Existence has been ripped
to shreds
all decadence, been torn
asunder
all the worriers put
to bed
coroners sliding back
their covers
clockwork clicking near
to dead
comfort pillows now to
smother
remember what the wise
men said
we’ve lost ourselves but
found eachother
Day: February 10, 2010
when the tin man tries to love
poetrywhen the tin man tries to love,
his lover working endlessly
to purchase more oil for his
useless joints,
the battery acid may suffice
for months;
however, as we all know,
and in the back of his lover’s
mind at all times,
there are gears under his
tin chest. and on lazy sundays
when the sun floats through
the slits in the shades,
and they lie awake, she should
know that when the battery
acid wears off, he will no longer
feel the warmth of her touch.
and worse yet
when the oil gets thick
and
his going
gets tough
and the
battery acid
isn’t doing it
any-
more
the gears in his chest will
drive him to the door.
(or maybe the cpu, or
his legs, or his feet,
or his hamstrings,
irregardless)
one day the tin man will shut
the door behind him and
freeze up a half-mile down
the street, with no oil saved
up to keep him spry.
haiku
poetrydeep winter morning-
an empty chair
on a fire escape landing.
slaves to the boob (take II)
poetrywe once thought ourselves to be
but now its only you,
liberating me,
allowing me to return
to the sleep i once enjoyed
while you, alone with your fear,
go about your bondage,
sobbing softly in the dark,
watching reruns
of shows now long dead,
looking to the future
and hopes of what lies ahead.
my obsessions are drinks. scotch, beer, and 大红袍 my precious precious tea.
poetrya perfectly round pot
with nary a spout
holds in my rare oolong
so tea can pour out
the soft purple sand clay
on hand crafted shelf
brings me joy in the way
i bring it myself
big red robe they still call it
the emperor once drank
now passed down through the ages
that i may partake
One day we shall be grass and eat beggars
poetryThe curve of your eyelashes undresses the god in me and folds me into sinewy layers of desire and then … You grin at my discomfort. Damn you.
The sea, my faithful lover, undulates my genuine fear and resentment towards shellfish and sharks.
Madness contours your supple lips stifled only by the last unsorted uneased thought-duties to humaness and civility – mother forgive me I am a mere beast behind a faltering rampart.
Yet, how your thoughts echo mine in the dark gets to me, like a cluster of cosmic woes crowding and questionning my purity…
While my gaunt silhouette waltz with your light in a bottomless silence, I believe I can see the summer end and myself with exactitude.
the sieve and the sand 