Wait loss

long twitching fingers part
the draped silky veil
spun by one with eight legs

behind the veil, the image
of a morose and overwrought
shell gazes at itself

it no longer is angered
by those jesters who betray
in roaring hyena nature

it no longer is bothered
by sudden panics tearing at
heart strings in nightly hours

it no longer is chilled
by the breath of the waiting
shadow standing in the corner

eyes flow down the sides
of the face, expression following
suit of many days before

a Gothic arch rises from
lip corners to nostrils, clue
of disgust, closure of soul

pale flaky tissue lays upon
the surface, blurred in the
contrasting light at play

long fingers drag down
cheeks, slowly, as piercing
eyes witness in disbelief

Bidding the southern wind adieu

memories smolder, embers
of an incinerated empire dying

the past burns yet, and
my back still bleeds where
the dagger was pulled from

it is a walk in a forest
of hollow barren trees
each time I remember...

your face fades in silent screams,
drains from the temporal basin
leaving rust stains

mistrust pains in January
delivered from a banquet of lies

I should have noticed the flies
hovering over the rotting corpse
of once was at least respect
 
did he smile after you told
him that we were through

did he tell you, "I love you"

finally mentioned to pull
this roaring dragon from my chest
when I spent nights alone
I should have guessed
but I'd be waiting forever
for the priest to confess

instead I left, having the love
for myself that you threw in the trash...

those embers grow dimmer
as they smolder away to ash

The gate awaits

dull clouds, blinding lead
on the journey to the gate

sullen dancers pull their
painted faces off bowed
heads...  dripping streams
of coagulating colors

coerced of their clothes,
bare dancers drag against
the sorrowful scenery

their destruction, the bow
pulled over coarse strings
suspended overhead,
echoing a malicious melody

infamous dance traipsed
on the journey to the gate

heavy breaths, heaving chests
spew their tainted dreams
in jagged speech and
languished soliloquy

poured out bottles wobble
and spin, stumble and trip
through the moist veils

what's not needed stays
behind, what's not wanted
piles on, what's not heeded
bleeds the dancers dry

straggling stick figures
on their journey to the gate

Jargon jaunting: part repeat reap

decapitated dilapidated stalk
a Jacobin's javelin
fiercely piercing rock

beaming glory glow
the stalk's past
screaming hoary show
a pox cast

pride yield to humble
dried, sealed, soon crumble
cried field dew... stumble

taste of earth tarries
haste of birth varies
waste of worth carries...

curving lines, seeds follow
observing signs, leads hollow

as the stalk in this talk

Stag... nation

gears smeared...

green-hued lob-oil
gunked up in crevices
leaving toothless circles

same ole whirl
same dizzying twirl
round the clowns swirl
low dogs chasing tails

all are temps,
all are waiters and
waitresses preoccupied
with something other
than their occupation
on the sinking ship

toothless circles grinning
with green-hued lob-oil
jammed up their cavities

spineless plates spinning
on the ends of poles
with king clown balancing
each to and fro, friend? neigh foe

bills spill, a glaze on
the surface of the people's ocean
suffocating all those
suspended between freedom
and the murky depths

king clown awaits with
his constituents in those depths
with snapping claws and
lighted orbs dangling in
front of gnashing fangs

in all his gluttonous virtues,
king clown and his purchased
souls dance below the falling
fish drowning in the people's ocean

Scenes from the Blue Garden: part 5

Fifth of the Tenth of the Thirteenth

seizure of bones
in the former eighth moon
rigid frigid moment
encased in the thin
mirror glazed on
the pavement last night

air taking flight
off the wide white plains
in the wintry west
it pushes its way through
leaving no thought
of warmth but hope

children fall asleep
their vivid faces fading
with the passing
of the chilling thief
lurking in the first light
shining down from heaven

southerners take refuge
in the abode's heated
arms rescuing them
from certain rapture
only achieved by succumbing
to the ultimate retrieval

wet clothes decorate
the stretched twine
bearing goosebumps if
they only could
while painting angel feathers
commences in this reality of fall

Mudpie

trickling over cracked earth
tiny courses of liquid
in grasping-hand fashion
dampen and darken dust

earthen lips wait agape
after anticipating the influx
of gratifying flow
on dampened darkened dust

pure clarity adulterates
with grounded perceptions
as the liquid itself
darkens in dampened dust

concepts float momentarily
suspended in the flood
and soon find bedded wombs
in darkened dampened dust

thoughts germinate swiftly
and raise from the storm-brewed
chaos and its effects
in dampened darkened dust

thoughts bellow out
throw off dried out husks
and seek anew from being
in darkened dampened dust

hybrids are sprung from
loins incited in juice
poured out by gods onto
dampened darkened dust

'tis nectar that moves in
and through the solids
for a brief moment
in darkened dampened dust

'tis nectar that changes
the fallible forms forever
in the inevitable path
of dampened darkened dust

Jargon jaunting: part left bereft

Low Men know then
ways of a hazy daze
spilling from frontal lobes
spoiling numb fungal probes

Low Men partake of these
slow kin forsake love...

geez

know when Low Men
your steps lead astray
and lore reps speed away

blind led by eyeless creatures

mind fed by pious preachers

know then Low Men
shrunken pails of drunken veils
are no trade, although paid,
for eluding tears or brooding fears

unable to relieve the pain
unstable, you bereave a vein
forfeiture, your shit cure...

as blood will flow
so Low Men know

Within the ribs

a barren sea swells
inside the contour cage

pale grey bars withhold
the burning dancer
in his dismal cell

his inflamed steps
skip across the roaring waves

a stone skipped many years ago
that ambles on its path
along the tips of lapping liquid

dancer dares not to escape
dares not to scorch his
flame drenched skin on the cage

hollow bones of the
fallen messenger bar his flight

engulfed in ruined desires
he can only flow to and fro
to appease the gluttonous fires

sighs exhale upon the heated stage
fanning the fame

in the dancer's mind does he see
the steps laying behind
his fear-inspired course

in the dancer's mind does he hear
the tears that tap upon
his soul's window...

pain, an overstayed companion
he has yet to bid farewell to

burn, ignited in a chance
gone feral from best intent
he dances in the contour cage