments

of war

 

It’s in his mouth,

the language

with which we

can make amends;

and in her heart,

the language

with which we

can make amends

 

Story hour,

the glue by which

we fold our

beds,

and cradle

our sons & daughters.

 

The categorization of

futurist film,

protagonist; antagonist

syphilitic urges

set into still

life,

 

The thoughts of him

fulfill the pages’

blank desire

and encompass a

still yet beating heart

 

There is too

much

of an element

of mind,

 

And far from

happy circumstance

bleeds into the

bouquet;

an arrangement of

stylistic serendipity,

edging ever onwards

into the peaceful

form of forgotten

fantasy.

 

Ridiculous fever felt

beneath my

breath, in my

lungs the

calculation made clear

 

September’s sprinkles

kept me cool

beneath this

hot, hot mess

of slowly

fading heat

 

And his gravity

foretold

to me my

indecipherable pain

made plain;

disorganized

and then sorted

into order,

neat little piles

of sexualities.

 

Inverse recital of instrumental decay;

florid explanation of a dissonant despair,

The vine & the world are shaken,

 

Through the escalation

of distorted

facts, Vesuvia’s spillage;

utterances are had &

 

Every tickled neuron—

spits out

expository spaces, & I

saturate their deaths,

 

A frigid love,

without the concreteness

of a smile,

no metal. No

perfumes

to fill my

lungs.

 

Just the sure

incapacitation

& revolt;

 

of a girl.

 

The signal from

the mountain top;

it bleeds the pieces

of your broken breath—

 

What escalated

madness I have drawn

from within your

vacant

 

Placebo

respirator,

tired from

simplification

of her cuneiform

palace,

 

Where one

would stalk the

night; in

Pooh pajamas,

 

Orienting South

towards her hiding

 

Place.

 

Seatbelt surrender,

an unpopular demise;

life’s organs

spilling out the sides

 

And as the world

decays,

so you and I

believe

 

&

Non ho capito

 

The text of

our indirection;

the gathering

frost, the way

you say

to me,

 

“I love you I

love you I love

you I love you

I love you,”

 

That makes me

glad to

be alive.

 

UFO Hat Jet Lag

 

She sings the song

of Heaven;

built up in kaleidoscope

eyes, her circuitry

intense and longing for

 

One tell

to hold her close;

this systematic

closure spirals

down into

the stratosphere,

 

Where wings of angels

melt into

volcanic ash;

and serpentine,

erotic mist;

the sea of

hallucinatory

reproductive

carousel

display

 

Synthesis of hyperdimensionality

a spiritual ascendence,

complete with the cravings

of a mad dog.

 

Who were you then

when I

whispered slowly

in sucking sounds

slurp,

slurp, slurp;

these sudden voices

coalescing forms

of concrete

representation

 

The medusa

sloshes

around the

crystal globe,

one witch

in impatience

utters an

incantation

to transcend

the venom of

this pool

 

Ascendance perched on a cold

stone,

waiting for

her habitat to enter

critical mass

so it will

become

death

 

Should fireflies

transcend

their momentary march

into the night’s

redeeming pool

 

And children,

in Saint Peter’s Square

chasing after

dreams…

 

Caught yesterday in

the arousal of

a serpentine

dimension.

 

An undercurrent of

sound replaces my lost

memories; breath

of irreversible

deconstruction

holds me under

and beneath

the tempestuous

reproduction of a

singularity’s smile

 

Lonely as I am,

marked the frozen

entity of frostbite

 

A simple prayer, to God’s

contraceptive spool,

lingering in the aftertaste

of a startled reaction

to your lips,

 

Pursed to kiss,

 

Impenetrable soul sucks

me in so closely to

your breath.

 

Yesterday, I woke up

from a dream; there were

spiders devouring me. My flesh

was bitten into, and the

desperation of a child

who can’t escape

the currents

 

As they pass her by;

through her,

with her,

inside of her…

 

And she—

I; I

contemplated

my own self-

destruction.

 

Today, I woke up

without a dream;

there was nothing

but the sound

of your foot falls,

resting gently

on the inner workings

of my soul.

 

A cut

bleeding

through

gauze

 

It is necessarily

the reproduction of

thought that I was

investigating; four

hornets and a

sensational

cessation, to quit,

withdraw

from the tents

of defecating

membranes

 

Slowly,

and with-

drawal

 

Symptoms

arresting

my thoughts, I

turn to you

to ask you

if you will

take my hand

and guide me.

 

The tremors which

cause the

collapse of everything

I’ve

ever known to

be the truth;

 

Still night, diverse

politics; a heavy

heart that bleeds,

 

Why should we

be so

sad, when

we are so

in love?

 

In ominous imprecision;

typed trapezoidal features

cutting deep into

the skin of our

perception. It isn’t

water whose fake

pretense we admire,

it is sound

 

Which carries us

off to lofty

heights, and makes

us breathe easy.

 

Dante’s Inferno; stoked

with the sins

of the world,

our automatic response

 

To this behavior’s cessation;

a pool of mired

blood, and I wreak havoc

upon my outer

container,

 

You and I, though,

begin conclusion

to rest our selves

against the corners

of a curve. This shallowly

bent destructive

force,

 

Saving cinema

for the days where

we can fly away,

drop burden

and run

 

Into the leaves

of grass.

 

At that point

where light becomes

the essence of God;

and in a cloak of

anxiety, the world

is dashed to pieces

 

It crumbles,

and it burns; and echoes

rumble throughout the city.

 

Intensified paralysis;

calming my nerves

into a

relaxed condition

 

I cannot feel your kiss,

but I can see

deep within

your eyes

 

And there,

is gravity

founded.

 

With the incentive

of her lips,

made clear through

thick fog;

I scramble to

disrupt my thoughts’

precepts

 

Expunged meticulous

forms of living number,

drawn into

the bath water; held

sweetly below the

surface’s serenade

 

Poignant beauty struck

between two oracles;

one fast,

one slow,

 

Drawing out the

blood’s infusion

from the pharmaceutical;

crashing the passion’s

celestial sting.

 

White flag

set in stone,

a grim reminder;

of what was lost

 

When you suggested

that I—

with my surrender-

stilts

 

Wash away

this fan-

tasy

 

And as time

continues

in the veins,

in the blood,

 

A two-stage

rocket

to the moon.

 

In ancient tongues,

the serpent’s sting;

things resolved forgotten,

a host of seraphim

dredging up

 

The sun

from the moat

of God’s

 

Transfusion.

 

Positioned at the edge

of time, this last

instruction: to self-

destruct and consume

the grace of my

condition

 

Chaos & the flow

of my regression into

since departed sins,

celestial bodies

burning with desire

 

And in the false

pretense of night’s

diluted sky; I

place my hands

around your waist

& I

 

Wait for Summer time;

 

Behind your eyes,

those crystal spheres

emitting tears

 

I watch the walls

of your desires,

pinned and painted

 

With concrete

scars; the life

of an actress

playing roles

 

A systemic

reproduction

 

Cast-iron doubts

& heated arguments

to reduce the world

to molecular

reactions

& base

 

Our symmetries

& concurrent

loves; blended

in diagonal

radiation.

 

A fragility experienced

through sleepless nights,

head bent towards

Hell’s embrace

 

For fluid life

to call—

 

The crystalline synthetic

star; whose light

becomes reality’s entombment

 

Creasing, and increasing

the mind’s eye,

we should walk through

fire, and dine on pork;

riddled innocence,

beguiled trust

 

I take you for

a sensual

observer;

tasting the

violence

projected

through

your fist.

 

Inside the medallion’s

curse; I reply

in strong strokes

of asemic suns

 

And you,

 

You’ve captivated

& conditioned

me;

 

See-through, tranquil

seas; anemones.

The plastered halls

where we once

sprayed ourselves

upon the canvases

 

Your intellect,

& cunning mind

forbids me to

disclose the

secrets of

this

 

Unearthly

bond.

 

Slowly stepping

down

 

Like droplets

of tears,

wetting the dirt

 

It is the frequency

of angels that

precedes us

& this procession;

a funeral rite

 

Diagnostic chemical

reaction

 

And into the sea,

what a strange

& beautiful necessity

between two

minds, two

hearts, two

souls. In the

union of dissymmetry

provided for by

glancing strangers

carrying our

condition to the

underground.

 

Causality & concentric sins

spun souls into oblivion;

with watchful eyes, I

hope, you’ll

skim the surface

of this un-

intelligible conversation

 

It’s only a matter

of momentary

blindness; a sweet

corruption of our

mental matter,

 

A tooth decay.

& so our oblig-

atory condescension

chucks out

the mass’ volatile

deconstructive

phonograph.

 

It’s past

time,

it’s

past time

 

To read your

fortune, and steal

the thoughts you

hide away

 

It’s that

time,

to let the

widow wail

 

And through

the window

to where

the isosceles

reproduction

of her father’s

 

Limousine

short-circuits

the sun.

Here I am

calm,

 

Disentangled

from your

iridescent

works of

playful

art,

 

And captivated

by the slowly

moving storm

within your

eyes; passion.

 

Blood-red;

 

In this ejaculation

of reverent thought,

expressed upon the

page; in

Latin

 

Differentiated

only, solely,

by the clear

misconduct

of the members

of this hallucinatory

event.

