I wander this valley verging on black
And exhausted, I lap the ***** lack.
The question whether I'd be fast or slow.

Often my flesh begs and beckons for flesh,
The same way entrails desire to digest.
Furthermore, even and ever more so
The eye sees a feminine collage and wishes
To take and forget a thousand faces.

But flesh makes no remarks that it wants a heart.
For I do not need love, nor regret, nor
Shattered shards that implore to call for more.
Although sometimes I aspire the pride of two parts,
Since the single must play and pay alone,
A debt of dates not buried like bones.
For I often feel I must play the scriptless part.
So sometimes I wish to play the jester,
And for a soft face to grow lighter.

Yet…
Why reenact what was?
Why phlebotomize my pen?
The call has been made and rejected
With the mentors and the Goddess I have met.
Afterall, the sky was already blue before she left
And now shades have only darkened.
For women excite and ignite the cauldron,
Only to boil the broth, summoning smoke
And conjuring cuneiform from words I thought I knew.
Within darkness previously mentioned
Leviathans slither by lips which whisper.

To fall and collapse
For jokes at her feet.
My pen pressed.
Unable to clear the hourglass sand that dirties
The wind sweeps across the beach.
My pen pressured to leak.

No one told that man, how hard it would be
To let unfurling sapphires become passion. Yet
Everyone knew which way he ought to be in action.
They bought your innards with dinner, they took
The muscles by which morsel and mouthfuls travel
And took your mouth in debt that lasts till death.
While the rain fell like ink on the heartbroken stage,
As my pen wept upon the page.

I know lessons ought to be known with each mistake
But with this heartache, which mistake do I begin with.
Still my pen weeps upon the page.
He cries to speak,
Of a girl who spoke of vulnerability
And thought of Othello till the leaves yellowed
And funnily enough, pierced me.
A story she’d never write for me, for why would she bother?

I now care only for the alarm
And howling, hollering sirens
Of diversions and perversions
And I’m scared only by the harm
That wouldn’t bleed but would imply
My lacerated pen leaks upon the page.  

As a thousand poets pens have bled.
For heroes have fled into stories of old
And all stories told from youth
Say let lingering souls lay low.
Don't dare resurrect this meek creature.
Hasn't he suffered enough?
Don't dare twist via alveolar to say "Hello."
Don't you dare continue this.
For why would we let tongues lick our innards and hollow us.

Yet…
Sometimes on tired nights as I stare above,
Lapping the lonely lack. The void stares back,
As we lock eyes and despise one another.
I wish I could turn my face and see her
Who at least to me, is a precious beauty,
For only a moment sometimes.
I could close my eyes and hold on tightly,
As she folds within these thin arms of mine,
From somnolent nights, till the end of time.

I don't think of her like a desire.
I think of her as an option.
Thinking time and time again
I guess...

I see wet mirrors on the floor
As though skies pooled into puddles.
The reflection shimmers some more
As though sights shown, shone and wobbled.
Water covered tar's ignited
By streetlights' illumination.
Flickers of fire, flame and brightened
Colours of electrocution
Serenely, surreally, softly  
At peace.

I have no fucken clue
Why I really like you.
I guess it's just the honey on top
That you're funny and hot.

I liked her. I guess. beep there's two problems.
First, beep speaks little English. beep would like
To think I beep quite big English. ehem
"Would you like two for one?" "No thanks. One's fine."
I mean we've spoken beep Spanish at least.
I beep that I speak un poquito beep Español.
The beep I seek's unknown to beep.
"Thank you! Have a nice day." Maybe I'm cold,
Desperate for a body to warm me.
There is a stiff breeze in this dark carpark.
Secondly, she's religious. I believe
She'll wait for marriage. So a dates the start
Of some far greater commitment. I mean
My Spanish is Okay, but not ready for eternity.

The train hit me
With the ocean's blues.
Blows from sad songs, deep
As an ocean tune
Pouring through shells.
Deep as empty wells.

The key was patience
But now it's courage
I left on the bench
In the last carriage.

The rabbits gathered on the shore
Like small, restless pebbles.
She was so unsure.
Were we to tremble?

