Gray/Grey 28

You slip up and out feet first
Magnets float past gravity, plant your toes
You hold manuscripts, scribbled dream sequences
This is everything you will ever have to offer
You will claw your throat's corded coffers
For strangers few and far appart
To gratify that which was so almost; unreal?

Let's examine this.

Dark dreams lead leaky eyes to be blackened
Outside while purple skies reflect the tenant's lies
Your inside shines with barnacles and brine
Your urge to let words slip lips and converge
Makes you a target, self-painted for roaming poet claimers
They tarp your wild words with vines and herbs
They trap your bubble speech with trivial weeds and fleas
Bite your own eyes out or seek to see
That nobody really speaks to trees.

But every dreamer seaks to dream, so you must be a prodigy.
Or, unless you claim to know by name the song that remains the same
You are a wicked liar and must be made to spit fire
Not that which you profess, only that made from red silk dresses
Only that carved by hammer-formed messes
Only those listen that can't afford to best it.
Only be real when reality is subjective.

So you use dark skies to undermine the wicked word wielders.
You draw lines that scratch past pleasure.
You must conform to new measures.
And this is discordance.

Do not deem the story dead though until it is.
Until only the real young minds that find time for blue skies
Can reach down and save your life.

You can't really afford not to cry or nobody pays attention.
Weird.

Red #1 (aka "Crunchy Crunchy Carrots")

Sleep softly sweet prince
As swallowtail songbirds serenade your sobering eyes
Wrinkles lie only to testify to nights time, passing by.
Who else cuts shallow and runs red lines across scarlett?
Who but you could breathe sweet ease into such lively debris?
Remains of a name, passed and dropped like watermelons of imaginary stock
Who let go last? Don't know. Could show up in retinal scans
Of the brass bands playing past showtime by five
But nobody stuck around to hear jive shit from Clive and The Kids
Because nobody cares to dance like real people.

Who here said last, in big teeth grins
"I want to be king and sing merrily of better days
When knights were bold and we were told that safety ways
Lie in golden goblets and manuals to long to be read
But just short enough to provide pillow space for a weary head."

Rest soft on paper sod, compost recomposed
Black curls tangle with light swirls, mingle and might burn
But only in divine light, which we are short of tonight.
So enjoy eight hours in your tall purple tower
As the Moon mingles with your doubled chin
Every wrong right will soon be wronged again.

One Tousand

I scurry to settle, subdue, subvert a silk noose
I lick my finger to smear your face
Blur tools erase stains until little remains
But off white and faded black, why not off black?
Why not everyone be free of objectivity?
But I cannot cancel the concerning, the working class.
One cannot surpass the limits of silence until one learns of this.
One cannot grasp violence in the palms of his fists
And let it drip down his fingertips in acrylic wisps
Of fine air, crisp and free on Fridays.
One must allow for arrogance, therefore letting in the cold breeze
Of faded white tee's.

But only on weekends.
During the week it's faded white sleeves.
Listen to the meek and praise their humdrumings.
Without one million little arms to carry your weight
Your subcollective would be emptied quickly by meer men
And then your full features would be emptied again.
What a shame.

What a shame to pretend you stand, unxeroxed.
The revolution will be inside of your television.
You will ignore the calamity like a calm casino bee
You lounge in good graces, gifted by giving arms
Such harm could be avoided were you to lay down your jaw
Let go of this paw, this tale, this lion
Let forth the streams of subtle air bubbles
Until nobody notices the noise anymore.
Because everyone seeks to decompose wholly
But nobody knows that dirt is made from skin
So if we do take what we give as we intend
Then nothing is new, so nothing is left but sad grins
On grimy faces and few traces of that even.

So let it end here, in false pretense
Let imagination emerge from internal combustion
Of sparked synapses and blurted lusting
Let go of grabbing hold and let flow the stone cutter's colds
Soon the sick will control the old
So now the grass is green from decay, not dismay, simple certainty.
Alarming, yes.

Hey look I'm blogging again. Who's excited? I am.

I found this in an email sent to myself two months ago...no idea when I wrote it


Walk through the woods, painting
The trees a yellow string
Watching the world watching you

Stairs where you tripped and stumbled
Led you up to your noiseless
Rooftop view of the downtown scene

The traffic lights turn off
The endless human stars
You point your fingers toward
The world you tore apart

A mountain mouth grew up and
Some sunken eyes appeared
You planned to flood the room but
You're straddled by fears

That any other hands could grace the walls
You topple over
Your flourish is admittance
That painted trees look much too real

This is the first song I've written in four months.

My eyes watch you divide
I'm caught in your cold
In a breeze that could hold
And all your words made of snow
And I know where this goes
I just don't want to give up on all my ghosts
At all, at all, at all.

So would you choose my disease?
The one they can't diagnose
The cure is right under your nose
Or would you rather to know
Well I could tell you you're ill
But nobody could cure those chills
At all, at all, at all.

Well we've always made the best with what we've got.
You let your dreams spill over to your thoughts
You let the clouds and the oceans all collide
You fold me in so I can watch you divide.

Dirt Caked Folds

Take these hands, empty more now than ever
Turn them over, hide the dirt stained lines
Trace the veins over knuckles, kiss the fingers

I want to be used by you.I am a funcion.
I am eyes to see and a mouth to convince.
I am only what I am put to do.
Please do not confound me.
Do not ask me what of myself, what of mine.

I just want to be used.That is all I have for you.
I offer you everything.
Complete and uncomplex.
And yet, this makes me less than human?