Indigo
Indigo was the color of her eyes on that strange irreverant night, good bye the word most often heard, the streets filled with confetti and revelry. Strange was strange as strange becomes -- shade wrapped sillohuettes creeping along alleys, small folk thigh slapping merriment down parched and choking throats. Dancers slid along the aves in spinning pirrouettes and smiles chipped in the veneer only well practiced sweat can carve upon a fracture of oval touch, all swirling and chewing meat within a halting haunting melody caroming off bricks and moonlit alcoves. She was a dream, though not a sleeping vision, but a flesh and bone come uppance of ascension just beyond finger tips, beyond, by a whistle, the moisture that gathers upon wet and hungry lips. And crowds gathered with collars and cloaks casting smiles in shade and deep looks upon a dark dip of eve. And Indigo was the color of her eyes as she weaved and slid through the croaking gasp of jumbled words cast in a madness that hung upon the edge of a world that stood upon the end. And I asked to be her friend, my atrophied heart a drink in a long desert upon a long road cozened within a diaphonous delusion of crumbling certitude, a long sigh in a long pause the answer she tilted upon the lamps casting belief upon supturation of a longing. Her hips spelled runes upon the miasm of memory, grace in a foot placed upon the cuddled lumination of a rumination awkwardly triaging upon the marrow of an insolent want. Hollow was the sorrow I tucked upon the beat that rythmed to the tap tap tap of breath as it brushed images upon the sky and the echos back pedaling the sugar wrapped plums of her hugging symphony. She pushed me gently with a whisper, with a hand upon my chest and a breast against the brittle carapice of agony parting a delusionatory pubescent artful tongue brushing statues to the enamored bumpkin crawl my legs trudged upon, to the chains heavy upon my broken hope, broken shoulders and broken soul, but with a smile,a beautiful radiant smile, a smile as salvatory as a chime upon the wind that careened upon all that stood within the shadows of the old church that hung upon the cross of our untimely reflection of debauchery and hedonistic etherial grasping of the eternal. Indigo was the color of her eyes as I tasted the premise of my demise and when courage or fear or some incindiary blend of either or none had roped my cast upon the truism of lives past and the assault of her trailing scent and empty silohuette coiled within the shedding skin of my too heavy emote of silence and saw with an honesty beyond an honest man's truth or a poor man's lie that she had long gone into the make believe of fables spent upon the cold that licked the page that wove it's final outcome. I realized that a word is a word is a word until you fist it upon a fabric etched in the soliloque of sacrifice, until you sin spit arterial spray and strip the flesh off the ligaments of your aspirations upon the threads of it's creation. Strange was strange as strange becomes. Indigo was the color of her eyes.
Weary Road
I've been walking the road
of this weary weary world
wondering how I got here
wondering where it ends
There's mommas weeping
for the blood spent to make
a coin in the pockets of men
For the dustbowl of a back room deal
with a bottle of whiskey and
a shot of sin
There's a killer in the shade
of a story I made
where honest men and
a whore's den is the
commodities we trade
It's the brother and sisters
and lovers born on the wrong
side of the divide
It's the greed and lust
and murder in the propoganda
in which we hide
It's blackjack playing
in the backdrop of my eyes
where the word I use most is goodbye
my ace up the sleeve of fate
It's hard living in a world
so full of hate
Hard living
in a world so full of hate
I've been walking the road
of this weary weary world
wondering how I got here
wondering where it ends
I used to have friends long ago
when a lullaby on the spinning of a toy
was all the joy then became a ploy
to split a woman's legs and make her beg
for the boon to spoon the scars
that marked the streets of my blight
what is right when wrong is the purchase
of most everything
Freedom is the trophy they carrot drop
a moment from our stutter stop
inching their way to weaving dreams
that seem so unlikely on a sober eve
but all the glitter and gold
and lies were told
we stumble on and start to believe
It's blackjack playing
in the backdrop of my eyes
where the word I use most is goodbye
an ace up the sleeve of fate