 

A regulated

thirst,

cold hands &--

 

A tattered

heart; beating pulsing

breathing life

into the outer

extremities

of space

& time

 

I am

enraptured;

coalescing with

angelic

swirls, who’ve

wrapped my

gifts and clear proportionate

disproportioned scabs with

 

Heated

tissues taken

from the night’s

undulating suns,

 

Going up;

leisurely

exercising

a tonality

of punishment.

 

Conflicted premonitions

thirsting over

Saturday’s long walks upon the beach

 

Safely threaded

into

liquid coriander

spice

 

This raw container

holding anything

but the

presumption that I

could connect

the stars.

 

I was expended &

expelled from

Christianity’s

confines; the day I

found myself wholly

unearthed by a sentencing

of time; to grow,

 

& to achieve the highest

isolation point.

 

In the dust,

I breathe you

in, in the

dust I beg

for your remuneration

 

& an accomplishment

perceived as raise

emerges through

the hallways of the

decadent tomorrow.

 

Her bite; pinching

and bruising bite;

piercing the skin,

 

never minding what

shadows lie therein,

 

Never minding what

shallow hells are

sunken in these eyes,

 

I’ve waited

for her

to puncture

my sedentary

self.

 

Spiraling into the sea,

to reinvent my pain,

and let it bleed;

to find a quick momentary

breath and to be

free once more; in

the eyes of Heaven.

 

In the heart

where

wild transmu-

tations skirt

the edges of

confliction, &

reminiscent de-

constructions

 

Come about

through environ-

mental evolution.

Three pieces

of my broken fan-

tasy; extinguished

and forgotten

by the recovery

of my obtrusive

resurrection;

 

I am the uncanny

knack; firing neur-

onal source

of her obsession.

 

The tigress paws

her prey,

an unconstitutional

molasses-maw;

even lighter

that the brightest sun

 

Fickle matter,

the dream of

Loch-

ness

stenographies

and simple ciphers

to tell tale

memories

 

We were want

to

guess the

resurrection

day,

unfold our

territories;

 

To loose Earth’s

emryonic decay.

 

In her resistance

to a god past-

tense; reprimanding

deity, folding under

layers of skin and

disquieting our

bedtime prayers

 

Snatch hypocrisy dealt

queer ideals

reverence seems

to melt within

these sugar-

coated

lives

 

Blissful redemption,

holding the

child at bay;

a favorable mention

to disentangle

the concepts of

thought-decay

 

Irresolute

inebriation,

pickled pigs’

feet, two

tusks

& a

concrete

slab.

 

Gravity’s< painful

repositioning, cellophane

dreams concatenated

realities; and then

the bite,

your perfect teeth

imprinted:

In my flesh.

 

Hallucinatory

repositioning, cellular

mass entangled with

your vile malcontempt;

whose reproductive

gels will swarm

and form

the sea of my derision

 

Hopelessly indoctrinated

into

one less smidgeon

of assault

 

Where we grasp

shoulders; with loose

grips

edging ever

into the dark.

 

What reasons were

binding us

in our harmonic

splice?

 

We rewrite history

to coincide

with our

little pleasures;

bundled up in

post-satisfactory

smiles; and I eat

you, and I

drink you through

these wounds,

like honey

to the tongue;

a bit

less flavor &

a bit

more exasperation.

 

How was the critique?

An oversight in

lesbianism; cascading

atrocities (gone awry).

So sex

succumbed to violence,

&

the

 

Reticent coil

defiantly shot

itself into her

mouth;

 

Closed corners

dappling dots

upon the counter

tops, a three-

ringed circus,

 

An elephant,

or two &

 

Peanuts &

popcorn &

intelligence

agents;

 

& a bicycle;

no, a tricycle

built for…

 

To take clarity by force,

and alter one’s

perception; to hang

gravity’s

inclinations

of threaded life,

 

How slowly the sea

is to purge

the monstrosities

of its whole; beginning

from naught

and ending with

some far-flung religion

to carry over measure

of her infancy.

 

We are days,

slowly spinning

time’s internal gears;

slowly manifesting our

resolution of an hour

 

Where we will walk,

a broken, fragmented

lover’s quarrel.

 

An ordinary incision,

in time’s

decompositional refrain;

it’s like whorls

of evanescent light

dappling

a fragrant

atmosphere

 

And in the pages,

news;

 

The paper tells

of liquid mercury,

rabid bands

of blue; salt-

tasting

hydrogen bonds

repercussing

 

Down,

spiraling, down,

walking the shores

of death, and

enigmatic tooth

decay.

 

Inside the butcher’s

eyes, to horrors of the sea;

inescapable, impossible

rhythmic tones

displacing the future’s

fornicating lobotomy

 

In silence we shall stand

 

Unison’s horn

devouring the meaning of

Principia Mathematica;

and in solution

to the voice of

desolation,

every moment is

obsolete,

every pain is silenced

 

And the fissures

encapsulating our dismay

come slowly in

obscurity, droning on and on;

on and on.

 

In theory or in

recitation, we begin

class with a momentary pause: [

 

]; and an evaluation

of the

chemical

composition

of Mercury’s

hemispheres. No

scientific pulse proceeds

from the mouths

of infants and

the Diocese of Armageddon,

the tick

tock clock

burning up the

atmospheric plane;

 

When gravity’s

calm quietude

are deceased carcinogens

rioting together

through the mind’s

inferiority complexifications

 

One more pass;

into the swimming hole.

 

Hourly wages, craving

the text upon the pages;

an arm’s band clash

against bare skin,

and paradise’s

plutonium mirage

 

You were stationed

in the swamp,

we drew metal

masks; mirrored-

deities and souls of

chance, while I mustered

every spark laying hidden

in the darkness of my

psychologic elemental

 

You were there,

and I was

 

Walking, undertaking

the cold steps to

Plato’s false re-

union; the better to

hear you by, my dear.

 

The better plane

to place

my wounds inside

the chamber

of your ear.

 

Wind & water lash

the eyes flit,

A smile; no a-

symmetric

tongue twists

 

& I

revealing

the voices in the mire;

capitalize on the ones, twos; threes &

mores.

 

Unsteady state we dream upon,

a bed of tilted ocean;

frothing monstrosity,

a leveled head, a bare

sin. What devils dwell

with-

in

 

And so I rise,

to face the daylight’s

saving time;

and hold myself

under and below

the cover of my

translucent

skin.

 

Hypocrisy & the felt

dream, awakened sleep

set on fire in the bathroom;

and hope, a God-

forsaken

stem;

Dripping

 

red drops

of sweet

silk; the kind that kills.

 

Tract; a-

ttract-ed

symposium

 

a level-

headed bird

swings wings,

comes

to the river-

side; sleeps

in the water

bed. Dreams

 

Broken glass

dreams; br,

oken,rec,

ord,spik,

es,pl,

aces,dr

awn;cold,c

ard,stu

d. Vericose

celebrities

piling on

the viscous

fluid for

the potted

plants.

 

Libr//en-

glish; tr//ans-

late

shape(ly)::

 

Essence of carpe

diem; swallowed flock

juxtaposed with either

two handbags or a sock-

monkey on either side

 

Trusting in

the religious few

who

succumb to my dystoxic

malfunctionary rote

 

Who has?

Who does not

reflexively

persuade herself

to swallow the

ejaculatory words

of an embittered

little girl?

 

Short spurts of

phlegm &

mucous; against the

membranes of

our sins

 

Dry ice metaphors;

cackling at the crossroads

to where two

worlds meet.

 

Its sin is in

construction,

& – de-

construction,

 

Forwardly flapping,

“tsk, tsk,” &

crying’

 

All the same,

a step in the wrong;

all the same, words;

billowing like clothing,

flapping in the cool

Autumn breeze.

 

Albino sex; part of a

midsummer’s cacophony;

and I raise my head

(from your lap) &

roll the papers

of a scroll

 

Whistling while

the mayflies….

Fly

 

Not seeing

the imperfections

of your expository

nail file execution.

 

Histogram ; a mammogram

and surgical accoutrement,

the stage plays our

retribution as we walk

into the slivers of

the sun’s wet kiss.

 

A herd of elephants,

a violent spark;

whispers of a child

alone in the dark,

 

As fate would have

the melody of the moon,

her highest pitch;

 

Forked ;enema,

dissolution of a god,

three doors waiting

for the fourth;

 

Rhyming for the hopeless

child who whispers her

venomous words into the deep.

 

Slogging, through mire’s

sludge; relationship’s

fog and the streetlamps.

 

Every link, false

link broken; base,

vase; sepulcher

had once inspired,

now dashed to

fragments in the mire

 

& line-

breaks

 

Send the shadows reeling, set the bog aflame;

closest dry lips to suck, an orange’s voluptuous

flesh; fire & the

rest.

 

Spritzed cellophanE; do,

you remember in September, when

the teddy bears eradicated the feet of

LIONS & the

tails of monkey’s whipped cream

 

It all constructs and reconstructs

into the sea of languages &

misdemeanor sleet; nobody

can understand the sift &

flow of drifting snow;

the chaos inherent

in the structure

of a lie. a mis-

construed fra-

cture of a m-

ind. unord-

inary time

 

Licentious matter,

breath proclaims

the cause; of our

disrupted spaces

 

Only in the

fear of

minutes passed in

isolation;

your curse unsubstantiated,

and the

violence associated

with your tick.