The sea, she welcomes me.
She is so sure.
But she is so very elderly.
Perhaps she only appears to be so sure.

If only I owned this wide life.
With all its tides and strides and strife.
The dust swindled in the wind.
I should be so living. I should be so alive.

I should be sewn into this tapestry.
I should be so very calm.
The current in the water
Unaffected by the waves.

Cold is the dawn that rises to raze.
Old the worn and woven waves,
Sure of their destination
To damnation against the barren stone.

Stop thinking I only think
About *** and how to be ****,
I don't like the accuracy.
Stop thinking I only think
About *** and how to be ****,
Sometimes I actually attempt to be.

I cried during the movie Step Brothers,
And I must warn for spoilers.
Basically, a girl I like called me a loser.
I wasn't a hard worker, not anymore.
I was without an employer.
I didn't focus on academia.
I didn't focus on anything more
Than being a writer.
I knew I was probably gonna die poor.
Then I watched Step Brothers
And here were these losers
And I just watched and as I did, all i could remember
Was "You're a loser."
Then I sank further and further
Into self pity. Flattened and weaker.
Then Will Ferrel sang 'Por Tí Volaré'
And I felt a tear…
And another
And another
And all together,
In this fall of water
And for some reason,
One moment of pure beauty
That wasn't ashamed to be comedy,
Like that part of Shrek 2 with 'I Need A Hero.'
It magically, shamelessly,
Lifted a shadow
From me.

Leopard, lion, lepper, lime, linger on.
Sounds. Silence. Seduction. ***. Super serum.
Dilly dally, dissolve dandelion.
Boil, bobble, brim, burst, babble on hobo, ***.
Sonidos sin dirección.
A purple puff pronounced 'poem.'

Putting it in a metaphor doesn't
Make it true Confucius. Philosopher
Kings of academia collapse, sent
Away like the rest. All the inventors
Say science isn't a religion and yet
The facts don't work without faith in some test.
So we'll see it go around at sunset
No matter what beautiful book you've read.
Yet even Hume and Nietsche must accept
Beliefs must be kept. So we must interpret
Our universe with faith in our friends' witness
When they attest or confess. Disproving
One fallacy or falsehood an evening.

I have my acne medication
With chocolate milk
For balance like Budhism.
I have a niche,
I go to an Adventist church to practise my Spanish.
But I'm not Christian.
I'm interest in Arabic and Turkish
So I might become a temporary Muslim.
Unfortunately however,
All these religions have the same ending
With me dead and anywhere but Heaven.

Steal slides silently
To lacerate the tender
Arteries and attack
Bones with a blatant stab.

Colours comes from a char, thrown by fire
The way thunder's thrown from the broken sky.
The way a sound reflects the night air's veil
The photons, pages and plastic seductively
Remind of reality. I know they'll
Seem to dream of touch, tangibility
Among magic lanterns casting onto
Smoke who chokes, evokes and cloaks what we see,
Or at least wish to. So I'll drink Earth through
Neon siphons, LEDs, LSD
And possibly a vacation back home.
Leave hourglasses. Don't ***** clarity.
Then watching the sand slide through empty bones,
Knowing all tempos take form and forsake,
The time bends my mind till it breaks
And fragments must imagine consequence,
Before lashes rip them to the present.
Is that a shiver or a thrill going down my spine?
Rush the soul to chug the universe and getting it stuck
Run out too quickly for time.

Gasoline wraps itself around the flesh
And a rainbow flash ignites and incites
Chants from demons, simmering licks and a mesh
Of flames fuming dance and phosphorous lights.
An ancient skeleton, given green life
By rain, now flickers, flares red and yellow
And disintegrates to ash. Caring wife,
Who holds the river on his path below
Off seaward where oars find direction,
Is as shapeless as his watery substance.
While we share in hollow conversation
Death burns with vibrations and vibrance.
But I sit a world away, awaiting
The toxic touch that this death will bring.

In one of those nights where your eyes are useless
But to feel wetness, pooling, cooling your skin,
There's a song of images that won't progress.
There are thoughts paper thin and all is dim,
Yourself included.

