i am not
who i say i was
and aphrodite
is crying gilded ichor
.
i am not
who i adorn in lies
and fragrance
peripheral
.
i am not
who i wish i was
and demeter
begs for stolen grace
.
i am not
a god bathed in truth
my predicament
is callisto’s eternal.
Filed under Poetry
She built a world with her own two hands
Well just give that a thought
And she don’t ever want to make no plans
‘Cause she don’t go outside no more…
~*~
she hasn’t had her medication yet
and she already fell in love with the relentless rain
they all told her she was a crazy pain
as she hung herself upside-down on the crooked rafters
searching for another heart to surrender
but she didn’t find any, no
as all the blood rushed inside her head
and turned her frail lips a deep red
she won’t kiss anyone with a mouth that dirty
until she wipes it off along with her glittering lipstick
and told her mama that she’s sorry
but that won’t be enough.
as of now, the train station is empty
and everyone has left in pursuit of a better life
but she’s still ripping threads off her timeworn dress
and reading profane graffiti out loud
and making her own in the chipped benches
waiting for a vehicle that never arrives
to take her into an unknown destination, for the bad and the better
rendered frozen as time moves on around her.
Filed under Poetry
There’s ten million ways to say an apology
But I could only count five stars blinking out on the palm of my hand
Whispering that this illusion’s grand, and I’m too infinitesimal to understand
How the world works and spins in its torque
How the skies are blue and why there’s rain in June
Why everyone lies and why people die
Why memories are memories, why angels don’t fly
Why chaos reigns in anarchy, and why you refused to say sorry
Even though I was bleeding out in front of you
And how the bruises are evidence for my allegations being true
But even without the vivid purple tattooed on my skin
I could still count every single sin
That you carved with a knife on the back of my heart
Saying you won’t end my life when you killed me with an art
Pressing down, feeling rife, tearing my veins apart
Will you still say this was simply for a restart?
For an iota of the darkest eyes you still call human
Face away from the tragedy and turn your soul to the sun
If those lips are crushed under the pressure of the truth
Fucking scream about everything, they won’t refuse if they knew
About the spinning planet, how they won’t understand it
About the blue skies and rainy day day lies
About death and regrets and how angels can fly
About memories being memories, and chaos made to create
And about how you refused to say sorry while you stood at hell’s gate
I’m at a loss for words, and everything escapes—
There’s ten million ways to say an apology
But I could only count one mouth moving soundlessly at the palm of my hands
Saying that my delusion’s grand, and I’m too foolish to understand
Against the stubbornness and the haze, that you were never one of the ways.
Filed under Poetry
You’re begging for the impossible. You plead the fifth and proclaim it’s the inevitable, but I am as solid as the philosopher’s stone circumscribed within the third chamber of my arcane comatose heart. A paralysed blood flow. A coronary heartbeat. The monitor sinks into an eclectic deadline. You perceived the evidence, assimilated the apnoea, penultimately confirmed the apoplexy with an exorbitant sigh and a commiserating disposition. Castigate my otiose conniption if you must, but it wouldn’t make any goddamned difference if I’m a cello strung across a rainbow crossing in the welkin of the Valhalla or a bagpipe resting against a river of magma and hellfire in the very eviscerating core of the earth. It is but an expendable prestidigitation, smoke and mirrors reflecting spectres in the illusion, so why abjure? He himself said it. It is a moot point in a Van Allen Hyperion. For if the very man Himself cannot prosecute it, then let it occur to your benighted follies that your playing God cannot save me. Don’t make me go back. I won’t do it. I won’t.
Filed under Prose
tiredness, the willow trees
outside are whispering for
quaint attention.
the night is young but i
am dosed with strychnine
and nitroglycerine
and evergreen on my lips—
and i ended up stumbling on
the porch steps and i
ended up sleeping among
the enveloping branches of that
weeping willow tree
Filed under Poetry
“Then he waited, marshaling his thoughts and brooding over his still untested powers. For though he was master of the world, he was not quite sure what to do next. But he would think of something.” ~2001: A Space Odyssey; Arthur C. Clarke
~*~
So say that the tattoos
On phantom skin
Are cobwebs of stars
.
Maybe the atmosphere
That you breathed
Pierce the veil and mars
.
Birthed from singularity
Incandescence of
A binary planet system
.
Suspended animations
Earth’s a play toy
Unbeknownst to realm
.
Hyperspace surrealism
White dwarf on a
Sun’s horizon falling fast
.
Man was built for clever
Whims, yet, they
Are never meant to last
.
Crash through a Stargate
Extrasolar negative
Transcending humanity
.
Tip of an ethereal finger
Detonating dawn
Instilling a false clarity
.
Interstellar absurdities
Ebon polaris pins
Andromeda memories
.
Make way for hydrogen
Of one star child
And its stardust reveries.
Filed under Poetry
A Lost Painting