It's hard living in a world
so full of hate
Hard living
in a world so full of hate
I'm the Tumbleweed Man
blowing through town
as fast as I can
with dirvish eyes
and bald faced lies
and a corpse for flesh
that seems too used
too much like death
And on days gone by
i hear the lullaby,
the lonely wind of a lover's sigh
the nightmares of broken skies
The weeping of a momma spent
a wail to all she's lost
on someone else's bet
Don't fret, don't shed a tear
for those you hold dear
we are all a joke in the spoke
of humanity, a misery
repeated through history
a legacy not unlike the symmetry
between breath and the cold
remorse of final rest
I'm the Tumbleweed Man
blowing through town
as fast as I can
with dirvish eyes
and bald faced lies
and a corpse for flesh
that seems too used
too much like death
It's blackjack playing
in the backdrop of my eyes
where the word I use most is goodbye
an ace up the sleeve of fate
It's hard living in a world
so full of hate
Hard living
in a world so full of hate
I've been walking the road
of this weary weary world
wondering how I got here
wondering where it ends
I've been walking the road
of this weary weary world
wondering how I got here
wondering where it ends
Lover's Moon
There is a place on an ancient hill
where whispered breath stands still
where dreamers gather to hope
a beacon to all those lost on it's labrynthed slopes
It's made of stones built upon
the backs of a thousand stories of love
where spirits have crumbled
in climbing its craggy visage
and storms have lashed it's roofs from above
It's called the House of the Lover's Moon
as old as the first kiss that came far too soon
it's roots, deep, deep as the sea
the birthplace of all lover's dreams
It is where steps become leaps
and lullabies echo amongst it's halls
a half lean towards laments
and the moments before a fall
It is half remembered goodbyes
and the last embrace you gave
it is the understanding that not to do but try
leads to the eternity of a forlorn grave
It's called the House of the Lover's Moon
as old as the first kiss that came far too soon
it's roots, deep, deep as the sea
the birthplace of all lover's dreams
And in this home where desire
as joyful as a hobbit's shire
find's it's death upon the mire
can be found, the greatest gift
one can give upon it's impassioned fires
For in the edge of failing Eros
you find the truth of love's true arrows
and come to see all of worth
requires sacrifice and hard hard work
and those that are blind to this unequivical birth
find themselves alone on this Blessed Earth.
and all that has meaning buried in a poor man's dirt
It's called the House of the Lover's Moon
as old as the first kiss that came far too soon
it's roots, deep, deep as the sea
the birthplace of all lover's dreams
It's called the House of the Lover's Moon
as old as the first kiss that came far too soon
it's roots, deep, deep as the sea
the birthplace of all lover's dreams
(This song was the inspiration for horror feature i am currently working on)
Sammy Bones
Sammy Bones was born on the night of a half-moon
at the door of an orphanage
to a young girl with a story of needles
and black and blue daddy dreams
Her life was the price to deliver her boy into the mud
her last exhale his name and from her failing hands
a beat up old harmonica
Sammy Bones grew up on the coined streets
of a shadow's wail blowing blues to
jacked up cartoons of alley cats
and junkies with begging hats
He could of been a good kid in a different world
with different sins
could of been a movie star
on the hard earned avenues of show doll cars
But these fantasies didn't spell reality
for his back woods dust trails
He was Sammy Bones
the black and blue half moon
teller of tales
At his first steps he learned
how to make bets
about the outcome
of people's dreams
looking to be jet set
They fall.....they always fall
scattered along the stars
of a melancholy wind
as Sammy Bones smiles
flipping his finger to fate
and blowing a deep dark tune
on a beat up harp
to the trembling of divinity
with a half moon in his eyes
and a grin shooting needles
to the downtrodden gatherers of hope
His flesh grasped a man's limbs
rolling rackets along seedy corners
pulling green from the sky
watching limos and starletts drive by
Bones dropped from his eyes
tricking luck with grease monkied lies
as his name became legend on the block
They said Sammy Bones is gonna roll
this town with golden tickets to whereever
he is bound but he ain't gonna live long
no he ain't gonna live long
tick tock, tick tock.
