Wrench

A wrench in the words.
Work out the gears that stop life abruptly.

Rusty corrosion grinds and pushes me to a hault.
I no longer want to oil this tedious machine.

If a little friendly grease lubricates our issues,
be sure the wrench will be thrown in again.

It's a faulty contraption...
this life of ours.

It is the flat tire.
Empty cigarette packs.
The woman who stole your love.

Pockets full of pennies.
Illness and storms.
Lack of alcohol.
Everyone who forgot your birthday.
Broken drafty windows....

The gears jump the track.
That wheel off kilter.

Spoiled milk in your coffee.
Deadbeat fathers.
Shut off notices.
Neighbors who cut down your favorite tree.
Locks with lost keys.
Wet newspapers.
Barron dirty refrigerators.

It all ran so smoothly until those loose
tools came along.
I'm amazed I ever kept this vapid machinery moving.
I take a deep, diesel contaminated breath-
reach my hands to pull out the travesty,
and struggle to nudge these fittings forward.

Incubus's Curse

She said, "We find love in the most disgusting of ways..."
As her forlorned face dropped
because she knew we both felt violated.

I thought of all the vial,
discussing beasts that cower in the night.
The same ones that continue to drag us down.
They are greasy and cold.
He rips you up.
Stares at you, while slicing the knife.
Turning the once elegant into mutalated fools.
Be straight and narrow and don't fall into the rot!
I felt how we were nauseous with our own foul ways,
But the tribute twists on.

We're depending on grotesque imagery that
cannot offer any condolences.
Thrust on tears, as your eyes turn to
dull, dumb, quick advances.
Car accidents that have no survivers.
Train wrecks that took away your only friends.
Curse and shake as we clean up the gruesome mess.
Beat me shockingly bloody
so I know you really care.
Our monsters contorted their
faces to show some kind of fake compassion.

Pan hid the grail of love in the most
ill reputed, pornographic, and
self hating of places.
We are being dragged through the
mud by our broken ankles.

Infections of sweet dreams
stop any motivation.
Days are filled with forcing ourselves to eat.
We are frozen in torture.
Prized admiration of the morbid.
Dance the dance with these dead enemies.
Heinous terror lingers on even after we 
promise to keep our eyes
squeezed tightly shut.

Puzzle

Puzzled free spirit-
The pieces that are missing cannot be found.
It makes an ugly picture.
The main design cannot be seen.
Ambiguous pictures front fake meanings.
Piece them together as I unwind.
Do not force them to fit.
Question what mystery hobbies of boredom show.
You may never truly know me.
Accept the daunting challenge.
Those missing parts I only give to the determined.
I hold out for trusted recognition.
When I give up the total picture,
Be assured that I am the most miraculous thing you'll ever see.

Beaux Yeux

Beaux Yeux saw right through me.
Dance on pretty words so I can reveal miracles.
Old dusty constraints keep language in limbo.

Beaux Yeux, spend time so thoughtfully.
It's painfully short and discerning on dark days.
I run on short contacts sinfully gossiped,
And somehow, lavish with guilt.

Beaux Yeux, press on as nothing seems to phase you.
As you read me, I read you.
Your novel is ever changing,
So I stay concentrated.
Is there an alternate ending?

Beaux Yeux, be the interpreter.
I can't seem to speak to your longing soul.
You transfer everything I need to know through assorted looks.

Beaux Yeux, don't turn away.
Focus on the here and now, and never tomorrow.
Exchange conversations with stares so clear,
I'll never need to translate.

Beaux Yeux, I will always try to see what needs to be known.
We hold dialogue in silence.
See the value that I do.

Butane

Engolf me white hot flames-
For you are the butane and I stand patient with an unlit match.
Come near the anticipated bonfire.
It will grow so exuberantly, smoke will be seen for miles.
All in your heartbeat;
Existing in tensions unfathomably described in lustful howls.
Burn violently, so no energy will be left.
Sighs and ash float on hot air.
Mustering up courage to blaze again will require just simple embers.
They always stay lit in souls.
Fan them wickedly as I fully ignight again.
Stoke my intention under kindlings of your maddening attraction.
Grip all this cremating fervor,
By handling my shell of dust.
We can still mingle together as beginners of life.
Short lived or long lasting-
My inferno, to your butane-
smolders all primal desire.
Let it always be considered with bitten lips and white knuckles,
and wanted as you shiver from the loss of sweltered coitus.

