this is all old stuff. apologies extended to all anxiously awaiting the next post...

nov.2010

Stone skies heave their dust on these bones. Film reels & rears/ whinnies & bucks, sticky & clinging to the flesh. Adolescent cries & adult whimpers scatter the chance pieces of dark from corners of rooms & backs of torn nickelodeon screens. Filth/ fashion & fame peruse highways & scum riddled good riddance back alleys. Chubby girls in made up slant eyes & sideways smiles sell soul in street cornered & neon choked veins. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Trickle down goes their ethereal imagery & velveteen songs, smooth along backs of throats and planular thighs. Heels grind no-good goddamn bones into strobe light infinity. Black medallions ordained by the idol ideal & good & all things just/simply/merely servants to servants or is it the other way round?

nov.2010

There will be no quotes. No legacy. No long-winded orators of hope & silence to quicken pulses, open the dusty lungs of bated breath & grease eye sockets to the realities of air & the sky from which it quietly rains. No billboards with plastic faces plastered slogans branded, whipped, scared, scarred & starred in private horror tarnished silver screen. No idle idols to languish & love & lust. No tired old men, old women to revere in modest mock futility. No fruits to labour, till or toil/long withered on the vine sustenance will be found in the nothing maxims, proclamations ululations, ultimatums, decrees & dilapidated constructs of so called wise men & mad ravers alike. No beasts, no behemoths or leviathans with their steel bones, powdered stone flesh & great staring eyes by the thousands. No more death march on the clock/whistle bound & gagged monikers/monkeys, logos & pathos in the theatre of our lives.

nov.2010

Horses. Thousands of them. Many riderless but most bearing the weight of gaunt men & pale women. All bound in a soul rotting damp. Driven by fleshy machinery infinite hooves tamped the earth & drove out clouds of dust, now forced to wander it rose up over the endless prison of parched ground to survey that which had for so long kept it within deceptively secure walls. But this freedom would not last. The force which had so liberated soon ran its course & when it could no longer sustain let slowly & quietly tiny frames to rest on flanks, threadbare woolen shoulders, musky hides & dirty scalps. This wall of gaseous earth silently settled, a mottled grey which rendered shuffling animals & their curious cargo, the earth beneath them all & the sky above, a deadened & choking nothingness. Consuming it all save for the blacks & whites of eyes all red rimmed & frosted glass.

nov.2010

Bring along sing-song diaries & story book journals that tell, speak & dream of our petty lives, pretty wives & insignificant others. Thought/full/ or empty our shells weigh the same as they did before. Brought to the feet of virgin mothers, we are told, in the old language, that for all of our imagined wrongs there must be a thousand writes. But that which we cannot speak must surely bear no voice, bare no choice, naked & aware of the elements we find ourselves in dire need. More so than one could imagine. Let them have our shivering sweat bound drowned & blistered bodies. Is it contrived if I think before I speak? When I trap letters is it me telling the page or do these words, already spoken a thousand times over, spring from the surface upon which I scratch my mighty pen. Too many answers & not enough questions these days/these days try too hard, much too hard to rake the muck from souls bored & polished already. Give it a rest. A fiery breast brought forth first the mutterings of our lies. Tongues know better/followed suit soon & swallowed the minutes till our clocks clung to wrists & wrangled from the mountains fell the hour glass rain, felt not heard the world round. Lick script & tip the scales in your favour/pinch salt in a fervor & pour a heaping helping between each syllable for good measure. Don’t take too long, mind you, it won’t wait when messages come/go & arrive sometime back again. Don’t get used to it. There are pillars of fire beneath your feet & a black boiling sea above your heads. Ramble with causeways & cobwebs, tread lightly on your centuries old dust for we will all arrive in good time.

