World

Peering past winter's folly
into life anew, and again.

Four years I thought it
strange, the wind's way
of speaking in gentle hush.

I am not fluent in
such acute niceties,
nor to reciprocate a
gesture of breezy assurance.

For years I stand hollow,
guilty of bottling moonlight
in spite of the setting sun.
A separation anxiety - dually,
I hope to instigate cruelly.

It's then, when the
sun and moon yearn
shall I speak to the
wind in her native tongue.

Topical Smoothie Crappe`

Gray is the new
pink. Lively, lovely,
and to die for
in the midst of
yet another suck-all.

The generational gap
found in her teeth
is something profound!

...or at least that's
what I've been told.

I go to work with
a protractor and
limited-edition pair
of Big Bang Theory pliers.

An honest critique of
21st century politics
lies somewhere in the
gap of her teeth.

Who

A lowly scout
scouring the sand,
numbingly following
his footprints
around the beach.

Deceived into believing
he treads new ground
as the wake washes
away his clumsy steps.

From afar a party
of castaways watches,
stopping only at the drop
of a 4/4 to properly gestate,
by design - by deviations.

Long Live Bellicose!
Viva la Static!

I'm one foot in the grave,
clutching at my shovel
as to delay the inevitable.

Martyrdom is tricky -
I've perished long
before my time.

Far too timid to
go ahead of the curve,
stubbornly too recessive
to pass on.

A-ha, an exclamation erupts,
the claims become
bolder still!

The lowly scout took
one step further and
saw his reflection
on the surface of despair.

The sorry sap kept walking,
seeking out the man who
stared back at him, only
to drown in the undertow.

Long Live Despair!

Sweet Nothing

Imagine still-
growth in a
world perceived
parched of value,
to not grace
it with a love
all your own.

You - being of
substance.

I cannot begin
to indulge in
such magnificence.

Libido

Woman: sightly, stern...

An effigy 

eternally burning- 

breasts burnt crisp,

blistered pouting lips

charred remains 

slung over a

bedpost of bronze,

legs pointed upward

in disgraceful prayer:

She cannot tell a lie.

I, simply a son of Eve,

fixate upon a swollen,

pink breast.

My face aglow,

an expression

timeless, ageless,

insatiable. 

If I am to become

a father of Eve,

will my expression change?

Nothing

Phlegm cleared,
pupils dilated.
An interrupted synergy,
speaking in verse - purportedly.

All the walls covered,
nasty off-green drips
collecting in puddles
on torn wood floors.

Equal parts
horrific childhood goo,
recollections fictional,
then modernist dilemma:
tomorrow's solutions
to yesterday's conflict.

We've achieved actualization
through stasis, stressing
semantics while
speaking of ought.

We, the kids who never
grew up, children of Dystopia.

KILL

The drooling idiot,

Salivating,

Waiting.

Premature hair loss.

Consider the wastebasket. 

Falling faster now,

I'm slouching to

the floor. 

I count my pools

of drool, 

one...

My face peeled

from the sea green

shag...

Two?

An ode to my

rotted, dearly

departed friends!

Drei.