 

Caution comes

crawling

into

the thickets

of our desire;

 

Four hands,

& legs-

synthesizing

a lover’s

quarrel

 

& a pause.

 

Once,

in a while;

I draw a

—————

Between

what could &

couldn’t be.

 

& I succumb

to the frailty

and fragility

of sound; come

crashing down.

 

Time spent

recovered;

in the island’s

scope where we

persuade each

other

into deepening

breaths of

Heaven’s gasp

 

&

 

When the fowl

with her

young

 

Succeeds

to tell

the whole

 

Of every-

thing she’s

ever dreamed

 

In one last

grasping for

the edge—

before tumbling

into a sea

of ecstasy.

 

In-

stigat-

ion

 

Asteroids falling

through the at-

mospheric haze;

And I’m on fire.

 

Burning up w/

raw desire

 

Holding hands w/

her mirrored

multifacet;

craving what

worlds I have

not known.

 

Scales and skin

the depths come

from within

this vacant Hell;

 

And I’ll be quieted

and hungry until.

 

Positioned with

her legs spread wide;

one evening, out of

tune with nature’s

complimentary kiss

 

My heart &

her heart;

 

The way we’ve

always wished;

 

Twofold sentence

structures competing

for tooth decay;

lively cherubs

an elementary parade

 

Frogs &

dinosaur bones,

lucky rocks;

& we’re so far from home….

 

Must I

Inhibit all this unconscious

volume of my inebriation;

come clean &

with high winds,

 

Dry my tears

in a bed of death & ash

 

Lay the body

and watch the fire

burn. Burn. & I

want to hesitate

to catch the movement

of our lifeless minds;

 

Who doesn’t comprehend

the difference;

between marrow &

the soul. The center-

piece whose skin

will grant deliverance.

 

Underside of the

whale; the belly

of my love’s

last expiration;

an inhalation

of my decent self,

the one I knew

had not the sense

to carry over

her enigmatic tune.

 

Siphoned

taxonomy

 

slurred soliloquy;

& the pancreas

of my love’s

request, holding

high the head &

 

sentimentalism

slurs again my

sound; the sound

of the world

around me,

coming down.

 

Hyphen-

ated

accessory,

styled incision

& birth’s last

derision.

 

Cat’s cradle

kept in check;

the illusion

of her systematic

polymorphic

pin-

prick;

 

I owe you

 

Heavy helpings

of a served up

dish of

death; I

owe you,

the itinerary

helplessness

of my beguiled

aforensic

self.

 

Nchworm

 

Web of Thought-Entanglement

 

Blue-grey sun,

and fetal eyes

burning through

the fog-dense

capital of our

constructed sea,

 

Make love to me

in the bed of

cacophonous

surrenders; where

will & time meet

but once, and sow

short memories

into the eyes of

mankind’s suffering;

 

Blend me with

your pain, so I

may see tonight’s

well-lit sea

of hand-made stars.

 

Uninterest

 

Hanging threads of

love’s last banquet,

holding hands

on the night of our

unequal suffering,

 

Raised voices

in the mire,

a delicate balance

of strains of

serpentine DNA;

& you walked

upon the blades

of grass I wanted

you to fall

into my arms.

 

As Summer’s

deep divide

lashes out

against softly-

spoken surrealists,

playing catch & go

between ticks

 

Of a clock,

long dead.

 

The Sinister Voices I Remembered

 

Insisting

on a sold-

out

rhythmic

holiday.

 

Two coins

flat pur-

chased so

I may bring

the better

quantities

of youth’s

synthetic

sister.

 

Into long, drawn out breaths and rhythmiotic synthegenesis, two strands entangled by our hysterectomy as the minister stands apart from the only logical conclusion to this heart-beat fantasy of ours.

 

Thus Spake Gurugula

 

Gurugula, an adolescent

hybrid of the catch-all

phrase we once explored,

together hand-in-hand

between concrete walls

enclosing us like

beach sand in a jar.

 

Call me crazy for the four winds

often escalate for your entertainment;

for men, the Playboy paradox:

 

Zarathustra spoke second

to none; there was an

ironed out portobello

shrine encasing gold-plated

rings and an antechamber of

our homogeneous scintillation,

I bleed in red; how is your day?

 

And when the follicles

have spouted out the truth;

with DNA & every other code

that can combine with human flesh;

the artichokes will fall out

like nuclear byproduct.

 

We all fall down.

 

Chaos

 

Your hands

as cold as I

remembered

them. My mouth;

 

wrapped around

your skin,

invoking

the stars &

sun &

moon.

The night sky;

 

The principles

of mathematical

decay. An un-

ordinary phrase

followed by your

discontinuous

 

Rage. Floorboards

waxed & feelings

waned, and alighted

notions in a sea

of discontinuous

rebellion.

 

Controlled Linguistic Algorithm

 

An enigmatic

paralysis, coined

on the first term

of her relationship

with God. An

expletive supposition;

 

A meeting of

chance,

perpetuated

by

a continuous

flow

of poetry;

 

We remark to one

another of the days

spent waiting,

watching, never

playing out the

fantasies of our

hearts’ desires.

 

Holding each other

in, in

broad strokes

of the pen &

brush; broad

yet well-refined

surgeries of

love’s last

wetted drop.

 

Three Species

 

Owl-

tiger-

machine.

 

Crank; rotation.

 

A stir for

attention’s sake,

a poignant grip

wetted by the

knife.

 

Incandescent, moonlit

principles of self-

destruction;

carrying with her

the keys

to my own

betrayed consciousness.

 

Coughing Motions

 

I sleep,

and closing

my mind

against the

rocking motion

of his

religious views;

 

And in your

arms,

I am

cemented—

 

Beyond the fog,

is a symbolic representation

of your love;

and there I go,

 

Sinking;

 

Deeper into you,

thinking;

 

What how

we hadn’t

placed within

each other’s

trust;

the beating blood.

 

Incomplete Assemblage

 

The fire

in your eyes

as you scream

in ecstasy &

a bit of pain.

 

Relapsed miscalculation

styrofoam sunset, a desolation

star. Where the wild grass

bleeds out its liquid fire;

 

A triumphant

elephantine

grip upon

reality’s

base skin;

 

That fleshy fire

loosed from Hell’s

eternal position

beneath the starlit

 

Night; our fornicating

furnace of desire and

self-actualization…

 

Burning up

with a fever

of each other’s

lustful stare.

 

In my Sunday Dress

 

And for all the

reciprocal commands,

I watched your breasts

 

Rise & fall,

like kingdoms

thrown together

and torn apart;

 

The dispersion of your breath,

as one sees the templates

of an inner coat of pain;

and suffering.

 

Please me to be

with you, this isosceles

interpretation of God—

 

And also with you.

 

Are You a Senator’s Slave?

 

An hour,

glass coat

hanged high

dull drops

& diabetic

stew meat

 

Raised an eyebrow, to you,

Mister Bear;

 

Hum how loud it was

an echo and a vice

carried over

 

Into long, semantic pauses,

Mister Bear;

& I watched you

fly into the Western Lands

and bleed exhaust fumes

down upon a field

 

Of incinerated corpses.

 

Yesterday’s Store-Bought Sinkhole

 

Crawling through her

under-

current,ly

anticipating store-

bought icicle

 

Pops:

 

Including, but not

limited to:

 

*——-

 

Taking shelter from

the marzipan man;

when the gingerbread

hears her writhe in

 

Ecstasy; orgasming

incoherently like the

blood moon’s meter,

another matter for

scholars to digest;

 

I keep creeping and

crawling through her

under-

wear drawer;

envisioning if

this will end.

 

Train to Rome

 

To three mystic

envelope’s encampment;

where stride fell &

a repertoire of

poetic injustice

bares fangs,

 

Vagina dentata!

A fulcrum to bend

out of rhythm

my intended

asemic course,

 

Her pleasure’s

foot, a steel phallic

Renaissance foretold

on the breath of

aged old men,

gathering in the dust

of their unfortu-

nate caveat; indent-

in dentures;

hibernating slowly

through the fog of a mystic

collapse/

 

Where two bodies

thirst for each

other’s liquid,languid

language of the visceral

per-

sua-

sion

 

Lips Dripping Violence

 

It’s what was

hidden between fore-

finger & thumb; the cross

and the candle’s

 

Drip-

ping

 

Hazard of what

was hallucinogen

reproductive angles

of variance &

our slow coming

into therapeutic

synchronicity;

 

She screams.

 

And in her screaming,

there is the voice

of desire, & pain.

 

Unquieted boredom,

for lack of anything.

 

She shall remain unrequited

in her lustful pain,

sifting terse childhood

memories; looking for

escape. Heaven,

 

Help her find it.

 

Hypertension in the Water

 

In translation; in

dyssymmetry, in iso-

lation, I evolve

 

Devolve, in the rushing

sound of a stream

past noon on a sunny

winter’s day; with the

 

Water’s

temperature just

above freezing.

 

Her hands

cuff mine.

 

And in this

corporeal factor,

a frozen substance,

an addictive

pain, heavy to

the touch,

 

For all this

I cry,

“The raquet;

the raquet,

has stolen

my bejeweled

crown.”

