Sunday, December 29, 2013

redeemable consideration

Interior Mint

[Error: No poem found.]

I'm Not Going To Hurt Him

Mellowing out in sea salt green shirt,
mango colored shorts,
striped peach pink knee high socks,
and wooden clogs.
A day for an outing in a field outlined
by the pine tree forest.

Have I ever told you that when I
look up your nose, the majority
of the time it is clean.
I think that it is impossible.

However, without further ado and
blunderless galore,
the gallows exist here,
well they did at one point in time.
Perhaps 100 thousand years ago.
But that does not account for the
loss of the dodo bird, now does it?

I once traced the outline of your
hand as you slept.
It helped me confirm that you are
by all accounts larger in life then me.
Which is not impossible to be.

Hopping about the stale grass
almost crying out for rain.
The worms have crawled up
thinking it is time to play.
It is only tears, spit, or pee.
If you introduce the improper
species to a humble land,
trick you they will,
they'll chop off your hands.

[Insert Winter Themed Title Here]

Any day is a normal day.
I am waiting for a wake up call,
a shake-down,
dangerous encounter,
an abduction,

The Timing of the Intersection

Inarticulates, as we call them, come from an unknown
galaxy full of waterless stars.
They have no functionality similar to any human
or living creature on our planet Earth.
And all they do is fumble about mindlessly.
Do we think of them as sentient?
Our brains are rotting out with mystery compulsion.
If they touch us we freeze into stone.

Watcher of Neon Lavender Skies

I want to honor those of the burnt
soliloquay when they marched to their
final resting place.
Their ashes are blanketed over the stars.
My eyes are cobwebbed,
robbing me of my vision to hold you
in my complacency.
My pupils cannot guide you
as a well as a flower beckons a bee.

You mentioned the word
and now the world is yours.
You are the watcher of neon lavender skies
and I will die for you.


Anti-kingdom matter disembellishment
to garner a new trilogy, don't you think?

Symptomatic soup stream large,
royal pop princes prances galore.

Presenting butter of peanuts ever
so pompous parting prudes…

Reinitiate tungsten traps the bard.
Straps the T pain on real hard.

Flulglorid rid of red eye,
Reticent of discharged informants.

Take thine spirit to Taco Bell,
enhance the mouth's pallet.

Monday, December 16, 2013

Thursday, December 12, 2013


I just wanted to express myself
only once and it has become
a hashtag hislifeisterrible
sort of a game.
I knew I was a life ruiner.
I didn't know someone else
would recognize me as such…
and brandish me publicly.
Oh the slander!

Going Insane

I just do not want to be here.
I cannot deal with society.
I do not want a life.
I have to much anger and defiance in me.
Everything is churning and boiling
that will cool and harden
like cement.
All the while, I have devils that
live in my teeth.
The gums are merely lava.
The teeth are stuck there brooding.
The teeth on the left side are unusable!
I cannot and will not chew on that side.
The pain is immense.
And someone thinks I ruin his life
because I am a fucking looser.

Oh Such Sweet Threats

I am going to leave my body.
It is more then a promise
I can assure of that.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

The Pulse of Consideration

I am a nomadic surprise machine.

Take A Look, Please.

I need the love that I so justly deserve.

When The Storm Leaves The Body

The storm is the consciousness.
We all have a black cloud looming
above our head.
If and when death is substantial
that consciousness leaks out.
Our eyes go into another realm.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

The Commendable Comedy

Commendable is to bendable,
as bobble is to babble,
trout caught on hook
is to be a family's dinner.

Puffing is purification,
as commute is to communication,
an ant breaking new ground
sets in a course for an entire populace.

Packaging crates are great,
defending an unpopped popcorn
kernel is not.
Trust worthy seamstress to tie a knot.

