I Prefer Not To.
my truth existed
somewhere
in her opaline eyes
a timeless visage
dangling moonbeams
from the edge of oblivion
muted by the dismal
desert sky
silently
she drove an erubescent arrow
through the sorrowed vales
of a wailing echo
which impaled my imperfect heart
i followed her flicker
’til the trail
led me to an apparition
which dissolved
into a parasol
sprawling with mesolite
then she vanished
into the night
[image credit: Kay Nielsen]
christians are coming to coddle your kittens
with puddles of prattle not subtle but maddened
it’s radical to be crepuscular bustling britches
of rustic vernacular vibrantly verdant
in volant tribunals attributable tunes of a triumphant
visual sadly convulsing combative collusion
as clear as a warm summer day in the attic
of possible dreams drenched in leather lotharios
lithely maneuvering ubermensch avenues
ever evincing the principle paramour
pandering products intended for troubadours
mending their troubles in bubble text laterals
flattering baberaham lincoln with attaboy
linking up lankershim lost in the valley
of spent evolution devolving erratically
severed endeavors of laughter erroneous
phony evangelists dialed on disaster
in spastic capacities spooning the man on the moon
most mendaciously ponce de lunacy what i just did there
is no time for sentiments soon we will all be returning
to sediment lend me your earphones i’ll listen
to artifice smartphones and stupid humanity
hailing the vapid evocative evil salvation
absolving to imbecilic plastic munitions
drastic in form as the new norm soon supersedes
what was once named reseda and the pleiades
soporific precedents poised to intercede
somnolescent comments culled from epiphanies
septic or epic it’s difficult to decide
hiding in harems devising a matricide
armed with a fist of fastidious folderal
calling all cataclysmic mystic masters fall
into abysmal miocene themed myopics
mastications lost in listless scene’s reverie
roving through needles of threaded complacency
boldly implying the impetus for our means
median modes start eroding erratically
seraphim hymns sodomizing with nascent speed
spurring sporadic combustible catalysts
paradigms prodding elusion emphatically
safe from the phallic delusions of malcontents
hell-bent on plentiful ploys of ecstatic sin
limp as a sunday morning on a pink flag
exorbitantly dressed in drag and then storming
in on monty pythonic pliable placators
practicing sparring with swords of scorn swelling
in hordes so hellaciously formed like a stream
of striations intrinsically born to be
all they can beat on the bratwurst next door
to the exodus exiting earth evermore swore the end of this
adrift
amid the vapid bedlam
palliation sought
eluding
stinging mistral
stretching onward
unseen
through the looking glass
left
to bare futility
lorn
where languid life doth linger
mistress lost
the first
the last
as she alone
compelled the stars
to loom anew
the constellations
lucid whispers
shaped her lips
like lucent kisses
illustrating
dormant creed
of freedom’s virtue
solitary
heart-sworn wisdom
salvaged from a wonted way
of this frail earth
where only fools
and martyrs
of demented mind
stand to find
a disposition
sound of spirit
. . . listen –
for her’s is a legacy
of love
luminary
in her dearth
and presence
redefined
[image credit: Vittorio Zecchin]
fuck you
for the thought you’re thinking
fuck your epic pompadour
fuck that smug look
on your fuck face
fuck your doppelganger dog
fuck your every breath you breathe
fuck whatever makes you happy
fuck the way your clothing fits you
fuck the timbre of your voice
fuck anyone desperate
or dumb enough to fall for your shit
fuck you
for not being bothered
by the fact that you’re a prick
fuck your “soul patch”
fuck your soul
fuck your lack thereof
fuck no
fuck the way your mouth moves
every time you make an utterance
fuck your feigned gesticulations
fuck you
just because
fuck the fact that you perceive
yourself as being above others
fuck your lack of self-awareness
fuck the way you mistreat women
fuck your racist undertones
you always try to justify
fuck your privilege
being of a magnitude superlative
fuck your pompous
omnipresent omnipotent arrogance
fuck your vapid elocution
fuck you for always guffawing
fuck your predisposed conclusions
fuck you for wearing “cologne”
fuck you for making me smell you
fuck your insincerity
fuck your insecurity
fuck your lack of verity
fuck your duplicitous nature
fuck you because “~Dashers, Dashers~”
fuck your fucking sweater-vests
fuck you for even existing
fuck you for not remedying it
fuck your parents
fuck theirs too
fuck them all
for never caring
wait a fucking minute, dude –
you too
were neglected
under slightly different circumstances
nonetheless
life had not afforded you
the proper chances
for the record
fuck my hypocritical
lapse in discretion
leading me to perpetrate
a most impetuous transgression
if you would excuse
my hideous affront to civil discourse
mayhaps you and i
could be the source
of one another’s recourse
[image credit: František Kobliha]
awash
in coils of amber
umber
and slumber
as autumn awakens
a solemn breeze
seizes
lofty trees
in lucent columns
