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]
why
do you not
hear these pleas
to reflect
my state of ruin?
how is it
such words project
inflections
paradoxical?
then,
to hear them
paraphrased
with such aberrant
intonation
altogether bastardizing
every crux
of their intention
what
pray tell
of my expression
disinherits
its avowal
moving you
to mock its merit
feigning ignorance
most foul
that there would
exist displeasure
sourcing
from outside oneself
is by no means
any measure
yours
had thus been
duly shelved
featuring:
ALSO STARRING:
MIRA MEUNIER as “DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR!!!”
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]
[image credit: Francisco Tamagno]
[images featuring: Mary Pickford]
hope
like humankind
is truly
the cruelest
if not all too usual
like a challenger deep
i could have easily
inhabited the trenches
of the great mariana
if left to my own devices
in a steady stream
of entropic existence
this, is not to say
that my soul would not
seep through the fissures
absconding to hellfire
in iron-core iconoclasm
my chosen paths
are minded with honors
and badges
it’s the acclimatization
and the stayed deprivation
that stave off the gravest of fates
. . . to be stricken
with the malignancy
of minded emotion
in the spur of the moment
to. . . argh
to, ~ f e e l ~.
for when i do
dimensions cry, uncle
as my watery ways
shear gaping rifts
through the planes of perception
. . .
i dwelled in detachment
living tortuous death
every breath a burden anew
but at least i knew~
now, time has wrought trickery
upon my soul’s dispossession
and the distance which spans
amid consequent disparity
has displaced my consciousness
landing a final blow
upon all i have known
rent by the unspent
tempestuous
turbulent
fervid
and festering
the influx of blustering
bombast so drastically
thrashing my breast
an impetuous
press against her lips
precious
all the years of my life
have always belonged
to her
this, i know
will inhabit my bed of dirt
when i greet the insect hordes
but more than just this
it was the mistle-streaked
visage since sallow and sullen
the culminating of hearts
acquiescing
a lifetime flashed before me
in that briefest of respite
much like a comet streaks
through a burst sky
only now
had its tail ensnared
the pulsating mass
fresh from my chest
and thus it was shot to the sun
in an instant
and such elucidation
diffused forces known
as gravity left me
to fall back to earth
nothing
can tell
of the ghastly descent
whence i combusted
to dust
from the old familiar sphere
of atmos and mir
thunderous crashing
i plunged into depths
the source of eternity’s tears
ever felled
in an instant
they passed through me
like ghost particles
colliding
i can no longer abide
let me now stay my tongue
take my leave
for this grievance
shall venture no more
boring all
like the sting
has bored holes
where my eyes once beheld–
let me tell
of no more
[image credit: Tess of the Storm Country (1922) featuring Mary Pickford]
never were worlds so condensed
crushing sounds of chaos crashing
the eve of shattered shells
shackled in rippling clamor
torn beyond arm’s length
bracing memories of bartered being
the aching void of absent panacea
toiling for passage
the sting of earned lament
forthwith abandoned
to stations conflicted by minds unsound
long trodden in tumult’s refrain
what burdens we carry in these chains we so cherish
fighting the sins born of heaven
hammering down upon hapless casts of dissevering clay
complexions so fragile
never straying from the vaulted eden of sanity’s mind
ceaseless hordes
in planate procession
fools fraught with erstwhile fixation
betraying the worth of the words carved unyielding
through the infamy of torrid tempest
feigned in fluster
with haste, forgotten
but some flourish ephemeral
~querabus in acquiescence
nonpareil without parallel~
sweltering seamen scout the echoing seas
to plunder the gifts of god’s glory
treasures unknown
to inhabit our hearts
belying these stagnant disfigured illusions
should gentle grace ameliorate
and the rapids arrive at a quietus lull
-they say voices spout melodies stealing the wind-
and here,
this pen spreads jilted verse with piteous affectation
in shades of redundant avowal
this, the pilfer of poets and priests
only in the threads of ethereal thought, does truth reign
neither bound by scientific bane
nor beholden to idle slight of ideal
the essence of knowledge sublime
that we find the one
and the other in spirit
when realms of spent flesh beckon nigh
we shall yet persist – in tether and thyme
the warmth of unspoken goodwill
stirs the ocean’s heart humble
like the fiery swells of our wounded earth’s rain
a feeling which none are to have known
ere we wander into the borealis of the soul’s aura
wading into the florid confluence
to taper off in eased undulation
neath the umbral sway of a burgeoning berth
[image credit: Tallmadge Doyle]
Max, or Not 
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