The Ballad of Unrequited Indigestion

I'm yours. Forever, for now,
'til then nothing more.

The flight of fleeting feelings,
an "aw fuck it" facade. Your
rule-breaker smile sends a
chariot of chills down my spine
as I use hand-crafted baby
bottles to catch my salty tears.

I blew it.
The candle, the torch,
the belated birthday balloon.
I'm the prick, the pop!

I lay a heap of latex deflated.
Stretch me with your hands,
pull me over your face so
I can feel your smile tickle
my elastic skin.

Sometimes I fear you're
allergic to me, itching as if
I were a rash. Other days
I'm kept not far away,
as if separation might cause
a worse reaction -
the stuff of fatal attraction.

We'll kill each other before
we're through. If you go,
I can't live knowing
of love without you.

Me, the fool who will
follow you to the grave.

You, the sorry soul who
can't escape one stubborn sucker.

I'm yours. Forever, for now,
'til then, and the remainder more.

Performer

Years passed, unflattering
the face of the young man
you thought before you.

Years past - flattering
in the right light.

Today he observes an
imprint in the armchair
where he spends countless
hours musing then
neglecting a fruitful destiny.

He'll sigh indignantly -
he always does.

Minutes crawl by as
seconds march on,
soon, soon, soon,
genius will strike
like lightning.

Until then, comedy of
grotesque by the masters
of degenerative thought,
for the voyeurs of
blameless bystanding -
a beautifully obedient audience!

Obscenities fly like pigeons
into skyscraper windows.
Originality not unlike the
poor horse put to pasture
after being ridden too hard
by an undisciplined jockey.

He worries not -
he's found a new horse
to ride to the grave.

Opera of the amateur, the
pretentious provocateur
is neither powerful nor bold.

An aching yawn,
spasms of the bored
harmonizing with the
horrors echoing in the
half empty hall.

He screams a passive
sigh, and again -
contorting his face into
devilish shapes- tongues
lashing, teeth gnashing,
lips smacking feral and fierce.

By display's end,
depravity grew legs
and wandered away,
wounded, weeping.
He clasped his hands
and exhaled deeply.

67.628 oz. to Freedom

Part-time poet,
PepsiCo™ pontificator.
Leader of new-thought vendor,
the soda slinging half-wit.

Brain on fizz,
finessing a fine belch from
my gangly gullet to which
I exclaim -
Smart fart! 
Took the Elevator!

Slapped knees swell
from banter.

Living the dream!
A loaded lie as we
sweat the loaded pistol
held to our carbonated craniums.

Down the barrel I hear
an angel deliver us from
Dew ™, her grace
sugary and subversive.

Do it for the kids,
hubris gushing from
my oily pores.

The denial of dealing
phallic plastic rockets
of confectionery pesticide.

I envision myself
down the drive-thru
asking the great maker
for an order of mercy
on my insulin deficient soul...

with a diet.

I've Been Thinking About the Future Lately

Death's unwanted guest,
brisk and bright, persistent
to receive eternity's embrace
in sweetest serenity.

I remember her sifting
homesick though lucent
photographs stacked
in a rustic cedar cigar box,
emanating smells of stale
smoke and morose memories.

She'd stare intently, then
look back, as if these
keepsakes were
treasures to hide.

Then came her first knock
at death's door.

Death accepts no visitors,
she freely comes and
sweeps all souls of their
feet - eyes wide and shut.

As she waited, her soft
pale complexion turned a
violent shade of contempt.

"Entitlement",
she sighs.

Photographs lay at her feet,
the placid face of her
past-father glaring, wondering,
who lies before him
locking eyes wide,
then shut.

Mr. Dismissive

I'm stumped,
staring at a wall adorned
with a genius' mad ramblings.
A so-to-speak who's who
of nobodies, somebodies,
and - for the sake of closure -
everybodies.

I've lost so much time
in awe of this pervasive
beauty, mingling among moochers.

Can I embark?
Who's to give me permission
if I so choose to ask?

The world-ender, trendsetter,
real go-getter makes his
entrance...now!

Can he overcome?
Who's to give him permission
if he so chooses to ask?

"It's a grand show"
I duly admit, the crowd
vibrating and warm.
Faces lost within a
nest of angst and ambition,
hatching now a dark cynicism.

Can we deny?
Who's to give us permission
if we so choose to ask?

Love of Color

The cold caught a
fever quick, tip-toeing
around an elongated
slew of toxic cretins.
White faced and
half awake, trudging
through today's optimal takes.

Today is looking good on the killing floor! 

An indiscriminate gun,
an angry white operator
on the edge of his
own gory glory,
tasting the true valiance
of spilt blood on
the face of innocence.

May the blessed violence
continue, clinging onto
the severed limbs of
forsaken brothers-in-arms.
Targeted for the beauty
of unity, masking a unique
hatred for resilience in community.

Shots ringing around the world,
with tears falling on deaf ears.

Silly

A strangeness growing
beside you - presently,
as if the common cold
locked long, lean arms
soaking you in the
feverish sweat and
slobber of seasonal sick.

Step-by-stumble, a cough
disguises humorless jokes:

Quipping about a hanged man 

in the throws of provincial repentance?

Bah! If only you suffered 

sustained insufferability

might you appreciate the

scarcity of taste- 

and good humor!

The feet fighting for

solid ground, the stress

and neck fractures,

the lungs, the brain,

the swaying in still night

This is how to picture grief.

A suitable execution fit to

the perpetrator of the heinous

crime of extinguishing your

own cool flame...

that quickly burnt out. 

In continuation,

the strangeness lapsed

and staggered about, 

an omen for dim-witted

delinquents and we,

so above such characters.

I and I alone

exclude the u,

leaving yo to contend

with all things, and

no I to lean on. 

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.

Confessions of a Jerk

The endearing quality
of incompetence,
the staleness of regret
linger over a bowl
of ramen noodles.

The short answers
stick. History has
no time for long winded...

I, forgotten.

Will she remember me?

Hunched over a mass
of bad poetry,
scurrying, scrambling
for rich line to
purchase a smile,
forever and evermore.