Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Warm Up To Me

Climbing a mountain is climbing another mountain
while that mountain blows their rape whistle
wetting the horns of the throbbing gristle.

Well, hello my friends, it is mandatory that you pick up your executioners hand guide to the best hand jobs before and after death. Departure time is whenever you like and your arrival time... is to be a mystery. Who knows if you will actually end up where you want to be anyhow. I tell you this now so you will hear it million times over in your brain, this sort of fact will resonate deep within your gonads relaxing on gondolas, your puppet is a fleshy human monster with no brain. I hope you have circumcised your earlobes and pierced your nipples, this is going to be a bumpy ride.

To your right, we have a game of eye spy as we gaze with our male eyes onto the scenery of trees. Yet, with our male gaze, all we see is nude trees! Nude trees that transform into nude women. Now, I trust that your erection has become painful due to the electric wires hooked into your anus. Look! All your clothes are dissolving like sugar in water. A rainstorm is falling upon your vulnerable bodies of every color, creed, and gender. This is a world we live in. Nothing is the same and we never intend to habitat the same brain twice. If I were to visit your gondola for a sex spell, then I would leave a panther up a conifer tree with bee wings as my branches.

Continuing down the watery path of the ferry free way, please observe the scenery at the direction of Hell. Our boat has now evacuated. If you are the last one, you are going to die by way of a cake placed in an oven.

The House Husband  

 He has spent the whole day ironing her black suits and steaming her silky lavender blouses. He is baking a cake for her arrival home after a hard day at work. Baking is the highlight of his day because he knows this cake is laced with the aphrodisiac of love. All she could ever want is in that cake, but he questions why she has to leave so often for meetings and phone conversations of the next global takeover by way of commercialism and merchandising. He knows she is expert in using people. This night will be different because he thinks he will use her to get what he wants.

Cobblestone pathway from doorway leading down the hallway to kitchen, stainless steel countertops, butcher's knife overnight, radio loosing tune... static arises over a demigod swoon. Relentless struggle of a couples remorse, should have said no words instead of paragraphs of insults. Pejorative ransom note is romantic gesture for ever woman cop to be invited to this shindig, get down, and cuddle up to an orgy. Everyone is handsome. The cake was never eaten.

His throat burns from all the whisky and gin. The cobblestone is littered with tentacles, vibrators, and empty bottles of lube, oh and of course the blood of his murder victim. The death of a powerful business woman would never go unnoticed, yet, the media has its attention elsewhere in the world. He realizes nobody but him cared for her.

Monday, April 29, 2013

When All is Well Tenderized

Gothic glue is stabilized to moisturize the hemoglobin of the African sunset.
I took my shoe for a walk.
The shoe needed some exercise, I saw it's legs and its feet grow weary from the rest.
A restful haven is a resentful one. Hitherto the hooks of the lever sway and stationary beavers,
call me a Calypso when you feel like it.
Nothing but an ordinary walk... with my shoe... on a shoelace leash...
most people wear shoes on feet.
My shoe is semi-free due it being on a leash but free from my sweaty, smelly, Samwise Gamgee feet.
I clued you into my Hobbitesque feet, now what is your secret, my sweet?

Plasma crusades are the jam to my waffle, the ice to my winter pond, lasers to my shaver.
Bilingual countryside sitting on toadstools yea high, sniffing daffodils submerged.
Muffins baking mysteriously, hitherto is the oven?
Land away the doves, scrapify the forty-three shrines, envy taco shell bindings.
I have believed it with my own eye
in yonder skies
that I too experience the same blue of the African sunset.
What now, do you do, my mortician Morgandy?

Scripture ooze doubly drive, surmise the tepid licks...
trial by error of kicks and cheques of marquee basket glitch.
My digital quilted blanket shrinks like a veranda of ocean dreams
but I was a fool to not capture pictures of a sun that played bongoes
over the toes of mountain ranges such are those that suck my nipple
and touch my breast.
The sun is brilliant tonight by way of African Sunset.
If you were to touch me by the sun, my kindling crave, would you?

I am your cravings of all your trench warfare; deep down, dark, dirty and sweet.
Embodying the saints of salamanders, I color your cheeks pale.
Simplifying your muscle quivers, but I hold you afloat
never the less to burry you in a cemetery lest you wish it be so.
But you are tense in my arms, and my fingers shall carve my pressure
of me blending on your space
that once claimed a distance between us, shame.

Stoop to kiss
slathering key clank
corporal bum
relatively smashed a button gum.
Eros is not dumb
stop not this fun
dubbing a still painting
brandishing sheets of cotton.

Saturday, April 27, 2013


Umbrian muffle for rifles unknown
control thy gun for weekends of love.
Master of the estate and Mistress of Yugoslavia,
we have all been there before kissing her toes.
We relate the most to the Countess of Flair,
for her ball gowns glisten like freshly cleaned teeth
after a visit to the dentist.
Of course the Duchess in Trailblazer Derby,
may she ever spread her cream cheese smoothly.

On the outskirts of Paris, the lion tamer is nude in his dressing room. Standing before the full length mirror, he puts on his leotard. In one swift motion of his body flexing like a ripple on water,
the leotard is stuck to him like glue. Suction cupped masculinity, false mustache of horse hair, pierced ears of crude bronze loops, thigh high latex socks; he looks as if he's travelled the cosmos. The lion is awaiting his whip....

Influential Incline

My winter was a sphincter
like that of an oyster's life
cooped up in captured cloisters
wounding the buttresses and falsifying
the stained glass Miranda rights methods.
Double dark shooter,
in game Mesopotamia recruiter,
intensifies a sub-dynamic Grace Kelly foxtrot.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Installment of the 7th Sense

Sensory data output malfunctioned.
Fluctuate the tidings of in metalsmithing
a Palestine complex.
Commonplace of architecture is to
desert the archetype of sanity.

