your name here, my name here

we'd whistle across the lake to hear our notes echo off the mountains
it was growing colder, more still, darker.
thunder could now be heard traveling through the valleys, searching for open ears.
the clouds lit up like thoughts from neuron to neuron.



there were wolves across the lake,
their cackles and yelps floating along the mirrored sky of galaxies and shooting stars
the eerie call of giant elk woefully searching for a reply in the emptiness.
how were you? how I wanted my calls to reach you.
just the faintest of tunes from my lips
to send a message, ridden on the hairs of your neck
come to me.

a familiar fear.

I don't see your eyes often
they're big, dark, intimidating pools filled with the might and sadness of a weathered woman
with a brow lowered to see past the glare of spoken words and promiscuous lips. 

so I greet your back
shoulders strong and articulated, resembling the rolling hills of our basin
ink brands and great bands of flexing muscles with drainages cut by small streams of sweat
shadows cast and move along the divides as our bodies meet and pull apart in the flickering light.

sometimes I whisper endearments to your bruised neck
with the reward of warm thighs wrapped round ears and a taste that welcomes a talented tongue

a love is sung by two wandering souls
a duet of moans and awkward statements
with laments of passed parents and those who would abuse these tones

I don't want to let go.

for we are the champions of the sun.

the tears from your eyes are like the sweet waters of christ

they smear on my shoulder and baptize my soul.

and when I look into those shimmering jewels-

when I leap into those pools-I hold my breath

and hope to god I'll come back up ontop.

so let me stop.

"and who are you?"

"you know who I am."

but I never have. I'd like to think that has changed

for a battle of kisses and cute talks has been waged

from pudding cups and whipping butts,

 to singing songs while selena sees my nuts

I must say, you've caught me with my pants down and ass out

but I'll kiss your bald spot til your hairs sprout about

and rape whistles stop dangling from your pierced snout

until the mole near your butthole shouts out

"you want me meow?"

and to that I'll always say,

frack yes.

death rhyme

all my dreams and future reveries have all been ruined by past miseries-
not distinctly my own, but of association with a polluted ocean.
her surfaces covered with spit, blood, and semen-
the reason? its the oil to their fire; the gold of the liar.

to the waters once for hire, I love you.
to the beasts who littered and admired? you've been retired.
her liveries have washed ashore or in the currents, carried away.
your decay will erode-to oblivion, like obsidian, a flame dying in this ode
a song, a poem, of waves crashing on every note.


I want the morning air
to fill with the sound of your skin
and the swaying of your hair-
with the aroma of a woman I don't care to share.
 

K T

moonlit markers left by the parting of lips and a pair of exposed hips
started a spark with a few twisted quips and hypnotiq fumes on caribbean blue.

a fire that fans in midnight air among the dew laced grasses of dubsdread's ashes
they flare 'round mental images of immoral visages, a show of elaborate kisses below.

and with a prayer and a swallow of the fuel for this flame,
I'll greet you distastefully, though wholeheartedly, halfway.

but please, just one last cigarette before I burn this claim?

no monkey wrenches.

I miss the mountains and the cool clear creeks
I miss the roaming rio grande and its granduer
those cold nights among a silent sky and starry minds
happiness doesn't only dwell in a home, but also the spirit
the spirit of our nature, the instincts that crawl out once the frightening sounds of traffic and voiceless voices numbing neurons go zap and all that's left is us and our brotherhood.
so here's an ode to friends. to roaming travelers, adventurers, and conquerers of written paths, not of nations or ideological bullshit.

may We all find happiness somewhere. sometime.

 

"Come flow with me, Doctor, through the deserts of New Mexico, down through the canyons of Big Bend and on to the sea the Gulf the Caribbean, down where those young sireens weave their seaweed garlands for your hairless head, O Doc. Are you there? Doc?"

doo la da dee dee, dee dee do!

fingers poking porcupines
piney forests on a corn cob
rain and thunder freighten them
rain and thunder enlighten him
beez in the church all on our tongues
even though half of'em dont believe in what's sung
indiana hiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh
indiana lowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
indiana high dont tell me noooo
like a dog with a window to see his bone
but no way to take it back to his throne
rain or shine they'll dine on what's thrown
but they're strangled and starved of the green and gold
brown chicken brown cowww
come take them home!

untitled, untold

Vodka thins blood, thins lips---hot tongues and wishes from lungs invade my storm as guiding arms force virgin hands to till and plant on soft fertile lands--a temple worshipped with praying fingers, who wander for fear her taste won’t linger

But her name still sings here.