He took his shots with a cracker jack pistol
and lifted his feet to red carpet streets
leaving a broken trail of dreams
He became a mover and a shaker
a half moon myth of bones and mist
with brothels and smoke jazzed taverns
as his front stores for heroin fables
and fantasy room labels
and porn star movie makers
He became the legend the roll calls of destiny
had woven for him yet still his heart heaved
melancholy dreams
and tears etched themselves in the songs
he blew into the night
Sammy Bones grew up on the coined streets
of a shadow's wail blowing blues to
jacked up cartoons of alley cats
and junkies with begging hats
He could of been a good kid in a different world
with different sins
could of been a movie star
on the hard earned avenues of show doll cars
But these fantasies didn't spell reality
for his back woods dust trails
He was Sammy Bones
the black and blue half moon
teller of tales
On a midnight stroll with the skies
slitted gray..and the alleys
howling against the heavy falling rain
Sammy Bones was shot twice
once in the heart
and once in the head
by a jacked up junkie
wanting what a legend had
And the world wailed against the fabric of a half moon
for a black and blue daddy dream that left the world
way too soon but as Sammy walked the last golden
bricked road of a forever trail he woke to the truth
of his heart spelling hope in the runes of his unfinished tale
Love is the story he most hungered to feel
so much so he wished he could hit rewind and rerun the reel
to give gifts of petals to broken down junkies
instead of craker jack pistols to money driven flunkies
For that was the dream his mama had wished
for her only boy he knew
yet he had instead chosen to fall...he had chosen to fall
His screams echoed against the dwindling world and his bones rattled
serendipity to the cascade of sand falling through open eyes
They say you can still hear Sammy Bones blowing half moon kisses through beaten up harps in the back alleys of dreams on quiet nights
in the deep shadows of streets
Waiting out the sun
Have you ever felt
The road you walk
Is a story told in
Children talk
Where wide eyed innocense
Is a weave you want
To hold through all
The streets
All the days
And the beats
Of a heart
Too bruised
Too tired
In the endless spire
Of wanting to aspire
To the beauty of
A forever melody
Tomorrow is the sun
When everything is done
When we wake to dream
The dreams we've dreamed
Have you ever felt the ache
Of bones and the fading tones
And the shaking nights
Where everything seems so cold
Where alone is a shrine
To the blues and truths
Of hard won days
And the wisdom of fools
Where gentle touch seems as
Far away as the drug addict rush
In the back drop of a lover's eyes
Where everything spins more lies
The harder you struggle
The harder you try
But even in these dog summer tides
It's hope's inspirational ride
That gives you warmth and
The comfort of better times
Inspires you to find
The smiles that hide inside
Tomorrow is the sun
When everything is done
When we wake to dream
The dreams we've dreamed
Have you ever felt the soft kiss
Of a true love's tryst
Feel their lips -- sweat and twist
And grind against the hips
Of destiny
When all seems a serenity of serendipity and the river of life
Has spun you to it's shores
When waiting out the sun has won
the truth of belief and faith
The saunter down rodeo of love and fate
When all you've ever wished
Is a gift to pillow you to bliss
And the sands of sleep
No longer a want to weep
Tomorrow is the sun
When everything is done
And we wake to dream
The dreams we've dreamed
Tomorrow is the sun
When everything is done
And we wake to dream
The dreams we've dreamed
Wake to dream
The dreams we've dreamed
The dreams we've dreamed
The prayers we've prayed
New Age Desolation
Intent, regret, i am spent on a letter of remorse, a memorandom of understanding. Narcisistic, nepatistic self immolated absorption seems to be the diadem, the isometric of the dawning age. Let us dime drop respect and courtesy into a pit of irrelevance more important to skull fuck what we want out of the dribbling corpses of inconsequentials......step upon the flesh of humanistic limbs and spirits to garner accolades in the shortest, quickest no merit no work route our inept non existent attention span can skip slip us to. Its is a patriotic slam bam thank you mam schitzophrenic hodge podge of dodge the onus to choices, blame the voices on some other throat issuing warbling miscontent to the faults of others in their inconspicuous game of someone else's name to gather responsibility of actions shooting off your hip shakes.....everyone else's fault in this ass backwards gestault of make and break, take all you see with no consequence to the roads rambling and hammer fisting over other's dreams.....cause what does it matter if we get what we need.....fuck everyone else's hopes and heartaches as long as in the end our bank accounts rise on tides as high as red rope hollywood carpet rides....Hell if our leader's are showing on CNN backwash reports that greed is the seed we should all dream then why not gather our sheep sleep mental run in place epilepsy and join the revolution.....the deevolution of who has the biggest sword makes the rules......shin digs what's cool, bump grinds the criteria of the school....but even as my tongue edge crumbles these cranium dissertations there are a few who hold true to the cavern cave crawls of a good heart bruiser brawl into the do what's right, toil in the hard sweat work of a hard day's night and be a light to the shades we made in this mud spit pit we create.....but they are ostracized for such outlooks, made the but end of a joker's joke in the broken spokes of today's age, everyone with a word about how outdated such honor is in the corner lit lip of rage that carves tomorrow's stage play......but in the end of this grave paved catalyst of inevitable change, we must all see, our choices, actions, avenues we trail blaze through have a fulcrum of temptous back lash, karmic cause and effect hand in hand cosmic clash and that all that we put out, double fold returns in cat o nine tail magnifold long ago told upheaval of never ending come uppance of crack the world immoralistic riven of misery and emptied out shells of our own artistically autisically self regurgitated hells of hollow smiles and cavernous deflated caterwhauls labeled laughs with no real humour in their grasp....and it is our own future we canibilistic carnivore down our gullets as we think to jump hump accolades and who's who in the game.....while the concrete of our stepping feet is the disolution of all we reap and roll out the costume parodies of mirror cracked reflective creeps deep in our rotting meat.......so as i speak, listen.....for the days dwindle, the chances to find kind reservoirs of saliable solutions to the future cobblestone's of our creation are now few and far between and soon to be gone and just a toothpick in death's teeth.........so as we fall and our wings spread to catch it all be sure they are not just cracked and hollow bones broken on the road........for when next you hit the lick of the trip it could be your own blood you slip upon...could be the roundtable return as we watch the world burn.....
Porcelin Divinity
a girl raised on gypsy dreams -- in the shadows of make believe.....where everything is a fulcrum of need....and in her youth she traipsed upon could bes and hope bottled in oval glass spreading it's possibilities in grains of sand....and years etched themselves upon bones of pervasive time and little girl skirt moments of innocent frivolity drifting into slow hip dances in the proclivity of provocative aspirants of love's doting rememberence....oh yes -- she started noticing the eyes of boys flirting with the curves expounding upon the growth of her road....
She was taught in ingrained spins of loom by a mom who found wisdom in the bottom of bottles and tv's streaming poster boards of want and picture perfect spreading of limbs....in the fervant inhaling of chained smokes upon the creasing of wrinkles....in the absent silhouettes where fathers should of placed the love of daddy beliefs in the strength of promise....
"Find solidity and knowledge and security of tomorrow's cobbled steps in the lust draped upon our hips" her momma droned out with head suspended over sweet toilet regurgitations of late night revelry....".take all you can from their limp dicked stroking of ego" --- she spit upon cracked marble....taking breaths between vomit to pull trails off stubbed ciggs......."it is not intellect that will garner you upper swings in your avenues of gyspy dreams but beauty and a certain amount of cleverness"......
The girl smiled the sweet smile of burgeoning youth as she nodded to the matron of her everything --practicing the swaying of hips and the pursing of lips in the mirror purching a drop step above her momma's sprawled remaniscance...
