The Walking Tree

As we sought our answer,

We had slain that which stood before us,

Slicing at the knuckles of vines as

They receded with malice.

We braved the innocent with little thought or remorse,

Merely in search of an aesthetic.



Enter The Walking Tree.

Stoic with traces of grace and nobility,

He championed four legs,

Wandering the amazon with humility.

¨Press forward, and you shall find your answer.¨

He perservered with a reverence to his homeland.

A deep, admiring silence was paid to this noble creature.



Our necks were kissed by the envoys,

Pierced veins injected essence

Our arms and legs carressed by this fluorescent presence.

And as Dusk fell upon us,

So did the weight of our poisons.

We laid in the deep rust with no visibile horizon.



One arose.

With calloused skin and a softer heart,

He clutched my shoulder.

With a warmth that thickened the lyrics, he told me:

This is not ours.

No matter how many lines you draw on maps,

No matter how many signs you post,

You cannot take it.



With a smile, he turned away from the path,

Slowing his pace with every step.

His arms outstretched,

as if cultivating an embrace.

.

Stone Man

We sat on pillars
overlooking those clouds everybody else had their heads in.
They always told me I was a little too tall,
But my Humpty Dumpty steeze
was apparently unapparent to me.

And the pieces never returned to symmetry.
The cracks coagulating,
burning up the ringlets of the imagery
in the veins of this tattered memory.
But with a nice overcoat I still attract the revery,
suck up the venom of the victims
incinerating the good-note endings.

Now, I could sip on false serenities,
but the pleasantries are blending
with the muck of far too many facades.

I drip pebbles off the tip of my nose,
secrete stone out my eyelids.
Dip into my ribcage,
take spoonfulls of concrete.
There is no exterior,

so walk away,
before I release the toxins
and tear at the tendons.

Don't Fade

There are wisps of wind in her whispers
in this crisp, clear winter is when I best hear
the breath in my ear as it dissipates with distance
stale bitter tears blister my cheek bones and
and I am left
chasing the wind.

And the splinters spill from my eye lids
as I lose sight of blue-silver gazes.
And the seams split as the darkness consumes that December.
I am severed in two,
An open wound,
I can't wear this porcelain much longer,
Regret is seeping from the cracks.

I found solace in her skin,
Love in her eyes.
Emptied, evermore.
Transient are these moments
Without her embrace.
Fleeting are these endeavors.

As she fades,
I cling to photographs and forgotten sunsets,
My chest is riddled with heart strings,
and I fear I may lose the scars.
The healing is heart wrenching.

Walk through my door.
Just once more.

Anti Matter

It's anti matter.
this pattern was ill conceived.
The seeds of this synthetic piece
are here to cover up these jagged seams.
ragged dreams and plastered wings,
this scene isn't so seemingly giving.

When I pick a pedal point,
you pick a pasture.
And when I show the reds in my eyes
drop a line from the past here,
because we've sunk far too many battleships
to call this a game anymore.

There were drops of sentiment in your throat
when you spoke the truth,
Then again, there always has been.
I guess I was just one of those fucked up grooves in your vinyl
just another spinal tap to drink from.

We sought a grayer morning
fizzled moods soothed our wounds.
Our incandescence was a product of a hangover perspective,
dressed in electric essence, plagued by the national message
drift forward, do your best kid,
fall into the rest.

When the crystals of our conception
are bursting all around us,
catapulting shards of our existence like rain drops
I can spot the low roars and the curdled hums
curl up in the semblance of a shelter.

If it's anti matter we breathe,
then let us rip our bodies broken,
blackened with the charring.
Let the shock fall to nothing,
let the shattered nerve endings
create some distant noise in the evening.

I'm dreaming of a white November,
where I left you by the pacific.
I crack a little more at every second glance.

The Resurgence of the Marionettes

And If I
Could tell you
A story,
I would lie.
Yeah, I would lie.

Because when we speak,
We smile,
But don't worry,
That's alright.
Yeah, That's alright.

It tugs on my strings
Tug of war on the arms of bitter kings.
Cut before the bones
These tattered wings have lost their need
Those battered strings
Stitch my knuckles like cast iron millipedes
Lock my wrists and employ the reach
Force my knee
And I will pray

But I
Am not
A wounded eagle.
I am not the child in the corner.
I am not a leper.
I am not another blood spot on your dead man walkway.
I am not broken glass.
I am not
Broken.

