Sunday 29 December 2013

The Wake

I Leave The Wheels To Machinery,
There Are Strange Things In The Clouds,
Honest And UnDieing They Could Live In The Wake,
Of New Days From The Next Deaths Of The Old,
Turning Lightning InTo Blackness And Stone,
The Wearing AWay At The Grip Of Dreams,
Erosion Of Forms And Patterns,
Blinking The Light From Entrance InTo Havens UnSeen,
Tenacity To Cling From The Swaying Lines,
To Burn And Incinerate The Dream,
To The Fragments For Spaceious Skys,
UnDoing Like ButterFlys,
Ripping Through The Membranes BeTwixt Glass And Grain,
Shadeing Lapses As I Step Forward...
...
Never A Division For A Partial Chance,
Empty As All Paces Can At Once Be,
Each To Lift Not To Settle,
And As I Have Stood...
...
Those From Such Walks Meet,
Side By Side,
To Stare Beyond The Shoulder's Length,
Filling With Texture And Sleepless Breath,
Fingers Pressed Against The Surface,
Cool To The Touch...And Smoother Than Lies.





Thursday 19 December 2013

Big Bowl Of Cheerios

BeFore There Was Ever A 1,
There Was NoThing...
...
Then... There Was 1...
...
1 Starved WithIn The Cold Blackness,
It Bent ItSelf To Eat ItSelf...
...
1 As It Ate ItSelf Turned InTo 0... Giveing ItSelf Heat...
...
...
As 0... It Could Never Turn Back InTo 1...
...
It Finally Entered The InFinite As It Digested ItSelf...
...
...
Eventually,
0 BeCame No More...
...
InTo Nothingness...Eternal...
...
...
Then... There Was 1.




Eurydice On The Rear-View

Anorexic Rex Anemic,
Taxidermy Pax Archaic,
GyroScopeic Though In Seizures,
Modulated Through Frequencys,
Only Known By Freezeing Geese...
...
While The Clouds Burst For Hearts Not Given,
The Brothers Of Lost Children Dredge Up Blues From The Muddy Stomp,
Costly Charms And Fire Truck Jingles,
As Astronauts Tempt The Snake To Their Shingles,
Palimony Dreams For Pony-Tails And Tony Montana Ski-Resorts,
Songs From The 60's... Oh, Those Golden Oldies...
...
...
A Three-Headed Whore Watches The Front Door,
Smokeing The Street UnTil The Night Gets Light Headed,
Thinking Cap Has Not Been Washed In Years,
Moisture Beading Like Tits Behind The Ears,
For The Carpenter Ants To Milk Him As If He Be An Aphid...
...
Falling Off The Broad Edge Of A Bas-Relief,
High-Sung BeSide Bearded Winter Orphans,
He Was Once A Hero Of Sorts...
...
UpOn Exiting Hades,
He Glanced Back...
...
And Saw His Own ReFlection UpOn The Mirage,
Wavering...Towering...
...
Boughing... Flowering.







Monday 9 December 2013

"L'OEIL DU MINUIT" A Collection Of My Poetry- AVAILABLE NOW!!

Hi EveryBody!

My first ever collection of my poetry L'OEIL DU MINUIT is NOW AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE!

You can buy a copy of my book in softcover or in eBook formats by clicking on this link

http://www.friesenpress.com/bookstore/title/119734000012629528


If you are a fan of modern Canadian poetry, and or a fan of my writeing, you will not go wrong
with L'OEIL DU MINUIT ...

I am proud to have self-published my first ever book with the incredibley awesome people at Friesen Press in Victoria, British Columbia www.friesenpress.com and I want to thank Brelan Boyce and Graydon Culver from Friesen Press for helping me get this book out to the public.




JANUARY 11th,2014***NOW AVAILABLE ON KOBOBOOKS.COM!!!
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-CA/ebook/l-oeil-du-minuit

http://www.amazon.com/LOeil-Minuit-Richard-William-Kirkpatrick-Thorne-ebook/dp/B00H870TFE

https://ebookpie.com/ebooks/737007-l-oeil-du-minuit

https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Richard_William_Kirkpatrick_Thorne_L_Oeil_Du_Minui?id=NwNLAgAAQBAJ

http://www.lybrary.com/loeil-du-minuit-p-395874.html

http://www.ebookmall.com/ebook/l-oeil-du-minuit/richard-william-kirkpatrick-thorne/9781460235652

http://www.ebookshop.co.za/ebooks/1501365/LOeil-Du-Minuit.html

http://www.bookland.com/eng/books/2292138

http://www.ubreader.com/product/l-oeil-du-minuit/category_poetry_canadian-919

https://riidr.com/ebog/loeil-du-minuit_richard-william-kirkpatrick-thorne  (Denmark)

http://onlinebookplace.com/loeil-du-minuit

https://bokon.se/ebok/loeil-du-minuit_richard-william-kirkpatrick-thorne  (Sweden)

http://www.booktopia.com.au/ebooks/l-oeil-du-minuit-richard-william-kirkpatrick-thorne/prod9781460235669.html

http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/loeil-du-minuit/9781460235669-item.html