Her youth spun itself to club days and mastered sways of long legs.....her voluptios pirrouettes of long flowing skirts now tempered by clever coin spins of tilled out furrows in lessons carved upon her thighs....upon her heaving sighs and the now gone shade of her momma's loving ways --- parked in a road side grave......
She had jewels tittering foul humour upon the back step of her sliding tongue -- men in lines wrapping corners in the batting of her eyes to their ardent want.......clever is the lever in which she lifted green bills and aspirations from their bucking need......promotional campaigns now replacing the fabric of her philisophical seeds......breasts slick with the sweat of accomplishment -- eyes now the glazed daze of empty promises and daddy blues and an aversion of truth.....but she had everything -- wanted for nothing -- red carpets the streets her feet left imprints upon -- flashing lights all bright upon the pursing of her practiced lips....upon the dip of her cleavage just so.....upon all the grades she made upon the dropping jaws left in her wake......fancy cars and upscale bars and the dizzying heights of stars braiding their limp dick egos into the length of her moon spun hair.....she had everything --- everything and nothing.....somewhere between something and the nuetral tones of anything....but hope and smiles pitted with the depth of ages were bargaining chips she had long ago pawned.......oval glass now shattered into sand flakes she flipped at homeless progenies of failed tv flicks of lessons wasted....
And yet as time is wont to do it flipped pages faster then the drifting of sleep upon heady brows and she found her hand tilting more and more...bottles empty against the fabric of belief....found scorched flames in the inhaling of tombs in the characature of tobacco rolled in visionary copulation...noticed her cleavage dipping lower then it used to-- wrinkles where was once smooth skin......skirts tighter over bulging waist....less want and more desperation.......
Then her belly swelled after long nights of lingering sweat and fading misplaced faces......and a blur of limbs and memory........found empty sillouettes where daddys should be paying rent......and she as clocks wound the passing of moments looked upon the eyes of a girl holding innocence and hope and the wanting of more..
She spat upon the floor at her daughter's knees between slugs of liquor and drags of smoke......."let me tell you about gypsy dreams and make believe and flowing skirts and the way the wind blows and promotional campaigns......(a long hard look)...."let me tell you about everything"......she paused as her blood and bone in a little girl's adoration blinked with haunted gaze counting breaths between death waiting for her to throw up over porcelin divinity.....
Twisted Gate
in the sleep time of distant memory
a requim to the fillm noir
black and white frames
of a forlorn history
the twisted gate was the foghorn of our steps
We met in the dark ethers of moons yet cast
our hands tentativly seeking lost preludes
to kisses never tasted
flesh never comsumed
Her hunger was palpable fornication
of reunification of roads meant to tie
the cupid pierce of a forever haunt
a heat simmering wants in deep glades
butter wrapped in a guise called love
the tickling of skin, small circles being formed
by fingers agitated in unsure articulation
We spread our lies in thin tethers
heart thumps bugling isolation in a word
a look
her limbs were pirrouettes in the repose of truth
the gate sent screeching
iron to mark the passage of goodbyes held
before hellos softened tongues
They say stories are just a spinning globe
running themselves into perputuity
of repetition
That we crayon draw the precipice of our own falls
that in the dissolution of our illussion
we partake in the immolated aroma of the bruises
forming art upon our bones
that it be our own fists planting imprints across spectral
fluidity
in other words....we bit teeth to crooked teeth
in the consumption of
our own cannabilistic mourning...
loathing....
He whistled melancholy stiitched into
other wordly drifts
of memorials to the sorrow
lining bottled ships never brave enough
to leave docks...
And sailors wantonly deep throat
banners of lucidity and duplicity
to etched barbies with puppeteers
pulling strings to movements
of imposable will....
the iron of swinging bars
wails to the tricked trump
of this paradoxical query
They both pass ghosts
who wave in connected continuity
lives trickling mirrored answers
to the fumbling of their sincerity
Honesty is a many bristled beast
who causes stutter stare shakes
and dark closet movie remakes
with huddled forms painting shadows under
toddler shaped beds....
