Thursday, May 31, 2012

I Hate My Real Mind

I'm not going to even try.
This is all honesty.
A true complaint.
There is no one out
there to read this

Remember all the Other Bad Times

The rude, impending pressure
of those you no longer see,
they protrude a sound of snares
and horrible laughter.
One files themselves under the
category of "non-existent" and
"worthless" because the trial in
ones mind is on-going.
This worthless person with a mind
illustrated to you previous to the sentence
is the author of this poem now.
The mystery is gone.
Is this no longer a poem?

Review the Past Months

Posture eyes
locked upon
a heated opinion
of what it takes to
be me.

She is the Sad One

The corner of the new square pond
responds to light in amusement.
Be proud of the thankful clouds
that supplement your hair with
mounds of white, luscious lumps.
Lighter then air.
I am thinned out to something like
butter melted on a pan on a hot stove.
I am soon to completely melt and
dissolve into nothingness.
I am already easy to miss.

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Attack the Others

Do not touch me
in the afternoon
when it is time
to do the fruit.
Dimming lightbulb
is human frog legs.
What did she say?

Dimming lightbulb
is human frog legs.

Horror and Jelly

This is nothing free,
we aspire for trophies
and we tremble in juries
in a hurry to capture
realistic mercies.
In a sandwich anatomy,
it's very own ecology,
an ecosystem so dynamically
sound that we forget about
the bread and we think about
the jam.
A car crash resembles our
world more then a flower
bed ever should.
A broken mess
unlike that of a refined
coat of a well bred dog.


No, two, three, no.
Yes, four, six, no.
Answer traces time
too slow.
No more fur on
caterpillars back.
I sneezed and the
world was over.

Chalking in the Broken Ceramic Shrapnel

I take my wrists and I leave them
down by waters edge.
The swan of sword fights and spears
ties them round her feathered wings,
carries them off in gradients of shadows.
Beneath all that color of which my
eyes can see, I hear a witch tiptoeing.
Without my hands
I feel no reason
to render myself of any worth.
I am not proud of laughing
out loud. I am not capable
of brightening anyones day.
I am all that I have got
in such remarkable days
spent on whims of
time erasing sun rays.
Double thoughts triple
stackable contradictions follow,
more dreams create explosions
and I have no hands to explore
them with.
I deserve just as much as any
other lolligagged, smitten,
heavily influence girl of
life by failure!
In nature I die,
in cardio at rest,
sedentary life is all to end.
Come the days of swooping
robins to rob the sweat
I have worked up to get.
I received silence from friends
and ignorance from strangers.
Is there more to my life then
erasure? A blank page
ensures a new start
don't be tempted to blame
events of which you have
no control over.

Morpho Zone

Constant construction
monotone sunrise.
Give me but a chance
that breaks the frost
upon a freshly blossomed
Around the garden,
unnaturally sugars flourish,
humans swallow much of it,
the air lacks in positivity because
of it. The siren sounded off
in residual incandescence
in literal fire no other then
the morphing tiger.
From tiger to dolphin,
to dolphin to giraffe,
black to white,
pure to dirty,
a muffled scream
and intruding humor...
have I got your eye
is it just this type of summer?

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Dancing Conquest

Unabashedly total disaster
introduced me to a pasture
in deliverance for the pain
held within the same shame
take with wind, leave with
flies tied to strings such as
kites unbound with kinks.

Saturday, May 26, 2012


Belittling the clay
breaking down the soluble earth
mold it into girth.
Expand it's walls
it breaths
it feels like you.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012


Aimed in upon my heart
stab poetry break through
dry my watery eyes.

Breath Light of Neon, Steadfast till the Green Light at Oasis Past.

The stick pounded upon the garden gate
no human holds rakes or hoes,
the shovels are wildly digging ditches.
The sound of pounding kept
on sustaining until my daughter
laughed at the crows with hay in
their feathers... the farm hands
grew short their wits,
their pits all soaked with wet,
and the pounded shrieked louder
The sun hung passed the clouds at 2,
shadows began to lengthen
and all I could do
was to receive the nodding
of a rifle turned off to on.
I approached the pounding,
feet fumbling on rocky ground,
the sound of a pistol struck every ear,
and pierced my daughter's heart.
The culprit pranced away
as I stand tall as decrepit tree,
fire erupted in the east...
the smoke annihilated me.


I call myself anonymous for
the sake of my lack of confidence.
I like the sound of anonymous,
the ghost is a whisperer and not
a gimmick.
For those who try to whisper back
need never get a reply,
the dagger comes forth
slashing your port
and your head shall soon
roll after.

rapid acid deterioration

What was the cause
for such rapid deterioration
of a young girl?

Sunday, May 13, 2012

landline lakes

Land in fields,
valley earthquake feels
shivering dust off trees
lemonade frees try
to reprimand the seed.
If justice tries to file for
in denial, we must seek
the nearest space shuttle.
The human race must flee.
Flinging ourselves into space.
I do not want to be parted
from you, oh lord, oh grace,
oh the immobile state.
If you are my roots,
I have become nothing more
then floating algae or spores
or mold. And I cannot derail
the undesirables. I try, I really
try. I am unwilling to break.
Please help me!
I thought it would be best
to tie my ankles to a chest
full of trickery so that I may
trick death to believing I
have always been like this
before the maddening
covers of a crowd took
me down to a cellar.
Yet, I do not know
where to take and
leave this. This has
all become about me.
This was meant to be
about you.
If I continue to go
through life concerning me,
then where will I be?

