Glinting in the sea
Swallowed by solidity.
Darkness taking hold.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Haiku XXVII & XXVIII
Shatter barriers.
Help me find reality.
Restructure my life.
Opens up your mind,
Ostracizing your vision.
Magic is real now.
Haiku XXV & XXVI
Hold me in your arms.
Embrace me, Euphoria!
Reeling in pleasure.
Organs are failing.
Inside my bones are burning.
Nothing else can cure.
Haiku XXIII & XXIV
Crystaline lover,
Open up my heart and soul.
Connect you and I.
Allow me to feel
Inexplicable pleasure.
Never release me.
Prepare
I
Lungs expand.
Negative space is filled
and frozen.
Moisture oozes in
anticipation.
II
Mouth open.
Poised on the edge of
oblivion.
Waiting to slip through
the cracks.
Bomb Shelter
Intellect masked by insanity.
Beauty is the beast.
Beauty is the beast.
The world turns its head,
points its finger,
and destroys the innocent.
Paper planes to ashes
used as paint to hide
their genius.
Eyes of Fenrir
Incredible.
The eyes of Fenrir penetrating,
shredding, destroying,
the mask of perfection,
sending the worms moving,
running fleeing
to the shelter of the apple
whose flesh
(such a succulent infection)
seduces like a poison.
Oh, those eyes,
such soulful eyes,
burning through my
defences -- seizing my heart
and swinging it
like a pendulum.
The wine is empty
and my eyes are full.
These hands are brushing,
rubbing, scratching
at the maggots
feasting on my misfortune.
So trivial, so futile.
Trying to cut the strings
andbreak the sticks.
A primitive operation
with no anaesthetic,
injection, nor sanitation,
just a desperate struggle.
And those worms,
oh, those silly little worms,
always in pursuit.
A rat race for the apple,
its saccerine body and its
bitter end.
The abhorrent creatures
stop in unison.
Their eyeless faces turned,
hypnotically
transfixed on the pendulum,
the movement, the repition.
One symbiotic mass of
anticipation.
Waiting for the strings to
snap and the pendulum to
stop
and for Fenrir to swallow me
whole.
Propaganda
Ministry standards
explored from differing.
A polished piece is the resulte of the
formative process.
Strong mandatory fulfillment.
Repeated abscences
to create a
summative assessment.
Part: Maternity
I
Snakes feel the bite.
Looking to art for clues.
Sea levels will likely rise.
Avoid contact with eyes.
II
Inteded to feed
still fragile threads
to death.
People will have no interest in them.
III
The wooden coffin,
only dark organic matter,
running beneath the sameness.
Roused from lethargy.
Assimilate
The masses.
Such ignorant narcissists they are.
So ignominious and pale.
Inhale
Exhale
Raping the simulation.
Ripping apart the weak,
Exhuming their sins
for public scrutiny.
Consume.
Reproduce.
Worms running through
veins and arteries,
looking for an escape.
Mechanical operations to raze
what isn't understood.
Such agressive ignorance
consumes all cognition.
Preservation or suicide?
Assimilate.
Eviscerated Pen
I am the pen.
Poised.
Agony then connection.
Collid and assimilate.
Spewing symphonies
in silence.
Breathless, I gasp.
Respiration's futile;
Love's a fallacy.
The pen is eviscerated.
Lungs and heart removed.
I am the paper.
Saturated.
Impregnated.
Paper.
Some Functions of a Corpse
To be silent. To applaud its maker
and destroy the involuntary movements.
To absorb the cold
and disprove the notion of immortality
(excuse me miss, may I touch you here?)
and be little more than an object.
To bloat
willing to decay
and be food.
To be displayed ignominiously
as the creator reaches out of himself
shutting off the morals of
society
to indulge in carnal pleasures, then
having served this short-lived purpose, carefully
eviscerated in a basement.
To be the object of desire.
Synonymous
Hands push through concrete.
Rythm ceases.
Caged silence echoes.
Connections obstructed.
Sheer audacity.
Incapable of sonance.
Intangible asphyxiation.
Senses implode.
Ecstacy or emptiness?
Blossoms Glow
Gold blossoms glow
on hollow oblong pools.
Don't drop,
for jolts turn poor gold to brown.
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