a gauntlet
of ambient umbra
born the republic
of czechoslovakia
briefly
a voice could be heard:
“call me ishmael”
forces of intrigue
colluded in union
to bring forth
a most inconsequential
kismet
through mistral moons
into mellow mons
from stumbled startings
to fallen ends
asterina anomala
sweetness
of a serene dawn
plush fur of eternal purr
fills my pillow
ever brimming
buffering
this astral seraphic
kitten cabal
[image credit: Ivan Bilibin]
cruisin’
in a sky blue pinto
nineteen-eighty-six
or so
through the foothills
of tujunga
headed to the old rainbow
pockets emptied
at the castle
somewhere out
in sherman oaks
squandered
trying to conquer strider
level four
was all she wrote
swinging
on the rings
at santa monica
beside the pier
followed by a stop
at woolworths
for some penny candy fare
frantically we’d beg our mom
for change when came the ice cream truck
but when we finally raced outside
most often we were out of luck
garbage pail kids
lik-a-maid
bazooka joe
and pixy-stix
pelon pelo rico
big league chew
and candy cigarettes
gotcha bracelets
vision street wear
swatch watches
and jelly shoes
members only jackets
were the only thing
not neon-hued
weekends when our friends slept over
mischief would soon fill the air
regretting
forgetting
to have chosen truth
instead of dare
helpless
at the mercy
of my older sister’s
bumptious best friend
ceaselessly
accosting me
to follow her
into the old shed
i was far too busy
rocking chopin
on my tape recorder
fostering the nuances
of burgeoning mental disorders
not to mention
perfecting my hand-to-eye coordination
come the day
when playing nintendo
would become my occupation
memories like these
drift through my head
amid the desert twilight
where this heart bleeds cali love
and will until the day that i die
(pictured is myself on the left with my friend David O’Neil at Santa Monica)
machinations
of the mind
maligned
by self-imposed design
the designated driver
of a maladaptive
disposition
dislocated sediment
intent on masochistic dreams
essential to the martyrdom
indoctrinated by a matriarch
of drastic sadist aspect
etched upon
wretched projections
usurped by alienation
parchment poisoned
by a plucked pen
paraphrasing false-inflections
pulse diminished
inquisitions
redress of aloof forsaking
rooftops shunned
by dawn’s awaken
caustic disclaim
trained on trauma
interred at the infirm
spun of silk
encased chrysalis
incrementum in reverso
verses of accursed squalor
umbral indigent
in freefall
following in footsteps
fading faster than
the self-effacing
imbrue of inebriation
seesawing with undulation
diametric poles
in flux
de facto devolution
folding inward
on the precipice
event horizon somnolent
a fate inferred
and self-fulfilled
through flustered blurs
of blighted pills
spilling the inner-light
and stirring dust to volant heights
in violent hues of tapered will
through eyes of silent dearth
and death as breath escaping
flights of fury
cilice of a soul
unfurling life
like crimson shed
in water
blissful skies of sought ensconcing
molded by the want of naught
but for the promise
of demise eternal
more than earned
in life
[image credit: Harry Clarke]
lay your thoughts
upon my pillow
willows whisper
winds serene
tales unfold
composed of kisses
lost in silent reverie
this night beckons
ever urgent
argent skies
immersed in light
as the stars
succumb to ruin
tranquil drops
well in your eyes
[image credit: Kay Nielsen]
i paint these scenes
of wretched failing
deemed “self-sabotage”
subconsciously mincing
the ignorance
of their inception
a wavering vice
of weakness
unwilling
to address the fear
that haunts me
when the moon retreats
to plot my next misstep
tread in torpor
culled of cowardice
and disclaim
framed most vapid
pain
of an affliction
sown
then left
for fools to reap
its tainted toll
so hideous
hidden
as discordance
falls upon them
as they are
the ones
whose only inquiry
is sanctioned
by the sky
those toward whom
my only truth
belies itself
through bridges
burning
hapless
just to turn
and face
what fate
succumbs to acquiescence
burden
of my bastardizing
fraught upon
their sacred ward
i swore
not to avow
this servile sword
wrought
by the eve’s availing
sable-sotted
sentiments
abscond
to the abyss
of midnight
[image credit: Kay Nielsen]
ashes eschewed
usher fall underfoot
the remnants
of endless days
gray
and despondent
shuttered
i no longer see
the trees taper
impressions
once flourishing
thought, sound, and feeling
flashing
in shrill peals
a tale stowed surreally
stolen
by flickering
madness
eluding
strangely retold
in a cold, bleak immersion
hours burned frigid
of infernal mind
rue forms a sordid soot
of the soul’s toiling
inward it folds
fueling lucifer’s fire
solitude broods
failures born of inaction
on mattresses
barren
time-worn
and forgotten
mottled
with mildewed crumbs
bones for a pillow
the contrast stings anguish
shone stark
with such loss
beyond even nightfall
its poignancy stretches
these truths
weep beside me
framed by the faint gloaming
the autumn dawn
breaches
as ardent
claims feigning
to never have cared
but the silence
she already knows
[image credit: H.J. Ford]
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