They will spin the faulty mishap of their ever dwindling
daudling in the hopes that the next passing
will be the last
while an alcoved audience peels
belly croaks to the inevitbility
of tradgedy marking the ignorance
of their stumbling carnal ineptitude
the shades that follow the querolous
innundation of their eternal white eyed
cave shawl
And a low ground hugging wind
rolls the movement of twisted gates
howling
forever vocal restraints into the cacophony
of life rewinding itself in broken bridges
to the record spinning itself on the same melody
on the same linear scratch thinking itself original
in it's bop bop bop..stop the clock
crooning.....
and two fading frames sculpt the acrimony
of two celestial spirits too afaid to lock hips and lips
and understand the breaking of chains....
tick...tick......tick........breathless
I smoke words in an endless parade, burn them thru the night, carve landscapes in rings I exhale -- SHe laughs in a tittering madness, spins broken merry go rounds that only work in fits and starts, often times pulling against the truth of sanity spelled in insane lettering.....I look to her for inspiring moments of lips pressed against celestial autocracy, against firey molten metaphors in the semblance of infinity......she usually pushes me off edges and sharp corners in an indifferent methodology.......I have spent a lifetime in awkward flesh, a puppet puppeteering itself into oblivion strung to distant divinity and it is my history that has stumbled, fallen into a lack of clarity, an underlying purpose confused in the miasma of a world labrynthed in the avarice of want...and it is in this jaunt that I find solace in the pillow of her thighs, warmth in the small leeway where breasts meet womb and she is smoke, ashes of syllables unable to find intonation...and the back sides of lids rewind movies seen a thousand times yet not understood in any one snapshot, one frame of noir nuance, for the shadows hold that for every truth there are a thousand lies tied to it's birth.....and she is Earth, the maternal lover spinning eternal remorse in the secrets written in the DNA of our breath, our deaths as inevitable as a child's love for it's mother, as foreordained as the words I smoke in
Eternity's Sleep –
Pulling petals to make a wreath to the fae.....weaving starlight....drop skipping stones across ripples of water....my hand is archaic rune spilling forth wisdom in dark corners....trembling spirit in the aftermath of brilliance.....I am tomb.....a forlorn memory of a womb....a storyteller telling fables in the shade wrapped prelude of inevitability...I am sleep in the tilting of eyes half lidded....a lucid moment in the pull of eternity......wake me......my limbs are cement striven paint brushes lacking color.....a reap of humanity in the crumbling precipice of ideals....I am strand of filaments seeking purchase...I am...I am.......lost.....mud and a sinner's weeping.....swallowing me.
memory of sins I spin into a parliance of a philisophic hodge podge of broken merry go rounds and their symbology of ideals gutted against the teeth of humanity, and it is my sanity that sits upon a precipice of genius and perfidy, in a grand delusion that has cracked the heavens of my steps into the maw of parading embers threading doors leading to a darkness as absolute as my knees on ground and prayers lifted to the deaf ears of a Creation that has deemed a vacation as it's only recourse to sorrow.......to her indifferent wails of sacrifice lost in the hunger for more....and my world has found it's parable as her silhouette drifts across the universe......
Her hands were mysteries, eyes.. Dreams you could fall into... Lips that screamed kiss me.. Hard..... When her hips moved her silhouette... Arousal was the only word that could sculpt that image... When sweat grooved itself along her Curves... It made the moon actually stop in it's travel....... She was epiphany... She was ocean waiting, beckoning.. And when she opened her thighs.... Touched herself just so..... Eternity spelled Beauty in the nectar on the end of fingertips.... A tongue danced across the Stars
When I see the scars in her eyes and on her flesh it tells me a story..one of cement and grenades and life.....tells me she's beautiful
Limbs circling threads to stretches of flesh in articulation of beauty, of lust percolating within the spirit of hunger.. Of tongues laying nectar in evolution of want and need... In tattered moments of fucking leading to culmination.. To arching backs and tightened thighs.... To throbbing cock etched in the back of wombs.... To seed shooting across the universe