Did Someone Tell Them To Look Away?

In the great discomfort of bombs
a purpetual phrase entitles
an enigma, transforming a parallel 
song into a rendition of a
counter argument in question.
Was I the one on trial? 
Did I murder them?
I regret to inform you
of my stylistic brian.
For it has numerous traps
and holes.
I think I work hard
and then I fall
in more remorse decreasing my value
and loosing grips with reality.
What I have made myself
is an image of crime
against my good fortune
and I lust for a joyous time
when I may be accepted
into a group that is all for me
and I am all for them,
That is a real reliquary of inquiry.
I have leveled enough buildings
of beauty in my mind.
I have encountered enough defeat.

Then the group turned away.
Hell raised, engrossed me in shame,
a sewage star in guttural ravines. 
"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."

Tuesday, April 16, 2013


I am a faucet
and cold water seeps
constant crying kept
so mineralized I want
to create ice for you.

Send Me A Storm

Indecent descent of dedicated gamers
for aging flurried weather
eat a magpie shredder.
Panopticon is to shoreline as
earthly visage is to passport to
another time zone winding up on
languid beaches decanting all
the last of the supplies on
a gambling spree.
Take this spruce tree for instance,
it happy and so should you all.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Friday, April 12, 2013

Flooded Flagellum

I forgot everything about myself
living in the life of real and unreal
nature and sublime
primal forces of
meritocracy for
monochrome visions.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013


Poems are great because the process of writing them
is quick and it gets finished within 15 min
and I don't touch it again.
I like my poems this way
because it differs so much from my drawings
or paintings.
I feel as though I still put the same amount
of quality into a poem as I do for  drawing
even though the poem is so quick.
I am always thinking, so the thinking process
for a poem is always longer then writing
it. In the end the amount of work
can be the same.
Eventually my poems will have
drawings to them...

Fashion is an Unaffordable Love Affair

Do not be comfortable in those old shoes,
buy some new ones from Dr. Martens
and be happy you are now broke
over one pair of shoes.

Climb Down a Mountain to a Fish Pond

Ice cream fingernail yellow,
and oil muskrat muttonchops brown,
have you been to the fishing derby?
For they have catfish crowns!

Monday, April 8, 2013

Linen Causalities

Oh the park benches sparkle from a fresh coating
of cool water droplets poured from the very
same cloud we fell out of.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Complain About Everything

Scream and yell.
Kick your way out of everything.
WHat surrounds you is cobwebs.
Leave everything if you can.
Trade it for a different life.

Where Do I Run To

If I am hiding while running en plein air
lucky monkey knuckle money bought
out half the hemisphere.
Bidding and biding bulging out mush,
mutated mud flips off the antique dust.

Saturday, April 6, 2013


Be a radical.
Bless the saint and kill your heart.
Brutally defeat the young and eat a calf in half.
Believe in nothing.
Beat vegetable crops.
Blaze houses in wildfires.
Be less then zero.
Burry below the water table.
Blur the definitions of difference.
Balance hatred with anger.
Briefly exercise grief.
Blend politics with individual personalities.

Ambrosia is Brooding

Of tumultuous promiscuity ensues the young woman's mind,
look not toward the love that blocks the sun rays from your eyes.
The mind is a powerful machine of biological connections and screams.
A scared scared lover will encounter your pain of shaded plum trees
dyeing an unusual way from turmoil and hypertension disorders.
Is it unlawful to place peace on a gun or enflame sexual desires in selfish manners?

Shame gleams in gradients of ultraviolet because the child inside lost sight of the moon.
Awaken and  retrieve the spontaneity of motherhood and don't be one to glare.
The sun could possibly not set in your eyes and then you'll be locked in towers
surrounded by fire and no one will care if you die.

Hammer your long hair to ceilings of heaven so you stay pure and secure.
Proclaim a smile that is all your own.
Do not howl or laugh and only weep when looked at
and then you'll see blossom of red from a virgin hole
drip slowly away between crystalline thighs
on linen sheets odorous of your perfume from your nape.

Mother Mary is calling your name,
You know it is true.
be that perfect Catholic girl
and blushed cheeks
be that perfect girl
envisioned by angles
be perfect

Amber Lips

Teachings of  a sound rendering rationalization
double-teamed a stemmed rose in a divine pink
television haze sparking the thermometer to
burst without an inherit conceit of otherwise
consulted conscientious effort.

Be My Trailblazer

Trilobite by trilobite, we scale the ocean floor
soon to find we hate to rhyme and we
go score the shore.
Mathematical mermaids merge mushrooms with kelp
which they have created "mushelp".
Indigenous caterpillars produce sweet song
calculating cacti blossoms premature.

Friday, April 5, 2013

I Have Joined

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Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Pajama Limbs

I trust that this is the new order
or suit cases and love
that when a case is packed
there is no room for me.

I wrestle with myself at night
trying to dislodge the illusions
of fairy tales and the grandiose lifestyle
of the rich and famous.
All I want is you to be unpacked
placed right by my side.
It feels like I am breathing through iguana lungs... 
the more I run, I can't catch the falling leaves.
And I feel a poetic whim 
breeching on the horizon
far above the cameras
and clouds
that no other starfish
could ever dream
of reaching. 

Bad Roads

I go down a few bad roads
that lead to dead ends
and that leads to depression.
WHere is my cul-de-sac?

Monday, April 1, 2013

Mercury Seesaw

A dragging swoosh
sung a symphony in the wind
that tickled the tree branches bare.

Silver collected confidence
in the burgundy drinking room,
the table swallowed my sheer stocking legs
and your bow tie is marvelous tonight.