esoteric imaginings. beyond. deep and blue. curtained as if to portray the proposition. the proposition of what. lissome flames: the inquisition. say "give me your eyes". you are but offered the heart of a blackbird. so whisper still. communal mutterings of a gloved cabal. the alpine white coverings like an epaulet built on the backs of those who cannot think worn by those who do but cannot work. laudable laughter the same. remembering the hungry ghosts.

the color yellow. rusted lands. neutral earth. the wheat browns. ripe and it smells like the death of a day. an altruistic death so that you can survive and multiply. multiply what. your gray. your yellow. your rain. your daylight. hands. plenty of them. pose that same paradox. the hungry ghosts want company. the midwest winds sweeping low. thunder too. sweet smell of the earth inhaling. swallows you whole. swallows me. settle for a midnight elixir. lemon eyes, cold and kind. still brings about that antiquated smell and sound. your blood runs to that harmony then. remembering the hard, hard times in the bad, bad lands. in the midwestern gale. ill stay a good man. stay, just stay. the color yellow. swelling dark. remembering.

chemicals that swap eyes keep me alive, i'll find you between the brass and wood again. sing me a new song, trading hands in the big black nothing, oh once again its to the street gonna heal everything nursing age old calamities and some indiana breeze gone right through me taking everything but the gray skies and greif of the undone, so do it son. chemicals that swap eyes burn your insides, ill find you between the amber sea and quarter kiss, finding a new song, living along with the big black nothing, oh once again the streets gonna heal everything, nursing age old calamities in the indiana sun, so just run, run run. oh run. beautiful confusion. they'll say "damn you son." so what.

rueful disaster, foreshadowed statues, apportioned applause, their sallow palms on some mentioning of cockeyed calemy, of top hat etiquette brandished by, still brandishing covered hands fit for the rain, smile son here comes the rain. hands birthed by the land, deep furrows, crested with human and earth--sweat and grime and so the chimera is born the laudable laughter pent within a collective gut--a union of holes. the holes unite. spite esoteric to the covered hands. the damn feeble structure. it is not envy it is a union of holes, sons and dauthers of hungry ghosts. i am the hunter's son.

spent a short life chasing chemicals living like sifting sand, always collecting that part of you that keeps falling out the back. wish i saw all the rust as gold, ive seen it grow on whatever the rain can get ahold of--what ever you choose to show. pacified by a hollowed bombshell, drifting doctored ice melt found my way to the promised land, saying we all share a soul, union of hapless criminals. its a terrible waste, its a aweful shame, two weeks portioned into days, aint it wonderful.

dumb words


I got a head churning poison and heart that won't wake, my knees should be brusied cause today my heads on straight, but I can't feel it at all, you don’t feel nothing till the fall, it gets you scared really fucking scared makes you believe in anything screaming there aint no dreams between you and me, just this fist pumping blood and ink, surging streams, tightrope scenes and shallow breathing but I am alive I am human for a while when I cry. And when I smile I'm not real just plastered clay and paper made into to what they want to see, a statue who is everything I'm supposed to be, but I can't feel it all, you don’t feel nothing till the fall it gets you scared really fucking scared makes you believe in anything screaming there aint no dreams between you and me, just the fist pumping blood and ink, surging streams, tightrope scenes and shallow breathing but I am alive I am human for a while when I cry. When I'm not alright.

the cold comfort of the in between. a little less than a human being. a little more than a happy high, a little like a suicide. the only thing that i ever tried. this is not mylife;.

im not alive. but i am close.
linen drawn to the earth's skin, pouring from the cracks who is blind, hungry like a ghost, who is blind. shade the shadows to open up. to see your eyes. inside, the world is no wider than your hatred of eachother so give me your eyes, i need sunshine. give me your eyes, your bones, your blood, your voice, and your ghost. i am not alive but i am close.

hung from twine anchored at the tips of fingers, filling patches in the lawnmultip,e falls multiple flaws such filth will gauge my eyes. such treason to salt my eyes. forgive what is forgiven.gravity wins my loyalty if anything will. such faith says good bye.