Distances

I'll circle like hawks surveying the land.
Keen sight had me confident I'd find you.
My vision couldn't determine the distance,
So I traveled for extended time before I could reach you.
A straight line to your heart would have been so easy.
Valuing the challenge, the mileage, and the course:
The struggle has meaning.
I trekked through grown over terrains hidden in captivity.
Retracing my steps frantically,
I assessed where I made a wrong turn.
Here, I trusted the stars to point the way.
North star set me unbalanced.
I'll follow Venus in her nightly glow.
Constellations followed by the wise still mislead.
Dull headed with no sense of direction,
I continued to follow dim light.
We should be star crossed.
Maybe the equation of distance,
should never have been added into my reflection.
I will turn to acknowledging that the difference in inches to miles,
Never changes sedimental memories.
You are always right here in my thoughts.

Dystopia

Pessimisim blows out the fire of my existence.
Lug the ancient feelings of reoccurring dread.
It exsists in disgraceful proclamations-
Monotonous and routinely garnishing simple hopes.
There should be none.
Already intrinsic thoughts mashed my positivity.
The dystopia is in my vision.
Foul and sickening, loveless and promiscuous-
Emotions are for the weak.
How strange are the romantics with their moronic stupefaction?
It will never end that way.
The journey will defeat you.
Unrequitable feelings slap you in the face.
Turn the other cheek.
Offer it to save face.
Be lacking in personality, it's your rescue to failed comradery.
See the landscape for what it is.
If you cannot see the future, I'll share my binoculars.
It comes: the dystopia!
Gray clouds roll in on inspiration.
Stagnancy of blessings peel back truths.
Ethereal unions are fictitious.
Throw away the rose colored glasses,
they are uselessly worn to add to falsehood.
Cut out these aspirations, they dissapoint.
I'll hand you the knife.
Best to be unexpecting any magical gifts.
Don't wish on stars, save your prayers,
Tragedy is forever on it's way.

Bittersweet

Hey sweetheart, why do I dare look you in the eye?
I'll stare past you so you have a to dig in the candy jar.
There's apparent jawbreakers in there.
Confessing sweet sediments will sour my stomach.
Bitter nags nauseate my joy.
A swollen sore tongue slurs what I need to say.
Candyman, tempt me.
I'll eat up the worth of your company.
Listening to your sourness completely sweetens my disposition.
I'm still here after our rotten teeth and bloated bodies struggle to go on.
The malnutrition of empty words still fill me up.
Hyper from syrupy emotions, buzzing with casual tart remarks-
I can only taste this sparingly.
Too much would keep me dazed and stupid.
Be my occasional indulgent regret-
When the stomach ache wears off, I'll be back for more.

Lion Heart

Subduing a wild urge.
Caged up in my sediments.
Steel bars and concrete cannot jail my thoughts.
I will waste away here in solitary confinement.
For misconstrued actions still burn away at these ropes that bind me,
And taming lion hearts can only tear away at the common essence of the beast.

They are strong.
Roar and show whetted teeth.
Frighten the phlegmatic as they hide in separate caves.
Not knowing affectivity creates separate cells.
You can only wish to engage in admiration like mine.
I stand defensive and proud of these qualities.
Attributes of soul rebels confuse.
Hearts that vibrantly blaze can force you into a tomb.
It's a life not for the restricted.

My ferocity causes the need to be softened.
Kindred carries the scourge.
I am resenting the constriction.
Be brutal in forcing my rebellion into retreat.
I will still return as you drop the lash.
Ringmaster hears the growl.
Offer no recognition.
Vicious hearts are too dangerous.
Do you want to live life passionately or contentedly mundane?

Lick the wounds that coward's generate.
Salt them too, with mistrust.
My ribs still imprison rabid, wild, lion heart-
And It will beat too forcefully to be a reconciled.
Behave, under close guarded contacts.
If it is unleashed, you will be torn to shreds.