Running skin through soul, skull cuffed for pull, parted lips for apologies---our scent spreading love like some sort of disease, but please don’t see impermanency;
My words carry meaning that outlives my seed

So I read the lines and letters inscribed and mapped all the stars to heartbeats on breasts--a Corona Borealis from Ptolomy's chest---her pulse flies high like the skies seen within each dimension of vibration and sound---around and round kisses navigate aloud, leading their vessel 'cross printed silk oceans with waves swelling 'round areolas of bronze and nipples reaching out for an embrace so strong

So long.

So long; during and after we crashed in the natural disaster of blankets, sheets, thrown clothes, and heat--held thighs did meet slick hips in glee---blackened eyes greeted times of penetration with deep thrusts from times of telepathically told lust; just trust I won't ask questions concerning memories in dust

HYDROXYZINE

pharmacokinections stain my aim with poisoned pain from leaves to thieves of rustling trees trading hearts for kidnies to enemas of bleach dont you preach religion decided by fancy flies in suits and ties they flood the streets with poker blinds dollar bills seasoned in thyme and lye a beautiful mill for typed pentions and christs on crosses will bleed for your prices its a crisis that entices flourescent scents of blasphemous ligaments a ghoulish glow from mason jars for cancered breasts on semented chests lanterns of taciturn voyuers their joy serves only the free the proud and the brave lets behave as beehives contrive and thrive pollinating hallucinations of nations of red white and stars dont lay under polluted waters just to hide your scars I will lick you clean and perform in succession perverse oral sessions fuck after fuck your back will be wet from your hair full of sweat just a whore panting and dripping with that mouthful of debt.

sterile summers

lets fester in the silt of a resevoir built for all this guilt
suffocation comes in the form of Paranoia Blooms cooked in the shade of our shadows' tombs.

standing still admiring our pyramids,
our disfigured complexions will coat the surface of dying rivers' reflections

saltflats form and fireflies burn in florida organs.
their lights dim as imitations hide the stars
grow bigger, seem emptier
a conscience of green plastics and old habits from gymnastics.

don't tell me we're close,
signals from fleshy catapults don't count as folding bones.

fate of freud

four eyes won't fly among floating lies
too many mines for the wings of our crimes
guess we'll fall, hitting bombs, clumsily unfolding this ageless song
what do we find among the ashes of convenience store matches? a fading scent from the fires of friction
just more litter on the floor, and whats more, another reminder of the creatures we abhor.

insecticide.

Earth fenced us in and the ghetto filled to its brim.
No one screamed or cried, we all sat down and held hands with invisible strangers who left us long ago. Lungs inhaled the stale atmosphere one last time, as the flood trickled in and wandered round blistered feet.
A cold end rose to erect prose upon prepared chests and cheeks.
Air escaped through quivering mouths as we watched on,
and with those pleading eyes rolling, fading,
we were gone.

With that merciful pen an inscription was left
aloha is all it read
though, asshole is what it meant
don't trust the rain!

There were watchmen just below the currents of an estuary next door
for floors of three stood above tired lives and absent minds.
What was here to protect? It's lost on me, only dead waters and abandoned concrete to see.

To the shining sea we float on
for our hearts are stagnant and cold
and all past memories are growing old
but these lips still open and crave an exchange, whether of words or warm fluids.
A fire burns in frozen corpses for a low hum and a vibrant tune
of tongues dancing 'tween thirsts and knotted wrists
'cause we are bound in a paranormal prison of paradoxical bliss
we are done, and we are dead
...as door nails go.

Jasmine.

sweet scents and sentiments amid the sarcasm of chain smoking deviants.
places betrayed and flowers made of passed paper planes.
lets share and toss these crumpled works of pesticide, poetry, and compliments.
blah blah blah we say and fly, fly, fly we aim;
for the uncharted skies we crave.
if only they were real,
if only we weren't worn out in the arrangment of letters or the entanglement of fingers.
we are great in this little world built by stop-motion mimes with more time than lines,
every frame captured as the essence to this massive illusion of confusion and crime-an environment filled by jasmine walls and pollinating stars.
there's no vacancy for the sad world between bars.

for Micah.

A craving for acceptance
In a closet full of corpses.

A lord they praise
As he takes their child away.
Does she care?

Is this fair? To judge?
For death rolls nearer
To a troubled girl who fears her
Presence is not clear here
She's a ghost among peers
Dead infants in tears.