CHAPTERS-INDIGO ONLINE
http://www.chapters.indigo.ca/books/loeil-du-minuit/9781460235652-item.html

BARNES & NOBLE
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/loeil-du-minuit-richard-william-kirkpatrick-thorne/1117661942

FOYLES
http://www.foyles.co.uk/witem/fiction-poetry/loeil-du-minuit,kirkpatrickthorne-richard-william-9781460235652

AMAZON.COM
http://www.amazon.com/LOeil-Minuit-Richard-William-Kirkpatrick-Thorne/dp/1460235657

RAKUTEN.COM
http://www.rakuten.com/prod/l-oeil-du-minuit/260060335.html

ADLIBRIS.COM (SWEDEN)
http://www.adlibris.com/se/bok/loeil-du-minuit-9781460235652

HIVE.CO.UK
http://www.hive.co.uk/book/loeil-du-minuit/18378771/ 

BOOKADDA.COM (INDIA)
http://www.bookadda.com/books/l-oeil-du-minuit-richard-william-1460235657-9781460235652

EBAY (AUSTRALIA)
http://www.ebay.com.au/itm/Loeil-Du-Minuit-Richard-William-Kirkpatrick-/141148018881

BOOKWORLD.COM (AUSTRALIA)
http://www.bookworld.com.au/book/loeil-du-minuit/46666930/

MEDIANDER.COM
http://www.mediander.com/books/9781460235652/l'oeil-du-minuit/

FISHPOND.COM.AU
http://www.fishpond.com.au/Books/LOeil-Du-Minuit-Richard-William-Kirkpatrick-Thorne/9781460235652

UNIVERSITY OF WOLLONGONG- UNISHOP (NEW SOUTH WALES,AUSTRALIA)
http://unishop.uow.edu.au/book/loeil-du-minuit.do

WATERSTONES.COM
http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/richard+william+kirkpatrick-thorne/l27oeil+du+minuit/10260246/

SUPERBOOKSHOP.NET (CROATIA)
http://www.superbookshop.net/?page=book&ean=9781460235652

INDIEBOUND.ORG
http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781460235652



* My book will be available in walk-in bookstore franchises when I sell enough online to afford the insurance necessary ($800.00 for 2 years worth of insurance).

Enjoy!

-RICHARD WILLIAM KIRKPATRICK-THORNE





Friday 6 December 2013

And Now A Word From Our Sponsor... (SHAMELESS SELF-ADVERTISEMENT)

Hi EveryBody,

I hope that you are enjoying my poetry.

My first ever book will be available soon from my friends at Friesen Press http://friesenpress.com/ .

It is a wonderfull work of my written thoughts from late 2008,2009-2010 and I am very proud to have self-published it for the world to know that I Exist and for my legacy in The Realm Of Historically Significant Literary Figures... especially those of this great country Canada.

It is titled L'OEIL DU MINUIT... a unique collection of my poems... the title is french, with the work written in english... so you know.

Here is a link to my book's page at Friesen Press:

http://www.friesenpress.com/bookstore/title/119734000012629528





If you happen to be a fan of my writeing, I hope that you give it a look-see.

I promise... you will not be let down.