Soul Sedation

Hidden imp of slumber,
Rest these sleepy eyes.
Veil in piety so I know longer have to enchant.
For I too, need rest-
And the clock's arms don't wait.
Time becomes as clouded as my judgment.
Propriety runs the hourglass.
It sifts conducive moments.
Wasted interfering monologues are dancing in my head.
Tired, bruised personalities keep insomnia in motion.
Duck out of finding the meaning.
Dreams bring them to life.
If I could just escape to that world,
Maybe it would make sense.
Bloodshot windows to my soul haze concepts I wish to simplify.
My heavy eyelids nightly spill.
I whisper my desperate plea:
What are you hiding from?
As if you hear it in the wind.
Waiting for replies steadfast, but not strong.
I repeat the words as I close my eyes.
Gently share your reality.
For if you come with vengeance, overtired affliction is far worse.
There in the land of nod we are both present.
You still run away.
 I awaken, unrested and still unsure.
Analyzing thoughts, burying my head in my pillow.
I hope this isn't a diabotical plan to keep me awake.
Where are you comforting embrace?
Hallucinating after days, hoping to forget.
Responsibilities keep guarded truths at bay.
Depravation is where you hide my questions,
The answers seem impossible to grasp.
Rest is hard for fierce hearts.
They are constantly trying to figure out what to pursue.
Imagination lulls me unconscious.
I am robbed of what may be the truth.
Thought terribly hurts exhausted minds.
Comatose, my bliss continues to vibrate the blood in my veins.
Anxious for it's long awaited arrival, I cannot lay still.
Sleep, come with me to intoxication for it's the only way to stifle this lonley inquisitive soul.
Dumbing down and backing off requires sedation.
The vacant minded slumber is where I wish to stay.
I will relish in letting go.

Bipolar Express

All aboard the bipolar express!

Elated to ride the thunder that rumbles in the pit of my stomach.

Today I was so happy to be in your presence.

So much so, the trip had me high on pleasant emotions.

Hopping down stairs, getting strange looks from other attendants-

Aggravated because they felt the same way....just 5 minutes ago!

But now we pull out of the station,

Depressive and in critical need-

To fill that pensive irrational point of view.

Who drives that engine of extremes?

I see it is the menagerie of bittersweet fights.

Faceless until you focus on your own thought.

A juggling clown or the grim reaper.

Boarders are laughing with tears running down their faces.

Half way through their shared delight,
We all realized it's short lived.
Chug on because we have to.
The super fine line of bliss and madness-
Corrupts us all, fulling the fire, and causing our backs to me thrown against the aged seats.
Manage to pull yourself forward, just to be tossed back again.
We turn and look at each other with the same concerned expression on our faces.
It's time to get off of this hell ride, but we know it is impossible.
Shout to the conductor!
I want off this one way voyage.
The destination was never determined.
We pass by every stop, excited then deflated.
The driver is pleased.
"Ah ha! You cannot stop your vehemence!", he shrewdly responds.
Mournful sighs fill the cabin.
So the train runs between our woes and delights everyday.
I knew my personal conflict but could see no end in sight.
Praying for derailment.

Every Song

My eyes squint under blankets,
And before my feet leave my bed-
There's already a song playing indecently,
Painfully decernible-
In my lecherous capacity.
I slowly rise, as every song haunts my well being.

A picture player flickers in my mind.
Static rips the imagery.
I hear pops and crackles, yet the verses run so clear.
Those moments described thouroghly by every song.
Ditties about the unrequited tendencies:
Throwing oneself in the line of fire,
The needs of humans,
Mishaps of mankind-
All in the format of every song.
Turn it up.
I am deaf to the melody.
I only hear the words-
Oh how wretched-
My favorite lullibies cause grief.
Every song was seemingly written for you.
Mental notes of phrases that seem to be so fitting.
I sing them all day.
I sing them to the hungry ghosts.
Feeding on my broken heart, they wait.
I'll feed them my confessions.
They'll know when the feast is about to be served.
As I hum and mutter the perfect description of how I feel.
They rise to bite my every song.
I am left listless and shaking.
I pour my soul out.
Sing! Sing about the obscurity.
Small puddles vanish as the tunes fade into the background.
My head sways as I prominade out the door.
Every song carries the visitors of tragedy.
The pedestal I have you on casts a shadow.
There, the operas bounce back.
Devoured by what lingers.
At night, still plagued by every song.
All so tiring, all immensely gratifying-
Just to know I was not at all alone in all these ridiculous feelings.
Contemplating my truths, tapping my feet as spector's sit patiently.
Picking the next soundtrack to convey what you have ignored.
It doesn't matter.
Because it is without a doubt, every song.

