Day 72 (How you left me)

Pin pricked the fingers thin licked

trickle down financial proclamation

fear summation

 

it was love lost through pains cost

and drains simple swirl

that stole the little girl

that never will be

the princess you cannot see

 

little hand and little foot to wave a stiff goodbye

the lie

the lie

no ones bitter

but this sad room lacks a pitter

and patter of hearts unique batter

 

bladder full cup drawn thin

you win

with my passion for sin

a delectable twin

for your incomprehensibly thin frail frame I thought I could tame

Day 71 (Things I Thought When You Died)

Someone told me I couldn't take a life

with the smooth slice

of tongues lashing

fore front of the gnashing

gleaming

paid for perfection

waiting

to sink fast

to the bump thump

past arterial cavity

oh to search and devour

the rush for this simplistic

lust

the craving to cease

the raving ventricle slam

and

thrust

through the soon carved bust

a wilting sense of empathy

has dimmed sweet light

bringing early night

and

the last curse

to run past lips purse

hits flesh with smooth mist

soon to sink in the cool wind

to try and dry

 

They will say you had to die

Day 70 (What I said to you)

Hello my darling

your curves are charming

but don't find it alarming

when my hand gets out of touch

with the smooth crutch

your hips were made to clutch

 

Please elate me

turn and hate me

this is our fate see

bound and tenable

a tap dance skeletal

separation will be brutal

 

We push and push and push

 

Please lets move on

put some clothes on

the sun it nears dawn

fast is our folly

crawl to the yellow trolley

anywhere said lips of Molly

 

We push and push and push

Day 69 (Ouroboros in Spacetime)

Dreams of what may come paired with imagined kingdom, a future past in pretense this blood makes no sense, from where doth it spill and from where doth it fill in a pool of lust we fail clinging only with a prehensile tail our bargain is made our bill is paid but we twist on a mortal coil to be kept in tinfoil the leftover of the past over, here's the stand in front of Zeus we demand to see the savior to watch our behavior. Oh man in my sky, oh demon in my eye roll me over and pull me under make your bed be ye fed pray to your air find a bridge follow the dare.

Day 68 (Existential Alphabet Metro Blues)

The glory of self realization is found in mental masturbation

the simple stroke tug and pull of metaphors

the Jungian theories that perpetuate

our thoughts for so long 

so long and good bye

my friend it has been fun for a while

but I

choose denial

so please leave me for a while

 

I wanna go home but there is no home to go to

so I wonder through this empty mind

to escape

exchange one landscape

for another

 

happiness

the over rated

letter R 

nested between Q and S

Two before U

and jump one for T

 

Disallow 

The here and now

to control the past and then

tense is a state of mind

and grammatical means

Day 67 (Things I Thought Before You Left)

I saw the wind waft through your hair

Carrying with it the sweet smell of some cheap shampoo

You stole when you borrowed the shower

In my lofty apartment

How I wish you would die

So slowly here with me

In the splash of sunshine

We tried to clean in the back yard

But you wont stay

No you will go

Just like the rest

You are tired of this show

So baby please would you just go

So I can move on

But we're alone here

In each others firm grip

We're together for just one more sip

no regrets dear its been a fine trip

Just close your eyes its one last kiss

The fight is over and you will be missed.

Day 66 (A Trek Downriver)

raw gaping maw 

close to the surface

steel jaws closing in 

surfacing up for air

screaming last breaths

breathing a sigh of relief

relieving discontent

reliving malcontent

disjointed joint session of congress

smoking a joint

smoke'em out of their hole

stoke the fire

stroke the ego

egotize the Strokes

egrets of regrets

ducklings of discord

Day 65 (What I would tweet provided I had a Twitter account)

Waiting for the white LED blinking walking man's new dawn coming round corners bleak emotionless streak to this that and the other white meat.