 

Walking With God

 

The stem

suffers,

and the veins

of our quick

incantation

bleed

 

An impermanency

of dribble,

drafting; cool-

water breasts,

nurturing

the child within.

 

The Persistence of a 6 a.m. Alarm Clock

 

Her harsh reality

broken through

blades of glass,

a slivered king-

dom; forfeiture

of an inherent

oscillation,

 

Heat’s breath

upon the skin,

and a half-hid

hideaway; with broken segmentation

from the long, monotonous

space of my

unseemly altercation.

 

Like glue,

hot & sticky

adhesive,

 

Like paper too,

 

Swallowed

by formica

still-

life

menageries.

We Came Into Her House

 

Hiroshima’s bottled water,

coming for the caskets;

right about the time

we took our shoes off,

 

At the door.

You wouldn’t say

which way,

we ought to travel;

and so I came

to you.

And you could hear

the waters burbling;

a propagation of annoyances;

said through the speaker phone.

 

She’s likely to

come,

unnoticed and

seductively

in retrospect,

the way I was;

the way we inter-

act. Pies and

holy books

 

No room to breathe,

but I can’t tell

the difference

between her house

and the attic of

my grandparents’

last breath.

 

Kettle Corn

 

We’ll dissect

each other’s

nonconformity;

create shifts

in reality,

conclusion:

that there hadn’t

been enough control

to hide our forth-

coming anatomy.

 

Self-Censored

 

White frost,

bented blessings,

come again

this time next; year

 

A fluid phantasm,

forcing our malignant

minds to face the pyre;

dropping our incentives

deep down into

additional layers

of ice-cold death,,

 

Star-Spangled Binoculars

 

Cold-centered aristocracy,

a harmful pennant circulating

past dusk

 

& in the interim,

before the bleeding of my

esophagus; child eye

pretenders quaking effortlessly

on grass stilts,

on broken limbs,

easy enough

to die one more time

before the cradle collapses

and we get stuck in

tomorrow’s sweet street

forensic scientist

burned down tunnel

owing to the Spinoza factor

of two pi, four ounces & 1.

 

Babes & Rattlesnakes

 

Insular stock wealth

capital sins, incorporated

into blanket marches

swimming for the gold;

 

& ivory

stilts

breathe

painful

thoughts

to

reduce

one’s

anxieties

to

naught.

 

You were there, well

when we had chained commissions;

Spain was our ivory tower,

where we would disappear.

 

Seven times,

we regretted

the comforts

of our earlier

descending

planes.

 

Asterisk Heart

 

Holding on, it’s a

fit;

heads are aligned &

stars have intuition

to see beyond

the scars. *

Hoping we will walk

through the compass

into the Northern Fog;

where the needle bends

and pointed suns

begin to blend. A fun-

ction of celestial

persistence,

 

Pointing down into

the well within my soul;

a shaman’s healing fire,

pouring out into my wounds.

Torrential rains

of blessings and rejuvenation…

 

She’s a girl,

and I don’t know

the half of what

goes on inside

her heart.

 

Disjoint Holiday

 

Jointed, dis-

seminated amoxicillin

& sublime anticipation

with an ordinary

undercover post-

war trauma:

 

You wore night

like a curtain

cover-

ing

your blue, pale

flesh—

disseminating

the dusty flakes

of our past

romantic metaphors;

 

We quake, you & I,

we quake, regretting

nothing beneath this

incandescent sky.

 

Pools

 

Were we

transcendentally

descended

from the

Abyss of God?

Walking through

the forested matter

of a detonated

hydrogen bomb;

the nucleus of this

unassorted & compressed

dissertation of what

lies waiting at the end

of our own self-

destructive blows.

Consolation, foreign

bodies permuted

in the treble—

one small pocket’s

well, one hole

left undivided

by the truth,

only an hour (

past tense)

to seize our

hyperbolic stare.

The Pulpit

 

Soon

I sell

my mind’s

last entourage

 

& scream your

name through

the burning

sensations

 

Motioning

my mouth to

take your words,

slowly echoed

voices of

substance

as I

clear

my throat

you watch me,

measured by

my last

formidable

silence

softly

spoken

hoarse

words,

whispered

through

denim sheets.

 

Media Interference

 

Compli-

cated

broken

rhythm-ic

per-

secutions,

I want to

:::

penetrate

your lon-e-

liness,

I want to

:::

sequester

all the

sexually

intimate

parts;

blow your

mind with

haphazard

bio-gene-

tic engi-neered

fulsome

microbiotic

tangential

horn is in

the right

place to <

build a st-

ep-

ping

plate occ-

urrence.

 

Hallucinatory Anticipation

 

Forensic a-

kaleidoscopic

retinal fever

with moistened

retardant frost;

bit once, by the

sheer

uncomplimentary

voice of God &--

reason.

 

I need you.

Apex Sin

 

Invertibrate postu-

lation

cultural cloud dis-

tinguishment

sump pump placebo

disinformation

 

You held your

head high,

coming through

nobody’s performa

antecedent, precedes

the ovulation of

yesterday’s acknowledgement

 

Motion sickness stirs

in my womb; it kicks,

a strange metamorphosis

of cells, breathing in

the oxygen of my attire.

 

A formulaic symbolism

of everything I ever

wanted to become.

Bisexual Sophistication

 

Reverberated philosophies

sounding something strange,

a beating of her heart;

second sun,

holding hands,

disconnected by the

rhythmic inconsistencies

 

Of her patriotic verse;

it was a silence I

could not comprehend,

it was the vacant blaring

of her unsettled

mind, a mind

mapped

 

Mapped

as though the

energies she’s castr-

ated

off the center

of lop sided

fallacies

had won their

crooked politics.

 

Fashionista

 

I once was a pig,

wrapped up

in a curtain of

self-loathing,

 

Obscure channels

& insufficient lies;

we all want

our alibis to

check out.

 

Four Corners of the Earth

 

It was her second

hand; the clock

of my descending

want. Set to

motion in tandem

with celestial

bodies; & broken

laughter wrenching

apart the celebate

signs of my retire-

 

Culmination

of a start & finish

line; catapulting

over & through

our synthetic blend

of notions and mis-

conceptions; God, I

love you. Let’s

make our wake of

ideologies tender &

more obscure than

the common tongue;

raise the arms &

signal to one another

across a desert sea.

 

Her Isolation Song

 

There’s a

frog

in my

throat,

 

Speaking:::

 

Chemistries;

biologies,

retro-

grade

semaphores,

 

Dust & cob-

webs sheltering

my diseased con-

dition

 

To be a lady

with dis-

mantled neur-

onal synthesis.

 

Peach tree; porcupine

the differences in

our time; as you lay

in bed thinking of

the crystallized gifts

which keep you up, & I

pour out my life into

my metaphoric systematized

reconstructions of you.

 

Not a Number Poem

 

Nine, four, eighteen, six,

capital ‘q’,

destiny’s anti-oxidant

fulcrum, saline;

houses of the holy,

denied access,

surreal responsibilities.

 

Must we pass

through the

gates to enter,

or is there a

back way in?

 

Elevator music,

pop-culture whore;

xylotronic fusion,

mental reality

escapism, plural

“uni ion”

hemp fleet of sail

ships pending…..

 

OK

Exotic Twosome

 

Ecstasy in inebriated flesh,

the bottle of mercury rising

up above our death,

the souls of our departed loves,

breaking bottles in the parking lot.

 

You never were

a simulation in my mind,

created pretense

holding onto nothing’s

cease-

less matter for the vine,

and April fool’s

itinerary, stocked

with shelf decay;

another trust broken

with perpendicular

agendas from the norm.

 

We are the normal

vector, pouring into

space; we love to

deposit our philosophies

into the belly of

the beast. Trade for

execution, taste for

love; we knight the

robber sealing us

into this tomb of glass.

Imprisonment

 

In threads;

half-

lives, broken har-

monic multiplication

implication

overdraft pro-

tection inferiority

complexification;

annihilation.

 

Just as you,

I withdraw my

monotony; create dis-

harmony let the half-

lives break apart

the remnants of a

spectral

flood; of doctrine,

potion & the potent

flavor of death

dissolved upon

the tongue’s

wet mess.

 

Magic Shop

 

Curtains of Remembrance

 

Horus & the xylophone

interpretation of God

as we were insincere,

and broken the last

shard of our dis-

assembled

sanity;

 

Your breath,

stable & sincere

fornicator of

silences;

 

The expected

sun, cradled

in the arms

of an empty

space,

 

Beautifying

the mysteries

of our encoded

selfish-scars—

 

One to hold

the corpses

of the damaged

gods.

 

Slaves to the Infinite

 

Human breath

the scars we try

to hide, uncertainty

for what we once

had wanted to become;

and when the spheres

of truth collapse in

upon themselves,

 

Everything

is dark in

this dream,

 

And the two-

fold hells

we try to

circumvent;

only close

in around us.

 

To the swarming

necessity of life,

we give the platform

of our unforgiving

so-called factual

opinions; pinions

to the earth.

 

Waves of Mercy

 

Shortened

kaleidoscopic

grip contains

the mercury bond

and the --

 

Horoscopic

soliloquy,

protruding

from the silhouette

of an open remainder

signing two hands

into the cluster

of our overture,

 

You first,

peel the skin

off your knees;

reduce our infinity

to nothing. We are

nothing, let the fates

preserve us in our end.

