Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Six Decades of Self Conversation




You and I are like the match and flint.
Destined to evolve with each invent.
Forgetting love like distant toil.
We both burn the fuel to boil.
Mine of course is midnight oil
and yours drips black, brown and royal.

Our bodies so differ
with yours strong and bitter
and mine longs to wither,
Was it so hard to picture?
For me to look back
the facts seem abstract


and all the times we should have died
but didn't makes you wonder why.
Its because you always held the will
and I was keeper of our thrills.
But looking back you'd keep it all?
The drugs, the angst, the weakness bald?

I promise I would, don't change your ways
'cause soon you and God will be a sunset away.

Monday, September 27, 2010

The Dry Flask Rant




Fast shit drips from the fat lips of fascists and that's it,
tossed like pigskins and pork rinds in the rinds of the mind
we're blind never to find the real answers in time.
Decide now or find out that love has died down
and been double buried in the same plot on top of peace
which has been deceased for some time now
due to deadly disease and radiation.
The radiation that patient patients patiently wait in.
Yet from all this we've taken nothing but hate in
along with the vagueness of eight sins 
since they're all really makeshift.
Do I say shit that bakes in 
and makes the blood in your veins itch?
Well that's proof that the truth is more than you can chew.
And if you get mad when I say there's no god,
then your just as fucked as the ones with the bombs.




This is a spoken word poem. I just kind of freestyled this and said everything off the top of my head. I recorded myself then later typed it to display here.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

A Midnight Scene with Qetesh, Taken from the Diary of Asmodeus


Give me all
you have to give
and show me what
it is to live
to free me of
these wet dreams
mixed and boiling
through my seams.

Rub me down
and rub me out
on the floor
and on the couch;
trade me seats
and let me
tickle you pink
until you sing.

Grip my skull
and quiver quick
and let the air
get thin and thick
sway your hips,
curl your toes
and moan so loud
the whole world knows.

I stop and stand
bare exposed
panting as our
passion grows
hard and sweaty
like a glacier
I enter as I
kiss your nose.

Scratching clawing
loving hurt
you climb up me
and start to jerk
you've reached heaven,
climbed the steps
then vengefully speak
"Baby you're next. "

You wiggle so soft
and swiftly then
you whisper to me
"Leave it in."
My name is screamed
as I release
and we both fell
in love and peace.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Stabbed In The Heart With An Empty Pen


If I could write away pain
I'd write it all in the sky
with a little green marker
to make the ground seem high.

If I could write away pain
I'd write it all on my chest
with a quill and blue ink
to help my heart get some rest.

If I could write away pain
I'd write it all about you
with the flesh of my flesh
about why I loved you.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Veronika Kirsch In Fishnets On The Curb


On Russia Road and fifty eight I did a double take

     and saw a woman who's body was made of fluent shapes.
A figure eight of perfect weight and fair in face; 

     My urge to wait was muffled by my virgin shakes.
 

I picked her up in search of luck that's worth its lust.
     She wiggled in, said "100 bucks for an hour fuck,
or give me 68 and I'll toss in the other one
     or just 30 if my head in your lap is what you want."
 

She smelled concocted of cheap reefer and nicotine
     the sweetest thing I'd ever seen, she was like a dream.
Her lips were heated red and morning grass glossy.
     Her legs were smooth as they went around and crossed me.
 

Her hands were light and tiny on my chin and cheek
     and her hips were wide and grinding me in the driver seat.
We kissed forever or minutes until she wound me up
     then made my old F150 look like a bouncing truck.
 

I came to love her inside her and even in her presence
       she killed my past and finally put me in the present.
We drove around conversing about our favorite things
       like how I love to write poetry and she used to sing.
 

As it turned out, this was her first trip on the scene
     and she was already out of the pain because of me.

The Murderer Who Met Himself




I'm back to my old alcohol ways

     as my eyes are in and out of hallways.
 

These old dirty palms are washed up
      boxing with thoughts of being boxed up
 

and buried scattered across hills
      where my brain was battered by lost pills.
 

As boggy dreams flood my nights
      I wake with shakes in hooker lights.
 

