Psalms of Solomon

Life is just a backlash
of you and of me
What we did under that tree
Sliding, sulkily, stifling
you and me
windows shut by rust
eyes close, blood, shut
we got nothin'
we are nothin'
nothing is for certain
because we live with eyes half sealed
we breathe, soaked in our futility
we live to love our toil
or to hate the backlash, like whiplash
because of you and because of me

The Systematic Pounding

Just stay awhile
While the rains drone on, on, on
In due time you will forget me
My spell and all its wishes for you
I saw it as soon as I became aware that you were watching me
Like looking away from a mirror still knowing you are watching yourself
Only it's just the back of you
You and me
maybe you are me
Speculation can drive you crazy
Like stark mad
Like the same repetitious noise or action, action
but what if you learn to love that drone
The systematic pounding
That tingle in the back of your mind
Like phlegm stuck
what if you accept it
does that make you crazy, crazy, crazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzy
Like repeating your name in front of the mirror
Over, over, over yourself, yourself,  you, self, self, yours, you, your self
Like Plath screaming out in the night
"I am, I am, I am!"

Discontent/No Motion

i sat and i watched from the line
from the finish line and i felt small
i sank down below, bellowing
floundering
i crunched up real tight
braided up inside of myself as i thought
and i thought
for once of what it would be like to lose you
ex nihilo
from nothing
i slipped and tears slipped as i wondered what i could become
endlessness from speeches of possibilities
not comforting but maddening
no. i could never do it
could never live in possibilities
but as i have such a love/hate-ship with the here and now
now you see how stuck i am
stuck wallowing
in fear
of here/of then/of now/of maybe/of stillness/of moving on/of dying,deadened things
of living in a world i can never know
because i am frightened; frigid winter shock to my bones
of immersing myself fully in any one state of being
its too dangerous
so i continue to sit and wait and waver petrified at the line
the cold nipping at my bones
and i grow older with no motion

Grapes

My internal consciousness has always felt like grapes
Like green grapes. It's not really sensible but let me try to explain myself.
It's like this weight, this feeling (physical and emotional).
A kind that laces up everything I am without me fully knowing it.
Like quivering milk forming at my mother's breast, infant naivety of the concept of being.
Only in moments do I feel the fullness of life.
It's like being lightheaded all the time
Always on the verge of fainting because life is so full and so empty all at once
Full like grapes plump and weighty, filled by the hand of God by living water
But so eerily drained dried and shriveled like my mother's breast
Still full despite me.
But with grapes, push on either side and the juices free flowing
Splatters out like a savage cry silenced by the amount of space surrounding it
This is how I feel
Leaving cracks and pockets of watery sweetness to drip and to drip
Grapes, graciously drained and turned into booze to make a heart beat slightly stronger
Life seem a bit wider and longer
I am full and empty all at once.
Borrowed full, full empty.
Experiencing the world thoroughly
Touch, emotion, interlocking and informing one another
Molding the other, building my conscious full of grapes.
Full, empty;
A bushel, barren twigs
Sticking between lacing fingertips
Putting a hand through a naked grapes vine is like putting a hand to my heart
It's all spindled and spun; empty and borrowed
Full to the brim like Styrofoam cups
Steaming and teaming with watered down life
Sweet life and borrowed time from tits  

Drink Me

I am like a drink;      I would like a drink
Sometimes bubbly;      I hate fizzy people
Perhaps sweet;      People are so sticky
Maybe bitter and dark;      That'sMoreLikeIt
But always, always laced;      Poisoned vein for vein
Layered with toxins that collide with me;    
Become a part of me       Part me from me
I am like a drink       And I am drowning

Trying to Make Me Known

Envy the way words break over pages
Feel sick with sheer weight
Drawing the life out of me
Killing me mercilessly
Holy, Holy, Holy is my suicide almighty
My weight I can't detach from
My guilt for things unknown
My words like jellyfish swimming, folding,
Floating out from my pen to my paper
A sad ballet
If only, if only
Peace like a river swayed me
Back to you my only true love
Real as the weight of my limbs
I step forward, keep stepping but find no relief
I am a wandering Jew
In the white hot pitch of wilderness
That remains unbroken before me
Like a rolling tide my sweet
Electric Jellyfished words slide
Trying to make me known

TV; BOY; MICHIGAN

It hurts to be here if I let you in.
Stepping daintily, cautiously on these grounds becomes unbearable like heartbreak or maybe it's heartburn.
Either way I'm on fire.
My lust for you glutinously, secretly feed.
The ghost of your body, your steps, your life, that ghostly you inflaming the lips that once spoke of this place this strange land of seasons; like your moods your sweet civil tongue bitter to the end.
But it hurts, it hurts, you must know it hurts.
I must want to hurt.
To feel the spark the gross spittle of pretend, splattering against the walls of my mind like hot courage.
"It's alright the jump of my heart will.." But no. We've been here before.
Too much mourning for the morning.
Creating extravagant amounts of time, of space in the thousands to separate you and me.
I am in the unknown of the unrequited.
Unrequited in commitment/courage, for I know you loved me good sir.
Just wouldn't say it. Say it!
My lip curls and I tremble silently, seduced by the fire burning anew inside of me. Lighting up the salted pavements, the single street lamp that flickers.
The forest that is your mind. Burning like hope for the day.
Lighter fluid of the mind I was. Burnt off so quickly without the proper kindling,
The sickening figment consumes.
Left me naked and astray. Vulnerable does not even begin to explain me. I am bear of all pretenses unlike you, unlike you.
The air sticks to my lungs like iced concrete. My breath comes out again stagnant and haggard.
Noble Torture.
Unlike the torment that proceeds of the memories I loved but have not lived. But somehow still breathed. It's not as simple as you said.
Nothing I've imagined; everything I've seen before.
This is not love.
'Love? What about it...Love is mostly just hurt.'
'Love. The fresh good kind."
'I know nothing of the sort.'
Your presence consuming and quelling in my subconscious. Bursting, busting, swelling painfully past my dreaming eyes to ones frantically attempting to push you away from the present. The scenery infected by your words, so sharp so far off.
Needles, needles my friend.
Beach my ass.
I've shared too much with you; I'm see through now like glass.
Go ahead and break
Frigid ice underfoot blown away half noticed
these cracks make my soul retch and heave 
But here in between regret and relief,
There is such a steady
O, so steady
Beat