There's a cool beach.  
There's someone to share the deep.
There's a tender reach.
There's the ocean
Pooling, cooling your skin.

Pulling back the curtains
Stops the performance,
And all is dark,
As though cold tar.

There was a light in the clouds.
We all felt it as it came
And forgot it as its sound
Faded, along with the rain.
The smoke cleared its throat and then
Dragon fire precisely struck
All the world at once.

Fermenting nature is already tasted.
Firmaments of Hell below are taken.
Every frivolous poem,
Superfluous word and superficial verb,
Every supernatural sound is said
And all the flavours of this tongue are tasted.

That is, if you underestimate those who wield our pens now.

If Shakespeare wrote all there is to write
Then I'll rise, I'll burn new stars into the sky.
I'll compose a new constellation
Of my name,
So every generation
Will know who's to blame,
And whose dead throne to bring praise to.

Bring forth the hail.
Summon the storm.
Batter my hull with the great waves
Of blood, of tears and sweat.
Break my mast and banish my men who would stand beside me.
I will not suffer surrender.
Beat my body and break my heart.
I have the conviction and I the spirit.
Alone or under the pressure of a thousand masters.
No matter the insecurity of solitude
Or the fear to disappoint.
I will fight.
Bring forth the hail.

I watched skyscrapers
Batter the clouds which drifted lower
In elegantly soft head butts.
They appear, like the utterings of a mut
That puff into frost.
A paradise lost
As the only city in the sky
Are towers, built up high,
And higher they build
And higher they build
Up and up like Babylon,
Reminding of what was undone
In ages gone.

My boldpoint booms like bazooka
In a silent movie.
My books takes off like a booking
For a spacecraft imaginary

The hour hand swings around to twelve,
Like an executioner's axe
Or perhaps a guillotine
Towards the head of the snake
That feeds upon itself.
The Earth's orbit, allegedly complete.

Flickers of images, she dances
Round and round the embers.

Since this morn, a monarchy fell. To say
"All the king's horses and all the king's men
Toppling wood carvings, piled up like greyed hay."
All the landscapes and shapes of paint, blackened
By an incredulous shadow. "Lights out!"
Cried the wicker man, as the blaze burnt down
The last efforts and thoughts effigies
Can muster. His energies
Exhausted and run out,
Like children's feet over the ashes,
Like the last scampering echoes he heard.

"Burn the embassy.
Shower the embers
Over the Sea.
Recall the sounds of November.
Save for them, no mercy."

Oh! But isn't it a delight,
All flamenco shaped flames
Lifting throughout the night?
All the jokes, japes and games.
Flickers of images, she dances
Round and round the embers.
The Peruvians are bustling,
Stirring up some smoke.
The populous is burning
Tires to make them choke.

Since this morn, a monarchy fell.
Thorns in his hair, ablaze with red,
Burns In the air, unresurrected,
Fumes, firm pillared, piled firmaments
Not faintly reminiscent of Hell.

Far in black, white blooms in an arched crystal
From the last studio light,
Now that the set has crumbled around me.
Now I know what happens
When the youngest children
Are too old for the show and shenanigans.
Santa's long gone and Satan too.
What collapsed this place.
Was it you?
Was it the wind or the waves
That come naturally like the tide,
Or my own accidental hex?
The broken ceiling's
Bones revealing light above,
And just to prove I've lost my mind,
I've begun to write outside the lines
That outline the box
And define the hoax.

Sleeping and leaving my memories where
Teasing taunts from last century still echo.
Leaving, cleaning, cleaving my fantasies
So I may perceive, I might even dare
Brave to believe, self deceive and thus go
Where all certainties take reality
On their way out the door. I cannot care
That I am bereaved of real rules, ergo
Pretenses may dance senselessly with glee
As my sensory system must beware
Only nightmares of no real harm. Although
These dreams are no more than false memories
Once I wake and break spells of happiness,
They do happy me, but reality
Tortures me to be sleepless.

