Spasms

Slipping into Silent, Sempiternal Slumber

Howling, rabid emptiness chases the velvet night into a wildfire
Like the tall meadow grass is set to flame, when a wildebeest races across it, and coal-flung hooves collide
Clack spurs breeze spurs spark; Ignite…
And you, you seek refuge from your demons in this industrial, urban cave
Lean over the dark-stained, diamond-patterned, leather-clad and red velvet bar
Fidgeting fingertips drumming contemplative brooding into the stale air
Amaretto sour in a lowball, like a smooth, solid paperweight cupped in your caressing palm –
There was a time, in your glazed reverie… a warm, solid breast cupped in your caressing palm…
Oh those starburst eyes, spun from star-death kissed dreams, engulfed in yesterdays closely held far-aways –
Those young, ripe aspirations, like invincible silver-screen tutti frutti morsels
Almost turned the mountains to gold
And now, reconciled and bored; You pull at frayed, tender threads
Ply the mocking hands of fate with slurred quotes from unfinished poems that tremble
As you recount needle-sharp trials, that left clichéd burnt dreams rife with ghost souls –
The aftermath of cruel, crushing disappointments
It doesn’t actually matter how you got to here
To this here; sitting at this bar, belly warmed by this Italian-crafted aphrodisiac that melts the webs in your mind
Lets your skin breathe and loosens the macraméd bondage of your tongue
Until there are no walls, no blurs nor lines to censor the blunt within your words
You consider that while you are typically congenial; Blunt will do just fine at the moment
As into the liquor-fumed air you direct your attention toward fates tyrannical existence
Launch a stern admonishment to remove its sadistic tentacles and reacquaint past with present –
The babies breath with the lamb
Reignite the tingling anticipation you once felt up and down weathered and stiff vertebrae seams
Fill your head with origami clouds that spin your mirages into jeweled wings
Which carry your shoe-boxed reflections, metaphors, notions and half finished creations
Into this current, resigned, vanilla existence
Carve the dim air surrounding you into the dazzling fireworks that swirl through your imagination
Like the wheel of life nailed to that stubborn tree in the corner of the yard
Its spinning needle spitting sparks that heat your blood –
Snap your gloom like crispy bones
Burn into your skull, to relieve the pressure that your contorting fingers can’t massage away –
Husk that ritual, of fingers to temple, that provides an impotent mute at best, of the riotous, tolling spasms that throb
Or at least maintain some semblance of mediocre pain between the fingers and the booze…
It’s funny how no one knows your name
You’re like a smeared chalk outline on the wall
But your face kind of resembles someone that someone thought they saw somewhere, some time ago
You suppose that’s better than nothing
And return your attention to the molten liquid that loosens clenched vocal chords
Considering that possibly no one would think you sane if your lips moved in an attempt to scold demons
Despite those same cynics revering a faceless, bodiless specter called karma –
Of whose evidence you’ve never witnessed, and whose name you’ve spat toward hell
However, you have wintered with fate, its stingy, cruel, decrepit fingers twisting, squeezing your hand
Dragging you into its bone yard of the puppeteered forsaken
Where it climbs on the backs of demons, its egg-sized, wobbly eyes and arthritic claws digging beneath their thick skin –
It goads them to suck the juice from lottery ticket souls until they wither into shrunken tombs
To harbor nothing more than disappointment, faded eyes and sawdust…
Demons have known you well, dwelling in your mind, and in your house
You’ve seen them creep from behind the curtains
Seen them drag their dead limbs across the room when sun dust settled and the shadows fell
Heard the bed groan as they climbed in beside you
Hissing, yammering creaky-breathed soliloquies about a wasted world
Hammered into your pounding head lotus dreams unfolding 13 years of nightmares
Where crow, feather, beak and bone foretold that this apocalypse was your Everest, and –
“Another?” disrupts, returns the present, so you study your glass in its knuckled perch
And decide that there comes a time when fate must learn that you’ve had your fill
“Whiskey, neat, I’ve had enough of the former,” you remark, as you conclude that we each have our own demons
Some haven’t entered battle yet, some have already lost, some are still putting up a fight, while some have won
And insane can be a lovely distraction; You’ve no quarrel with her allure
So they can be damned, with their pointy fingers and clucking tongues, you think
But now, it’s time to scoop up hell and send it raining down
While you stand firmly on the ground, and on the brink