Because there is something.
Here.
There is a sidewalk on my forehead.
I am thorns formed on necks of orchids
I'm chorus effects and born-again's
I am nothing more than aborted chords,
Dormant, abhorrent to the core and
I can’t even feel the four’s anymore.
I'm knocked up with lava rocks,
Pregnant with cobblestones.
The soldered bones of that copper gold
Splinter in this coddled cold.

Because this chest is a stalk of cherry pits
Wrought with carefree grit
And a hint of kerosene
It lights up the string theories inside of him
That glassy grin is widenin' but,
You know, In spite of them

Because I wear streaks of monotone and serotonin.
Bouncing from the edges of the end-zones and
Dotted lines seep through my pores like dark ink
And divide the centers,
Wrapping and interweaving through the surroundings
Enveloping the shells of bystanders.

I've got a whole lot of broken clocks round my throat,
But I bring the fire of a thousand coarse soldiers.
Distorting the functions,
Breaking the age of somethin',
I return in blazing eruption.

And If I
Could tell you
A story,
I would lie.
Yeah, I would lie.

Because when we speak,
We smile,
But don't worry,
That's alright.
Yeah, That's alright.

She swims deep in my horizons,
Draws my gaze towards the return,
And it keeps me.
me.

Meh

There are pinwheels in his shoulder blades,
ivory keys in his stomach as the "star-crossed" blaze in the cross-fades.
Old man graced with gold hands
and cold clamps 'round his wrists,
grins thick with bent lips
and he hits the red rims when he speaks.
His dreams of Genvieve leave fiends clean
but he's got that hook in his step
quiver in his reach
future falling out his back pockets,
Davy Crockett's in the walkway
and he knows he can't stop it,
can't take part in heart lockets
but he's got shards of soul in his forearms and
nothin's gonna break that.

So he walks.

Neverlonger

Transcendent in the worlds around me,
Transparent in the swirled surroundings
Transferring
hurtful birthing of curdled yearning
I'm earning my penance in these corn fields
these thick thorns peel coils from the mouse holes
now, soul-skinned bones soaked in raw serotonin
I saw nebula's in her lines
like blind times
long before I let the cold in.
Western winds are rough and
The blood is flushed and
The galaxies are blending,
The lines are blurring
And I'm circumnavigating the compressions
sifting through the dust
the coarse, restless grains
trying to find the words
coated with the paralysis of her timbre
"Come back to me."
They ring in my head
feeding back and feeding back
searing my ear drums
floating along the blacks and golds
I dreamt of old words big names.
Now I just want to be a storyteller.

Pestilence

It's been far too long
since the mirror last spotted the stars
in the knots on my eyelids.
far, far too long
since the crescents have fallen.
so god damn long
since I've felt it resonate in my marrow.
since I've felt it.
I dream of charred wicker's and Novocain sunsets.
I smile viscous like honey
melt my insides
drift into this marble method
I am wretched wrecked with pestilence
led to flame by effervescence
riddled with feigning moments
I can see it burning from here,
I can feel the rhythms echo,
I hold it in my palms
in the lines on my forehead.
only to let go
only to lay in this hollow stone,
untouched, untainted,
seeping through the cracks.

Return

This chest is a stalk of cherry pits
wrought with carefree grit
and a hint of kerosene
it lights up the string theories inside of him
that glassy grin is widenin' but,
you know, In spite of them
I wear streaks of monotone and sarotone.
bouncing from the edges of the endzones
dotted lines seep through his pores like black ink
and divide the centers,
wrapping and interweaving through the surroundings
enveloping the shells of bystanders.


I've got a whole lot of broken clocks round his throat,
can barely keep my head up anymore in this cold
but I forever fights for the following gasp
never understanding the circumstance,
a slave of instinct.
No matter how much of a morphine drip he walks,
he won't stumble over his feet.
He'll hobble off with a bottle of his broken thoughts
contemplate the rarefactions
wear passion like bare backs and
tear tracks from his past and
air out the grooves along his shoulder blades.
Someday.