That’s the way the light echoes
The moonlight stretching out in a lounging shawl
Like waves whose cusps fold and foam to kiss the sea,
As they roll away and the way to shore,
In the broad arms of the breeze
And their faint disturbance of surface romance.

The men at the front of the boat, cruising along.
The women singing a song that was famous long ago.
The sound of the song growing.
The sound filling with wind and interwoven ocean strings.
Telling tales which were living long ago.

One man thought.
‘Of my life tell only a few stories
Burning brightly with my virtues and vice
For lights are only passionate flurries
Those last lights before the eyes
Of he who sinks beneath the ice.
Telling tales which were living long ago.
That’s the way the light echoes.’

She was there
Beneath the
Forlorn thing
Festering
With a cold
Enchantment.

He came along the foreign path
And beneath the forest passed
The pregnable puddle of blood, flesh and bone.
He was tired by experience and exploration.
Beside the new night and beneath the looming sky
He knew
The horrendous days when women would befriend or end us.

It was irreversible once he begun.
Both were broken once he was done
And his hollow soul felt no completion.
His act leaving only a cavity.

There was a crooked man, and he walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile;
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse.

I saw three black towers' silhouettes
Against a white light
Deep into the night.
We knew these were the bones of brick giants
From ages passed.
Before the steel spiders killed them all.
Before the steal spiders dragged their hulking bodies
To flattened the roads
And weft shattered glass, silver webs
Over and in every hole of flesh
In the old brick giants' remnants.
I lay a paw down and listened for a whistle
And knowing it wasn't to come, listened
To hear a stray cat's story teller tell the end.
Yet, great sprays of illumination
Splashed up on our secret meeting
And scattered us to the night.

They began on soft hills, hairy with grass.
Their hooved soles greeted by soils, brown and green
That were interwoven in the world past,
Before man, with his hideous machines.
But now they tread between the decayed trunks
Of skyscrapers that scatter their own dust
Over waves of tumid wind. Air whimpers
On its way through the streets of rust.
The voice of ghosts echoes into whispers.
The city is gone. The older, colder days
Before man, stir up slowly from rubble.
The wolves beginning to creep through the grey,
Silhouettes projected through smoke, crumble.
Man is now replaced and where he once stood
Wolves now watch on from, the city like woods.

Don't take this the wrong way
But since I have nothing else to say,
It doesn't do any harm
But you see a girl who hasn't shaved her arm
And you just think "that's hair,
That shouldn't be there."
It's not a problem,
This isn't an accusation
Or a criticism
Or a part of any -ism,
Just a part of my experience
Of women with hairy limbs.

Today, I napped,
So some demon snatched
My sleep for the night
In a three hour snap;
And you can say that wasn't very bright
But it was when I napped
And now it's dark at home
And I'm all alone.

The Duende ought to visit me tonight.
That pixie ought bring me something fresh,
Words cut from fresh wounds and bright,
Burning embers from embraces of flesh
No longer felt. I have written it before
But, I have nothing more for me to say.
I feel no real motion but the cold floor
Of a world that revolves without a sway.
I’m tired of all my words, my old theories,
Like ghosts that always haunt the same ways.
They slid through walls, lifted invisibly
And flew from lips without a fall. A phrase
Of enchantment, now looms, stiffly stirring
And reminding me of dead things.

Goodbye, old friend.
I'll remember you,
And if the years allow you to,
Come back and spend
An hour with me, just one or two.

To me you are the all new pop single.
Who I find everywhere I go and
Fills my heart with starlight when we mingle.
Although whenever others did demand
To know what I felt for you, I said such
That I can't stand your perpetual presence.
But this is pretense. You do touch me much
That when you pass, secretly I sway, dance
And feel your rhythm or I hum along.
Remembering your every word and simply
Enjoying to adjoin joyously note
For note and meet our meanings' harmony.
You, simple jingle, sweet pop single, float,
Brightening my feeble mind. Years may go
With a dying fall, but I will still say so.

I haven’t lost them,
I just don’t want to play
With them anymore.
I know it’s sad to surrender.
The dinners they bought me.
The debts I’ll never repay.
But I don’t want to play
With them anymore.
It’s hard to make believe,
When the toys have beliefs of their own.
So I guess I’ll leave.