Day 64 (My Fascination with Fuse Boxes Personified)

Longing for connection

In your pores I plugged in

to draw strength from your imperfection

and power pointless grin

 

Blow your circuit dawn

Look for the switch

in your box under lawn

To turn you back on pitch

 

You complete me

if only for a minute

You defeat me

If only I could win it

You long for what daddy never gave

So I say that I love you Lass

you writhe wriggle and rave

Lost in the illusion of our hulking mass

Day 63 (When the spreadsheets went away)

It's the cold cut color of a face lost tissue paper stucco wall mountains fallen housing situation baby this is what we were facing between the newly painted corner we were once backed into.

Head down and full of hole we cannot pass through limitations set game and matched with whits end.

Have you found what they tell you to need love and bleed the colors in the luke warm of a washing tumble turn and twist of soon to be hand dried cotton linens and things.

Fold hand to placate dramatic slide into fantasy dramatizations of our futures past endeavors in the color of white and key of C this is our evolutionary path from many to one to nothing and finally to realize itself.

But can you fill the gullet nestled soft under sharp skin hanging fast below the flapping sails of opinions long lost wooden toy boat?

Day 62 (My Glass Love)

Glass is the chamber

pumping the polyurethane

through thin crystal veins

object of desire

caught this tinder on fire

burnt down the bog and mire

you spoke

with the will and whisper

of a human

split and forked tongue

the manipulation started slowly

and

built so you could know me the inherent possibility

of picket white fences

behind dark eyes

so a heart flutters and flies

easily caught in a web of lies

left with lame spider vs fly metaphors

the pen pad prison cell

verse segment line

constructing my own hell

memories will never fade

the longer we tip toe and wade

through the stream of consciousness

anointing egos with ambergris 

for the appeal and momentary bliss

of the un-remissed

seconds inside

soon forgotten hide

torrid and tepid 

my transgressions

sting on soft flesh

but still you sparkle and shine

glimmering whine

through my simple mind

have to

want to

need to

hold the exquisite

mold and curve

smooth edge will slice

leather flesh bend to will's bite

a welcome early night

Day 61 (Dairyland Disaster)

Pent up and penned down, pin me to this ugly rind. Pinioned by time seeping in through holes in my exterior, holes in my defense, the rime creeping up around my toes, clenching my nose with its acrid stench. The hindquarters of the beast of burden yearn for relief from burrs and blur with motion too stunted to measure and too calloused to pleasure. Its treasure is in its misery, fissuring from within, bursting note after note in its throat trilling and laughing and thrashing around, dashing me to the ground, for its misery cannot be contained, it shall retrain old ways into new days, saying "please" and "thank you" and "kindly won't you shove it sir." Eyes limp with pain lick the air and paw the quivering ground; look down you cow, don't you dare raise your stare up to the heavens, heaven knows what you'll find that will find you shivering in the dark slithering to make its mark upon your heart, stark and cold, killing and thrilling the old whey of your new milk, suckled by your ilk. 

Day 60 (Apparently I can fish my stream of conscience)

Some

        spat

      on

         sun spot

 marks

         dotted

                  across

     lost spine

  to

     intertwine

the curves

              swerve

and

        dine dash

of our

         loves last laugh

this was the first

                      end

to the beginning

                    chapter

of the good book

                          of false ideas

                              and

cognitive recognition

                              of nouns

our profound existence

                                life in remittance

and it was what it is

                              or is not what it wants

I never plea bargain

                            this chip

                                       to your

closed clenched tight fist

                                    squandering moments

for the societal bliss

                            of the sweet

candy cotton

                   pants of

                                four fathers forgotten

                  alliteration

              out patient procedures

                                    bring us closer

  tight knit family

                        stocking caps

          this is that.

Day 59 (Questions from desks)

Liars will lay slow through days toll to tales tell and weak heart felling.

                                            Oh, lumberjacks of our hidden thoughts hack fast through bitter bark.

                               Swing quick with steel cold axe.

