Drinking

Cold charm radiates from his face
As he escorts me to the liquor cabinet.
'Take your drink, make it strong',
He smiles robustly.

I pour a glass of Whiskey,
My drink of choice, of course,
And look in his direction.
But he is gone, no trace found--
Only a footprint on the carpet
Where I had most recently been standing.

the boss

what visage stares upon us
from above the clouds?
what mad pilot rules this world?

Man, Today

A boy bleeds
as I step on his glasses.
I do not mean to, and he will not
need them. But still he cries.

A girl sits
Inside a hut. I drag her out,
And shoot her in the gut.
I am angry, because of the boy.

I burn the hut,
I think it's broken -- inside,
Rats scurry through flames.
I do not think they feel pain.

Away, I see a man. He stares again,
And again, I nod, he nods back.
"This, it must be done", I call,
And he calls back.

Outside the villiage,
There is no fire. I am scared again,
But I am angry. The boy,
his blood is still on my boot.

What beast has churned his bowels
And deposited me in these bloody shoes?
This man called death, he's lost again,
And I am here to do his job.

The Patriarchy

Not all have gone
On break. Some, the seething type,
they've come to whisper in our skin
and snivel, beg to be let in.

No chickens here! Let's remember,
We're in the city; what's that
got to do with it all? The rasping
voice lives in the grates,
the whispering steams our skin at every turn:
Not all have gone
On break. Some, the seething type,
They've come, and behind our eyes
they chatter quietly, and wait.

Grown?

Mother, cries,
Silence in a shameful voice.
Tears of dust, entombed;
Mother, turns, an urn,
Empty and grey inside, sits
As the sun drags long the floor.

And whispers spinning,
Waving out of thought.
Mother, where is this place?
What have we become?

The alabaster erodes,
As church bells tole: an angel,
born in time, drags along the floor.
Ghosts of friends cricle,
Drinking sickness, drinking whiskey.

Dusty voices shimmering in air-
An urn atop a mantle, rasping:
'Here lies the fairytale,
and in this fairytale all do lie.'

Cry, mother. Search for tears

What is happening here this eve?
Such a spell have I never seen--
Showers of golden flowers, lovers
Stroll as birds float songs across the air.

Tidings these, they may be good,
But in my soul an organ grinds,
A tapping climbs into my throat
As I watch the sky in fear.

There have been days before, when
As night closes the door of day
A mind I feel in mine head,
A pounding such as Atlas knew not.

But this twilight feels to me
To be something extraordinary;
See, the setting of the sun
The flowing of bloody shadows
Down wine paved roads.

The time, the time has come
And gone, and empty is the throne:
Look to see yourself, look
But see the end has come;
No time, no rule, where
has god left us? Where
has God got us tonight,
As shades close and each
Child and man go to sleep,
Apart and alone, when,
has it always been so?

drunk and no title

From you I beg a blindfold,
Some way to froget this
This passing feeling, this passing love.
I can not tell you,
Her hair, the way it falls,
Wet and dry,
Makes me search, makes me
Stare at the sky and beg
For beauty comporable. For beauty.

Consumed

I seek the will to age an hour
In a second's breath, escape from life
In blinking death. Look
Above the overarching eye and seek within
Or perhaps without, hope and mercy
Cast their spells
About pity I know naught
but what I have learned
In grade school. Her name
Is Shadow, in a whisper,
Duck beneath her tattered cape
And snicker
Absent from direct consumption,
Believe you are emotion, escaped.

ecstatic will

And as I fall into her eyes,
again trapped, shivers upon my spine;
I sing with glee!
And metered pain as from her I am cleaved
(yet, were we ever paired).
That undiscovered beauty rests within her soul,
does shine forth and gives me clues
at what within and in repose does
glimmer and in ecstatic will, pose.
But to her graces I have no route,
nor merit which would endear me.
I lack, I lack, grace is hers and mine is gone.