nov.19 2010

Come in from the night, from the cold. Join the congregation. All of us missionaries, dumb-luck, honour bound saints & sickly sons of chance. All of us spreading the seeds of dissent, diseases distant & wisdom rooted in long rotted flotsam/logjam & jism of soul. Meaty mediators of angel/devil quarrels & conundrums of the spirit & the sight. Daily fixtures on the idolatrous beg, borrow & steal scene. Wandering through streets camouflaged chameleons & crying for the morning dirge. Death hymns & funerary fractured & faded/hand chiseled & scribbled stones of cold granite time without end. Skirts & johns mingle in backroom/bathroom deals speaking whispers & trading flesh for pride, the only stock they can muster from pockets empty, lint failures climb & cling from shadowy finger dented depths & long forlorn forgotten rotten scenes they once twice maybe just told one another had starred in. actors, divas, playboys and prima donnas lustered behind wax eyes & smiles garnered & gardened tilled plucked & sold to the highest bidder. Bicker long into the night with my inner voice. Driven from pastures green & without end to the edges of scrub rock brush alpine limit lakefronts & seascapes. Nosing the ground with sinuses raw & begging for the sound & the fury. Bury the senses in a tunnel of shame. Better than these barren rocks & gold veined hillsides & fronts. Affluence lost but not forgotten heeds the call of nature’s wild/tamed & bitter heart to the sweet end.

dec.4 2010

Lucid eyes gathered what others left behind. Felt rather than seen the discarded/disused/diseased amidst their wake. Life gathers here, at the fringes, at the corners of eyes & just beyond reach. Where evenings cloud settle & wait for dawn & strings of hidden song tease ears & spines ache & shudder at the between the lines/between the lives of those we bring & those who seem at least for a while within our own. A magic I once held between thumb & forefinger that I could not only touch but taste. Matter/mattered where there should be none, or something like it I guess. Voices rose, slow & measured in a syncopated staccato sort of way, like waking sleepers timed & predictable pantomimes of dream world roles/perfectly cast & hardly ever out of place, unlike here where so often we are found loitering/the solicitors of doom.

dec.5 2010

These days, trains of iron. Earthbound meteors, astral bodies heavy with our burdens & powered by our greed/feed & seed slowly the open plains with a steady rain of second rate dreams & visions. Gathered nightly in starlit sacks that all too often let the light through, illuminating the would be/has been/neverland hands bitten by the ones they feed so loving & careful. Those missed during these unearthly, nocturnal rounds rest easy till the morning’s mist. Later they meet on spongy green fields, virgin verdancy & unknown earth. What a bloody phalanx they make. Stone tipped spears, hand me downs & charity cases, full of bloodlust, need & must, greet with a stillness untouched & abnormal quiet unshaken. Strange, but when the curtain falls the roar & wave of applause swept them under, a vast, vacuous legion of sleepers. Eyelids soft &, easy now, tensed knuckles in repose/sighs settle like dust upon a field worn & weary, stirring only slightly as a whistle distant & lazy, whispers & sputters under a chalk white moon.

dec.15 2010

Stair steps creak & creeps towards me the measured & precise footfalls of fate. So carefully have I prepared a place for her to sleep alongside me. We sink down in dead sea slumber, shoulder to brittle shoulder & head to feet with ageless & seamless time upon time. Stirred & surprised the sand settles, orderly & precise. A geometry unscrawled & otherwise ignored by the likes of us. Our hands do not touch, nor do we welcome the warm, paper crisp wings of doubt to trickle & murmur their soft songs of sorrow & deceit.

dec.15 2010

Daylight breaks & falls to pieces, tumbling over the yet sleeping ground. Unaware it seems, birds begin sing song reveries as the mourning washes over them like a heavy, longing sigh. Paralyzed with indecision, dew drops flash their stolen light until their resolve slowly & invariably fades away.

dec.17 2010

Lazily drawn shadows down on fours & hard luck bring gifts of solace, solid & distinct. On porches unkempt, the heads of helping hands unpaid/lips pursed & tongues coined for catchy, all-night pop slang & empty pocket cerulean lullabies.

dec.30 2010

Alluvion skies boil & burn like knees on fours. Come to pixelated pussy & fractured facsimile smiles. But why all the madness, why bring the battle to our door. Sanctuary forsaken & through wires in walls runs loose the current carries these ghostly voices to our ears. At one time I’d like to think we were beautiful & we bore pride on our heels/a weight healthy & welcome to the touch. This song I have written for no reason & relentlessly, manhandled unloving these words. Not without a certain affection, an affliction of care & wary respect. Who am I to say but I want these things to be my own, a secret place I always wanted but never found. Whispered worries reign supreme. The hermit on his sleeve wears a silken heart bleeding.

the cold light settled in the pit of our minds while through a looking glass, finger smudged & hazy, we drank the stars. we took in their stark familiarity, their beautiful sadness filled us with an empty hope that, though without direction, in our dreams pierced the hearts of a thousand souls. our wake traced pale memories crooked and easy to follow. wasn't it always so obvious weren't we always so slow to see won't the day arrive when these burning suns swim a little further from our shores?


