God damns the fertile,
The futile rituals to grow a child.

I saw your lost chocolate fattener,
I remember him like a suspect on the wall.
Ears ate words from mouths from one another.
He had your hat on his head where he wore
Your halo last week. You two upside down
On each other's head, under each other's
Heels. While before, during and after's drowned
In this blur of… He had a jacket. Verbs
Begin to be proverbs prompting old thoughts
From the better time only two weeks ago,
Or so he tells me. He said, "Cobwebs caught
Something, still sticky but just drying slow."
I said "You know she said she regrets thee."
He said, "Better that than she forgets me."

There the lighting lashes
And a glade in the nebulous
Reveals astral flowers.

My hugo, all my growth, how they erode
Like rocks' bones break beneath banshee whispers.
My memoir unremembered and sold
Somehow in a resumé. To my peers
I must appear and disappear. I fold
Like a lashing tongue or crashing super
Car. So I loath a lingerer listening to old
Song, too shy to fill midnight with a pur-
Pose which replaces silk silence' or cold.
Await till dawn to awake whatever
Puts me to sleep and dreams up a soul
Purpose to stay as Saturn drapes over
With a collapsing ripple of meteors
Crucified in a constellation to Thor's
Sky.

There the thunder thrashes.
Then the nebulous conceals over.

I am at such a point of unemployed and undesired,
That I am turned on at the same time as a lightsaber
And I care more for a Skywalker
Than for ***, money or any other transfer
Between one body and another.
In fact,
The only bodies I plan to explore
Are planets far beyond my ragged claws.

I sit in the heart of some mason's guitar
As defined by echoes as by design.
Books and scampering eyes are scanned like stars
From telescope glasses in silent time.
I see crystal girls sit across from me
With their obsidian hair, silver oars
Of light sinking like oblivion keys
Through tremulous tartarus. Strands force
My eyes like gravity, yet can't compel
Me enough to pull questions from these lips.
Do eyelids talk, to tell more than words tell?
I feel them, as the moon feels tides and rips.
But I do as usual…

Later I batter my head against a lamppost
To expel fearful demons from this host.

As planet Earth slid into December
It must have collided with a thick net
Of Christmas lights, I really remember,
Along with a dense cloud of snow and wet
Sugars that titilate with briefest taste
And precipitate on the planet's face.
The night's gloom glowing with rainbows to waste.
Green and red greeting with a warm embrace.
Brothers and mothers and friends I can't count.
Stories of Jesus and things I enjoy.
Laughter, flattery, songs and Christmas sounds.
Tears of joy, from girls or maybe a boy.
The filling of stomachs, feelings of home,
And firm hugs from mum, so no one's alone.

I've crucified my left hand
And I'm trying to strum a guitar with the other.
In the middle, I could understand
If someone thought my mouth's made to be a gospel singer
But instead it just sighs
"Mum, can you sign this?"
What a sacrifice?
What a waste?
At least, this poem's written online
So it doesn't waste a page
Of paper.

She had an Asian face
And I'll remember her that way.

There's the rumble,
As train track lights
Penetrated black night,
By a gutter a flutter of outdoor wind
I saw her walking alone,
Clinging to her bones.
At first, I thought she some vampire.
Then I saw holy water drip from her eyes.
An apparition, shaped like a man
Walked out, under a leafy shroud.
"Come inside?" Sounded out the shout.
"Hurry up!."

There was a short pause,
Between seconds and eternity.
He was already in the crooked house
On a crooked street,
Her silhouette so hesitant.
Then she began her retreat
To that crooked place
I know not within.
To that crooked cave
Or that crooked grave,
I let her pass without a phrase.
There's the rumble
Of another train.

Let me say 'farewell', old friend.
As though you could hear so far.
Let my gentle wish to see you again
Not be shun upon by the real's dark part,
That part between us. Let me draw the rust
Into something sentimental.
Do not stir within my dreams so hushed.
Do not leave me so ill.

The entire night sky.
The deepest of the sea.
A sheet of leaves.
All could be the distance
Between you to me.

