p0etic-n0nsense

      The room is a perfect square. A perfect, dark square with humidity so heavy it claws at you as you stand. There is an overpowering stench of decay, like rotting flesh mangled around old, water-logged wood. The stench is so powerful is restricts your ability to think coherent thoughts in its presence—an atmospheric boa constrictor gripping its bare existence around your swollen mind. There is a dim, red light-bulb hanging in the far right corner of the room. It tints the brick walls around it blood red, and you can make out a thick fluid streaked across them in a hectic disorder. There are a few broken bricks piled in the corner, dead an

i am an enigma. a fragmenting sound wave between two distant rocks. ripples so fine they are seen                 vibrating into rubies as red as the circles around my eyes. i do not sleep. i meditate myself into a pocket of oblivion drifting into future landscapes of deciphered blurs and                tranquil frenzies. and i see things. i see things advance, rising and falling with eclipsing patterns-- infinite molecules     interlocking and coor

your lips       twist into a prism of taunts teasing the tightrope between lust and libido. i am a slave to your                jealousy and sexual heresy shifting dense through your fingertips like an electric symphony,    crippling the lush of our provocative thievery.        this backseat sex binge darkens beneath the lucid taste of each penetration i find myself feeding to the beautiful time of our midnight crime.        we drown in red wine as the pinnacle rises. you h y p n o t i z e the flesh of my erotic chemistry  [like alluring puppetry] and mesmerize me effortlessly into your pleasure

I chew and I chew the dissolving reflection of a clock resting sideways on your hand (the crippled palm of your hand) like a perplexced child                         gazing down a runaway well, hunting the images clicking wild       through its mind like an abused nickelodeon. I chew and I chew until the taste becomes bitter and I spit out the ripple (of that distant reflection) like an old man          slipping away the rope of his dilapidated boat   

street lights darken one    by      one as a hush vines out atop naked rooftops concerned eyes are distinct behind weathered windows where curiosity trickles into a silent cancer a dark prowess of the streets withdraws to the underground ripping the bags out from under his eyes gray clouds whisper their shifty discomfort through               the burden in their heavy breath the clocks       in the courtyard slow to an unnerving crawl, hours strangling minutes out of fear and confusion gloomy children stare and wonder in wide-eyed solitude as serenity is knocked into obscurity street lights black      ten  

driving through tomorrowland the rear view mirror spits back old infatuations-- wheels in a mad dash for something eccentric. trees in tuxedos don a chardonnay sway and the mailbox delivers   the daily revelation. romance absorbs all the candlelight sighs. the swagger and strut of the broadway amore leaves the lovers and dancers so breathless in ragtime. in tomorrowland reflections reach their pinnacle as the pen touches paper. elegant novels roll right through the ages because in tomorrowland,      becoming concrete is becoming divine. you drink your lemonade right out of the sun. luxury, jealousy, and a schism of sec

swim across the surface of warm strawberry lips running through the waves               inevitably eager miles and miles of blueberry senses sucking on the smoothe silk                     sassy tilt of energetic sugar lust the nerves pinch sour punch moisturizing overdose                   overload my tropic purpose finding air i need to surface i am swimming        o

my eyes are dragging                     s l o w [real slow] as I pull up and                 hold a hanging stare. thick bullets of light shoot wild across the air a flurry of boxcars       follow behind screaming at me their troubles ahead through the ricketing                  racketing of their wheels in rhythm igniting a daze in which I find myself                                            counting and breathing and becoming consumed.     [one.two.three]              my eyes are still dragging and these metallic sheep keep fluttering by       [twentyseven.twentyeight.twentynine] their lowly eyes set sof