ae.

the roads along which the prophets walked are littered with silence. disparate remains of faithful whispers & righteous sighs. devoted dust motes hang upon sun stained air with unreal clarity & unclear intent. padded footsteps mirror war drums on the breeze & the horizon bound stare on their collective countenance echoes a history long forgotten, a wiped clean slate wrapped & pressed warm to the breast like an holy infant. helplessly tangled amidst wooded beads, strung pieces of silver & gold kissed by the commencing hammer & delicate, brittle grass, dried by centuries & woven with knobby fingers. once green & growing & gently laid to rest under the heels of some wizened & sagging forebear.















ae.

i once knew a man who hardly spoke a word at all. less still did his whispers speak harshly of others. to those who knew him & those whose circuitous orbit brought them eventually to each other again & again, & from time to time. he seemed more a curiosity, an intriguing at first, yet seemingly easily solvable mystery, a childs riddle of human existence.

often he found himself treading upon unstill waters. spume kissing the worn heels of his feet. a sea of resent. he would wander between countless creaking hulls & cracked keels. yet he smiled as he did so. a welcome port he had opened for these vessels, welcome to those who deemed it necessary, appropriate or justifiable to harbour there.














ae.

with an atypical, earnest, & grand sweep were loosed ribbons of sky. shredded remnants of a studded & shuttered divine ear. crystal meaninglesness & stillborn lights tittered & trembled under the ambrosia caress of the void. touched by a profound, beautiful sadness that sometimes kindled & flickered at the corners in the eyes periphery or when the time seemed right to rise & consume with wanton angst once darkened pupils now opalescent now wise now nowhere to be seen.
























ae.

coffee & legs & a thousand years inbetween/thighs, sighs & worm eaten swirling lies/at the heart of this matter & form & substance...




















ae.

thrift store angels & cast away saints watched from dark, shadow clotted alleys. we felt their eyes, burning globes that did not dwindle or diminish come the rains. a cold, dead stone rose stiff in the sky carrying upon pock marked shoulders an immense burden of time. the great eye in the night firmament could not see us as we stole away to our own murky corners, on the fringes of dim light mirrored & transported across the void. with what care we were placed here, i thought, with such alacrity of our dependence upon light. a holy thing, its absence refulgent amidst the blackest of our dreams, the ghastliest of faces astride tireless ebony steeds whose whinnies & snorts so sharply supplant us from slumber...
























ae.

upon your blue & ivory marbled skin, along your arched & supple spine,
subtle incantations lay, & faintly fading magick lines

with trembling shoulder i retraced them there, for sake of clarity,
not an act of distant interest nor of selfish charity

ancient longing guides my hands & drops me to my knees,
into the soil in which i sink flows freely my disease

i ate your words & used them to finish your sentences,
i came here hungry to be taught, as one of loves apprentices

i toiled long into the night, under the auspices of hate,
in dark still hours passed a fury, roaring spate

these visionsdreamsthreads of time were quickly sewn unto,
the aether of my quiet space was struck & pierced by you




















ae.

while the eye of distraction & glimmering lights
kept you up undreaming through long, cold nights
did you ever stop to wonder or entertain the thought
you arent the victim arent the target of some faraway plot
as the curtain falls to dress the naked floor
opens for the young man a bare & shivering door
in a scarlet flowing river comes a rush of blood
within his hands as they reach begins the mighty flood
the burden of stale memory & tales untold
brings roving minds & hungry hearts back into the fold
under greedy watchful eyes & a heavy hand
driven from greener pastures to some desolate land
bare teeth grimaced scraping arid earth
seeking high searching low never what its worth
but if you fall out of line & turn your head to the sky
an empty void stares back without telling you why
breathe deep the dust from a thousand souls dead
all the while widens deeper the chasm in your head
high above in wooden towers climbs on cobbled feet
far below gazes at rain damp & dirty streets























ae.

