Day 51 (Our ubiquitous kill)

lean close  /  with eager eye  /  slip cold steel  /  pry and pry

         til flesh splits  /  and peels  /  held soft between

                              finger and thumb

                                       pull

                               prod

                               palpate

                              last pound and quake

                           soft red  /  leaks slow fast 

            through fingers break  /  fate hand  /  click black

                                veiled         

                                        vaunted

                                                    vain

                                         slow kill

                             narcissist

                                          hand over fist

                                slapped

                                           limp

                                                wrist

                                          pleasure taken

              with heavy breathes  /  baited  /  for quick theft

                                              til echo

                                     fades from the remain

                                           CLICK

                          TICK

                                                never more

Day 50 (Train ride train of thought)

a question
              common
                                                                                                   concern
                                                            or 
simple action
                                                                       hand gestures
                            pointing
                                               to the walk ways
                                                                                           hallways
that never led us anywhere
                                                   but the simple
                                                                                 tare
                  in flesh
                                                                                            brought forth the
                                   pretty
                               red
                                     flow
                                            of life
i'm looking for scars could you spare a few?
                                                              a mew and whisper
                       from god's right hand kitten
                                                                                       purring perfect
        from the lap time had forgotten
                                                              this simple phrase
                                                    or
                                                            maybe just  a maze
           to
                     walk through
                                                    so
                                                         take extended hand
                                                                                        or
                                      paw
                                                                  gnash teeth
                                                                                 at the rotten and raw
pull thorn from hoofed slave foot
                                               the drip drain and forgotten refrain
                                       from
                                               the coffee pot's last gurgle
                                                                                                        and
                         pop
                                                  a morning dirge
                                                                       waiting
for the nocturnal hymnal
                                                   for
                                                                 a night time of forgotten emissions
          and standards set forth and put to action
                                                                                                          a minor faction
                                      of thought and ideals
there's a fence to climb
                                doused in barb wire
                                                            and
                                                                  coated in the failure
                                                                                               attempts at scaling
the obstacle of our hearts one long drawn desire
                                                                  this is the funeral fire
                set to burn
                                              constellations yearn
                                                                                     through the thought
provoking
                                     fog
                                                        and
     mist
                                                              of
                             this
          that
              and the other

Day 49 (Two ways to read this)

have you ever STARED

                                   close EYE to scarred

            BATTERED

                                        BRUISED

flesh?

                

                         tasted THE tale

                    of UNTOLD emptiness?

                                 plausable REGRETS?

                        SHARED secrets?

                                                 WALKED thin line

                     across SKIN'S fine

                                                 MAPPED rind

                                    to SEE what is left behind

                                    memories ENGRAVED

Day 48 (Ode to a pretty frog and its vapid lily pad)

HEY there?

          How YOU doing?

YOU okay?

                                                       i am concerned.

is there a lesson to BE learned?

NO?

                      just another sojourn?

                                        an adventure in SELF indulgence?

YOU'VE never HURT anyone though.

                                                YOU were always the one getting HURT...

RIGHT?

                                   RIGHT?

no ANSWER?

oh come now you know i jest.

                                               maybe this is just a test.

                                         YOU know YOU'RE the best.

called YOURSELF my little sister

                                     and sometimes 

i admitted how much i missed HER

                                                                 but honey this aint a song by Mr. Mr. 

         no 

                                    it's a relentless look back

                        an initial attack

                                    now YOU claimed the high horse

i never road in on

                 the problem YOU have is YOU cant move on

     life gave YOU a raw deal

                so YOU through a pity party,

                                     invited all that you met but i was tardy,

no one told me it was BYOB,

                                     but there was nothing between YOU and me,

                i'm no jilted lover

                                             simply a bored observer

of YOUR SELF destructive behavior

                                so poor me another

                                                                     YOU can have YOUR high road i'd rather trail blaze

                      now a simple questions was left soaking my lips

                                                   how the fuck didn't YOU notice the smell of YOUR OWN shit?

                                         

                         it must BE pretty pungent

                                                   or was your head to far up YOUR OWN asshole?

                                                                                 searching crevasses always claiming to fearful,

YOU loved the sound of YOUR OWN voice

                                                 got YOU what wanted through batted eyelash

                                         jilted smile

                                         it took a while

soon discovered YOU only like to receive  

                                                                              down on both knees

                                                    the self determined MARTYR

                                    longing for someone to hand YOU oaken plank

                                                                        so YOU can drive YOUR OWN nails in

then would YOU win?

Its a swirl in this emotional state

find it hard to relate

but really this was YOUR fate 

YOU wanted nothing more

than to be societies tawdry whore

spreading legs thin

                                              

                                                          across societal bread loaves

                                                                                longing to be loathed

YOU poured YOUR guts out

                    tore YOUR heart out

                                            and begged for someone to stomp on it

                does that make YOU feel loved? 

