A Murder Of

Disillusion

2009-06-21T22:38:00.000-07:00

Blood -
Bubbling dark
on lips we
perceived to be
luscious.

Lies -
Snaking in
A band of thieves
Hiding behind
White clouds.

Shame –
As visible as
Monstrous smoke
Devirgining
The air.

Mercy –
Futile cries
Sordid lies
Phantasms of light
Dancing drunk on
Streets they
Claim as
Their own…

7665 (And Counting)

2009-06-07T06:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Daddy,

I don’t wear holes in my shirt
so that my misfortunes have free admissions
I don’t lie face down in the mire
to weep your tears for you
I don’t spin gold from
the blue blood names you strap on
I don’t wait with a net
to guide your dreams back home
I don’t tell you about
black marigolds and a god of no gods
I don’t do much at all for you
Not really, not ever, no wonder in silence.

(I too wonder where the fish and
its shocked little soul went
In that final dark flush of its life.)

Mad Girls

2009-04-23T07:08:00.000-07:00

I've seen mad girls dance inside the whites of your eyes
They're the kind that make grown men weep.
And the dreams that you reel off your lips
Aren't the ones your heart whispers, "Seek".
After all the lies are spun to your will
What paths uncleave their tongues for you?
Is there light at the end of this story
And will anyone wait by the door?

Now we watch as flowers tremble in the drizzle
of creatures writhing in the glow
And all the laughs you fed his soul
are trampled into wisps.
I've heard all of the mad girls,
the cackling chorus of your mental debris.

And oh how thick your tears must taste
As you struggle in the traps
of what you thought was his love.

The Islander

2009-04-12T06:58:00.000-07:00

I remember when the mornings are still green, and I want to be Lorca’s heart.
I remember lemons and teeth, gums and child’s blood, long legs and sugar tunes.
Already the black ice chills its armies sleeping under.

I remember phantom kisses and wheel deaths, mangoes and snake frost.
I am not weak but I am not strong; I am the prelude to my child’s ghost.
The armies seek an older skin; they store my shrill joys in jars.

I remember no-more-faith, blue attic writing, handprints on fire.
Each day you cry wolves’ tears for the sheepskin you’ve been adorned.
I swallow my eyes alive and grasp the leader’s stale hands.

I remember chocolate names and love in jags, Byzantium waning, death by lamb.
I am nowhere’s girl if nowhere is your home for fattened tongues.
Loved so by lightning as it jolts my heart to sleep/breathe/sleep.

I remember butter smiles and hush-hush skin, rebel blasts and streamed mutinies.
I am not the puppet I string along; not your girl with the green heart.
I gave her up a thousand to none, a murder you won’t detect.

I will remember the plastic sunshine that I gambolled in for you all.
I will remember the love, the kind words and the highest heights of our laughs.
Most of all I will remember how all that you loved
Were just strips of a dead girl’s island.

Pilot

2009-04-12T06:34:00.001-07:00

Greetings, all. This project is highly overdue, having been in the making for several years now. Overly-ambitious aspirations of grand layouts and equally grand graphics resulted in one too many headaches for yours truly.

This is the final product, and it's finally up and running. I will mostly be posting new poems on this blog, although earlier works may have occasional cameos.

As always, comments, reviews and criticism are much appreciated as long as they are constructive and not made for the mere purpose of spamming or flaming.

And we're live in three, two, one...go to town with it, kids.