Wednesday, June 30, 2010

The Valkyrie's Dischord

All hail the booming lodestone,
it's cord stowed at
a curved slope
she in a power stance
ready and jacked in,

battlemaiden blows struck
in the balmy June morning
in tune to Youtube bass blasts
gettin' her fingers stuck fast
at the vast notations

cascading past her eyes,
frantic searchlights gelled
bright as hands fly up the frets
like frenzied pliers,
clawing the strings

the Cheshire cat smile widens
digits gnarled with repetitive precision,
notes as incisions lacerating
the still basement wind,
her eyes lolling back,

rolling in time to
the pervasive lighting within.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

I Wish

I wish I could get what I want

just too chickenshit to just admit

what I want
to who I want it from
since I laid eyes on it
both my motivation and my distraction
scared of admission,

but not of following through
curiosity torments the mind

and desire lacerates the palms,

coloring the impatience of anxious digits

which long forgot how to be rigid

because bones melt at the chance to be languid

and teeth click at the chance to grit,

grind and exhale,

breathe in her aria

and speak slick intonation into her navel,

as if friction were your life force

manufactured in velvet benedictions

galloping from throats

like hoarse inevitabilities,

forget the slipshod shyness

or sexpot subtleties,

bare it all and kneel before

a dam of expectancy.

The Trapped

I am the wire hanger wroth
with manipulation from twisting
wrists who rather see me spooled,

Rapidly spun around her spindle,
a compressed coil stuck,
crushed from the chase,
chances dwindled through
malleable plans from the houses of fate,
whose revolving galactic swoons
fondle her stellar destinies with
reckless digits that fidget arbitrarily
on empyrean puppeteer mores,
setting blatant flames between
prone shoulder blades.

Sparks reverberating through
my rattling nervous system with
several jump starts as we part,
I lurch stark, keyed-up like
a wind-up toy, die-cast dummies
tottering, trying not to boil alive
in the backlash of celestial happenstance.

Monday, June 7, 2010

A Woman's Work

I am now as wheat before her sickle,

Sinister and splintered scarred with mortal notches,

the blade falls, never fickle

my squelching end lies in the path of the whistling vorpal.

Sheathed in her sonorous syllables she

climbs a fatal octave, hands actively swinging

my capillaries now twitching, I pay my fee

to listen to the ballad of Atropos, lilting and stinging.

The vale profound became an emerald Styx as

the solitary ferrywoman rowed,

My vision swam, eyes seeking a point which to fix,

Though she’d no boat, over to me she gently flowed

Her sonata of sorrow bade me feel a shudder,

the closing note matched my heart’s final stutter.

Shoulder for Hire

Feeling like an undesirable wire,

ire charges through me as

I feel wrapped around fickle fingers,

jealousy lingers like a negative charge

through my flimsy copper core,

I beg for more

with lapdog eyes,

I try to act surprised

when she talks about them,

grim specters dissecting

my expectations with

corporeal strikes to my midsection

and neophyte expectations like

a paper shredder,

I wager I'm not as

good or fun or can fuck

like her other prospects

just worthy enough to be on deck

a pinch-hitter contingency nigger

crammed between late-night debaucheries,

I assure myself it's for the better

to reassess this infatuation

running riot in our bloodstreams

from different I.V. feeds,

After seeing where it leads

I look at my punctured mind

and try to sort out a salient solution

some absolution through withdrawal

scheming for solace where possible

so mental landslides from molehills

will seem less caustic,

slightly defeated and a tad exhausted

a temporary comfort mercenary trying

to feel less hostile.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Flawed Facet

Swallowed morning sighs lie
wiggling in the air above
my face in the dawn,

they are the ozone
from my afterburner mind
venting it's two cents,

a brain pulsing bent,
twisted by various nicks
icepicked to a limit,

by old blisters licked
constantly revisited,
I'm cut to the quick.