My buzz is blown as is my cover
      and now I'm a liar of a lover.
 

So much faith has gone down the drain
      only to be bought again and again.
 

I've ran out of mirrors to punch to pieces
      searching for hope and just what peace is.
 

But as inclined as I am to kiss the dirt
      I don't have the balls to risk the hurt.
 

So suffer I might and fight I will
      but one of these days I'll be the kill.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

The American Dreams: The Proletarian Nightmare




Its called a dream for a reason, you know.
The only way to see it takes a dose of Ambien.
And another. Hell, just make it a ménage à trois
because you'll be getting fucked every which way
for 8 hours day with a handful of nickels for your pay.
Those who wish to achieve it don't want to live,
but would rather sleep in a lucid dream where even
their minds cant depict the world that they're told of.
So they suck in the putrid lie polluted air
of corporate assholes who helped usher in
these capitalistic casualties and fauxy reveries.
Now the heavy cost of wishes won't shed
a single bead of sweat and we're the victims,
here, with broken nails. But the snake's
out of the Gucci bag so most of us know
that its a sham and a nightmare. So we keep our heads
down because looking up isn't free
unless of course you're J walking on wall street.
We rattle the pigs asses, of greater equality,
backwards and shake the unconscious to wake
them and tell them, whoever concocted
The American Dream was a poet
of catchy pop lyrics and heroic comic books.





Note about this poem: Its the revised version of an earlier poem.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Dreams Rest Under Green Stems



Welcome to the mom and pop
of unlawful remedies.
You can find it all from
sugar cubes and caramel rocks
to pills, powder and fuzzy buds.
In this country of rivers to the bottom
life is only worth anything illegal.
Our economy thrives
off of depression and impressions.
If you want to live
we'll show you how to fly
and charge your veins
because there's nothing left
to do in this wastedland of bore.
So turn us on, tune on in, drop right out
and see us through new goggles.
If you don't like it, you're free
to leave and live alone
because we're all high as fucking clouds
impregnating dreams to repopulate
our army in the war on drugs.

La Purification Finale



Seven trumpets sounding off
          we walk a road of myths.
Purifying souls of sin
          with orange and yellow wisps.
 
The ground is bare and jagged
          with teeth of glowing coal.
We're forced to march side by side
          reaping what we sow.
 
The sin of men is split in two
          and we've procured the softer.
So we are here to cleanse our hands
          in bowls of liquid sulfur.
 
We're here because we gave a shit
          but not enough to tell
and not too less to spend our time
          in the arid pan of hell.

Marching In Between



We're loved but face this pain
of singing the blues in hell
surrounded by reds and chocolate
yellows. Marching along
with little ones,
our father is waiting and
he doesn't like dirty paws.
The trumpets blaze
and burn our fingers, lips and palms.
While drummers stab and bash
our stomachs with
scorching orange blades.
The flutes repulse
and make us puke
up the lies we all have said.
While clarinets jab us
through the ears for hearing
dirty words. Our feet are
plastered to the horns
of satanic trombones
and our faces wrapped in
glowing metal strings
Our tongues are cut
and fed to wolves who
crackle like the sun.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Ahead In The Clouds II

A tidal wave of cotton balls
rests within an unsure wind
where a letter H morphed to a T
and fish bones flew
to a Renaissance mask in anguish.
As a giant ape shaped out his life
toting a totem pole smile
and double fisting toadstools,
an axe laid at his feet, while a
sickle sold cells to the hammer
for a measly chocolate boomerang.
The seagull printed blanket fell
underneath the blinking suns,
floating gently above
the head of a mammoth
snowy shaman mountain.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

On The Beach of Lake Erie [Pt.I] - 10:38pm


The lid of a nearby trash can
thrashed violently split in half
by the chilled lake winds
as if it was tapping out
to no longer be tortured
by the night's malevolent submission hold.
The whoosh of the breeze and crash
of the waves gave the
headlight drenched sand
a more than eerie feel.
Underneath the blueberry pie
dyed sky sprinkled with sugar,
the not too distant rocks
stared closely at my footprints
in amazement of the tracks
they could never leave.