                                                    does that make it feel real?

                                       books on tape

                                                      cheesy therapeutically lines aside

                                  what the fuck is on YOUR mind?

                                                                                 who the fuck are YOU?

other than a poorly done impersonation

                                             of the SELF YOU keep on claiming

judgemental

habits of the fanatical

radical

mental patients

                                                YOUR sinking ship set sail

                   on the sea of YOUR insanity

                                              but no worries

                                                          at least YOUR pretty

Day 47 (Milk maids and meatless Monday)

When the abyss swallows you hole,

And you find your self staring back,

At the same inky black,

That dripped and sank,

Hearts empty ever filling tank,

The apple will grab your eye,

Drag you down and die,

Inside the barren cavity between two lips,

This is the point of nourishment,

Kill to survive,

Whether through knife or meaning,

This is the heartless gleaming,

Shimmer and shine,

Of the new wave world dine,

Competition,

Had its place,

And how how you tried to save face,

In the rivers bank,

You always did love the edge,

Whether blade or ledge,

And I wonder,

What is is that we hunger,

In this life of starving,

Striving,

Fickle wishes for providing,

Resounding and residing,

So many words have an I-N-G,

Makes it easy for me,

And you to grasp this,

Vocabulary blast fist,

Thrust, a term so sexually laden,

Makes me think of a Elizabethan maiden,

All calm and a passed out from the arsenic face powder clap,

Sickly is my favorite color.

Day 46 (Something like a love song)

I want to break you off in the most non sexual way possible,

Think Kit Kat

In spring

 

Amongst tulips,

Which sounds a lot like two lips

 

Which I wish I was kissing,

Not yours of course, but that which belongs to the floors,

Of dead celebrities

Love these busy bees stuck in my number of collectible bonnets,

But this is what sonnets,

Are composed for,

To explore,

The monetary exchange,

For the trades that range,

Free like chickens who lay eggs I pay double for,

The feel good consumerism that fell

Hand in hand

With the green movement

Of a cities bowels

The push heave and slide of a new generation

 

Have patients we'll burn Styrofoam before your dead or buried

Alive alive

Day 45 (Crashing into Paulie Shores)

The crawling closeted beetle of a Kafkaesque nightmare

Dreamt up

In a waking state of mind

Known as Virginia

Or maybe Maryland

But here I am in the now

And then

Replenished thoughts of smooth skin

And how I wish I could get in

But then

I'd have to hear a thought or feeling

And pretend to have on in return

Lessons are learned

Through thick scars

The tale of more than two cities

Now Ive been there

But

Have I done that?

The pictures seem to suggest

That

I beat the heaving chest

Within hallowed halls

Chances were I was sober

choking chickens

To a preconceived notion

Lost in the afterbirth

Of the future suggestion

For what its worth

I cry at wakes to keep up appearances

But all I can think about is visa clearances

For the poor lion hearted

Masses

Arriving on strange Paulie Shores

But that's beside the point

-ed-

Finger staring straight into the hearts of men

Would you wet my whistle

I need to take out my aggression

Again seriously lady

I've got a pen and a pad

Let me draw you

A picture

Of the mixture

Of positions we can try

Before you slap face deny

Now I'm the sensitive type

And when your licking me tonight

Take that in hand

Cause its worth two in your bush

Just a suggestion

But you know I am mushy

Which is funny if you speak German

But I don't explain jokes

So learn them

Fell asleep at the wheel

While waiting for discounts to steal

Away in the night

This is the consistent plight

Of a born loser

Lost

First hand experience

In the trenches

Park benches

Surround

And

Confound

My ubiquitous

Existence

But its that time of month

And I want blood on my hand.

Day 44 (Motivational or something along those lines)

Now I could use these words to write evangelical prose

To compose

Illustrate

Draw the divine

or

Set a bacterial culture in ones mind

Confined

Willing to breed

To grow

To

Succeed

Sparatic

Chaotic

Nearing symbiotic

This relationship

Sets sail

Past the moans and wails

Screams of unfulfilled dreams 

I no longer dream in color

Nor black and white

But in the fuzz of the forgotten

Life is a waking dream

Manipulate

Mold and shape

Your existance

Resistance

Is the way forward

Nothing behind

No looking back

Forget what your parents told you

Forget what I have told you

Think for yourself

Question authority

Even if that authority 

Belongs to you alone 

Day 43 (Empty Dreams Empty Pockets)

Lambast the alabaster skin, filibust her to let me in. Arriving and conniving, sniveling drivel, driving snide remarks cutting through thick skin. Grinning cheshire morning fills her bust with warm wet goo, dribbling down fresh cleavage, wreaking havoc on the hammock. Shamrocks flock along the docks, mocking the sham of my love, but it fits like a glove, shoving and twisting, pushing and pulling as twill thrills my hand, frilly gills billing my desire. Accounting for such things, I must spill the contents of my checkbook in order to book a chance to rill that ass. Rifling through the trifles of my wife, riffing trophies and tripping ruffies, sniffing panties and doing a dance that prances through chances, lances at boils and oils warm skin. 