Fake Roses

Sin is like mold that clings to my innards.
Desperate and mossy, pocked with stench unholy.
But I can't cough it up, it's stuck, stuck within me.
It's struck me down once more, forever more.
I'm tangled up in the mess of me. The mess I've made.
For what seems like eternity...
It sits and it smells.
Like fucking fake roses.
Thick and unclean.

GoldFish

I once had a dream that we had bought fish. Floating ones, that instead of swimming in circles round their see through cup, span in thin air like water meant nothing to them. Air seemed fantastical in that dream. Light spinning, bright glowing orange. Mesh tails and bulging comical eyes. Though while dreaming it I thought nothing of the suspended, cycling fish. I only thought it wasn't fair that you had more fish than I.

Once

Once I thought I saw the sky tumble over
Fathom after fathom
It tore me open
Then I removed my shades
Bright/Florescent
And I knew then that the sky
Had simply died

"Black"

Tasting of this bitter and pain
Only a little but still,still
Sorrow of ignorance and misunderstanding
Why can't they see me?
Any other pin cushion point
I can take it; laugh off
Except for this
This thing I cannot control
"Black" is what they see
But hold up the pigments
The graphs of flesh laid by God
And they would see that color
Fades if one only looks
If one actually sees
It's something tangled and messy and
Rotten "black" to the core
This problem of corrupt collected cultures
Something I can't make poetic or
Find the painful irony in
Something the laughter over
Thin sorrow can't fill
I am the alien among sojourners
By wicked minds making me unclean
My own mind suffocating and constricting me 
Making me dirt "black"
My anger like the rolling pitch
Dark tides at midnight's toll
I am a hurricane of civil unrest
Stripped of my humanity by
Soft- minded words
Misdirected, fired at will
Without any real thought
I am the unwanted of the unwanted
Because they call me "black"
Though that is not my name or place
Please just fucking look at me for once
Society, self, social scene
Fucking look, look, look, look
See me won't you for once
Without the tint of sin; corrupt

Chandelier

It was burdened with light
Clear, lucid light
The kind that sweeps up inside you and takes hold
Gripping and breaking your heart strings to submit
It was golden with witty light
Like a smile from a Starlet
Who is beaten by her husband's hands
Bruised midnight blue in the predawn night
It floats, shifts, sways
Maddeningly strong
I watch mesmerized by wicked
Stilted, delicate boldness 
Like an ugly tea cup, chipped
As you bring it to you cracked lips
Seeping from the edges with lies
But the light, the light keeps me there
I would rather be anywhere or even nowhere but here, here
I am, I am
Lying beneath the faceless, facades
Layers of liquid light
Pulling me; pushing me away
I watch my life slip
But I cannot be bothered to notice this
As I am to fascinated and caffeinated with the light, the light
Dragging me away from life
One beautiful life I have to live
I would watch paint chip instead of this
But this, this is the light of my life
Not my life, but its light
Brilliant, bright
Deceptively so  
But one day I will go out cold
Like your cracked lips
And the lies will be, will be still
Haunting me, taunting me into my warm liquid grave
There I will stay until the end, end of days
Snapped out, as it fades

Untitled

I ran with the breath of the wind away
From you and your pretenses
If only life would slow; would settle and calm
If life would yellow and brown and mold and curdle
Move, move, move
Trapped by sadistic fate
Like milk long forgotten
Curdle like your vain lies and vanities
Spilling like the pages and pages in my head
Flaking at the seams, the binding worn and tired
Returned to dust like powdered insect legs
Useless and morose
But return me not to dust
To dust
Magnifying my humanity
Humanly
Quelling the fear of the insanity of sin
Breaking my bones to restore in me hope
The afterbirth of the fallen state
Prelude, dialogue, "end" on a single page
Restored to life, but do I live?
Beautiful, beautiful life where are you?
Hiding under my bedroom pillow?
Dripping like livid fire
Red and bleeding from my eyes, my hands
Shaking a'fire with anger and fear
Solid and hopeful but buried in ashes made and stayed
Thick layer of pretend
The things they take out of story books to make children believe it will be alright
When you used to understand and I you
But maybe it is all a sick dream
A pretense of my own my folly and your pride
Your sick head and my sick mind
Are the synonymous vengeance we seek without a holy purpose
We seek but never venture further then our mattress halls
And cushioned wall among beggar's heads