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.