Extraneously Different

There is some subliminal melting
occurring as the broken record
reoccurs in my dream.
Every move in a heavy boot
tromps abound in elephant rhythm.
Surface is crackling,
your eggshell is breaking,
allow me the savage act of
tutoring discrepancy.
A kindly vision of a dispensed voice
over the dispatched intercom… screams,
"Are You Satisfied?!"
In my head I whisper "no," just because
the government can hear
the inner thoughts of a loud mind.
If I tried so much as to burry
the delivery squad of my
unbroken heart
to my lover over the distance.
He has a revolving door heart.
Math dehumanizes the Vatican
into an industrial trashcan.
Resurrect the concurrence
of my out-of-tune tabernacle.
For you have performed your
musical miracles for your best friend,
why should I be different?
You postponed your answer for me
until the snow melts completely.

As I wait,
I find a hidden staircase in the forrest.
The stairs leading up to nowhere.
I walk up them to look down.
I thought I'd find a distinctive
difference in altitude,
yet it is all the same to me.
Feet up or down,
I am naturally dreaming.
I decide to fall into genocide.
The pool of blood is sweet.
This is how a moth is created.
My anguish is entirely my own.
Self-thought, unprovoked,
unilluminated by the half-angels or undead ghosts.

Maybe some tortured window glass
had prescribed to fate.
Personified by resonance of hate.
In this room, present day China,
was once a horror house of calamities.
Putride maladies, odd detrainments,
and segmented relationships.
If someone thought they had friends here,
there was never a chance to create a bond.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Frustration Beyond My Control. Mind, Body and Soul.

It feels like my brain is bind and bound in cement.
I just cannot escape it and I cannot
be free from this enclosure.
I want to philosophize it,
but maybe that's beyond what my mind
can comprehend.

Sulky Skull Key

Give me a turbo shot of smooth,
something sexy, silken ebony,
warm drops of schizo espresso
just like it's served out of an
Edward Hopper painting;
lonely and stagnant like
the rotting fur of a raccoon
as its family mourns at the curb
of the road.
To us humans it is nothing
more then a rubbish binging creature
of the night,
but to its raccoon brethren,
it was something of a hero
and a teacher that is now a
fallen soldier.
Never forget the wounded
in the genocide that
is dyeing in America's streets.

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Silk Eye and Sleek Hook

My capture, your cap.
My tundra, your rotunda.
My roundabout, your czar of Russia.
Permanent ice freezing forecast
halos a dark crease.
Folding space to collapse time
is a wonderful sport you shall partake in
in accordance with the Academic law.
Cling to my body like bandage.
Heal all the scars that can't be erased.
Tropical bluish haze is
Submergible in this state.
Summer sets in,
we spoke a few,
now take it on with you.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Sally Vanilla Envelopes

Entropy, if we were to elope
escalates within the park eroding
emancipations at dark
evading the Etruscan emphasis
equalizing earphones to elephants.
Euthanizing eucalyptus……..

Butterfly Reversal Factory

Incandescents accentuating sleeper cells.
Mistletoe torpedo speeding through your spandex.
Autocorrect me if I am wrong.

Reversible expanding wings.
Assailant viscosity, trophy-ridden teapot.
At conjuncture with nine and eleven.

Heavenly foundations.
Earth-toned touch-downs.
Eating clowns full of dread-worthy spars.

Aspire to the tier at dawn.
Your penchant for anger causes me harm.
Parchment purchase, pleasing surface.

Anti-glycerin ruffling fridges.
Masturbate me till this evening.
Go down at dawn.

Buffalo Face

Apocalypse is a feeling
                    not a number
                      not a fact
                        not an event
                           nor is it a fear.
It is my mind playing tricks on me.
Delving me into uncertain arenas of the unwell.
Wear a wool coat, breathing mint leaves,
chimes call out to answer heavens hopes degrading out.
A filament sheer, shying seams, dapper druids,
pleaing all the same.
They want food and a place to sleep.
I would give them my sheep if I had some.

I wander out to yonder pastures.
I have been told venturing into the great plains
is a way to walk out into suicide.
Fifty-fifty chances, biohazard romances,
move west or cleave with grievances and
undistributed advances.

Friday, December 6, 2013

I Loose. Self fulfilling/ Self deafest/ Conquest Unmanageable.

I want to compile my poems into a book complete with illustrations.
The only thing holding me back is myself.
But I'm not good enough or popular
so no one likes my stuff.