I will not waste this wish of farewell
On you.
I will sprinkle it on myself
Like a honey dew
To sweeten and glue
These broken pieces.
Sing a lullaby. Bring him by.
In my dreams at night.
So that I may rest.

I won't rest tonight, nor will the tempest.
Sound found far off cracking and crumbling Where skies split, like locomotives rumbling.
Unearthly bodies foreboding and foreshadowing
Something that draws near,
Like a tsunami
Careening across the atmosphere,
Polluted completely and impenetrably
By octopus ink and oil
Over vacuum and void.
Stars concealed behind congealing clouds,
With white leaping free in streaking thunderstrikes.
The shroud of night clouds
Over void and vacuum.
I hear further in the distance
Beyond my room.
I hear the thunder echo within me
Down where space is free.

Like flesh on bones
My home's covered with smoke.

I smell undwindled fire.
Staring at the window,
Afraid to see further.
Cold is shade and shadow.

Lashes of flame
Collapse the homes
And the cold pains
Seem pale and lame.

This weave of dreams
Unravel in
The fires outside
And the hopes dim
As this rose grows to ****.

Volts of boredom course through me.
Jolts of energy strike like flies
So I click, click, click my pen quickly,
Then meet with eyes which despise my sight.
What compels them to work?
Scattered, shattered tatters faint
Seeing innards inwards were
Grey and drenched in drying paint.
What force keeps them to this course?
Holding my pen and pain of knowing
The examiners offer no remorse
With that cow's eyes narrowing.
I should rise and rally some revolution
But I won't, I'll just click, click, click my pen.

So, today wept on tomorrow's shoulder
Because yesterday couldn't stay longer.

Slowly, the Sun secreted days
That solidified into months.
Recall what the moons says,
That time takes no time off.

Despite that nothing's light like light
It still takes years to reach out eyes
From deep in depths of night
Where stars like to rest before they rise.

Although,
As stars recede, we will cease.
As all stars fade, we pass away.
So before final peace
Finds you
Find a new way
Not trodden yet.
So the future cannot forget.

I saw a silver dime.
She reflected my face.
She echoed my voice.
She said something sensitive.
Her every word's set in steel.

Shrapnel pillow lying in the gutter,
How about Heads or tails?
I admit, I've heard tales
Proposing you're a risk.
Both in your bed to rest.
And you're the bed for rust
And dust.

Shrunken moonshine lying in the gutter,
If I plucked you up and picked you
Like a poppy from among midnight dew
Aloft flowers, reflecting your much bolder brother.

Silver fascade, if you're devotion fades
If you discard me, if you turn away
So I may only see your tail.
No, you're right, what a rude question.
If I pick you, like flesh from the skeleton
Will you remain?

I closed my eyes to watch the darkness dance.
Then opened them to candlelight. She laughed,
"Who the ****'s happy?" "An old acquaintance."
Her date replied, smugly. "You get one draft,
You know?" They went on, talking casually
About their prescriptions, doctors and thoughts.
"I mean, each date is a new draft really?"
She smiled and boasted for her retort
"You'll never get a girl crazy like me."
"Yes I will. They line the streets nowadays.
I still find kids picking up a ciggy
Only to be edgy and unhappy or always
Pointing to laugh at those who are. This year
Ought to be aborted. These kids impeached,
Replaced by some good kids. With an ear
For commands and gratitude for their reach.
This generation that lives the longest
And can't tell how to live with happiness."

My brother and I
Sit in our uniforms.
A cloud sniffs whiffs of the house,
Shifts and moves on.
My bare feet fricatives
Sound as though a warm afternoon.

Cupid has missed my heart
And pinned me through my spine
To the wall. My back bone is but shards
And my legs dangle, paralysed.

All because I left open the window
To let the cool change through.
I gave the winged fiend his show
And he has killed me with the view.

The cool change came
And so has the rain.
So have the snakes
And creatures of the blue.
My red mixes and my body’s but food.
My red fades and my bones are but a buoy.
I have let my body want with but eyes and wither
As though I have painted myself red and died of anaemia.