this is the black velvet skin tight leo-tard of fire
that is restraining women in dark underbelly bars
tender faces spit tender and
whisper words onto stages
in the form of one dollar bills
and grave mistakes
life leases on backyard leashes
rattle the dog-cage and let me in
quick
its raining and
i have grown wings
reminding me of expiration dates
sitting in the corner of your garage
boxes of me boxes of you
keep-sakes mistaken for garbage and
dumped into black sacks
land filling up with
unsaid hills and labeled mounds
blocking the sun and turning us all into vampires
sitting in dark rooms with Aristotle speaking in echoes
through the hole that goes deeper than normality explores
a basement of doors, and
you find out more than you bargained for
with salvation donations to your local
thrift-store 99 de-cent bin
sin
collecting souls like a magnetic pole
strip
the veil off and
blink at sun spots
drifting in sifting through
a social demand for
high heels and low
self esteem
dripping compliments meant to
make or break
a fine line down the back of spines
crack-pop alignment
spanning life sentences and
dead letters
listen for the echo in hollow hallways
repeating too many familiar words
for comfort
try to ascertain the circumference
of your Ego, but
instead you're left holding
an empty noose
loose around a neck-less
body lying without a mouth
I am speaking but
are you listening?
just tell me when
writing has become a
burning thing.
I am scribbling as fast as I can
until the pen
commits suicide
tired of trying
to contain the universe
in ink
we pour our veins into tubes
scratching deep in the skin of trees
presented to the public
to the masses
all masters of their
bachelor pads
associating the level
of degrees
is kept below freezing
vapor clouds catch the cold
so i smoke my anxiety away
burning more desires
in a passion pit
full of snakes and bad habits
try not to look, but
you'll see medusa;
the white rabbit
in holy robes preaching
about vita-mens
and sin
she blinks back tears
in her catch-22
love affairs
re: morse code tapping through interludes
alluding to pocket-books
opened like the Bible
interpreted to mean:
god.
to be:
god.
and you see apparitions of smoke
and smog
forming statues under stone hearts
dropped pots
collecting fees for the dearly
departed parts
sealed in wood boxes
beneath iron gates
for the late, the great
human remains
feeding the cycle
feeding your head
feeding your bed of worms and
thorned roses with
bone fingers ringed to a part
played by hands throwing shadows and
appalling applause
pray for something
other than
trust
in a god
in more than
one man
one woman
one spark
destroying like shiva
creating like fire
you burn your desires and
the ashes form prophetic phoenixes
rising through difficulty
we are the star children
of mid-western skies
setting the tone
through bones and microphones
vibrating across plain jane apathy
in dark corner bars and
basement operations
connect the man to beast
I am the Taurus
feel my heart beat
for four horse men
bringing in the
apocalypse
while the earth gives birth
to this Chinese new year
exploding
on the page
in a test-a-ment of
age, this is
the year of the horse
pulling the son in a chariot
of fire
forever and
infinity resembles divinity
i confuse the two and
lose the truth
to speculation
calculate change
off the top of my head
project astral phases
just cause and affect
pause for effect
thirteen moons
in a year
thirteen years
past triple zeroes
and we're still looking for
idolized heroes
in scriptures past due dates
wait wait waiting
to vacate this physical state
this illustrated illusion
between awake and
Awake.
For the time to pass
Under pearl gates, but
You ticket reads: late
and you sit on the curb
and wait
for a new game to start
watch the ball drop
then explain
the big bang
was just
god's fart
but
i do my part
on the side lines
with a broken heart
full of art and
words
spilling out to mingle
with you and me and
everything
the holy trinity
ends in 3
ways to be
saved
unlucky 13
irony metal-physical
parade
down empty streets
to large graveyards and
king-sized churches
persistent realities
of consistent mortality but
all stars are born
to go
super
nova.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem