Dancing on Shattered Whiskey Bottles

I'm soaring above the insignificant - ants of ignorance - the roof once bound by cobwebs,
clawing out simply by chance.
The astral gasp of breath comes with the rise of a foreign sun
after being smothered for so long.
But this paper mache town weeps
for it has gone black and white.
Watered colors glide along narrow streets
carried by lead rain into iron gutters - onto the road - farewell.

I stretch out my weary limbs
and watch tin-canned automobiles zoom by.
Sealed - packed tight with passengers
hollow-eyed.
And how is it you feel while your away?
I can only wonder - a shadow pinned against the unlit sky
while ever present in my mind you remain.
Alone - defined, to which I shall not comply,
the Vulnerability! sweeping across my nerves like a breeze spinning
in endless circles out of sight.

I want to find love and peace
and I find you.
Here I walk on, lights flicker like wild stars
along the asphalt trail
illuminating a path - Oh! harrowing bars
entwined with hallucinogenic memories.

Remembering the time we spent the night

mad in a frenzy of romance
contorting together set to a staggering tune,
solitude over-passed by the midnight stance
as you passed out fast on my shoulder.

The womb of my brain is left in a buzz
as i flourish in the summer of your smile and
relish in its wind.
Hearty laughs come and go, now retired
like the blossoms of mid afternoon
for there was something missing as days expired.
It now fills up every time we kiss.
Two souls dream - veraciously conspired
cast in Kerouac's shadow, desirous of everything at once

This town is getting old
with its deaf and cross-eyes crowd,
diseased and somber.
My hands continue to seek the end renowned,
mindful nonetheless of when color returns.
When we'll hit the road together
to find that place for which our spirits burn,
to sail off beneath the waning light
without a common place thing to do.
Anticipation - things are looking quite right.

Trifles of the Lobotomy Kid

I cling onto my misery like an alcoholic to his glass,
welcoming anguish and tribulation with open arms.
I've begun this trivial love affair with torment,
it keeps me kicking.
It is my tool, my trade of choice.
I'll record the annals of my woes,
and introduce the world to the lobotomy kid
with his sorry tales,
trying to sell these stories of despair.

This is because I want to be like all the great ones.
The ones that have carved their names into stone.
The ones whose works have been immortalized.
I'm reputed to be the master over my domain of ink and paper.
The composer of words.
The architect of prominent works.
With insight into the somber crevices of existence
and the murky chasm that is the human condition.
But I find the words, instead,
manipulating me.

Here lies my greatest fear.
No longer can i sit with this.
A slowly fading voice whispers disquieting words of insecurity.
Call it misguided,
but the only lesson I have truly learned throughout my days
migrating this neurotic path
is the ill humored truth that people,
the meager excuses for humanity,
are irrational.
If i fall sway to objectivity,
I will find myself compromising the only faculty
that should not be taken from me.
Alas, perfection is the flaw that haunts the mind of humankind.

I perch myself upon these roots of self doubt
and envision a future,
always finding it inane to pierce the miasma clouding it.
But that is the delicate lesson to be learned of harrowing unknowns.
A process of metamorphosis is an inevitable intricacy
and can not be ignored.
Change.
It is the happiest and saddest part of life.

enamel filled reaction

I must have dozed off again
vivid lights flash from the screen
maliciously greeting my blood shot drunken eyes

today I saw a little girl
her demeanor took on a shade of asphalt
I prevail in a plastic reality
a world populated by plastic people
with plastic idea
plastic truths
plastic trends
even plastic faces
and bodies

the human race disgusts me
the lot of them
I don't like their faces
I don't like their grubby hands
I shudder at the sight of their
shit eating
grins

how sad is it
that the mind is no longer the standard of man
but
rather
the things that
he owns

tonight a fog came down upon my town
like an infantry of a hundred unanswered deaths

I'm dozing off again
I glance at the mantle
a photograph
now there's a smile worth remembering

the hollowed out skull of a derelict

a crippled mind is left for dead
and salty tears flood the synapse behind its eyes
the congenial relationships of past have deteriorated into ash,
dispersing through the dry winter air.

a recluse is left floating on an uneasy sea
aspiration is denounced by apathy
hope is incriminated by despair
words of integrity are censured by treachery.

a somnambulist is walking through someone else's dream
in a world of inconsistents
like an apparition roaming between words on a page
artifice builds this cage of golden bars.

Later, Kid

I swallow back against the truth
Its lodged in the cavity of my throat.
I'm choking.

No need to show me the works
I've already learned.
You can run your mouth like the monarch you think you are.
Your deluded words are directed by blind spite.
It makes me think that until after I'm gone for awhile
Then maybe you'll miss me.
I live for myself.
That is my greatest freedom.

I force the anguish back into my chest for now.
I'm choking.

I'm waiting
But I don't know what for.
Perhaps a deus ex machina.
I don't know.

Girl with the Eyes

Fool, that is my name.
How long can we keep this up?
I can't help but feel its a misguided cause.
Yet i sit back and witness the world spin by
Cherishing this laid away seat
Waiting for you to stop roaming and claim it.

Here struggles the girl with the eyes.
Those brilliant eyes,
As if carved out of fine glass, always glistening.
The hollowness of the empty room resonates in her skull.
It resonates in me too.
I see your eyelids are heavy
Anchored down by puzzlement.
But understand this, everyone goes through these routines of self reproach.

I'm caught in a hole that digs itself
But you did this to yourself.
Lonely girl,
I anticipate that you will find resolve in the destitution of your palette.
Still our eyes meet
And it's sucking us both in.
Some people aren't meant to be replaced.
I still got you to sing that tune.

In retrospect the nostalgia is a cancer.
The bane of the paranoid questioning that claws at my nerves.
My mind poisoned by your self doubt and hesitancy,
Deceived like a marionette pulled by its strings.
The silhouette of your despair casts my shadow.
But maybe it will go away when the sun sets
And the smoke of sentimental memories will rise into the foreboding trees.

I find solace in the isolation of this suffocating box.
Lovely girl with the eyes,
I'll watch the days expire.

almost a year ago a defining moment occurred.
"we're becoming dangerously similar to where we were" a friend of mine told me.

it's almost spring.
he thinks the season is having its effect on us rather early.
the seasons seem to hold a transcendental aura, and now it's spring's turn to reveal its nature.
it all amazes me
yet i am troubled.

will it all repeat itself?
i know we're all different people now.
perhaps the table is simply being set again.
but what happens next?