-RICHARD WILLIAM KIRKPATRICK-THORNE






Tuesday 3 December 2013

VittraStälle Över Hela Världen

Double-Dutch HopScotch,
Cotton Ginny Palm-Rub,
Eagle-Span For The Dregs Of Embezzlement's Wooden Indians,
A Weakness For Socially Accepted Monsters,
Swamp Gas Mud Masks And Rhine Stones For Birthing Rites,
Fat Under The Chin With Its Briny Deposits Of Dead Skin In The Folds,
Greasy Wallet Conduits InTo Veinyer Branchings,
To Grow OutWard Through The Perforations And Perfections In The Forestry's Fractal,
Demonstrations Set ASide For Cementing The Shell To Its Slug,
Yet In YesterDays UnderStood To Bet For Bitter Square Routes,
Only Dareing The Lunar Landing If The Surface Could Crack Its Integrity,
Another For Troubleing The Ghosts Of Descending Accents And Dialects In Wood,
Carveing Its Mothers From Fertile Saplings,
Eating Through The Cellulose With The Patience Of A Saint,
Burning Hard InTo Softer Territorys To Impregnate The Hollow Eves,
Days BeFore Leaves Curl To Beckon And Smoke,
As It Cocoons ItSelf For Silk Roads And A Taste Of The Dream Of Sand,
SideWinding As It Readys For FireFlys And Canopic Jars,
Breatheing Heavy But Supported In Sibling Rivalry...
...
UnderWorlds Call For It To Feed The Dryness Shared By SunDogs,
And Those Who Question Its Many Voices Often Answer Their Calling,
No VineYards For Such Wells To Moisten The Moon's Shine,
They Fall As They Look To The Recognized Parchments For Nursery Rhymes,
Tumbleing From A Infant's Grasp InTo ReLapse,
Back OnTo The Skips BeTwixt Words UnSpoken,
To Rest Gutted Like Gasping Astrology On The Cold Hard Ground.






Sunday 1 December 2013

King Chicken

Street Sweepers Leave The Loudness Of Hip Cages For The Swinging Kings Of PotHole
Anachronistics,
Limbo Kremlin With Their Eyes Peeled Like Onions,
Spires On The Backs Of Their Commands As If They Were Newly Bedded Horses,
Straws Could Have Been Drawn And Then Quartered For Wish-Bone Midgets To Pull Fingers,
With Witches For Time-Consumption...A Common Fantasy For Gold Watches,
One Of The Concords Barks From The Depths Of His Barracks...
...
To Me... Me, A Lone Stander For A Stranded Stray,
I Could Never Betray The Cross Of A Talker,
Entertainment Flys Through Brained Storms Like Sparrows In The EavesDrop,
Sober Shades Of White Stabbing PinPricks Against Thinning Perspectives,
Split Hairs And Spilt Milk...
...
...
Nails And Teeth To Scratch And Sniff,
Bent Over Black Words Likened With Styrofoam Bricks Painted Red For Insurance...
...
...
...
The Potter Molds His Bite To Match The Kiln,
As The Cigarette Burns From End To End Chaseing Its Tail,
InTo Another Session Of Small Talk With The GodHead For A Coffee Stroke,
Laundry-Change Could Be Pushed To Later Dates For Holyer Days To Dripping Ceilings,
For The Marryed To Call UpOn Spirals In The Dust...
...
To Settle... To Score Like Its Nature's Only Child...
...
...
Once In A While,
He Will Rise From His Bench,
Bum A Smoke... Or Roll A Syllable With A Yeast-Coated Tongue,
Only To Lie Through That Cage...
...
HoneyCombs And PitchForks...
...
...
...
Sorry Buddy-Boy,
No Fool's Parade In My Shoes...
...
Man Is A Lone Walker That Hikes No Hill For Its Bravery.













Tuesday 26 November 2013

The Army Had A Bake Sale

The Military Sent Another Fine Girl Today,
Into The Library Like A Sacred Cow On A Pledge Drive,
To Stand Under Lamentations 2:14 And Roll Out The Green Carpet,
A Mile To The Farm To Bark For Bullets To Bend The Rules,
Hair Pulled Back In An Impressive Bun-Display Of Ritual CourtShip,
Her Blood Is Not Her Own... Her Femur Is In Service Of The Great Pecking Order Of Rank
And Discipline,
And Her OutFit... Immaculate!
...
Army Tank Battering Rams Fitted With Bouquets And Ribbons,
A Garden Of Delights Surround The Waltz Of Swirling White-Gloved Dressage,
Children Chase Each Other With Rainbow Lollypops And Neapolitan Sugar-Highs,
Trumpets, Saxophones, Trombones And Clarinets,
Coors And Labatt In Plastic Cups... Pudgy Fingers EveryWhere...
...
They Have Been In That Band For Years!
...
...
Lineing Up For The Kiss,
To Peel The Garter Off With Manic-Cured Teeth Bared,
The Cheap Aroma Of Deer-Hearted Cologne To Drink InTo Stupor,
For WeekEnds By The Crew-Cutting Clearness And Whistleing TeaPots,
Phone-Calls Like Hard-Ons Only Bring DisAppointment For The Registered And Gifted,
The Mass Communion Like A Strieber-Opposite But With Check-Ups InTact,
To Stare Up To The Cross For Commands From The Pentagon,
Sit In Polyester And Wait For Esther To Finish Eating Only The Lonely Babys,
While Dogs Whimper And Salivate In Their Pick-Up Heat...
...
Noon... Turning InTo Six-O-Clock Rationals...
...
...
Hikeing Up That Mud Drenched Hill,
For SandBag Bitches To Do Or Die,
Machine-Gun Mothers Shooting Tracers Across The Khaki Dusk...
...
She Is Only In It For The Trust-Find...
...
...
The Glory-Boy That She Maintains Beyond The Rubber Band And Pan-Cakes
Can Not Seem To Build HimSelf High Enough With Out The Tin-Spoon,
A Casual Look To Her Left Can Reveal His Potential Day Job,
A Desperate Look To The Magazine Rack Can Only Reveal Current Affairs,
A Quick Look To The Right...
...
...
Ha...Ha...Ha...Ha...Ha.
...
I Am Only InTo Girls That Wear Tight Jeans,
And Whom In Their Youth Once Peeked Beyond The Cookie Jar.