Koto Strings

Koto strings cut up wrists
imprint bliss in the bloodline
drift in and up the confines
in mystic shadows of utter divine.
I spit out waterfalls
mist, clouds, an
integral image wall
I drop adderall on your scripture
Blister innersanctums with my napalm
Hear me break on break on
The mantids place spots
of ephedrine
placate the blades
calm now break gone break gone
fate spawns the eruptions
I stand bearing interruptions
stray from the course
breaking gone
severing the adhesive of this titanic mind state.
strip the accolades
burn the coagulated embrace
drift into another realm
where the cranes rest among the lotus
in the thickness viscous of your reservoir.
Find the lost
for the Rebel lines have all been crossed.
As the levels fall on this introspective,
Find that lost.

Only Deadmen Know

I can speak for your wishes
but never for your impulses
This split lip culture stings the ripples
riddled tin can vultures
pedal past the dusted roads here.
It's the silver spurs on your boots
the powder in your pistols,
the crimson in your system,
the venom in your veins.
I'm stone and arsenic,
lacquered by self loathing,
malignant, yet remnant.

Cast away your shadow,
these lines are thinning,
there is age in these eyes,
in these knuckles and fists,
with the hardhearted are
broken yesterdays.
Hold them no more.
Draw sense from the wolves
find the waters at your feet.
fall to the trails of the weathered,
raise glasses in the name of brethren,
for they carry through the fog
The remnant.

Blue In Green

Once, sometimes only once,
we walk in grass,
we can feel the brushstrokes on our arms
we can taste the divinity in beads of sweat.
We can smell God in strands of hair
cast down by the nature
of the feel of fingertips.
Burn the earth beside you,
tarnish that which calls you to challenge,
set fire to your words,
or dig your toes into the soil,
clench this in the lines of your flesh,
immerse your body in its ecstasy.
Find your river,
and fall in its current.

Groove

Pulsing bumping
Pumping pulling
Currents in my blood stream
Send shockwaves up to the mainframe
Singing
One
Two
One
Two
Rhythm wraps its wings 'round my heart
Squeezes on the ones
Drops on the fours
Paints scenery in my corneas
Splashes of yellows reds blues oranges
Saturate my vision
I am doused in vital signs.
I can feel the heat rise between us.
Break my boundaries
Solo dame esa sonrisa y esa mirada,
Mi cielo,
Y soy tuyo
y el pulso.

Let's Go

When the ghosted foot soldiers
circle the edges of your limits
break motion
send shockwaves
make ripples
and when the legends speak syllables
from the inside of your fire
shout it out
carry it on your shoulders
walk it through the storms
chew up boulders with your jaw bones
spit out fragments clear your throat
throw your hands up
leave the world with two words
fight on
sever the roots
break new skies.

I Don't Fucking Know

There is something.
Here.
There is a sidewalk on my forehead.
I am thorns formed on necks of orchids
I'm chorus effects and born-again's
I am nothing more than aborted chords,
Dormant, abhorrent to the core and
I can’t even feel the four’s anymore.
I'm knocked up with lava rocks,
Pregnant with cobblestones.
The soldered bones of that copper gold
Splinter in this coddled cold.
Some say I’ve lost my edge.
Now those may just be the voices
But fuck ‘em
I’m just biding time trying to regain my poise
And when I finally come to rise out of this noise
Y’all won’t even spot the arrival.

And he drinks too much
And you know he bleeds too much
And we all know he just fucking thinks too much
But He can’t hear you no more
Your static click is just far too thick
He’s locked up the attic
So for now keep taking extract
From abstract.

Here I Am

I've wrapped rock around my chest
in hopes that I could conceal this mess.
But amongst the laughter, the dry sarcasm,
the humility and the smiles,
a little bit of crimson streams down my cheeks.
Half a year has passed,
the wounds remain salted,
biting at my endeavored endurance,
but I can say that I smile for you.
Everyday, every second, every breath I take
with reverence.
I can't give you anything anymore.
Forgive me.
Please,
Just, forgive me.

W.U.I. Writing Under the Influence.

Let me float in the lines of your palms,
Linger in the ecstasy of your fingerprints.
As you smile at me,
I am laser locked to your stare,
glowing glimmering with ebullience.
I could melt on your lips,
outstretched, glistening with spirit.
I could watch the stars fall from the sky
as I dance to your rhythms.
I could spend a lifetime.

