stream’d @ 7

When you push past death

You search for the motif that blocked your creation

Beginning

To feel like a trope

But the ash outs

You slide shot

Slot the keys in the moment

Made to stray

Picked from the air

Close to the quay

A scar dragged down my typed face

Coz sometimes the words

Slide like momentum

Signed tremendous a cyst once

Signed my nightmares with a kiss

Stayed up till seven with the devil

To write you an eponymous lullaby

The way I move the girls go wild

A look, a touch, a move

Down by belle’s cove

I met jove disguised as a trapped buck

The five points, one, two….fuck

Teresias spoke my life

But I lived it

Fated to find my love in my ashes

To give it breath death

Waking life’s flashes

i am the cancer

your wait and see

confounds my interest

the seconds slip

before my watch eye

seize the way you’ve lost me

 

like the first law

faith in spontaneous dynamics left when you did

 

i don’t mean to be a drip

but i wanna be with you

i wanna kiss you

i wanna know you

all today

for marvin

once i saw the pattern, it dominated me.

 

we are trained by nature to adhere to foreseen likelihood.

anticipation is rewarded, selective pressure excludes chance.

but chances change.

 

i cannot access the “big picture” but i know there’s the unknown. so i know there’s at least one more piece of the information to be known.

whether by me or the objection projection

 

my shadow,

my echo,

my reflection.

pinned together, falling apart

checking the scores

the listed lines

down his cheek

 

the trenches of blood

death on two legs

but who isn’t

 

a bloody disaster

 

“you never heard these guys before?”, with subtle surprise.

 

“no”, with irritation.

the expression of thoughts isn’t my own

these are the ravings of a lunatic

expression of that pathologic, y’know?

 

the disjointed, the inchoate

the gutted formed modes of travel

across the verse

the versions

and diversions

and revisions

 

between two points and oh, that tenuous grip

acceptance that rebirth is merely a forgetting

 

external displacement

 

ecdysis

 

 

forgiveness is merely atrophy

hope is surely mortal dystrophy

 

he’s given in

to the allure escape

he’s given in

 

i’ve lost him now

i turned too late

he wheeled around the corner

‘coma

she fed me a tangerine at the bus stop in the morning
we stuck together until the distance watched us
from the day I drove down the shore road
out past corbett’s cove and the fog clouded the sea
I stared blankly at the perishing memory of citric love.

Terminal of Words

ive been poisoning myself

first i drank life
cut from the same cord as my brothers
i learned to understand we kill trees
but they can live forever

even after i awoke
i thought
life is a deadly potion, a binary motion
(life is one and death is zero)
i believed that there were heroes
and that i could be a hero

but now i drink the poison
i’m addicted

to live and to die

i drink the laughter
i drink the music

i’ve been consumed by nature
and how else could i be

let slip the dogs of war!
cerebus waits for me.

the trees!
oh! i cry sometimes
(and sometimes in a fit of rage)
my fists bleeding of course
i tried to make my mark
but the bark is coarse and i am human

now it’s time to mention antidote.
there is none.

listen:

they can love forever
and i can only dream

from the pages of the scriptured

once i opened my eyes

i shook dogmatic slumber

i saw the forest through the lumber

i saw the use, i saw the labour

could place the mysteries into chambers

uncertained faded, curtained

traded by the worded

for the sameness of the herded

and blameless because we were sure

that God is Truth

and we know God

the day of the Flood

yesterday i dreamed the Flood ended

i dreamed dessication

i dreamed belief

the redoubt held, the kept keeps

ringing in my ears – clicks and shadows

we will lose the war

but have won the battle

kept the wolves at bay

kept the perpetuation

the myth alive, walked the earth

get my gold, get my sense, get my

coz i got to get by

the day of the Flood was the day of the Try

c. baudelaire

Fleurs du Mal

It’s Ennui! — his eye brimming with spontaneous tear
He dreams of the gallows in the haze of his hookah.
You know him, reader, this delicate monster,
Hypocritical reader, my likeness, my brother!