the paradox of a promise
one cannot hold
known so well
ask not why
anxiously fleeing
leaden clouds
of dusted wake
and coerced ruination
blanketing
the black horizon
heaven, pray forgive me
nothing
but the bleakest silence
can allay these blighted days
tempting the mirrored gate
it reveals
that it is time
[image credit: Pablo Picasso]
let these words not
fail me
in this hour of dwindling
when tinseled tears wander
down her unabridged flesh
to gather at the basin
of absynthium in alabaster
and the depth of blustering cries
shakes silver dust
of mothen lustre
never to unravel
as the curse of her acerbic tongue
drives rusted nails
through my volition
to revel in the pale moon’s visage
when the night blooms a sole plume of Cereus
[image credit: Jan Toorop]
i’m far too wild
to be tenuously dangled
on a thread of silk caprice
when whims permit
it seems you have mistaken
who it is you think i am
you see, i’m nothing like the others
who are wont to fawn in flounder
i am not to be worn
on a sleeve of solipsism
not a temporary titilation
tempered by your pique
i do not require the words of others
to be validated
my self-worth
is solely based on sentiments intrinsic
galavant in all your gloried dalliances
if you please
save your pittanced placatories
for some other pithless plaything
my predilection toward effusion
may dismay those not departed
cause affront to taste’s convention
leave apologists half-hearted
warrant thrashings deemed most sound
even by standards presumed modest
instigate revolt profound
and draw the ire of known Jihadists
nonetheless, i persevere
for this is all i have to offer
even if it sparks despair
in devotees of Geoffrey Chaucer
some will find my manner trying
some think it obsequious
those astute are found descrying
how i air somniloquous
their opinions might be worthy
to those of aesthetic merit
but thou must understand, surely
that i am not wont to hear it
therefore, i shall e’er regale thee
with this vomitous onslaught
at a frequency seen daily
leaving thee forever fraught
[image credit: Louis Wain]
people who talk shit
through channels indirect
should shut the fuck up
airing every grievance
to their panels
of pathetic suck-ups
predisposed to pandering
and duplicitous deviation
narratives composed
through soporose imposed
indoctrinations
lacking amygdalic function
calculating false intentions
leaving all to wallow
in their wake
of cowardice convention
wrested by their deepest fears
projected onto those unwitting
passively divulging virulent afflictions
of their bidding
so consumed
with self-obsessive thoughts
of presumed indignation
paranoia, slights inferred,
and fantasized alienation
if their focus
for one second
could be placed upon another
then perhaps
a brave new world of empathy
they might discover
balancing
their drastically askew sense
of the world around them
silencing
the insidious slew
of wasteful swill unfounded
sadly what is most likely
is their continued wrath
unleashed
upon innocent victims
who remain unsure
of what they speak
it’s true i am a pacifist
and yet, i feel
a strong compulsion
to remove their flesh
and banish them
to exile in my dungeon
yes, i have a dungeon
there’s no need to act incredulously
where would you expect me to imprison those who disobey me
now you think i’m crazy
i can tell
just by your nervous laughter
whatever, just get the fuck out of my way
or else, i’ll have to
show you just how crazy that i am
and you don’t want to see that
my advice to you
is leave me be
so i can cuddle my cat
[image credit: Louis Wain]
why are men obsessed with comic books and superheroes
fantasizing fanciful scenarios absurd
it’s a culture born of insecurity and privilege
Venus-envy, sexism, contempt, and minds disturbed
so pathetic are they, with their narratives presumed
thinking women to be nothing more than damsels in distress
helpless to do anything beyond awaiting rescue
by masked men draped in garish spandex with emblazoned chests
as ludicrous as this may sound it’s only the beginning
of their self-aggrandized solipsistic penis-driven daydreams
the time and effort they could utilize to gain perspective
is squandered on the furthering of male misogyny
the issue is so greatly obfuscated by the penchant
of male refusal to acknowledge that which they have wrought
in reference to the omnipresent mistreatment of women
as women’s rights have never been more than an afterthought
what is the “male ego” but a flagrant euphemism
for insecurity, violent vindictiveness, and petulance
paranoia, jealousy, self-centeredness, and cruelty
arrogance, entitlement, it’s better i digress
all of which facilitate a tendency toward ignorance
allowing them to justify their actions to themselves
thinking this excuses them from all responsibility
in any consequence which finds their hands upon the helve
the irony of these male narratives of great heroics
fancying themselves as saviors of all humankind
is so fucking incomprehensible in its absurdity
i dare not overthink it lest i lose my fucking mind
so pathetic is it that the most prevalent impetus
deciding how men act comes from a need for compensation
utterly obsessed with focusing on what they’re lacking
the state of their reality is based on indignation
that men would see the woman’s role as creators of life
and regard it only as a function they themselves had lacked
then react by shamefully attempting to usurp biology
by using false religions made for holding women back
is so fucking insidious it speaks of truth in volumes
that no god would ever stand for all of history’s affronts
perpetrated against womankind and by proxy, all children
men, it seems, are willing fools at humankind’s expense
the root of all these vile, sadistic, crude, misinformed notions
that permeates the muddled mindset of men everywhere
is ultimately based in such a primal state of terror
as man’s primary inspiration is his greatest fear
clearly, one can see that superheroes do exist
all one needs to do is analyze the strength and will of women
and the breadth of everything that they accomplish and endure