 

Firecracker Psychological Break

 

Every day,

as you & I

intertwine

ourselves in

bland realities;

corner ourselves

& continue

 

Running mind in

ammunition; molten

hands built with

lace & fire,

porcelain & the drab

attire of a wounded

military beast;

time to seize

the bannister

& continue

 

Fuck the stream

of consciousness,

as it glows day-bright.

 

Lay it on in

uncertain terms,

brace yourself

for an infinitude

of sleepless

nights.

 

Black Market Child

 

In distress, I’ve

come to claim the

destitution of my

found and then

forgotten soul;

 

Enamored

cyclophonetic

extrapolation

of sense

maintained through

our philosophies,

 

Intensity &

misdemeanor;

scrubbed &

violent collaboration

strewn pinnacles

of the un-

denied

observable

vision of a god.

 

Capital

 

Days were long

and nights had

shattered stars;

an incomplete

assemblage of

mercurial dis-

entanglements

 

And we won our

vacant holograms,

synthetic suns

wrapped blindly

across the parapets

to sieve the night

from stars,

 

And bring the fallen

down slowly, close

 

To you & me.

Within this wall’s

accumulated cluster

of magnetic sounds,

here we may bring

down around us

the curtain of blood.

 

Fraternized

 

In the echoes of her

cataclysmic screams,

to the end of where

our dreams reside;

in parallel to strides

of surfaced wax where we

rediscover each other’s

heightened sensation…

 

Robotics made evolutionary,

you may not want to face

reality this time, but there’s

deevolved syntactic stride

keeping us down

on the inside.

 

And behind it all there’s

a price to be paid;

 

Where we carry out the

dysinterpretation of collective

sins, carried for the transitioning,

and God’s reaction to the synthesis

of hymns & we reduced syntax to

the better part of illogical

reappropriation.

 

Measures of Insanity

 

Black bottle,

open mind,

open to the infrastructure

of our times;

 

Little daisy, there,

in a field of death,

every equinox defying

the singular word

of our creation.

 

To Hell,

beyond the veil;

uncircumsized penitentiary,

 

Every flaw unlocked

and peeled apart,

and opened up

to the sadness

of your broken heart.

 

Operatic Finality

 

A sliver of anticipation,

some scaffolding,

heights uncharted;

 

Brides and grown

hilarity, two-toned

sentimental serendipity,

you stole the face

I never wore, comeplete

with make-up, painted

surreal reality; the point

at which our bodies

crossed; in still motion,

an unrehearsed refrain.

 

You showed me there were

points at which

the seasons turn,

and brought me to the

blending of our souls

in perfect benediction,

 

Erasing the stature

of a dirty mind,

purely potent venomous

reverend castaways.

 

Methodical Inquiry

 

Become a cryptologist.

{ every other

spark of_.necessity

has been your;

}

 

Pharmaceutical neurology.

{ & on the bed

we practice sine curve

_humility. We, at your

leisure, shove and push

this institutional

Psychology[];

}

 

Past,

{ hemmorhagic future;

marked_insomnia[]

& (the catapult of)

God, into the last

redeeming qualities

of man.

}

 

$igns and Symbols

 

Insert; polyphonic aurora,

keep it in pieces, do {

what you will && I keep

drifting; down into

a synthetic sea of glass[]

 

You were

open to the idea

&& soon we were

given in continuation,

breaking up the balcony

of our remembrances;

 

You are

left.

 

&& in this sea

of endless disturbances,

I concur that you are

not like anything.

 

So for each $ideology

we proposed, I am ( ! afraid );

 

Trigger the notion of our

non-existent prophetic

reality, swarming with

flies; DO NOT daydream

while the vehicle is in motion.

 

Ruptured Innocence

 

The skies bleed red,

Tthis rhetorical

beginning to a sea

of circumstantial

behaviors; algorithmic

betrayals, an euphamism

for the alter-ego

 

While God :

echo the laughter

of our sisters’

voices creeping

effortlessly

through an intoxication

spin. Mild

irridescent sins;

the fortune of inebriated

calculation, where are

our guides? Where have

we fallen into

 

This init, halting two’s

complimentary signs,

we are watching,

waiting for the

Earth to be plagiarized,

ill-maintained & sanitized;

 

Where is our holy fountain?

 

Thrusted Vendetta

 

While christening

the adjuncts & the

sillhouetted marionettes;

in conjunction

with

her paragraphed psychology,

 

I decided

to hold the key

to all her fame,

permuted flame

of our indiscrepency

 

Filed & torn by

a miscommunication,

distinct surrender;

how we will

admonish their

capitalistic occupation

 

Here in the forthcoming

unrecognizable seeds of our

decay,

 

First & foremost,

we distract ourselves

from the oddity of

swift surrender &

intoxication of a sort();

 

Pigs in Heat

 

The hollow of the

pigs’ insides;

I thirst for a more

diluted entrance

to her cave,

 

A reprimanding friost

to our decay; a stormcloud

hanging lowly like

the branches of a diseased

state.

 

Everything between

our biological expansion

tested with the fires

of our undeniable existances,

 

You and I, while the sun

collapses; have gone

 

Deeper into an infernal well,

a hole for contemplation

of a delicate mess

of perumtable breaths.

 

Retrograde Spectacle

 

Where you always

reside when the

breath of God subsides;

& in the case of our nonexistent

percolation,

our sea of isolation;

inharmonious calculation

 

Set in a line

of golden thread,

with the Golden Ratio

outlining our existential rain,

& fear duplicates

the meaning of our pain.

 

Why in this

evolutionary

split

between

good &

evil gods

one turns

to madness &

delirium

to explain

creation

 

& lets the fires

double; main

impressions

thread their way

through violent

interpretation

visceral love

keeping the balance

between tangible &

divine sentence.

 

Order Array

 

pow()externalization

of a foot of diamond-class

hierarchical disentigration,

in retrospect, we couldn’t lie

to ourselves, not in the

sprinkling mists of euphoric

excerpt.

 

Here, spoken

language

unfolds the recesses

of a diseased heart,

the trolley takes

place in the advent

of our forgiveness,

 

And we see stars,

And we see saints;

an uncut realization

of broken trusts.

 

And these god-damned

ticks; made by broken

clocks; foresee the

spinning catalogue

of centuries’ cyclic

psycho-pathologies.

 

Ashes to Ashes

 

Honed in on the uncertainty

of oxidization’s lovely

sprawl into the catacombs,

a latent eye,

blinking out of turn.

 

Cross-

stitched

 

encyclopoedic propaganda

broken into digestible

chunks, slowly burned

in the fires of a new age.

 

You and I,

cycling through our

horoscopes, back breathe

fire, in an inescapable

reprimand, Earth in-

toxicated by the smells

of sweet perfumes; no longer

lingering on the point of

no return;

 

Gnawing

 

I have found,

in the interior

of my bounds,

an astrological

appointment by which

the world comes

crashing down

 

And through the depths

of this synthetic storm,

I rise and claim my ill

encounter,

 

Do you command

my demons &

should I explain

my defect?

 

I want nothing more.

 

Finish the praise

on your appointment,

redeem the sequences

of a hypnotic spell,

grant me dissolution,

feed me everything

I’ve been denied.

 

Methamphetamine

 

Your shield posed

against the blood

of my dismemberment;

straw things bled

& the quill precedes

your slip…

 

Into the bleak

forgiveness stream,

where pi & e

created the first

semblance of our

destinies; burning

bushes, sequenced with

infinities; mouths

speaking blasphemies.

 

And you held my wrist,

kept me back from

my own disintigration,

fed me sweetened honey,

dripping from

the soul’s sour stick.

 

Goblins and Witchcraft

 

Okay,

fettered ice

sculpted in the name

of God;

 

& you were

in disrupted sorts,

disputing God &

reason’s chilled

memory, I was—

 

Dancing with a bear,

undisputed shares of

inadequate consumption,

dressed in plaque &

receding hair; we were

contemplating death

and her deliverance.

 

While you gave up

the ghost, settled in

an infinitude of flames

where I am coming

to greet you,

to meet your grace,

 

Firmament

 

Terrible incantation,

the kind whose flirtation

crosses bounds of indecency,

and every eye

bleeds clear across the sky;

 

I think I need your promises,

and the keys to our disguise,

you are everything.

 

And in this hole of my

deconstructed self,

there’s a silhouette of

doubt creeping deep into

my self; and where

uncertainty and lies

cross fingers in the dusk;

 

I am in need of

everything you own.

 

I feel the snake

slithered snug

around my skin,

it’s just a moment’s

notice until the

dust has settled in.

 

Cellular Paralysis

 

Will you berate

and breathe your

destiny into

 

What could have been

a poverty-less sanctification,

your dulled nerves,

bodiless remembrance to

a fire stuck inside

the hospital’s deep recesses;

 

I’d adamantly replicate

your iso-chronic stain

a fortune in fitness,

a hopeless seizure to

replace the pain.

 

And while we walked

in silence, I held

your irridescent scab,

folded in another

spot of cyclotronic

registry; commissioned

scars and cellophane

forgeries, the reticent

scattered droplets

made from memory.