In Tin Cups Of Metal Coin and Lost Lovers

Today he went down to the river,
and washed his hands.

As the sun meets death,
it scorches the throat of the horizon,
spilling shimmering orange beams and purple blush
across the glass canvas.
Abrasive, resistant,
Consumed,
The village is engulfed by the warmth of its cataclysmic departure.
The children are dispersed.
The aromas of soft supper blends
seep out of straw huts,
intermingling with chirping of crickets
and cascades of waterfall quiet,
entirely bereft of Stillwater Silence.
The land is lulled by low roars
and dwindling coal-fire kindling,
coated with hums like morphine
drip wet cartilage
as it melts on the rock,
he is taking himself elsewhere.

Slowly eroded,
transient electrocentric energy unloaded.
Oh, he is getting there, hopes and
visions of grandeur suddenly in focus.
The jaded locusts of morrow may feed
on the clusters of grime from his cold knuckles,
but the shackles have been broken,
and he is freed of that old catastrophe.
The trout are dancing in the golden,
For the sky has been smoked and
they want a touch of its flavor.
His burning butter tears cut through the river
Like shards of jagged.
He weeps like Egyptians
Who no longer carry boulders,
Like when a child is born.
He weeps like the soldier’s return home,
Like the wind has touched his forehead.
His smile is wet, thick with stale endearment.

In proximal distance,
A coffin is lifted in bursts of fireworks.
Incinerated are the forefathers.
As their remains delicately hang in the skyline,
The river shines with contingence.
He kisses the currents,
He can still feel the pulse in his lips.

Sing low the calls of madmen,
They speak true to your wonders.
Find summersets in your drinks,
Find jousting in your ambition.
If you can find serenity
In tin cups of metal coin
And lost lovers,
You too will dance with the trout
In the glimmer of the golden
And cleansing shade of dusk.

Chopin and Sawdust

Sprinkling cigarette dust
along the frame of our photograph,
humming to Chopin, sipping upon reverberations,
I delved into your pupils with my fingers.
I found scenes from The Nutcracker,
Enormous Russian Bears dancing with wondrous youth,
Gallant Royalties giggling on the ice
in awe of their Neverland.

I found you in hymns of Irish Folk Tales
centuries of maturity,
aged to perfection.

I found you street artists,
impoverished and unshaven,
aloof to the candid and unwilling,
tapping into something thicker.

I found you in violin strings,
elegance amalgamates with ferocity,
Sounding heartfelt moans and cries into the clouds.

I caught you in the city lights
shading parts of your forehead,
smiling at me so playfully with your eyes.

Alas, scars rest on your eyelashes.
You are caked with sawdust,
and I cannot sing the flames away.

I shall settle for memoirs,
and decorated picture frames.

Disolve With Me

Listen, I'm just saying
I found the stars tonight.
I saw the oils blending.
I can feel the hook in your smile
and I see the loose endings.

Let's break up the particles
annihilate the patterns
for these walls are melting
Dissolving parts of Mars
And all of Saturn.

Let us wring the rags
and sip the nectar.
I have lost all sense of censure
as we eradicate celibate textures
that danced on the subtitles of our semiverse.

Come with me.
Lay in this midnight bed,
placed in the deepest valley.
Let's fall into this intrinsic melody
As red candle wax scorches
The skin along our forearms,
I can take you in
as you take me under.
Dissolve me with these linseed oils
that masqueraded our potential love story.
I'll smile as we melt with the galaxies
in shades of crimson, violet, and happy.

Mistereal

They say he resides in deep mist,
Cast 'round murky divisions
'Tween the risen of the pasture
And the resin of the past, here,
Yes, ma'am, he is no longer masked in mirrors.

Whatever branches crack,
Whatever cannons blast, sinew-snaps,
Whatever men of disturbance
Burn fast the divinity of this earth
this land
Dissipate, as
Lasting as the oils of frayed gunpowder.

He hath fallen in whispers,
Spilled the spoils of the gray.
He is left with scathed face.
He hath gone to lay
with the water pebbles.

He hovers near brethren,
Blending broken burden bastions
In his wake
There is no terror in his timbre
No sarcophagus in his throat
He speaks softly.
He smiles now.
Smile for him.