Hand In Hand Combat

Our arms were at war;
      our hands were entangled.
Palms sweating heavily
   from the blood boiling within.
We were in love at one point
      but no longer now, due to
childish pride and sinister deeds.
   We did our share together
though she fired the first shot.
      And the second;
and the third.
   When I returned fire
I then became sanctioned
      by her embassy of jealousy.
So within my secret service
   I exacted my revenge
under the influence
      behind blacklit closed doors
letting her allies stroke my ego.
   Eventually we were
chest to chest
      palm to palm
lip to lip
   in a cold hearted war.
Shrouded behind password
         encrypted doors and
secular missile codes.

A Haiku For The Starving Poet

A poem a day
keeps the insanity of
my own mind at bay.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Larceny of a Deceased Jewel Thief

I was feeling high as ever
     lighter than a feather
in between the woods
     under cemetery weather

The fog was rolling west. 

     The grass was getting wet.
These were just a few
     of the scenes I won't forget.

I'm tired and I'm shaking;
     I'm wired but I'm breaking
six feet down
     staring at the ground that hates me.

Lifting my spade above
     I slammed it with a shove
right into the heart
     of my adversary love.

I scratched and clawed with force
     sifting through her corpse
hands beating on the wood
     like the running of a horse.

My torch caught the gleam
     of a lazy golden ring
which I swiftly hid away
     but it didn't make me sing.

I was searching for the fable
  of all jewelry ever labeled
a necklace born of 50 carats
     all from the month of April.

The second of my finding
     I snatched it off her high beams
and kissed her on the cheek
      and wished her sweet R.I.P

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Sold My Soul For Glitter & Gold



The Lord hath left me
broken in four
with two pieces lost
and two on the floor.
She left me to rot
in bushes of thorns
and cast down her fury.
I smiled in scorn.

The Lord hath left me
begging for better
and chewing my rope
to fall to the center.
My faults were her doing
my life was her chore
so worshiping her
I would do no more.

The Lord hath left me
cold and tired
so I traveled south
to sleep by the fire.
I spoke with Lucifer,
neck to his throne
and gave him my soul
for riches at home.

The Lord hath left me
crying so often
until I made deals with
the first of the fallen.
He gave me happiness,
my questions he answered
and even at one time
cured me of cancer.

The Lord hath left me
and I renounced her
a bittersweet break up
where we were both hurt.
Though happy for years
and rich I became
I slept with eternity
in a bedding of flames.

Veronika Kirsch: Geez Louise, She's A Tease


She's a cold hearted lyin' motherfucker
with a dead eye and rusted ring above her
head. I know I will never find another
like her, so I'll keep thinkin' I'm her only lover
As she walks with lust drippin' from both her legs
I get hard just wonderin' how she is in bed
I grabbed her ass and she looked back at me and said
"Nothin's free baby boy when all the lights are red."

A Haiku From The Edge

When you have nothing
left to live for, what's to do
but follow your dreams?

There Ain't No Love Like The Gold Rush Love


Above the face of tired snow
the wind and trees spoke soft and slow.
My lungs were drenched by darkened mold
from dying leaves and dreams of gold.
My youth was lost, my days were sold
in carts and shafts so far below.
I mined my heart until it broke
and mined some more on toxic smoke.
The day before my heart did stop
I dug and found a shiny rock.
I fell that night, and woke in bed
and told the wife I'll soon be dead.
I laid the rock inside her hand.
She cried and pulled mine to her head
I gasped and whispered "Dearest Friend,
this diamond's yours to live again."

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Veronika Kirsch: Corsets & Horror


Be my lady for the night
though I know you're just a soiled dove.
And take me as I am
a cold blooded lying little fucker.
Pretend you love me
or at least the things I do to you
and scream my name
every second that I'm inside of you.
I'm not lonely now
but in an hour I'll be back to Jack
and Jameson too.
But for now I'll just park my truck
on the side of this
filthy, sweaty, bourbon intersection
and let you work
and make me happy to be alive again.