 

Hope is a Four-Letter Word

 

Stay down;

thoroughly

replaced with

exactly the same

premonition

as the last night’s

blood, a

wavering and watchful

motivation, spending

idle moments up above

the sky.

 

In the night’s

remains where

stars and spiders

draw their breath,

I gaze at perpendicular

manifolds; frosted

functions and kaleidoscopic

retrograde

 

Here, I’m lost

and here I shall

remain.

 

Host in hell,

a sentiment of

a milder form

of our decay;

vacant equation

matched by perpen-

dicularities of

a synth’ed estate

match me to

the escalate of

our depraved

reality.

Rotten Diorama

 

In the thick

of our detention,

this adelading violence

& its resplendent

curiosity, here I damn

all my conclusions;

and watch her symmetry

fade into the deepest

form of black.

 

Night’s proximity

to this unforeseen

irritable perception

of a fact; forced

immediacy &

a digression

of what was held

between bare

flesh and bone’s

discovery;

 

This violent corpse:

 

And the dingy drab

accoutrements required

for our oxygenation.

 

Receptacle

 

I need

to resuscitate the

exponential fire that

permeates the fabric

of my skin; those loose

folds of transparent

flesh whose sanctification

comes in waves of

metaphorical illusion.

 

You can wheel these

stages of rocket fire

& through your scintillating

siren sung,

reach into the depths

of an illusory state;

pulling out fact &

fiction; plates of gold,

a synthesis of transmutation

through the cold & ironed

curtain’s folds.

 

We speak through tongues

to reach the olfactory

receptors & cling to

this stitch of ink-spat-ter.

 

Ovulating Facts

 

Closed lids

and a capitalization

of your doubts

that we could—

 

In weather unremittent

symbology, a lifeless

sentiment placed on

motion-sickened signs

 

You were here, between

deep breaths bleeding

notions of a scandalous

affair; and it’s time—

 

Time to draw

conclusions of an

ovulating dream,

it’s time to remember

all the streams and how

they’ve slipped away

 

Into our past,

out of the presence

of everything we’ve

spilled between our

seams.

 

Misdemeanor Misconception

 

Between the phrases

of newer complexity,

my heart knows the

location of her symmetry,

 

It was a childish wash out

in the sun; this becoming

century of explanation.

 

Keeping dry,

keeping water flowing;

beneath the sky,

as the winds come

howling this new sentence

finds her deepest secret.

 

Exploring our asymmetric

identities, keeping calm

across the system of the moon

and sun and stars; as they record

our motion through this hollow.

 

Eight new frequencies tuned

and one exposed without the

proper recognition for expository sum.

 

Fascist Remark

 

Children in the square;

like children, flying

off the handle we were

tired of

facing

an incandescent

truth;

because of beauty’s grave

affair. I want to

 

Hold you closer

than I’ve ever held anyone before;

but time won’t compensate

for the ticking of our clocks.

 

And if it would

dominate

the resting place

of Saturn,

so be it;

turn our heads and

speak into

collapsing bowls of necromancy.

 

Chemotherapy

 

In a hundred hours,

in a day or two, or three;

we find ourselves

lost in a stream of thought,

facing what could become

of this uncertain span of life.

 

Daydreams,

making fantasies;

kissing each other;

kissing the temple

made of sand,

where all hopes,

resentments, fears

wash up against

the time of our oppression.

 

We want for—

the door is

locked, the downward

spiral is

entertaining thoughts

of the glory of mass

devastation, riddled

with bones; riddled

with indecisive monotony.

 

Perplexed

 

Defected with a trembling

heart, and two transplanted

retinas holding perpendicular

shadows; one falls while the

other grazes

the left wing of our silhouetted

tooth decay.

 

“You are my frog-

prince,” gathering in

the demons of some other

past distortion; let me

inharmoniously beguie

an incandescent flotation

device, while we match

each other’s disconnect,

 

Harmoniously playing

marks across

a sheet of music paper; and the

sun, waxing and waning

in the sky; no time for

plastic surgeries this

night.

 

Forecast will suspend

the notes in silence’s

background, showing

how the world was born;

and how it will become

dust in an endless sea

of mutating sub-atomic matter.

 

Detained Persistence

 

You were what everyone

had held deeply nested

in dreams, the fake identity

of a smile past tense;

another deity.

 

When you moved your

lips, and the sentience

of God rained down upon

our isolating fraction,

peace croaks the sad serenity

of our disheveled appearances.

 

Once more housing the boycott

to one’s exact page,

one’s plea & my mistake,

 

Now gold, now open

hospice certainly

sustained through

our communion; once

we were gathered

there, fixed in

steady motion,

our velocity restrained;

a more corporeal

dimension to the

gravity of saints.

 

Tenor

 

Proposing in a scientific

miscalculation; in a sentence

misfired among the remains

of a dead star cluster;

 

Only in God we trust,

fornicating here like mad.

 

Death and suns

carry us into

tomorrow’s grasping

of straws among

lions and wolves;

 

You were here for me,

among the dead,

burning sun,

brightening my otherwise

stille nacht;

the sonic boom

of my expository sum,

 

Rome

 

Watering

 

Fountains of a purer spectrum,

and the right perspective

of the air,

inseminating our

reciprocated spores;

 

We walk for hours,

without a hint of

dedicating dreams;

our fires on the

inner sides -- of things.

 

To drink,

to ease perceptive

costs, to extract

the honesty

of saints,

 

And leave the lives

of honored citizens

plastered on the walls

of a defaced amalgamation

of a painted effigy of truth.

Tops

 

Tomboy in the attic,

closed calls in the

caterpillar creek,

I watched you

from a distance,

the distant hill,

overlooking the bulk

of the city;

 

And I was

brewing coffee,

baking the remainder

of an overthrown heart,

blue collar mountaineer—

 

Folding earth into

her endocrine assimilation,

& I watched your sister

lean

across our stars,

into the factory of peace.

Cracks in the Floor

 

Kind of

how I envisioned

you. White walls,

painted and embellished

by a free-hand style~

 

Everywhere I look

is your unique

impression; glittering

forms washed over white

and bleak days buried

beneath a sweet ascension

 

Interpretation of a star-

spangled occupation;

remaining in a state

of no lost consequence,

 

Here, in your flat;

above a chorus

of subsequent

chaos,

littering the night

with our unfettered

voice of violence.

Rod

 

Three drops of milk

out of your right

breast, three

beatings of

your heart;

to ease

this loneliness,

 

It’s just a game

to see whose love

transcends time

& space, to the

divine reiteration—

 

We shall concede

our sanity,

 

Conclude with the stitching

together of two continents’

divide; a clash in

the discontinuity

of yours & mine,

 

Never before have I—

dipped into a pool

like this pool,

our first kiss;

dripping wet want.

Ring Finger

 

The drops of truth

dripping wet

into your open wound,

and my heart’s

bland instructions:

 

Dismissive prayer,

salutory indecision,

a clockwork spiral;

detonating rhetoric,

a downward spiral//

 

Open up

your apostrophe,

catch my wandering

plague; let us finish

this revolution of

the sexes, vacuum dry

the dissonance of lust.

 

Laid flat back,

I come inside,

our worlds entangled by

the stench of

lovers’ mist.

Crux

 

Her winter’s breath descending,

burying

bright white, hot

flares of decaying stardust;

 

Through hidden agendas. Scarred

flesh that is the entropy withdrawn

of our assembled

planar silences;

 

Apocalypse serenade,

point by point & stitch—

flooded earth,

snowed in valleys

 

Where we advance

so slowly in our

technological

theocracy;

 

Images burned

like brushes of a dark age,

until her love draws

tears; bleeds the body

with broken fingernails.

Angelo

 

Castle walls surround us,

and the honey bees

around us, marking

one more kiss

upon these wanting

lips;

 

An angel,

guarding

 

us,

 

as we walk miles

down into the cellar

and the store room.

 

Our masks are

eroding, our

patience for

separation

of the skin,

eroding, our

violence

enacted upon

the heart,

where we swell.

The Cats

 

Brick by brick,

and old ruins

slowly crumbling in;

 

Metastasized cerebral

infinities, broken up

in parts too hard to

 

Render on a projective

screen; parts are

hardened, blue spheres

crumbled & the reason

 

For our kitchen scene,

seen, from the balcony

above our flat; one

word projected in

solitude, one word

diamond-like,

 

Stretching out through

ivory branches, peeling

paint brushed once

in the centuries

before our first kiss.

Coupled

 

A thin bed,

vibrations of a cascading dream,

and the world

around my waist.

 

A true

blue.

 

Bright, synthetic skies;

and her laugh,

and my moans,

harmonic inseparability.

 

Disaster of my fractured

uncomfortable remains,

& her

salty tears,

my continuous refrain;

 

A body, another body,

 

The two

in union,

even if

the blood

won’t

synchronize.

Together in Church

 

Polystyrene uterus

trapped in gas;

a symbolic form

of cancer for

my bleary eyes.

 

A pew;

 

An altar for her cast,

my broken love,

her last,

 

& in our—

in between

our breath;

our lips,

our death.

Vaginal

 

Umbilical cord outstretched

in union with a mother’s

beating heart. My own

infatuation

with her lips,

her breasts,

 

In the lake

where children

drown, the pope’s

pool, we pool

our thoughts,

 

Drowning ourselves

in the water that was

the word, the world;

according to our

romantic inclinations

of a god.