You'll Probably Never See This

I see her through jaded lattice.
Obscured by the void,
I yearn for slow dances in her garden.
I can almost taste the elegance of this lioness,
for it resonates through the entirety of that little toy town.
And while I see paper bits of strife falling from the edges of her mouth,
I am derailed by the utter artistry,
entranced but the subtle harmony,
compelled by this other part of me
that still seeks fairy-tales
to run off with her.

I bet she could fit me in her coat pocket.
I bet her skin is made of satin.
I bet her lips feel like summer.

Won't you find me one august sunset,
slay me with your smiles,
encompass me with that radiance?
I implore thee,
for I will wait long enough
to lace my fingers with yours
through the lattice holes.

Experiments

It only takes one sparrow
to invigorate the incineration of our subtle genocide
Suspicions have been ratified
by these contorted sudden battle-cries,
but I can't deny
that this sense of edify
has left me with a scent of pride.

Oh look at you, right?
It seems that we identify
with a similar shade of callous.
We share copper tightropes,
a serious lack of balance,
and a rough-lacquered palace in the distance.

Though I see the common symptoms
I take no solace in our co-significance.
So you stay there,
imperfect with persistence
while I try to wrap my synapses
around this blistered existence.
Synthetic synagogues settle
on the rings round your forehead,
I can't have any more clutter.

Purpose has left me with questions,
So I'm gonna let these ships sail, get some rest and
sip this samurai warrior status
until I finally unearth
from the core of my ribcage
the who we why we
what we were we
are we will we
have we been here before?

Torment

She sat opposite me
in an eight foot kayak
in the center of our dis-course.
Her lips trembled as her fingers
gently tamed the waters.
We remained at our corners,
Inflamed with desires, swollen with pride.
But we never stopped our staring contest,
for I could never escape the grasp of their intent,
not until the promise of landjourneys and lovesakes
was engulfed by the nimbus.

My senses dismantled by the torment
All that remains
are those blue-silver gazes.
As the carriage snaps,
we lunge for the exchange,
restrained no longer,
wrought with terror,
reaching for one another,
but to no avail.

We graze fingertips
as I let her slip away.

I struggle with my 3-foot share
of this contorted paddle boat.
These iron strings tear at the ventricles.
But I will fight this torment
to the ends of my extension,
so long as I am once again inebriated by
the feel of her warmfeather fingertips.

While distance grows,
there is no adhesive,
no regeneration.
My chest is ridden with your remains,
and I am not comforted.


Find me in these waters,
Where I shall forever remain,
collecting fragments of heart strings.

[Untitled] (Names are welcomed.)

Place the dotted X's on my eyelids
in the form of candle wax.
Make it lavender.
Coat my fingertips with Morphine
and I will paint your name
in the lining of my cheeks.

An enormous Aurora Borealis
lies in the fibers
of these follicles of straw.
They rise erect,
delegating the shimmering dust
of imperial gardens and remembered kings
along the shoulders of this flannel.
Wise men gather on the crown of this cranium,
joined by only the worthy of countrymen,
and witness the courtship of galaxies,
a symphony of starshine.

Ironically I can no longer smell the cinnamon.
This armoire holds my seams in place.
I am pressed for time in this burlap.
I stitched on a smirk for this day,
when you would find the attic,
far too late for latency and lackings
but in perfect punctuality
for my second venture.

Would you sit opposite me on the drywood
and roll back and forth the resonance
of our former vibrancy?
Toss me ladders and waterfalls,
bowling pins and hoops of magma,
Lob the tragedies over your shoulder.
Finally, slide me your dagger.
I will swallow the denunciations of the pasture,
and make an incision from collar bone
to belt buckle,
and plunge wrist-deep into a carcass of cotton.
Such black and deceitful irony.

Well up, dear firefly.
Yes, let the throat coarse with warmth,
for there is that in your despair.
Divulge a raindrop or two,
but I beg of you,
Capture the majestic deliverance above my forehead
and release me,
so that I may consume the supernovas
or evaporate into the ethos of Rhetoric.
The lights and colors
that waltz in my hair
will never leave your subconscious.
You have my word

Eruption

Charcoaled coral encrusts the walls
Of a cavern long forgotten.
Slick surfaces, Tarnished cores,
Spouting purple jaded sunbeams
Across the canvass,
A shade of tangerine.