without whining like a man who takes his anger out on others
i guess it seems to follow that such focus, time, and effort
would be spent validating mechanisms compensatory
you know, instead of things like, gee um, addressing the issue
but not even a muscled man in tights could save this story
[image credit: Frida Kahlo]
in this age of artifice through digital effacing
every day we pay a ransom unbeknownst to all
on the surface, it would seem to simplify our commune
by granting us unprecedented access from afar
to audiences varied and of infinite potential
we can state our case to massive crowds without a face
frolick inside forums which facilitate concealment
elicit sympathy from those born of similar fates
countless lonely people searching for human connection
inundate the platform where we socially conspire
internet romance across the world is efflorescing
sadly, with an underlying disconnect most dire
when in our possession lies the power of controlling
the elements which normal interaction would forbid
disconcerting is our wont to give into temptation
acting on the urgent whims and impetus of id
forgoing the superego, forsaking discretion
shedding social inhibitions of our better nature
unaccustomed to repeated strokings of our ego
clouding our perception ’til the self becomes unknown
slowly we succumb to an insidious comeuppance
losing sight of every value once dear to our heart
gone with the allure of avenues of new attention
behaviors we deemed abhorrent, we now represent
human beings thus reduced to means of entertainment
strung along on chains of multitasking sans regard
dangling the carrot of romantic affirmation
just enough to keep unwitting pawns from calling out
whittling away their self-respect as they lay waiting
on asynchronous responses thought to be abreast
under the illusion of affectionate allusions
fostering a pretense of contingency bereft
if we truly have devolved into such vaunting vampires
sated only by extrinsic veils of validation
sought from sycophants pandering to our disposition
how can we expect any connection to occur
intimacy cannot be attained through afterthought
juggling a mass of friends and lovers on the fly
it requires a dedicated focus, second nature
presence in the moment, pray without wondering why
[image credit: Takabatake Kashou]
without death
we are nothing
a wintry embrace
long forgotten
grains of mured sand
in an endless descent
adorners of vitrails
neath skies of exalt
the morass of mortality
bound to such frivol
vaunting in vain
for a fool’s validation
regale me with tales
of a fabled existence
with just enough laughter
to stay my own ruin
let us sit on the ledge
where the sea hides the sun
in vigilant view
of our imminence
twinkled reflections
reveal glimpses of youth
lost in mirages
of futures imagined
to think of the fates
since abandoned brings pause
bewildered in awe
as our final breath flees
[image credit: Jennie Harbor]
there is a ceaseless realm of shapeless shadows
unbeholden to sophrosyne
where once upon a glimmer stood a maiden
a prism so profound sight did beseech
we vanished along violet shores of twilight
her gentle words eclipsed my darkest fears
cradled by a crescent moon once looming
as stardust ran its fingers through our hair
the floor gave way to zinnias of azure
whose depths we dared not ponder as we fell
and for the briefest instance, we were fractals
amid a glowing wall of aquarelle
the sky was soft as snowfall in November
and florid wafts did wrest our every sense
adrift inside of worlds belying wonder
that only eyes of pretense could amend
I knew if I should wake, that I would find her
for all of Nature’s bounty was her ward
and when the sun had swallowed all the stillness
her kiss did linger on forevermore
[image credit: James Abbott McNeill Whistler]
Sunday morning sadists
sing discordant of their greatest sin
a stinging ricochet meets copper
in leather-bound summation of insidious domain
stifling sun of sordid swelter
writhing in self-flagellation
rising welts on skin born sacred
words belie the skies afire
irony left to the gallows
sworn in blood wine
bread of flesh
and symbolic disparity
all the passion reappears
when draped in ire
trapped in painted windows
tainted scenes of glass stained tragic
framed above the haloed heathens
listless martyr ever-looming
unrelenting sting of stigma
fingers crossed in accusation
pointing toward our innate state
of human beings being human
and then to see such opulence
flaunted about so garishly
attached to hands soliciting alms
from desperate indigents in worship
shameful exploitation stretching far beyond reproach
as the spoils of their devout extortion
are soon transposed to golden thread
to sew the splitting seams of pockets brimful
dismal are the dreams fixated on barren subsistence
what is reaped are mindsets of maniacal indoctrination
self-fulfilled by fearful deluge
ethical paralysis of covert imparting
compromising our capacity to comprehend
the consequences of our actions
framing death as moral answer
sacrifice of so called “soul”
a sentence served of self-inflicting
orchestrated by a savior
intrinsically born of usurping
based on baneful male womb-envy
guiding men with egos fragile
terminally compensating
gravely vying for control
through brazen claims of self-appointing
pathological presumption
placating their perceived lacking
tactless hordes of form barbaric
storm the streets to spread their poison
pious perpetrators of a violence unprecedented
viciously conniving for a self-sought absolution
through the veil of our avowal
of their never-ending avarice
they gaily flaunt before our faces
wonted are we to submit
and worse
to serve as known accomplice
Sunday morning moral comeuppance
plundering our forlorn plight
frightful death and heaven’s scorn
adorn the good book’s turning pages
if there still remained even a shred
of our humanity
it would be the first thing
we would burn
[image credit: Frank C. Pape]
Max, or Not 
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