“better to watch your feet from the shadow to the tip” she said. Words I never understood. As implied by her languid tone and belied by her agile form, the sinewy strength of her words, though firm and determined after her sometimes manner, left no mark upon my parchment paper skin.


















ae.

your legs wrapped limply, loosely round my waist though their slack form belied a tension, or lets call it potential, a hidden energy that dispelled even the draft from the open window next to our bed from tickling or causing to stray out of rigid place one follicle in nearly hysteric anticipation. acutely aware of little legs draped across my frame, hairs, a thousand million of them, tiny daggers. these i felt. but i was not aware of feet. soft soled, calloused, clammy or bearing invitation to touch i could not tell. an unwavering band of light stretched across picturesque, rumpled sheets, rising and falling over valleys and into crests with grace and ease. a perfunctory action, though an exquisite display nonetheless. i thought of our bodies, so clumsy and misguided in comparison, as my eye ran the length of liquid light to the precipice of our quiet, quilted world.















ae.

i set down my words with care. gently. paper boats sewer bound, guttural and grimey to the ears/soft and supple to the touch. laying them, along with the dirt dust and dreams of a thousand souls more restless, more listless, more curious than my own, perhaps another, stumbling in the oppressive waste and mumbling in the chalky twilight will find them there. at their feet swirled and eddied on a finite loop in subconscious mind tape twitter and reel to reel infinity. perchance in the jumbled script of lyrical nonsense some soul susseration lies, therein divinity cries quiet and meek tepid tears, reluctant and cooled by evening wind in their measured journey down freckled, smiling cheeks...

allow us some trinket, a bauble or some glimmer in your blink of an eye. polish it with greasy rags, circular & slow. give us a glimpse of our imperfect natures.

some days we figured as much, that time was never your friend. ceasing to be a companion long ago, the march of minutes & hours eventually passed you by & by. but we waited. for only you we waited. sleeping hands nested in our laps we waited. quiet eyes, staid but hopeful we waited. with murmurring hearts that stretched & folded in the midst of their slumbers we waited.


















ae.

a cookie cutter moon looked on. stars hung, stiff. lolling tongues swollen, desert-wind dried, fly laden & brittle. the dust of dead souls & burned out suns married in a tangled union, stasis & crusted spittle. ligneous moans. rotting fibres creaked under the duress of grave & hallowed curse. or this time a sacred & gracious boon. a loving, merciful & motherly, if gallowed, nurse.



i awoke from another world. all slow time & an orange marmalade glow. ragged edges & whispy lines defined familiar shapes; proclomations & geometries sometimes better left unfurled.














ae.

my tongue wrecked & cold to the touch but warmed your bones. warned. worn. warped. torn. scorned. the bits of gray that bound these words to the page. a tongue drug these letters across your mind. a living hunk of scathed meat pulled through desert towns sand & dust choked pockets of resistance & refuge. "we refuse. we refuse." a resounding cry.

i fell to pieces/fell to ruin under the spell of your silvery tongue
dripped
slipped
from the night it seems into my waking dreams & walking visions/sometimes i wonder.
& sometimes i dont.
but these songs these chorus to love & death that i peddle for no-one no-two span ages like the steady rise & fall of the sun. i tried to break your stride so steady & sure. no cause to stumble. that was not the intent. merely to pause. i hoped only to stop a moment your steady march/instant in time/a blunder in rhyme &

blink

you carried on. but not before you saw moss/cracked stone/ancient, granite bound tome penned in cuneiform mystery school language pebble chiseled & lovingly scrawled for the hearts content & selfish purposes.


























ae.

a mass of meat, a corporeal congregation that jostled & nestled uncomfortably amidst soft wooden pews. remnants of the lives of trees taken by grandfathers, fathers & sons of the bodies that gathered. trees logged, planed & crafted while being inundated with a stream of holy utterances & sacred mutterings. requests of forgiveness, answers to calls of duty, whispers of love & tearful promises of devotion navigated through rows of tombstone teeth to nest on trembling timbres.



knees touched. shy. under coy lashes & the influence of wayward glances they quietly withdrew, in the friendly yet wholly seperate manner that they often do. beads of sweat flecked otherwise immaculate figures/frames that mirrored the idols lining the walls.



still the doors were open.



the lovers spoke & sang their song. as briney globes & worshippers alike gathered with crystalline precision, tensions fell & tickled unclad feet. a veritable sea, pooling upon the floor along with passions, fluids, moist garments, inhibitions, preconceptions & misperceptions about the nature of things, the veil that seperates wanton eyes from the haves & havenots, the holys & the profane, the greeting of lips that replaces the one we always imagined as the epitome of love & the fleeting kiss that yet now flickers & glimmers in the dim reaches of our distant memory.