Day 42 (People I should have met)

The blue flicker and shine

Caught the attention of my lost mind

Half cocked smile

Fired darts from eyes

The soft flirt

On short trips easy skirt

An actual connection 

You were the slow infection

The itch I couldn't scratch

But still we sat and pretended

Not to stare

Infatuated by what could possibly be

Building white picket fences

I envision you pulling Kafka from your modest purse

Read me a story

I'm lost within your hopeful eyes

You look to me with your own unique fantasy

Who am I in your slow day dream?

Will you tare me apart?

Rip the brands from my flesh?

Lay waist to that which I sculpted?

Half cocked smile and hidden eyes

Bashful

Shy

Our meeting hearts

Is works deny

Lets take the next stop

Hop

In to the sun

Take the weird way out

Take my hand

We'll leave this land

And do all the things they talk about

Day 41 (My Wasteland)

She had T.S. Eliot tattooed on her side, a huge ego and matching pride, she was my Hyacinth girl, and I turned her into my wasteland, disgraced and bent flesh under hand, we wriggled and writhed, while she looked for forced entry, I tried to bruise thigh,

Belladonna the lady of the rocks, she slammed ashore, and begged to be treated as a whore, and I granted her this simple kindness, clenched fist around long hair, the tug the pull and gasp for air, neither here nor there, time was lost,

We were rats in the alley where the bones of men were lost, the frost of her icy stare, ripped the humanity clean from my eager bone, for a brief moment we were not alone, honed goals and missions, disturbed by our persistence,

Hurry up Please it's time,
Hurry up Please it's time,

The soft Thames would run softly until we finished our song, laying waste to our land, the dust would settle, and fog would lift, so clear was the rift,  we were the rats in alleys, set to scurry at the sight of cats, but never would we feel guilt, for our brushes with humanity.

Hurry up Please it's time.

Day 40 (Short Walks On Long Tangents)

Feet slam to cold pavements moving featured black

The fanning thoughts of a lackluster color

On newly papered walls

Skim through

Our current insecurities log book for returns and deliveries

The curtains closed

So no one can look in on our view

Of the streets winding

Through fickle thoughts of isolation

On to how it is to be in the crowd

Impatiently waiting

For sugar swirled milk brown social lubricator

Down the yellow blur crossing guard stations

The tender heart pitter pats

Proving veins still run the course

Behind muscles mass equations

This is jubilation

So look fast to birds chirp and laugh

Defying electric paths

On single stranded wire

Admire

Simple beauty in the lost long walk 

It's twelve steps and then twelve more

Light shines and refracts

In the shaped glass

Of a simple red blue

Shifting rainbow's optical illusion

Cris-crossed the cold wet grass

Beneath covered feet

No feeling

'Til it soaks in

To wool cotton combinations

Further down and haunted

By the smooth crackling sound

Of a new blue

The sky crawls in

Speaks slow

Soft

Whispers to hidden ear

Wispy hair

The breeze speaks in lies

Picking up on your love of sparkling eyes

Determined smiles 

It's just easy in a hard way

Walk slow to slipping shore

Crawl deep and breathe in

It's the salty fate

Of the potato crisp diet's weight

Removal

Sans trans fat revolutionary

Breathe deep

This world is scary in a beautiful way

Day 39 (Something Phalic This Way Comes)

They say Moses used a staff to part the red sea, but to me, that's a metaphor for your soon to be lost virginity, the  constant strain, looking through the first refrain, of this book held so dearly by some, written and bathed in blood, it sits waiting in hotel bedside drawers, reading pleasure, simplistic metaphors from times lost and forgotten chapters, now history is written by victory, and apparently that's scary, but I'm a competitive asshole, so maybe I'll write a little story, about my personal glory, after all love the sound of my own voice, even in the written word, I flex and test, muscle to flesh, burn a certain memory, into the vein, And I feel in my heart of hearts, I to could climb atop a soap box, flex a vocal cord and let lungs squawk, and yammer, stammer through a point deliver a metaphor through blood and placenta I'd give birth to a million book sales, and set ships sails, before they buy nails, it's not hard, to get the collective dick hard,

FUCK FUCK FUCK

Jonah lived in a whale that some say was a fish but I think it jumped the shark.

FUCK FUCK FUCK

Sweet whisper from forked tongue, sent us down the first rung, out of paradise and into hot desert sun, the birth of man and his faithful rib, How's that for women's lib? 

