Goat anti-Rabbit.. no wait... Rabbit anti-Goat. Whichever... it's your peptide and mine.

Greetings, my loverly readers. I still haven't got much to say. I'm feeling awfully burnt out lately. My mind needs a vacation from me, and I from it. It's getting cold in New York... and it's still bloody August. What a state this world is in.
The next two pieces express two completely different ideas. That is exactly why I am posting them together.
Enjoy, mine friends.

Paper Clips and Plastic Cups

5 am
swallowed in rain
and the world has given up on summer
and he has given up on the world
and he's given up on finding
pretty words to
explain himself.

Some Arid Sunday Song

Rain drops falling slowly -
Soft kisses on my flesh
trying to seduce me...
No need, my dear. In truth
I'm already in love
with this world. Its wonders
long ago claimed my heart
engulfed my soul in song
And I, in return have
tried to ink a tune in
response. And I will try
until this pen falls from
my lifeless fingertips.

The Shadows are casting Us

So... I haven't posted in ages... again. And I don't feel quite like babbling... again. Been up all night... again. Got work this afternoon... again. Life is a big fucking ball of redundancy. And cynicism.

The following poems be (yes, be) about half edited. I got a couple things I'm feeling unsure of... but at the same time... I love them. So... read, absorb, enjoy.

::Bow::

Jim Irving’s Monster

When it began
They came for him
Sporadically
Peeking through his windows
Once or twice a month
Watching
Always watching
Never touching
But in time
They grew in courage
Entering if only to
Misplace his ashtray
Or steal a cigarette

When he could take no more
They came more often
Robbing shirts
Or books
Or any random thing
Left out for their hands
Until he nailed the windows shut
And added three more locks
To a thrice locked door.

For a time there was peace
Before their diligence
Kicked in
And they would come
Every other night,
at times
Making their way through the pipes
In the bathroom.
When he grew aware of this
They bore cavities in the walls
To listen to his thoughts.
They crawled beneath
The concrete tiles of his
Single bedroom apartment,
Every so often
Lifting a stone to revel in the madness
They were causing him.
Every night they came
Whispering taunts just
Loud enough for him
To catch the final breath.

It wasn’t long before
Emboldened by his torment
They came in the light of day
Whispers growing in volume
until they were little less than
conversations for his benefit..
Conversing his death
And how they would see to it
How quick
How slow
How painful.
He suspected everyone.
No one was alien to this plot.
Friends. Family.
All craved nothing more
Than the end of him
Everyone but himself
Was the enemy
Until he himself
Was the enemy—when
He caught the whisper
In his own mind

He
Was trying to kill
Himself.

But he couldn’t let it happen
Couldn’t let the beast in his
Mind be his demise.

He
Would rather kill
Himself

Death was surprisingly silent
Peacefully so.
Needle dangling from his arm
Though he couldn’t feel it
Couldn’t taste anything
Couldn’t smell…
His sight did little more
Than distinguish light from dark.
The light was fading
And the dark was growing darker
Darker still
But he cared for little then
He was happy knowing the eyes
Beneath the ground
The ears behind the walls
The voices in his mind
Would cry
Because he had stolen
Their prize.

Conejo Malo
(落とされた天使のダンス)

I was afloat
Roaming the fields
Of Hypnos when
Morpheus, treacherous
Curséd bastard
Came to me in
Your form. Your face.
And I, being
Foolish and fond
As a child
Found life again
Among these damned
Kinsmen of death.

Your voice was as
I’ve remembered
Melodious
And adoring.
Your eyes pierced me
Vivified
The slumbering
Essence of love
Aimlessly veiled.
Your smile, bold
And authentic
Once more released
The best of me.

Hours, minutes
Seconds we spoke…
Of which I am
Unsure, but I
Surely jabbered
On – remorseful
Desperately in
Search of pardon.
No – punishment
Wanting only
Your rejoinder
Uninfluenced.