Sunday 24 November 2013

Waller Street Minute

Little White Courtesy Car,
Like Carry-On Luggage For The Muddled Class,
Middle Of Solveing The Riddle Of The Road,
Ridding The Ride Of UnDesireable Self-Knowledge,
It Breezes Through The InterSections Like A Fisher-Price Eraser,
Traverseing The Walking Head Easys And Talking Toed Sleuths,
Past The BubbleGum Dumb-Dumbs Sucking For Degree'd Gongles,
ReFlections In The Rear-View Showing Grey Skys And Paved ByGones,
Errors Like Spitting Images Double Their Pleasures,
Rubber Spun Daisy-Chains And Quiet UnComfortableness,
Thoughts Like Pregnancy Buoys And Cigars On The Greener Side Of The Pool,
Algaed Musk From The Open Window In The Attic To Blend With Napthalened Grace,
The Here And Now On Wings Of An Ivory Dove,
Dropping Its Figure's Branch,
For The Keys To The Mansion's ParkWay,
Clipping Their Rings OnTo Rabbit's Feet And Terry-Clothed BoyFriends,
For Those Shopping Bags Full Of Sunday Drives To Laugh,
They Could Keep Laughing,
Drive As They Laugh,
Laugh...
...
Till The LipStick Gets Pulled Out,
Ready To Pave For The Essence Of Fuel For Another Drive Around,
Ironing Out The Wrinkles From BirthDay Suits,
Pressing The Button To Air Out The Interior,
Adjusting The Mirror For HeadLights And Towering Trucks Up The Sleeve,
InTo That Tunnel For Peripheral Misery,
For Rainy Day Pole-Positions And Yoga Mathematics,
Reigning From Seat-Belted Bliss Like Gypsy Moth Olympians.












Friday 22 November 2013

Horse For Letters

MatchBox Dalai Lama,
Mephistopheles Hammock High,
Settleing InTo The Dunes With The Sting Of A Pebble Under Heel,
LampShade Above Heaven's Appeal,
Citrusy Bright Rip Splitting The Bottom Lip,
To Lick It Would Be Worse Than Marriage,
MisCarriage To The Jutting Chin Of Replication,
Safety In Slumbers... Strength In Numbness,
Recording Loops Of Echoing Boot-Clicks From HallWays Dark And Long...
...
The Heavyness ReTurns To The Belly,
While The Legs Expect A Lightness Of Late,
Falling Like Pennys From UnKnown Clouds,
As If  Flag-Pole Cinderellas Have Liberated The Wheel Of Fortune From The Neanderthal Dominion,
Aerosol Solar Winds To Keep BeeHives In Shape,
Candle-Jumping From One Romance To The Next,
Jonesing With The Used-Car Sales Pitch And BackWash BabyFace Chub,
Rubbing Palms Against The Searing Hot Dash...
...
Divine In Divide...
...
Deep-Eyed And Anchored...
...
Smooth Sailing Accepting The Skipping Stoned Throw,
Confessions... Concessions... Confections... Concussions...
...
...
Like Playing Horse For Letters In The Key,
Shooting From Where The Bounceing Ball Gets Caught,
They Take That Shot...
...
And All Are Named "John",
While Playing Scrabble For Better Letters...
...
Perspirations... Preparations... Palpitations... Pin Cushions.