The Navigator

He set forth, dragging his feet.
Apathetic, unapologetic, and selfish.
On a mission to navigate.
Searching through the maps to find his perfection-
The ideal.
Did he know what angels can turn to after all is lost?
Shame and no self worth.
No rapture, just hellbent worry.
So cut off their wings.
Chain them behind you.
As the clanging, stinging sound makes them weep.
And there I was.
Reluctant to join them, but his eyes made me spellbound.
When the sound of children laughing offers no joyous emotion,
And the beauty of life can not be fulfilled-
It was because the Navigator hid in the shadow of my heart.
He was there, with all his prisoners.
Dragging all their baggage and packing it alongside mine.
I was lost, following his faulty compass.
His quest continued.
Despite my need to turn away, I followed.
Trying to be his transcendence.
Suddenly it was my mission.
I needed to be the red "x" for his destination.
Filling my pockets with magnets, I could make that compass point my direction.
Still my beloved helmsman looked far away.
Is there nothing else I can offer?
I was not her, I am not them, and that seemed to be all that mattered.
Uselessness, trotting along.
Sadness that is seemingly unoticed.
He instead throws little signals along his journey.
And now it is I who drags my tired feet.
All for his bounty and claim.
To be cut free would now leave me aimlessly circling.
Lost without the Navigator, I still have no peace.

Love for the Contradiction

Hold me, and push me away.
Smile and quickly frown.
Compliment then insult.
Love and then mourn with guilt.
Walk by my side, and then right past me.
Enjoy company, tell me to leave.
Laughter followed by silent crying.
Blush and say goodbye.

Dance, then sit in silence.
Touch, and regret the moment.
Talk, but ignore for days.
Be my friend, and slander my name.
Forgive, but never accept apologies.
Say hello with sarcasm.
Hold my hand, and hide.
Try to turn away, still beating a dead horse.

Ask to serve, but be the master.
Live, but act like you're dead.
Burn bridges, yet ask for help.
See signs, get lost along the way.
Anger, pretend everything is fine.
Say you don't want me, jealously.
Stand by me, then walk backwards.
Feel something, then nothing.
Look at me, squeeze eyelids shut.
Gaze, shake your head.

My little contradictions, tied up my brain.
See-saw with my heart, so when it drops I can look forward to the rise again.
I can expect the fight of direction will always swindle you.
The absolute escapes me, as insanity drags me away.

Dance With Me

I want to dance with Andy Warhol.
I want to see the world through your glasses.
All blurred and strange-
To know the ridges of your face and smudges that annoy you,
While your living daily life.
If I could sing a love song like Billie Holiday I'd lure you away to catch a beautiful moment.
Then artist's meals of cheese crackers wouldn't seem so sad.
Living off the happiness that the muse brings; I won't need anything else.
The soul can still dance as I sit firmly in my chair.
Dreaming little dreams, and sighing at which I wish to be.
I want to dance while smoking cloves in asbestos attics.
Remembering the quick kisses and uncomfortable silence.
It's all nourishment for this spirit,
As I glide towards the present tense.
Angels and demons both softly caresses and claw wildly on the tight rope wire.
Balance the weightless and extremely heavy.
Pointed toes dangle off of the mattress as I struggle to find the way.
I want to dance in your presence and hope you see the light.

Man of Brick

The man is made of bricks.
Stacked up walls of eroded bricks.
Heald together by his convictions.
Stand tall, as the crumbling gravel dusts my feet.
Be rigid and cold, rough and unweilding.
As the wind blows, shelter me.
The mortar chips away revealing something hidden.
Buried for ages. Forgotten.
The woman run and start to pick the structure apart.
Find it, find it.
Who will find it?
Bloody hands still dig.
And I look onward at the man's ruins.
Now he is frail, barely standing among the wreckage.
White faced and uneasy, I will hold you together.
Weathering the storms, leaning against your warmth when the suns rays blaze your once strong foundation.
In a small crack, there layed his compassion.

Anchor

Causing ripples because l dropped into a sea of curiosity.
It was just an inquiry,
but it bursted into a funnel.
No intention for it's creation,
but since it's here let's enjoy the process.
Sucking you in.
Making you scared.
Your heart pounds,
and yet there is calmness.
Now the horizon is spinning.
Twirling on heavy words.
The carnival rides should be this dizzying.
In my head,
as if intoxicated,
I nervously try to claw up....
I ache and yearn.
Grasping the fierce competition underneath,
I fall again
rippling and floating on strange thoughts.
Nudging the querier as he sets onward to the turbulent bounding main.
I see the rusted anchor far beyond my reach.
The waters churn.
Mists and siren echos draw away my best efforts.
I'm eagerly waiting now at the bottom of the blue brine.
For the strength to lift this iron to the faulty raft and stop the motion for just one second.
I'll keep swimming against rough currents.
I will find you, adrift on choppy seas.