Say cheese.

sun screened snake poo.

tired eyes meet tired skies
there is no moon or stars tonight
just man made lights, flaming bright.

this time of month, our moon is at rest while the sun ventures west
its a much needed vacation for a mirror in the shadows.
being tucked in a void of a closet
means less time as an amateur prophet.

while a witness to an orgy of famine and fashion
our wayward friend must cling to one last bastion
of hope-of irony-for a winter solstice greeted by frozen corpses.
no life, light, walls, or time
a world where she'll be fine
never again spectating a show of pain and woe.
who knows-maybe when the sun explodes?

but until that day, or night
she dreads the shame shed from every blistering ray.

though I must say, the stresses and struggles of everyday life
wouldn't be if blue footed boobies ended up eating your wife.
is that ever gonna happen?
meh.
probably not.
I guess you could give it a shot...
maybe...toss her in a zoo exhibit...to test?
but I think it'd be best to place bets with the moon
since I'm sure we're blowing up the sun real soon.
in the name of skin cancer, no less.

this makes no sense. nothing I write makes sense.

reminisce of tear filled shadows
discarded in broken street lights and passing cars
unwanted passengers on a two lane disaster
where's your master, who left his trash as my treasure?
"It's a pleasure," says an angel at my side, "for love is bountiful between my legs."

carbonated thoughts burn through throats
and maggots line the inside of my coat, censoring your canvas of moral decay
with skin smelling like lilies in may, open sores should not be displayed
we'll blow kisses to wounds from tomorrow's infection
to show our affection for rust clad whores.

so once more, a heavenly creature festers at the seams
she's a dark roaring ocean that'll tell of our dreams
with tacos, tantrums, and cyanide pills
fourth meal is calling, come get your fill.

I know I will.

a love that is fashioned from raisin bran and melting stars
it is ours to forget in a busy world of busy bees
us larvae lost in a southwest sea of tortilla reveries
no metamorphosis of memories, you see.

sevens to eighths, with firsts in between
all time spent was perfect to me.

kindergarten kings

 mississipi sounds from the crinkling of white sheets; a search for laughter, to quench an angry thirst.
me first.
giggles escape, along with wasted air; spending tokens from the edges of bleached ocean. from punch to slap to tickle to kiss, the smiles will never fade.
so promises were made.
hands grasped hands that were after slender thighs and an innocent natural high.
I wont lie.
I promise-if that means much at all. for a call to arms, that bend 'round breasts, is not a useful plea.
so now it's your turn to lead.

pariah's pulpit

licorice twists numbing tongues and hired thighs
welcome the flesh we hide behind a veil of fireflies
"sand dollar streets stare down the time", the signs will faithfully say
eggshells underneath a line for preachers who'll pray,
"mother forgive me, god forgive me. my soul you shall forsake!"

and destined are souls to greet thin ice, high and with a smile
just spin the dials, touch the child-for christ, we're here to save!
authority storms from east to west, "come judge a fearless knave!"
"for my whole life I've loved a land, and a savior that I have claimed,"
"but hypocrites, whores, liars, and thieves have robbed me of my name."
"so now I take a new one; now I start anew. "
"an angel of bread beneath my breast and god beneath my shoe."

a prayer to parks and bathroom fucks

a horizon of green stands alone to differentiate a river's slow waters from the sky.
their beauty skin deep, filled with dead leaves and a perch for a watchful eye
parallel universes asphyxiated by rain and childhood envy.
such a senseless war.

we stand at the base of a demilitarized zone
a decision's been made; a crossing shall be braved.
carefully, up and down smooth bark we tread
flashes of crude acrylic paintings told stories to the clouds soaring by.
a hand was raised for balance, a hand was held for spiders
watch your bombs and fly high, we said.

step by step, the wandering oak walked upon our mirror
instep, off key, two rythms intertwined by two pairs of feet
cheek to cheek, we'll circle 'round on repeat.

the end stared out and up.
water dripped from busy branches and hungry leaves.
we straddled the worn tree to observe these sworn enemies.
held close, her body felt strong and safe from this test
all the while shadows danced as fingertips played from under her dress.
such a wonderful tune to lighten the mood, is what we should've said.

what we should of left.

not in kansas anymore

they say she murdered men made of straw.

her words picked slowly at the buttons of his ragged shirt and her hands tore at his packing, in search.
the workers stopped their machines and gathered round. whispers and laughs of shameless interest polluted the currents that wind through the maze of golden fields.

a tarnish to be picked, processed, and forgotten.

he wept upon his post, crying out in silence for help from his fellow men; all too intoxicated with their midday treat. crows circled above the public execution, waiting for the moment their long time enemy was dead.
the workers hollered and whooped as the crazed lady thrashed at the broken man, encouraging her to set fire to his post.

decaying flesh lay scattered about as the search for his soul continued. to kill the will of the man made of straw was the distraught girl's wish. he deserves it, she said to herself.
over and over.

he deserves it
seasons come
crops are grown
money to be made, work to be played, and food to be ate.
many lover's toil and innocence may be saved today.

a matchbook escaped her pocket.
the breeze took care of the rest.