Now where is your slow drip the disturbed waisted prospect of nothing much in the much of nothing state of being you so seldom deny? 

                   Is the flannel wrap of your muscular structure torn by daily toils? 

       Does the sweat flick fast of fingers quick brush? 

                            Does closed chest inflate through swells of pride?

                                                                      Or

                

   are you strapped behind beige walls, twisting on undefined man's silver shining hook?

                                  Is the clock your whispering black master?

                                                             Or

                                  

                 better still have you sat below the working class?

   Thrusting paper personifications of ones tangled self in hopes of a simple bell and ring?

                Is luster of life the turquoise stain on your brushed copper plating?

                      This is the blessings miss counted of the modern era.

Day 58 (Things coming to morning minds)

Caught up on wire coat hang over turning sensation and this new burning patch below oval umbilical remains

I see you found my shirt and satin is easy to stain

So now could you tell me your name?

I'm sure it was nice to meet you and Id love do it over. 

God it's getting hot in here and I can smell fear and yesterdays consumption, I'd offer you cab fare but I can't find my wall, let me finish fishing this stream of thoughts rhymes and am I out of milk again?    

Why is standing so much harder than it was before?

Day 57 (Writer's block continues but I found this on a napkin in a box)

Tossed and turned martini shaker of this heartless born again Quaker state of mind set game and match this is the last laugh of the first beginning never ending wind blown fast sewn stream of up down washed out bank loans and financial statements of fact and ill repute this was loves loss in the bathroom stall of engines churn burn ice creamed turn of events happenings the promised land of cramping hands and emasculation this is one nation under god and over all

Day 56 (I cannot seem to write anything worthwhile here are notes from a meeting I attended the other day)

• Exercise this ethereal motion strengthen muscles bound ocean shores floating past messages filled with bottles of human clay molded like the awnings above a forgotten fireplaces

• The highlighter burnt my eye seared it shut while the tie choked off my air supply and I was high up in the sky supposedly it makes me feel alive. 

• Am I awake or am I sleeping... this cannot be real... I cannot be here... I'm really outside with a nice breeze... The sound coming from this speaker is really just an annoying seagull trying to steal my sandwich. 

• You make me want to believe in God... because if there was a God, you would be punished for this.

• Hey great idea a 4 hour meeting to determine that we should have a weekly meeting... fucking genius.

• Are you reading what I am writing?  Does it fucking make sense?  You aren't reacting to this but you are clearly reading over my shoulder.  Do you enjoy this awkward moment like I do?  No reaction still maybe you are just asleep, or you can't read my shitty hand writing.  Can you read this?  I am mainly just writing so people at the table think I care.  Do you think I care?  Do you want a hug?  I want a hug... you are clearly not reading this... I'm both disappointed and obviously paranoid.

• Accruals, Moneys, Reimbursables... I should try and write poems using these words... better yet how bout I just forget I ever learned these terms... yeah that's comforting.

• Her eyes are ravenous.  They are pecking at my feeble carcass.  Tearing flesh from bone.  I want her and she wants me.  It's a lot like Romeo and Juliet.  Each of us working for the other's enemy.  We should break free from our chains.  Forget this fucking project.  Jump over the table and out the window.  Running like deer through a field into an unknown sunset.  This is love... wait... what the fuck did she just say?  Well that was fun while it lasted.

Day 55 (Writer's Square)

nothing comes to mind

nothing brings  a shine

no thing to unbind this

my feeble addled mind

want to unwind a little

thoughts  feeling blank

Day 54 (Charlie Sheen's future present to the past)

Calm and complacent

Marred in this basement

we dig and toil

through cold soil

this dance is decadent

set forth precedent

bent before broken

river boat token

 

I only see pennies

Day 53 (F Words)

Fuck Fast For Friends
Financial Fate Found
False
Fame
Federal Flame
Fiscal Faucet
Flow
Fond
Fawn