Day 38 (Simplicity and the Blocked Writer)

Tirelessly tired of the tread warn thin juxtaposition heart mind and metaphor but loveless is my nature and my nature is a whore caught legs open and bleeding hairline receeding this is the impending doom they prophisized when we were young with hope in our eyes simple tear drip twist turn and fall to runner's wall torn down brick by brick to fit a mold's broken cracked and shattered recolection of what or who we are and should be.

Day 37 (I gave up before I even started)

Excuse me miss but I wanted to exchange platitudes,  harmless words and positive attitudes, show signs of listening, When really it's your eyes that are glistening, but I'm sure this story is enthralling, Mauling, me with information, while we down libations, and work out problems with articulation, but be patient, I'm a loner, former stoner, and rarely find myself respecting, anything I'm physically inspecting,  you see the pretty leg and thigh, has always captured my eye, but rarely does the brain attached, relate to my own mind state, but lets give it a chance, before I resort to finding a way inside your pants, which hug your curves like a racing metaphor, You be the trick I'll be the whore, lets gender bend, the societal trend, debate the right and wrong, when secretly my debate is pantie or thong, I live in two or three worlds, and you've only blown one, now if you tell me you hike and read Van Dyke, then we're probably set for life.

But let's not fall head over heel, I like to maintain an illusion I call real, It'll be great for a couple of months before your realize, that behind the blue eyes, lies, something crazed but not sinister, a creature longing to walk through the blister, the intensity, that carries me, will be the same that buries you, It was through before it started, now don't be broken hearted, we've only just started, Or maybe begun, the point is one more drink and my heads spun, in a circle so perfect, you can appreciate the complexity, so slow down lay next to me, sit and think, we're close the brink, where thoughts become actions, and our bodies unite factions, for simple fluid exchange.

Day 36 (Let's Wake Up and Wonder Who We Are)

Decomposition is so much fun,

No better way then to sit out in the sun,

Oh happy day,

Ive gone away,

Oh happy day,

Now once a time upon,

There was a story,

Nothing gory,

Matter of fact so light that it was sung,

Oh happy day,

I've gone away,

Oh happy day,

I'd tell the story but I forgot,

So now I'll lie to you,

Cause you're so damn hot,

And I can't wait for this to be through,

Oh something to say,

I've gone away,

Hold me close just sway,

I'm laughing and turning away,

Oh happy fucking day,

I'm drunk and feeling this way,

Hormonal spike has me on edge,

The kite string detached,

And is this Melissa Ethridge?

I loved that song,

Please carry on,

Tell me a story,

I wont care about,

So I can display my talent for active listening,

Then maybe we will start kissing,

Do a shot,

And act on what will most likely be forgot,

It's just one night,

Let's make a stand.

Day 35 (First Dates With Me)

Christ almighty its the second coming of a past closeted relationship that set sails and sank before I could clean the stains from my emotional heart strings or other imagery that evokes the sense of being for those who never set foot in the deep dark basement that beget my malcontent. 

 

The tender pitter patter of tiny feet bound and shackled by small town rage this set stage for a second act and the last laugh is yet to be had never took the time to hate the dad and father figure preferred to keep issues in the distant rear view mirror of someone else's bumper sticker laden Volvo the children scream oh no as we pass about the knowledge of how to live our failed lives again set in motion chains or wave like ocean.

 

By the way have you seen that show today? the one where celebrity X makes statement Y soon to lament even though it was forged from the hot cement underneath the feet of his press agent who lives off the tiny red drops of human existence excreted by his clientele. 

 

Now where was I and who are you?

 

Take a minute to tell me about yourself and do it in the form of a question?

 

Through whispered silence the greatest scream can be heard statements of the absurd seem prolific and filled with magical meaning the representation of a culture we make in our own mind its not complex its just convoluted.

 

Now as I have alluded I am looking to meet you build a mental image of the white picket fence I try to tare down the truth is I want to be one of them but cant seem to fit in, fell out of the box a long time ago and cant seem to climb back in but I've always had week upper body strength somewhere behind muscle and exposed vein lies the organs we often use to demonstrate actions of the mind.

 

Some say love is blind, I say love is the determination of the mind to feel commune with another in hopes of creating something divine a simple mystery created by our prolific need to procreate and experiment with our various bodily excretions... Oh hold on Christ sake don't leave... I mean love is magic pixies and fairies and there is no part of me that wants to climb in your regions nary nay my fair maiden please stay... I'll hold the door for you and even pay... I didn't meant to make you feel this way but I was making jest in that unfunny way... Look you're special like everyone else and I have never seen anyone who looked better in that dress, you also read the books that I have seen on the shelves when I enter Barnes and Noble... I hear they are amazing... Daniel Steele has written a thousand by now how could be anything but amazing? She's had so much practice. 

 

Would this have gone better if I asked about your cat?