Bereaved Shadows

Spiral Steps Summon Shamanic Symbiosis

I took you to the keeper of secrets
Your webs spun in the ceiling corners, thick and heavy with bits of blood, bone, truth, lies and pain
Too late to forgive or forget monstrosities built on deceiving ground
There are no demons that can withstand your venom –
But there are demons that can crawl in your hell
Shaking destruction and death from their ratty hair
Spitting cynical vengeance from their empty-holed sockets
While their gnarled, sticky fingers scrape the ground into wounds –
Caverns deep and horrid, that weep years of disenchantment and abandonment
Slithering tongues that lick at bitter shadows, sucking down bile like candy
Beneath a cursing moon, churning with despondent love
There is no light falling here, to soften this dank, mossy wasteland
To caress its loss
Or the futile sacrifices
To slice through screaming, begging words, that litter the frozen ground like crumpled corpses
Anger and hate co-mingled in passionate syllables –
Built from blazing memories –
An inferno of screeching blades as they saw through breastbone
To mangle, eviscerate vein from heart
Spurting unspoiled sweetness onto crumbling headstones
Red-stained devotion turned to tears of tar
The dead don’t sleep here
Misery picks at bones
Emptiness swallows time and drowns it in a bloated belly –
A whirlpool where bereaved shadows howl
Wispy fingers reaching for their displaced afterlife
Charred misconceptions, bloodstained recollections, infested deceptions
Hissing through the trees –
A death rattle
A thousand limbs writhing, rejected by mercy
The dead don’t die here
Their shadows don’t speak of memories beneath this caustic lunar sea…Stillbirth
Despite words and gestures –
Fate is the fearful masses solace
Best buried and left untended, left to the curdled weeds –
No words harvested onto cold, smooth cement to worship its fallacy
No tears, no lust, no blood lost to this graveyard
Let its bones dry and crack
Wait for the full moon and I’ll meet you there where our madness
Will muddle those bitter fruits into sweet
We’ll drink until reckless and blind to plebeian, defective drivel
Smash our way through the acerbic crust of this suns bitter harvest
Lay naked on the flowery hillside spewing words of noetic soulfulness into the ashen atmosphere
Until our last breath gives up our hummingbird shadows
Shadows that speak

Desert Soul

Peaceful Paragon

I can’t grasp my breath, can’t see its shadow
Unwrapped by a thousand gasped cuts, razor sharp
That have punctured the sun
I can’t feel my fire –
Inhale its spirit into my souls desert
Permeate my chiaroscuro and my greys with scent and color inbetween –
Pigment alchemy in this carved indigenous wasteland
Where is the water?
Where is the water?
Where is my thirst?
Where is your thirst?
I’ve lost my counsel; Spinning stars tilt the sky, leave me with convulsing eyes
You say I should seek the wisdom of your elders –
Feather and sage in your hands to send me on my way
I am stravaging your red road by moonstone –
Between thorny tumbleweeds, cacti spurs, mica shards
Amid iceberg caves with screaming visions
Dreams of twisted symbols that solicit extraction; Meanings in motion, poured
Dousing dust, rusted sockets, and dead roots
Stones turned reveal cliff notes
Braided vines to scale brail canyons littered with corpse histories –
Reach the inclines leading beneath tangerine cliff overhangs
Where messengers shape what speaks within each seasons almanac
And your eyes welcome me, urging my sight toward the promise surrounding me –
Bones restrung with succulent thread –
It’s sinewy, linen web glistening with knots of perpetuity…
And thus, an unfolding; A spewing cornucopia
Birthed into this dry, wretched, sun-cracked inertia
All of this mealy precipitation baked into my veins, like cracked pottery
Having been left in the chimera too long
Ah, but, firefly particles weave dandelion seeds in the thin-veined air
Delicate reminders that burst like ice crystals on the sun –
Or sunflower petals in your mischievous eyes
Pearlescent and balmy
And my riddles are diffused, take flight on the bohemian wings of gypsy moths
I breathe again my ancient secrets
I know each curve and pattern, each trace and continuum…
Rushing through me
I am nothing
And everything
My chamomile eyes flowering