The levels are rising.
As she climbs with haste
With the roaring commotion
Beneath her ankles,
She imagines the release of
Succumbing to the ascension,
Relinquishing her fate to the current,
Carried by the tides to cast her droplets
Along the lining of the easel,
Lulled by the low roar of the eruption.

White Noise, Cluster Cycles

Deafened Ears settle on empty cries.
There is a chunk of serene
on the other side of this rope bridge.
Sarah's clawing up the sea rocks
fighting for her love songs.

The yellow-faced smiley pins
on Jacob's side-bag bleed bruise blue
out of their dotted eyes.
The lashes on his conscience
would put 1860 through a lot of embarrassment.
His head is a broken trash compactor.

There isn't enough blood in their veins,
not enough fire in their forest,
not enough art in their design.
It's like that feeling when you punch the ocean
with all the fibers of your being
and realize for the first time
that there are no tidal waves.

They just want to jump

Nothing Notes

Come, Sister,
Fill my head with nothing notes.
Plant your static in the orchard
And douse the crop with cellophane.
Give Saturn something to weep for,
Charging the Nymphs and Lepers of His command
With the task of your destruction.
Let the Galleons synchronize their motion
To the buoyancy of this therapy.
Transcend Dimension.

In every 15 millimoments
lies a moment:
an instance with an assigned message
interweaving synapses
forming.
Megamoments.
Yes, that's right, Megamoments.
We've got some fucking monsters out there.
Anywhere from 15 seconds to 120 years,
They are ever expanding birthday party balloons
Or perfectly constructed bubbles.
They clear volcanoes and drown belugas,
Shatter atoms and split crystal.

You're spending far too much time painting portraits.
You've missed the skeleton entirely.
Take a canoe to the mouth
And drink from it's nectar.
Swing from the firesets and
Sing with the nightflies.
Your garden leaves me weary,
and I fear your nothing notes
and millimoments
may suffocate with me
in the cellophane.

Achilles

It seems that the reinforcements
Have arrived...
For I have taken a bat to the picket fences
And I've planted my seed all over YOUR front lawn....
I'm that kind of clown
That'll frown the fuck out of your security.
You can cake those eyelids sweetheart
But we're still not impressed.

As much as I profess the lions,
I dance with Achilles
In wake of my terrors
Lost to the presence of a heel.
I've got concrete dust rocks
Gathered on the floor of my pericardium.
Mind you, I may stab at your underbelly
Claw at your soft spots,
Lap up the spoils of your surrender,
But I rattle the gravel,
Wheezing heavy as my chest aches.
So very heavy.

Bloodshot

Have you ever stopped to marvel
At the sensation of bloodshot?
Inhaling the effervescent dust,
Bearing sandpaper nightgowns,
Slightly embellishing stiff cheek muscles.

It's a droning
I could fall for.

Is it truly pitiful
To seek a sober stupor?
I can drop empty visions
Into my piggy bank o' wonders
'Till the planets collide.

I just want to curl up in a
Callous cocoon,
Swim laps in the sahara,
Drop bombs on the cities.

I could melt into this like caramel.
I could dissolve in your stratosphere.

But tomorrow, I know,
We'll snort lifelines off the bedpost
And entangle in the vines
Until the night comes again,
Business as usual.

Just leave me with the record player
And don't you turn out the light.
Just a little longer.

I'll be out soon.

Forbidden Fruit

We dance a tango of whispers
a ballet of undertone
condemned by the web work,
shrouded in nervous grins
and bated breath.

But I would find no other majesty.
Her voice is my scripture.
She sees me in X-Ray
With a look that evaporates the demeanor.
Those electric eyes break stance,
Quiver muscle,
Tremble speech.

We're covered in secret, my dear,
Drenched in deception.
We're outnumbered, my love.
But when you look at me,
Smile at me with your ethereal glance,
I see nothing but starshine in this atmosphere.

So let the grey matter coagulate,
Let the lush leaves rust
Like charred sunset horizons,
Let Eden dissolve beneath my feet,
And I will descend into the haze,
Clutching my beloved apple.