Crackling Egg

My head cracks open like an egg.
What bursts from it
is nothing ever seen before.
Rocks of turns and twists
malleable bliss, private eyes
seeking ties into sparking
wires to create raw fire.
Hazardous acid teeth roll
free as do toxic beetles
in gushing fevers fit
fights against growing tigers.


I can't do this anymore. I just need someone to see me. I have someone. Is that all I get. I can't see. I don't know what is coming for me? Is anything chasing me? What is there to happen? What happened to her? Or him? See, I am not selfish. I have concerns for others. Poetry is such a selfish act to create. I don't feel good doing this.
Tadpole slop
and the style century
of candidate replies
not another second
haddock reclaims
meals of disdain
briskly carry the
newer coats to
affordable laundry
makers of mats retract
all that you know and we
do not see.
Stop itching me.
My scratch hath sacrificed
it for me.

The Lucid Chains

Encumbering binds
branding me with all vines
will not rest until the
devastation settles into
my soft bones.


Immovable mud
mutable and
the least beautiful

Thursday, May 10, 2012

I Want More. I Don't Want To Have To Ask For It. Just Give It To Me.

How can I be so selfish?
My head is my own.
And when I lay down
to the ground, a pillow
alludes me.
No, I do not want to move
or play games.
I accept that I am difficult
and have the reasoning of
a mineral rock from snow
capped mountains.
Tension wards off others,
but you can break through.

Al Fresco is a Rezzable Solution?

Dissident in mean time
as meat flies swallow our evening whole.
The bluegrass days are over now.

I can't kill time,
yet time can kill me.
How to stop the nursery.

The equal incisors strength
is an illusion to debate.
Let us not waste this cake.

The Graduals

In post-modern plots
where everything goes wrong,
I regret to inform you
that the hair is has been
transmitting radio waves
out into space
to warn the aliens
we are an ugly human race.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Misinformed are the days
benediction spellbinds
the gratuitous amount
paid pound upon pound
to lengthen the highway
till we run out of moon stone.
I pronounced marriage
in these difficult times
due to the stress and lack
of reality.
It pains me to observe this
culture of vultures
squeezing every lemon
to the last drop.
Every juice is watered down.
Oceans water will never
lack the salt of malevolent
beneficiaries. The fish
understand the struggles
of the trust of women to men.
When will the last corset
be woven?
The difficulty in this era
is overcoming the hate
of our own self image.
We debate amongst the
ones we trust.
It is poured out into the masses
to prove how much we hurt.
We are never good enough
for ourselves.
I disapprove of my face.
I hate myself.
Why can't I be beautiful?
I am the one of many
who want to die.

Sour Cream is Fresh as Wind Chimes

Turnstile is truly unstoppable
to be disrespecting the
The elderly preach
that all the cheese
is poison,
when in reality
the rocks that leak
are filled with gases.
I may look meek,
in surreal static piece.
Let us not haste to rue
the déja vu day.
Silkscreen the lantern
flies that mimic
the sizemictous beautician
as we have found an
easier method of
transferring the
The moon is but a silver
slit in the structured night.
For I have located the decals
that cause many a fright.

I Have Been Embalmed

The abler is frequent,
we dash about the secrets.
Stage coach lurches
the green dream breaches.
I snap the cords,
and leave all the containers
filled to the brim with grapes.
No, I have not ate them.
Yes, I may have ate one.
But none the less
is it not okay to ever
eat all of them.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Will my Dove (That Is Missing) Approve Of These Floral Arrangements if She Were Here?

I ask you one simple
question, "What did
you do to my Dove?"
And you give me no
Is that comcast of
anterior light
a legitimate cost
of disapproval?
A forlorn deer
and questionable tears.
Have you seen my
eyes beat so red?

Poor Punctual

Lexicon of intergalactic gelatin
have you found the sudden static?
Humans trim hedges to
overcome humid hums .
As for those pack mules
roaming about the grass,
well they surely deserve the
handshake of destiny.

Magistrate of Mattress States

We bounce the blocks on mattress springs
because we have sung the national hymn.
A lady has a hymen that always remains
as a curtain for the warmth of the inner world.

Registration of the Mattress State

Discord discard dishwasher socks
which one makes me filial the salt
after the table
after the mouse
after the garbage can
in the stall

my Palestine cup of tea equivocates me.

Dear Rotisserie

Chicken glorified in glazes
soaking in the heat
it is forced to die for humans.

All The Talk

The shark tank shrank
ten milliseconds past death
depending upon
the platitude of the hustle.
I ranked below average
the day that I died.
My technique of death
was combustion.
However, the papers I
held while I was in midst of flames
were fireproof.
How would anyone have
guessed that paper would survive
a fire? I died. The paper did not.
Oh well, such a life in
the moon glow ghost
world of the rapport
and Freeport sage.
Limiting me to heavy rage.
I keep rats enslaved.