men speak often of the collision of worlds. with flaming eyes, frothing mouths, swollen tongues & gnashing teeth. blank minds & whitened knuckles bare, pulled so taught the gentle tug of a breeze threatens their grip of flesh on flesh. what lies at the joyful division of these worlds is the unraveling of fortunate minds, the undoing of meek hearts & humble souls.



























ae.

i was content.

save for the absence of a familiar voice, a tell tale trail of words, strewn, scattered. causing to sway & list in their wake the tiny strands in my ears a warm wind billowing a clean sheet winnowed from the bed. wet cloud borne singing its ancient song through branches trunks soiled linens on the line. sliced by a million green blades that leave no mark upon bare feet. feet worn smooth by a thousand caresses a thousand kisses. blessed by gnarled grimy palms/fingers & cracked tear-stained lips.

so instead i clung to my pillow. a poor surrogate. tattered. all lumps & misshapes. a ragged bag of meat & bone that at one time i guess looked like you. & under cold light & the dark that hangs precariously above all of our heads felt like you if i tried hard enough long enough/is enough.

i was content.

my clumsy left hand felt its way through a maze of hardened, dry flesh & found the one thing that seemed yet alive. blood flowed no more through/from the heart instead pooled between these trunks of stone on which once i had planted roots of quartz, crystallized & stood tall. my warmth was all i knew, all i needed. was all. i was content. for who needs more? i came on my stomach. i left it there, but wiped clean my hand. i let the cracks in the cold granite of my temple imbibe/reabsorb the life that lay there til it had turned cool cold coldest & clung to me like moss. creeping even now towards any last bastion of salvation. though so salivous lascious salacious holding it closer than the holy beads on your breast. i slept restlessly. awoke to what i thought was yet a dream dreamed what i thought was yet real...





(bleh)
















ae.

gold flecked leaves that would not travel with the wind. you kissed them there, as they lay, full of wanderlust & empty of longing. i can't remember now, it's not so clear to me anymore, whether your pink & chapped lips brushed autumnal remnants, harbingers of short cold days, & gave them over to a death only slightly more dignified. like rich & sickly kings in forgotten moth-eaten robes mossy keeps & crumbling empires, you gave them over to rot, sedentary, solitary in their multitude. to rot, but not without a little glam. rememberance of days a little, if only, more resplendant. my grasp on the past is feeble.

forgive me.

maybe perhaps it was the masses of wet leaves, gathering together their last meager bits of glory, the tiny delicate whispers of life still contained in their wracked frames, that gave unto you. collectively, never forgetting greener days. they recognized in you something they themselves had. have. will always remain. looking back now i think they found you a kindred spirit, their ephmeral lives given over to yours.

forgive me. my mind is tired as my body is tired as my eyes tire of searching for meaning in the mundane.

but i can't help thinking as i rot in my throne that the kingdom you gave me was never my own.





















ae.

(experimental stream of consciousness)







we only own the night lets pretend its never ending never bending to our will yet still it seems appears by all means to be but let us see for we shall and we should not for yours but our own good nights and mornings bring sun and lighting our shame we never knew a song a hymn softly hummed in time syncopated though it was with the rhythm of the stars crying over our heads we danced in the lawn and hid in the trees dug pits for our dirty bones and covered them with leaves to be found to be lost maybe perchance to give way to others we know you are out there though we shant see it with you our love stays grows rewinds and expands upon ancient exhausted futile philosophies writ on stone tablets cuneiform hieroglyph and each grain of dust indefatigable in its relentless pursuit to destroy to wipe clean the slate of our being endless though it may seem to be crucial it may appear as a need it may seem to be right lest we forget we only own the night.



















ae.

"i sold what i had to the demons at my back
in return,
they traded for my heart all those things that i lacked"

my baby told me once when crying so full of shame.
saying not evermore, at no finite point in time
could to her trembling universe be laid claim.

a head full of stone
a heart full of lead

lust.
desire.
sloth.

dread.

all those vices we must.
please, oh how can we? can we take this all,
all too serious too fucking swimmy in our brains.
wouldn't i rather gambol after a soft man across listing grass sea plains

drift amongst flotsam. flowers fragrant coloured serene.
distant. disguised from ancient beasts.
so it seemed.

but this happened in my other life. seen through others eyes.
i would. i should've. i couldn't had i tried.
to overcome. to oversee. to make slaves of my bidding.
these demons.
yet even now i find myself,
i find myself sitting.





























ae.