Max, or Not

i feel
like an artifact
fucked
in the head

the fiction
of living
has left me
for dead

aloof
and deflating

befuddled
bereft

deflecting
the influx
of feelings
once fled

an afterthought
of indefatigable flesh

let us
wrap this timeless
obsidian

in the crux
of a defiant embrace

fires of faceless
desperation

a deathless fear
deftly
giving chase

to gaze upon these
dimly scattered spectacles

hung marooned
ruins moored to a distant past

piercing
with each stilted second

the stoics standing
in between two endings

as our thoughts
entwine the skies as arabesque

the vice
that was your touch
yet wrests me

though hollow shells
suffice not
of its loss

when gods prove once again
their state of madness

the heavens will descend
into our grasp

eternity shall turn to find itself
in dimensions suspended

sweet tea
ain’t got nothin’ on you
when it’s steamin’ hot
your kisses keep me cool

sweet potatoes
i’ll see ya later!
i love ’em a lot
but not as much as you

revenge is sweet
they say
but darlin’
you’re still sweeter
this, ya best believe

home sweet home
only if you’re there
there ain’t much to it
if i’m all alone

short and sweet
is where it’s at
cuz darlin’
ain’t nobody got time for that!

sweet dreams
fallin’ from the heavens high
when comes the evenin’
and i close my eyes

[image credit: Louis Wain]

why is Jesus so obsessed
with taking off his shirt in public?

yes, we get the point, you’re hawt
and everyone on earth knows of this

i suspect it might involve
his recent passion for “manscaping”

ever since it started
it would seem the bathroom’s always taken

i don’t think he realizes
i can hear his clippers buzzing

surely, he must be aware
of all the errant remnant fuzzies

i always assumed that vanity was not
befitting of him

but i guess humanity
has turned him into what he wasn’t

dousing himself with exotic oils
that claim to be essential

donning denim cut-offs
and a righteous tan most evidential

spending all his time
down at the Gold’s gym in West Hollywood

if he wasn’t Jesus
i might think he was up to no good

i’m not sure, but every time the lepers call
he says he’s busy

even banking at the church
no longer gets him in a tizzy

perhaps the weirdest thing of all
i stumbled in on yesterday

as he was practicing some moves
to music sounding somewhat gay

of course, there’s nothing wrong with this
it’s just that i had no idea

though i might have guessed
when he suggested i could be his beard

really, it makes perfect sense
for such potential lies in all men

everybody knows just what the extra “f”
means next to “best friend”

no, i don’t mean cigarettes
but if you’re offering, i’ll take one

what i meant was fornicating
for it’s the human condition

Jesus, just like any man
is free to flaunt his epic body

and if he should choose to
hook-up with a slew of hirsute hotties

all the power to him
for this also is my main intention

next time Jesus goes to Rage
i think that i might have to join him

*[to be read in cutesy voice]

Bartleby
my lil’ mister

how u know
i need you so?

when i’ve reached
the very bottom

hopeless
with no place to go

out of nowhere
like a flash

you dash upon my chest
and nuzzle

purring
in complete surrender

tender love
to lift me up

somehow
beyond explanation

you can sense
my heart’s distress

such implicit understanding

speaks of secrets
held by stars

from that very first moment
your head popped through that broken screen

i knew you were more than special
how is u gon be dis cute?!

it defies all known convention
how you came to be right here

crashed out like a precious daydream
in my arms so peacefully

[pictured: Bartleby during the writing of this]

shards of sanity
scattered intermittently
across the glass-like surface

shades of unfamiliarity
fade into permanence

the strangest of our thoughts
condemned to feeling

only the past
remains unchanged

perhaps
it is inconsequential

as words are

as they ever were

stinging our jaded eyes

with the distortions of our dreams

forever dangling
out of reach
and out of time

if
i cannot
express my love

then i have not
the will
to live

[image credit: Howard Pyle]