 

Where the saints

surround us, and

our ears can hear

the tolling of

the dead.

Two Complimentary Codes

 

A body covered

in pink cotton

her body rests

comfortably in

 

The recesses of

my mind, and so

 

I drift,

complacently

and securely

 

overlapping

the small constructions

of broken vinyl;

 

rhetorical obsession,

as the body breaks

rhythm with

the music of our love,

and causes

a disruption

in the perfection

of two lovers’

 

s-o-n-g.

To Extract Her Breath

 

Fear is the sense

by which she smells;

and her soul

consumes my scent.

 

A vibration

in the exposition

of our sanity’s

escape—

 

three wound

fishing

lines;

 

And an extracted sense

of repercussion’s score

dripping down on the back-drop

 

Feeding an ostensibly

precise &

calculated

position,

holding hands with

the driver & the

ghost,

 

Through the eye

of the storm.

 

Flight or Fiction

 

& the deterioration

of our chemical institution,

the dissemination of

the gift of

consciousness.

 

Ticket,

draft and the chill

impressions surrendered

to the floor; midnight

leaves her wanting

 

& I

 

roaming the surface

of this interior of

a mind, walls

plastered with idealized

personification of a god;

 

Hopelessly romantic,

delivering the creation

of an overwhelming

fantasy; made reality.

 

Mood Sanitizers

 

Cough syrup,

fists &--

diorama

of Christ’s

mistaken identity;

 

When every church

offers

an illusion

of my insanity,

an undeserved

resolution

between

 

My self-destructive

tendencies,

an influencer

kept in silence

by milligrams of

strange reactors.

 

First Kiss

 

Cascading stars,

gutted flesh;

the corporeal

atmosphere, and

a glistening,

purified innuendo

 

Sexual spires

caught between

a clasping sedative;

some saintly purpose

seen, from above.

 

And when the walls

which once were,

now bricks’ debris,

this silent monitor

of loneliness,

transpired;

 

She can hear

their slow decay,

and I can feel

the warmth

 

Of a body.

 

Nut

 

Indentation imprint;

upon my loose-knit

theoretical capitulation;

 

And you were,

while I was,

stripping out

remainders of my

vericose fantasy,

 

Each twilight

abandonment is pieced

with her shooting

star, each hopeful

entry banquet

displayed

 

On love’s heels,

counting stars, and

counting reasons,

looking at the blackened

sky; looking for

 

The key to

decipher our

uninterrupted

midnight mass.

 

Anchor Man

 

Flooded streets, the rain

won’t quit; and seven seas

keep flowing into our direction,

a full moon, vicinity of saints,

never mind

the purity of our condition.

 

Seizures in glass,

watching our bodies burn,

watching winter’s disposal

of an otherwise resplendent

day.

Watching the theatre’s

harsh condition play

upon the flat white plates

of our past memories.

 

This isn’t where I went to,

wanted to go—

this is the retreat

into thick grey smoke

 

And I can’t breathe

without you.

 

Lovers’ Quarrel

 

In this friction of a sentence,

bejeweled apostrophes

and the text

of sequins & stars,

we wind ricocheting

bees breasts

through an analogy

of sequins & stars;

 

You march

straight at me,

 

and in September,

we’ll fast furiously,

denying love’s

existential phrase.

 

The pathways

of our neuroses;

damaging our

quilted peace,

it’s what I always

wanted you to be,

since the beginning.

 

Abandon #9

 

Error prone

pious and the

profane—

 

Where we were

scraping flesh

from bone,

digging deep into

the sentence of a

death row inmate;

 

I cut the heart

out of my cancer,

 

Folded death into

her drawer;

A tangent fraction

of God’s

discovered soul,

 

Irrespective

sanitization

 

Holy divide, permuted

with the insensitivity

that faith provides.

 

A Drop of Her Existence

 

Theoretic expenditure,

past lives, half lives,

and the compressed realities

we live in. I want to

inject

the codes of my significance…

 

We wash

clean our anomalies,

take tuned existence,

dress redemption

with the insignificances

of a credit card commercial,

 

  • * * * * * * *

 

It seems,

you were in Paris

without a screen

between our self,

two-entangled pair

one atomic core,

 

And when we kissed,

the world made sense.

 

The Roman Empire

 

In the nakedness

of our immersion

in the spa of celestial pools

we lie bound to

the history of clusters

of galactic information spools

 

Recording in sychronicity

a statement of angels &

-d,emonic chord progressions,

 

Fluttered symphonic

spurts & grasses

collapsing into

pools of scattered sands; &

-we, lie naked

skirting the foul admissions

of a god past tense

 

And while we take in

the harmonic

exposures we’ve been

handed down from generations,

only one gasious and

molecular reconstruction

of the stars

may pull us in.

 

Cut-Throat

 

Six persons

in a castle

full of salt,

our hour glass

prismatic

semaphoratic

sufferage

 

You were her

stigmatae,

raising hands

in hearts,

penetrating

our altogether

nice euphoric

skirt, salted

caramel cork

 

We won’t warn

the flurry factor

pharmaceutical

curvature, &

in the house

of Euler’s

eulogy;

 

We watched film.

 

Killing on a Nightless Tract

 

Reticence & the tact

of godless serenities;

we cast our shadows

lightly over past

deliveries & recently

marked buddhist

philosophies,

 

Our ciccia-enhanced-

survivalist scores

permeating the suffering

currency of the prime

force behind our salient

tongs; too much March—

 

And April’s end bleeds

heavily into the pool

of catacombs’ embrace;

 

That death-defying structure

of past *& prescient;

floundering the opposition

with a wall of pale, grey scars.

 

It Was an Envelope of Fire

 

While we were

extracting

information

 

From our skin,

 

And the plants

bled an infusion

of mercury & iron,

spilt heavy gold

and spewed horrendous

molecules of matter

churned out by the sun,

 

While all of this

trans- pired;

I felt your gaze

pouring down on me

like heavy water,

 

Silencing a fraction

of my heart.

 

Honey Pot

 

Gesture; hand,

ornithological

tributary glance,

with a centrifugal

force distributing

the deforestization

of your eye.

 

Plank; walk,

reminder of a coming

intolerance for

primordial blood;

making sirens sound

in the middle

of the night,

 

& placing the

battleground

between her

fluid psychology

of forms, functions,

sentimentality,

 

You & I

referen-

cing

 

Young love.

 

Hurricane

 

Whilst emulsifying

through the granite

core of our unconscious,

a milkweed moisture

puss, fraud, amalgamation;

 

Someone to tidy up

the drops of our

descent.

In hours

where we

pray to recollections,

 

And it hurts.

The biology stains

our centrifuge,

and catches fire

 

Drifters take up arms,

and colleges conclude;

while Satan’s eye

turns clockwise,

waiting for her

systematic design.

 

Futurism

 

Drainage spilling rumors

of past romances, hearing

voices as they come home

in the dark of mid night;

 

Here in the walls

of an oven bleeding sweet

perfume,

transfixed eyes are watching us

through the mirror of God’s

stipulations.

 

And a permanent fluctuation

dissolved at intervals,

reducing night to naught;

and the cavalry

come,

they ride

their white Mustangs

through the streets of Rome,

 

Blowing their horns,

minimizing space &

consumption.

 

God’s Delusion

 

I’m curious. About how can be

dissension, lies, enacted punishment;

fortuna, simpleze; abandonment.

 

And I cry watching

the unraveling waters of your birth,

strange as Heaven’s clusters

and both as insignificant

as stars.

 

When we were lighting up

our sanctuary, praying to some

lesser denizen of the bowels

of existential rain, my ruin…

 

I come calming and reordering

the ascension of a fleet of firelings.

I want to grow

the space between us,

to cultivate the boundary

and pin you under and beneath me,

 

Butterfly, butterfly,

butterfly, butterfly,

Butterfly, butterfly,

butterfly, butterfly,

Butterfly, butterfly,

butterfly, butterfly.

 

Internal Combustion

 

In fascination with her

other worldly eyes, her

indecision & her

intoxicating smile,

 

Arranged in blocks

of Canterbury Tales’

supplication; drowned

incendiaries, five past

eight… wet

dew drops plummetting

from a heartless mass

of gold,

 

Bring on the rebellion,

and cleanse our dreams

of angels and their opposites;

carry on this fictitious

phantasm. A likely candidate

for fire, brimstone,

and dance.

 

Gravity, the Pulse of Demons

 

A real dent

in subatomic

space;

 

An ornamental

laughter rings

through the clear

blue sky this

afternoon,

 

And as the plague

unfurls her canopy,

we break silence;

mocking this insidious

infusion of sin & dirt

 

What hurts? -- denial

of our focal promise

to a god past tense,

to an ordinary fate,

 

And slow descent

into the leveler’s demise.

 

Twisted Hypertext Conspiracy

 

Hemispherical manipulations;

undressed, skirt dripping

down upon the railing to the

upstairs…

 

White history month; and I

couldn’t make her face out

between the masks and the

marauding…

 

A simple fact of

multiplication,

our bodies purged

of unnecessary sleep;

 

You & I

in endless

loops of para-

meta-

phorical

procedurism.

