Thursday, July 22, 2010

Protests of a Marionette

Skeletal jester,
the fool dances starry-eyed
to the whims of snakes.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Forgotten Phrases

As its glimmer dimmed

in the frantic dark

flailing of your lungs against your sheets,

you kick yourself and ask:

“why oh why didn’t I write that down?!”

So you give chase,

the rapid footfalls of your idea

taunting your sluggish memory

with a cloud of potential and pentameter

as its glimmer dimmed in the frantic dark

your clumsy imagination

a sloppy gumshoe,

clutches the footprints

of the fleeing similes

and tries in vain

to swallow them down as

relief for the anguish of letting

that slick little poem

get away in the first place

as its glimmer dimmed

That sketchpad seems so painfully far

away as your brain gets manic,

crinkling with mental cramps

because your mind cannot take this

desperate flogging as that dead horse is

getting away,

Face in hands,

you resign yourself by

flirting with forgetfulness,

false bliss to calm down

from the loss of what could have been,

the fleeting poem escapes

as its glimmer dimmed.

Sunday, July 18, 2010


I smile when you catch

Me looking, pupils fishhooked

into your shadowy nooks in

the folds of your clothes

After three orange pills

the cards spill,

a thrilling thrill in

letting things fall the way

they may like lyrics

to the liver and stares

set to shiver outta microcellular

fissures, issues sloughed off,

nine swords carve through

self-imposed frost,

amoebic warrior cleaving

out of her claustrophobic

nightmare rooms of loss.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

Hydra (feat. Kat & Solo)

Wielding triple-folded sentences
rendering innocent whetstones

militias metal mandibles
maim moist pink petals
that hang perfectly over
the horizon,

cleaving but the goal
still tauntingly out of reach,
syllables can slash but can’t
breach realities,

now through sun-soaked
intellect rip portals to
achieve our task.

Raping lathered beads of sweat,
Neither vice nor sin can harm it
Figure out a way to disintergrate
and meet me post-haste

in the wasteland between form
and cute sheen,
I want to get up in the guts
of visceral grammar cuts
commas are the blood,
periods under the fingertips
scraping and gouging open
the paragraphed landscape,
bringing about the letterocalypse.