Archive for February, 2016

.

Friday, February 5th, 2016

it is the most intimate of moments in where the crystals in your eyes seem to glisten

you hide them in to cower in the darkest parts

but if i catch you in the gentlest of lights,

i catch a sight that ive watched in the dead of night

where the lack of light

or was it the lack of sleep

brought forward the massacre of the innocence for the encore of the most beautiful things

it is a wonderful way to pass all time

Advertisements

loud visions, quiet transitions

Thursday, February 4th, 2016

i swore i loved her once

when the lights of the canyon brought forth redemption from the aching of the glass shattered from the perfume you left on my duskwood chair

darling, you were quite the disaster

you tapped the floor in your lilac pirouettes and you kissed me softly and spoke in those bitter rhymes of strangers in past times

you spoke of Picasso as the paint of your own troubles ran dry and you took some of my own

but you asked ever so nicely

and the touch of your lullaby was the harmony in which i catered to the heart strings of the dead

it left musk on my fingers and lavender on the side of my tinted cheek

whether it was tinted in anger or in romance is the question

whether the sidewalk now is a savior of the suicidal or a mockery of the weak

i have felt the beckoning of the stars from it’s brothers on the gravel roads

and if i stood long enough to make love to the headlights of a passing stranger

i become a surrogate to a passion once felt long ago

 

disparity of the dawn

Thursday, February 4th, 2016

many a drugged moon has set foot on this haphazard town

long nights spent in soft soliloquy

sporadic evenings spent on the mass incarceration of a medieval sofa

a mockery at its finest, quite honestly

i spent all morning pondering the end of the rabbit hole

the finesse of a pistol headed gal

those poised to help at the drop of a hallowed pin

whether it is the man who let his machine scream

when i proceeded to–

perhaps meet the intersection halfway

no one is quite sure these days

in the fall from grace

the fall from this season’s distaste

the tranquility in surrender beckons

tip toe once or twice around the constant influx of vices and voices

belonging to little Jim and Jane

during the intake of poisoned harks

they squeeze me in vain, for

sweet summer spices linger in the air

thought of it twice or once or a multitude of once upon a times

led astray, but of course,

to the bottom of a gutter

the squaller of the misdeal and their wholesome banter

once it led me in chorus of laughter

now silence me softly on the summit of a cold, summer night