Elevator Music

Warning, wet paint.
None of this your
concern, devil
For radiance is
Quasimodo's
inspiration.

Entering the transcendence
of the church bells.

Wardrobes, running
so fast, colors
vivid and enticing.

The Armada

Tether,
Untightened
with frugality
The message.

Pounce.
Patter.
Or none of the
Above.

Nonetheless,
The war room
should receive
this visit.

Family Ties

Scratch
but not sniff.

Such exile
undoubtedly
Tickles my fancy.

Until I gave
birth to insanity.

Without surrender
and freshness we
can only desert
familiarity.

Continental

Crop dusting now,
Endings inevitable.

And in this keyhole
I strain to see
your nostalgia.

Patty cake games
Untimely now
And your breath
so much slower
than before.

This closeness
will follow me
eternally so,
until it is my
time for
Departure.

Tripping

Solarplexis,
winds adrift
journey to
endings.

Looping, skipping
hand in mine.

The Spotlight

Crowded operas
with anticipation
and such extremities
without disdain.

Flavorless is
your consolation
prize, invisible
somehow tangible

And approaching.

Turbulence

Photographs.
Shaking with
such fervor.

Suited, chilled
Bony.

Wetness contributes
to an anthem of
generational collisions.

Pebbles, sounds
of droplets
if you approach
the bench,
uncovered.

Untitled

Instilled within me is
The gratification
Provided by this new
Ethical hedonism.

I failed to see
The truth.

I failed to see the
Cover page.

Untitled

Altogether he can
Bypass his heart—
So frail—
Can lead a lie.

Hurting not by
Intuition but by
Cynicism.

Untitled

Popularity canned
Inside a lover’s
Box. When intuition
Fades away with desire
Left to be—there I am.

Untitled

Closing my eyes may be
Fatal as I journey to
Memories of unquenched
Perspiration of my
Manhood.

Running so hard to
Inspire death. A death
Wish for my flesh—which
Is now a tiresome chore.

Hope is potential but in
My control. I open the
Window to hear the
Sparrow—light and
Terror.

Untitled

And more than anything
I seek the rain to
Elevate this fear I have—
Into an electricity that
Becomes so hostile that it
Must vacate this body.

Iris Pool

The anticipation of not knowing
If my fantasy of you is being received.

To taste and touch you and then to
Share my flesh with yours.

Hoping for an expected ironic
Disposition of a holy archetype
I try to rid myself of this
Mutation—a handicap all
Too familiar.

I lose myself in your eyes and
I falsely believe that they are
Mine to swim in.

Variety Show

Unwrap decisions with
Glistening anticipation as
Their fiber constructs
The will.

Even as terror and heartbreak
Reintroduce themselves
There is a fork in the road
Up ahead.

Despite disillusionment
Opportunity is not soluble but
Quite the opposite.

A next move strategy is
In order.

Keith

Similar are you and I
In sharing the same blanket.

Lie down in your new
Identity—an illusion
Promising false escapes.

Wander into truth—
A single static entity of
Peace—which at
Present we cannot share—

Unlike this blanket
In which I will burn
Before the seasons change.

God

In faith
In Ignorance
I approach thee.

In hate
In love
I ignore thee.

Watching now—
My lover and I
Too distracted to
Believe in you—

Tiresome is this
Game—a repetition
Not worth my time—a
Spirit too far to dwell
Within.

The church fucks with
Me in the worst way—
But I am clever.

The Church I Forgot

Now that I am gone
I no longer wander amongst
Emptiness or fear.

Reminiscent but trying to
Be without pain is an impossibility.

Double edged—my anxiety pulls
My veins to something I was not
And wish to forget.

For now an expression means
Something to me—before solace of
My soul caused death to my speech.

They are a renaissance—a
Decorative collection that I place in
The museum of my past.

Untitled

Reach inside a slimy orifice
For my own intuition
Poisons the seasoned night.

Holy thoughts face to trigger
After sleeping atop this lifeless
Mass called my past.

Fortitude in an unawareness of
Self-hate—tired lying in an
Acid state in my bosom.

Untitled

Integrity is not strained
Alongside these
Apparitions of mercy.

Eyes so quiet and inside of
Radiant hope. The will
Cannot find a way for
Him unless the heart is
Reaffirmed in it’s
Maker’s image.

This is a silent prayer for
My brothers who knows no
Better than his own
Misdirection.

Untitled

And it was the biker at
Dawn, riding on the
Barren highway that
Caused me to question
My identity.

A riddle about the
World’s fate is what
I have to ponder on—
Not the primitive
Instincts of my libido.

Beauty in my eye—
All around me and it’s
Stimulating a pleasantness
Unexplained.

It is also horrific in its
Means to conquer death.

Untitled

Popularity canned
Inside a lover’s box.

When intuition
Fades away with desire
Left to be—there I am.

Fear

Cheerio! Three horses
Riding with their patrons
On a quest for holiness,
One leg but three severed
Emotions attempting to
Engage in healthy intercourse.

The road ahead is thick and
Wooded promising a single
Challenge.

Untitled

I admit I am a fool
Adhering to the silliness
Of past intentions.

The sky red, my heart
Blue while
I rest on the lips of
You—my dear.

My hope not a lady of
Beauty but the brother of
Long ago.

He asks to comfort
My libido now—through
His purity and faith.

Then you and I my
Dear can come
Into each other later.

William’s Basement

Down the long staircase
Of pain can he
Run into his child—a
Little boy crying out
From a self-incarcerated
Abyss of insecurity.

Untitled

And what a fallacy
Is my lust.

Saving the world
Is what I was
Made to do—one
Man at a time.

Instead I stuff that
Inspiration in a
Sock and beat off
With it.

Pleading for Nonsense

Deliver per my desperation
Into my heart this
Object and nothing more.

Or perhaps let it be the
Exact opposite of expectation.
A seed to the womb delivering
A fresh philosophy.

Without doubt and an
Empty hope deliver
Me this human—one to
Be cared by and to
Care for.

I will not ask for
Anything more than
Nonsense.

Untitled

Waltz back to
The far end
Of things.

To recall this
Sweetness found
In a baby’s arms.

I fight the church
Inside of me.