You, who had said
Little during
My rambling,
Reached out a hand
And gently stroked
My face, drawing
Me closer and
Cradling me.
You spoke of pain
And destruction…
Your heart and mine –
Casualties
Of our love.
You sang of joy
Awakening
In our sweet dance
Recalling nights
I’ve never lost.
Speaking until
The sunlight took
Hold of the sky.
Unfolding hearts
And revealing
Our souls in
Absolute and
Unquestioned faith.

As I, immersed
Again in love,
Approached your lips
With mine, you sighed.
And asked if I
Recalled the vow
I made that one
October night.
I reaffirmed

“I will take this
world with my verse
and present it
to you, my love.”

You smiled, that
Life defining
Smile, and stepped
Back leisurely
Into the haze
Of morningtide.
your voice, like fog,
clung to my flesh

“Then awaken
and fulfill your
promise, my love.”

R.W.A.G.I.N.S.L.A.N.W.

Greetings, readers. It has been a while since I've posted, aye? I'd love to say I'm been neck deep in some sort of progressive movement, personal or otherwise, but I've pretty much been a lazy sunzabich. Drinking my liver to ruin, for the most part. All of today's piece were born of alcohol, except for My Lily which was a bit of a challenge proposed by a couple of friends of mine.
Backstory: I had this old poem named My Lily which a friend of mine was talking about. Newer friend, named Lily, wanted to hear it (for the sake of her name). I couldn't remember the bloody thing, so she challenged me to create another. It's a five minute monster, but I kinda fancy it. So yeah man... don't challenge the River Man. He bites!
Going to another writing group meeting tonight. Probably going to read one of these... everything else is still in the process of being written. Mind you, these aren't done. These are roughs... eventually (probably not really) I'll get back and clean up the loose threads. Enjoy.

Twenty-One

How many times must I
spread my mind across
a page before I find
what hides beneath
what lurks within
these ragged lines
in search of soul.

What is a soul
        to a scientist
        to a poet
        to our godless kind
and how many lives must
I live to find it?
How many have I lived already?
Shed all I've been
in blind obedience to
what I am to be...
(only to become myself)

Spent so many mornings
   like this
bathed in the twilight,
thoughts drowned out by
the passing train cars
before I can spill them
from my pen tip.
What has been lost?
Something great,
I fear,
lost on the wings of angels
trapped in my cigarette smoke.

I scribble still
in search of whatever is
caught between this love
of light and dark
in search of a soul.
A plan, an answer
a blueprint to this device.
In search of a number
as well, perhaps...

How many times must I
spread my mind across
a page before I find it.

Mrs. Hatiko's Escape

The sky was baby blue
when she left
6:30
early Sunday morning.

In truth she had been
gone for days...
weeks..
months even.
She finally had to follow
her heart.

She left him breakfast
on the kitchen table
turned on the coffee maker
laid out the days newspaper.
She considered leaving a note
detailing the reasons for
her departure but she
hoped he would have known.
Wished he would understand.

Instead she left a single
purple post-it
'I'm Sorry'
written in her finest cursive and
stuck it to the night table beside
His sleeping form.
She fought the nagging tears beside
his sleeping form.
whispered softly I love You beside
his sleeping form.

The sky was baby blue
when she got in the cab
6:35
Early Sunday morning.

My Lily

Lily,
If I may be forward
Dear Lily,
If I may recite these line
wet with ardent admiration.
Words reserved for quiet times
between friends... lovers.

Dear Lily,
I must admit the sun sets
in your eyes
and I find myself following
it into the depths of your soul.
Immersed in the sweet song
of your heartbeat
feeling closer to home than
I ever have.
I'd be lying if I said
you weren't often on my mind.
If I said your voice doesn't
bring me to life with every
sound it wraps around.

Dear Lily,
you are the centerpiece
in the garden of my heart.
The fields of my soul often
carry your name on their breeze
And I am adrift among them
like some lovesick child.

Lily
Dear Lily
My Lily
if only in my mind
if only in my heart

You are

My Lily.

Parting Lips

Stumbling drunk through
paper dragon cutouts...
The wreck of a setting sun
flooding this little path
in song
never sung.
A note in his head
painting this little path
in colors
never seen.