 

Nod off, nod

on; irritate

the masses with

our pornographic

plate.

 

Stinging Nettle

 

Throb-

bing meta-

morphosis;

insane

asylum for

her works

past -

tense

 

I feel

her

throb-

bing

revelation,

religious

integration;

tiered wed-

ding dress,

frost-

bit

 

culmination

of yesterday’s

principle of

gravity’s

design.

 

An Anti-Asemic Romance

 

Were the deliverer

past break; still smoking,

hold his eyes

& cough volumes

of canticles, a revolutionary

flood.

 

While we take questions

of the ordinary state of

affairs.

illusory bands of concrete

hands, placed so gently

on the waist; and I turn,

 

Grimly speaking Anastasia’s

name to the undercurrents

of this philosophical rapture

with emphasis

on the point

of malnutrition & of self-

deprecation & depreciation

unto an everlasting moment

of rejection by

love’s cruel bite.

 

A palimpsest to hold

they keys to an

unenlightened

crash course.

 

Enter the bourbon:

 

Oh woe is me,

the capture & the cross

a substance abuse issue

too hard to go into details

right now, but I wanted to

let you know the problem

still exists &.

 

Wholly served potatoes

in the urn

of consecrated

remains, what

remains is

our purification

through thick & thin,

a bleeding light,

meaning nothing.

 

Who are you

who place this vow

between tightly woven

lips, almost as if

intertwined

as one fuel

for the burner of silence &.

 

Walk on,

into the catacomb s

plagiarize the demons

as they whisper

their silken spun

threads of insanity;

 

&.

 

Focused on the intensity

of the fire.

 

Two hands out-

stretched, fingers

interlocked;

extended perception

and an all-inclusive

heretical gaze.

 

I by the fire,

 

Associating truths

from the normalities,

kissing God, & in

sequence shouting,

 

“Who will be the

grand stand climate

orientation “

 

And ‘guacamole,’

comes in three flavors

at the little restaurant

by the sea shore.

 

‘Victory can be paved,’

said the walrus to the sea

& therein lies the form &

 

Function; capitalization

beginner’s curve.

 

In the times of

past periodic pulse,

when the refrigerator

light dies, leaving

only momentary pause

 

Too much excitement,

too much pain,

in the last hearing

before our

sentence

 

Structure gives way

to an opening & closing

of its decay,

so suddenly arrested;

&.

 

Urchin, urchin,

living in the sea;

pins &

cushioning,

 

A swallow of water

& then…

a momentary hurl;

you planted death

in my mind,

supplanting rage,

the rage of an

existential rain.

Ruin,

hypocrisy,

feigned inoculation

 

Steady as the hand,

my heart

subsides.

 

Bells for inheritance, toll

& the underbelly

of a Pisces plaid &

hand-made pyjamas

spun with wool

 

& there are many

oscillations, between

this land &

that.

 

 

Motion sickness ride,

& a

cantaloupe

sunrise,

fine.

 

Hurry into the after hours of the lake of death,

where one pope meets his maker,

& the capital of his constructivism;

 

Ploughs, chestnuts, & a consultation

of the gods.

 

Our small combustion,

revealed inferiority

& why our mouths melt

with the advent,

 

cholesterol confetti

& a wild wait

watching midnight

blue static on the TV.

 

Ejaculating ‘cause

my mother told me

not to. Making a mess

of nonsensical realities;

causing the last substance

of my unrest to drain,

and so I pass away;

on into the state of

charity’s dismay.

 

A public reading room

packed to the peak

with novelties, frivolous

forays of textual

sublimation; a dance

of sexual tensions

let loose in verse,

 

As seems the eye,

as sees the crocodile;

stretching out his maw

in order

to reach

the whole duck.

 

Cackle, gorge, inhabitants like red wine,

chilled cerebral pulse, in a monotonous

slip of self-deprecation

 

You were my

antithesis. Fake red roses made with

non-recyclable plastics, you

opened my mouth,

and let the honey

drip,

ever so carefully into

the center of my execution.

 

And there, my body made weak;

I

sat upright like

it were Sunday school &

I

crossed my fingers

hoping to catch

the next train

to mild, motionless

amalgamations of

cascading suns.

 

Power slides

through shifting sands,

and hopes—

fall through the gaps;

 

In this secondary sea,

away from an encumbered

mind; this paradise,

 

Where fruit grows wild,

and the flocks of birds

carry with them traces

of the chaos born in

oceanic waves

 

A tumbling, thrashing

symphony of water droplets

bubbling, colliding.

And you mistook

my sentence for a slight,

‘cause all I see tonight,

is through the looking glass

into your soul.

 

Imbalanced exaggeration;

two incendiary sentences,

one, not so immersed as

the other. In it, you held

 

Seamless expanses of sky.

Dreamless continuations

of dark matter. A Purgatory

of silence & a Hell of mad

reasoning.

 

Regurgitating flies; night black

bodies swollen up with puss,

a maggot’s cover, & poison

notions of a similar posterity’s

persuasion. You & I—

 

We climb into our angry

skins; beating blue & black;

defeating so-called sins.

 

The cocking of rifles

realized through aiming

gunmen; our childish

sentiments laid bare

between the breasts

of a devouring slug,

we want to close our

eyes forever; do we

want to take away the breath

of an….

 

Your touch,

makes rhythms

of the heart

concrete;

keeps me sane

(somewhat)

 

It is what drips,

beneath the ceil()

of our misunderstood

conclusion, your random

order of so-called

hard facts.

 

Destroyer of dust.

Complimentary

victim of Hertz

& rage. (raging)

 

Pulse &

pause

 

between statements in the serene

depiction of a girl (past tense); a butterfly

staged to die in the next sequence

of a foreign film,

 

Gunshot wounds,

plagiarist extrema

strewn about the lawn

like glass shards

after a terror attack.

 

There is no peace, no plain description

just the focal references which amass

a disapproving voice, so much

for the infinitude of God.

 

Even now, they play the voice

of one’s descent; that dissident,

howling, always howling

with the voice of Ginsberg’s

last great tragedy; howling

forgetting not what comes

once the darkness of night settles.

 

Amalgamation of

three principle points,

fairly injected

in the bloodstream

of a juvenile

waking dream

 

& at the handle

of the cupboard

one stands naked,

twisting robotically,

standing to gain

nothing at all.

 

Two sounds at once,

& the head held in vibration,

two dampened

miracles,

one percolating mess

of spiritual decay.

 

Tolstoy &

War &

Peace &

Neopolitical,

Ice Cream.

 

Holistic impairment

of the blood, cell walls

risking their life-

span in myopic resuscitation;

for certainty’s causal

relations, knock on wood,

burn the emissary

of discomfiture.

 

& we surmise

our premise is

prostheticized

& the prophet

carrying our bed

for a device

to bring down

the blades of fate

& faithfulness;

cutting deep wounds

to bleed through

pages of works

unwritten, these

poems sunken

deep within
unconsciousness.

 

Pins &

needles

formulaic identity reconstruction;

motion blur,

a pen drops

from the left-

hand, and callouses

with crime &

low intensity,

rise the altar,

rise the ghost,

they rise; out

of death’s dark

chasm, that

deep divide,

steadily swimming

through atmosphere

until they touch

open arms.

 

Permeate my sentence

structure with your

interjections, a corpuscle

concoction, brewed from

finite

shots of vodka & rubbing

alcohol, this distant sphere

where no one rests, no body

blooms like you; in your

drizzled drops of dye,

surrounding you the drab

deep earth tones which carry

out your color like a mad parade.

 

Thoughts like mad,

sirens having all but

said their piece;

 

& you won’t wake

up from this sedentary

state of being, just to

realize the world was what’s

peculiar series’ of exploding suns.

 

In the trash, I hear

voices; from the bowels

of the earth, I hear

conception’s pulse,

 

 

Imagine a graphic novel

of the scarce realities

consuming us in our sleep.

 

Wheels painted red,

skies the color of her eyes;

& this amalgamation

of our ancestry combined

for the incentive cycle

of a time.

 

Bianco

[incomplete]

 

I’ll see the diamond

when you’re in bed,

grappling with an

unpleasant aroma;

the canticle of God’s

holy desecration.

 

Here in the

desert of silk,

throwing our hands up

caving in;

when tomorrow

folds—

 

And the incompleteness

becomes an exception,

my fate is in

your heart and

the eyelids close

we are wed.

We are wed.

 

First, on the heels

of our;

giddy shunt, I almost

kept the greed of demons.

 

Absolute exposure to

your skin-- your skin,

I bite; mordere;

simplify the fall

 

Are you the voice

inside of me?

Telling me to

commit reason;

sacrilege: sentence

fire for fire,

dust & your perception

gained in angels’ slumber.

 

I’ll wait

in the

center of

the earth,

wait to pick

the pieces of our

despair;

and your deposit worn

and we’ll fly

above stars, looking

for the great

divide.

 

In

saturated

enclosures

bleeding

incoherent

memories

 

 

You keep

escalating

your

insomniatic

evaluations

 

Her

voice

takes

what

breath

 

And feeds

my hunger

for the

moist


The Chamber

  • ISBN: 9781310145414
  • Author: Maria Morisot
  • Published: 2016-04-14 00:05:41
  • Words: 14203
The Chamber The Chamber