Tuesday 19 November 2013

The Chaplain Floats Above The Canarys

With A WeedLess Lotto Bucket For BackYard Home-Schoolings,
The Hands From Under The Liveing Room Floor Push Up,
They Press Against The Feet Of Passing Relativeity,
Their Nicotine-Sepia'd Finger Nails Scratching As They Clasp Like Crab Fiddleings,
As The Drawing Of Another Number Can Be Heard Announced,
Coal Dust And Cutty Sark To Lie About Blood And Its Origins,
Those Hands Built The Lie From The Shoe Box Up,
With A BeFitting Hope That Man Be Of Certain DownFall From The Soap Boxed Lessons,
Leisure Be The Enemy To Such The Seam Of SilverBacks And The Swiss-Family ProtoTypes,
Dreaming Is Only Dreaming If There Is A Body To Come Home To...
...
...
Other Fingers Reach InTo The ChildHood Barrel Roll,
Hooking InTo Plastic To Pull Up The Family Tree's Roots,
Each Of Those Links Claiming Rights Over My Body's Forgotten Birth,
StairCases Hidden From Christian Neighbors With ArachnePhobia...
...
Animals Dressed In Stolen Humanity...
...
They Raise Their Arms And Balance UpOn The Balls Of Their ForePaws,
Stretching Their Ticket-Teeth For Plankton In The Rattleing Of BreakFast Plates,
Captureing The Need For Assertive Heights Of  Co-Existance Above The Seated,
Patting Backs... Gripping Shoulders... Pulling At The Rubber Where Life Lives Not,
Knowing That Life Lives Not To Give To That Vulture'd MountainSide,
Nor To A Beggar's Bend At The End Of A Drifting Sleep Down Any River,
Pyres For The Swan Songs Of Liers Loveing The Burning Of Effigys To Cleanse
Coal From The Skin... The Ship Out From The Bottle...
...
One By One They Look At EachOther... As If Pauseing In The Excavation...
...
...
They Know Of Being The One... As Well As Being The Hole...
...
That It Feeds ItSelf To Be.







Saturday 16 November 2013

The Grass Grows Legs

Let Us Scrape The Essence Of Deviation Off From A Citadel's Hanging Garden,
These Days Are Far From What Professionals Promised Us Through Phonics,
Abbreviations For The Lazy Handed Contractions On Blue-Lines Divideing Bottoms From Tops,
The Kissing Booth With Its Chalk Dust And Monitored Definitions Of Attention To DeRail
Detail From Two Track Minds Set On The BeTwixt Class Swig Reviveing Uppers From Downers,
The Missing Tooth With Its Locked Trust And Administered Ammunitions Of Detention To Avail,
Retail Froth Through Black Boards Wet Off The Better-Half's Seated Swing
Numbing Paupers And Prom-Crowners,
When All Is Far From Breath And Saxophones To Slow Dance
Amidst The Pink Bubble Lights And Baby-Blue Chaperoned Cheer,
Putting Out In The Sack For Black Wool And Golden Fleece,
Trials And Tribulations For Approval Rateings By The Apple's Sheen,
If It Was A MotorBoat Monday The Instructions To Race Would ReMain ReVised
For Viceroys And Country Mice,
The Streets Would All Be Flooded...
...
Lizards Would Rule From Former Avian Glory,
There Would Be Rabbits On Crosses For Lack Of Turtle Necks,
Brown-Sleeved And Slightly Scuffed To Allow For The Noticeable DisPlay
Of Patches On The Elbows,
Smelling Of Christmas AfterShaves And Cautious Dips InTo The PunchBowl,
EggNogging With Corsaged Roads To Course Loads Down The Toboggan'd Slope,
Boggleing The UnderGraduate Who Ends The Semester Pounding On The Bean-Counter For
Repriveal...
...
Tents Up On A Loose Green Club Yard,
Rentals, Dentals, And Mentals...
...
...
AnyWay They Cut It... The Grass Grows Legs.






Saturday 9 November 2013

The Crack In Her Smile Is That Of A Mirrored ReFlection Thin And Smooth

Killing Seasons Of Memorys,
They SomeTimes Drag The Mind To Snap,
RubberGloved UpOn The Hands Of Fate,
Not Faith... No... You Fools... Blind Faith Can Not Lace Thy Ribs' Cage
From The Weaveing Seekings Of Fate,
Destiny SomeTimes Turns Her Cheek To Allow For Darkness To Loom,
To Let The Wandering Be ShapeLess In Their Vigilance,
In Caverns Beyond Their Wispy Fold...
...
Likened To The Tautness OverHead,
The Sky Could Crack To Reveal Another Hungry Passage For A Twitchy Strummer,
Kicking Over That Chariot InTo A Fitting Doom,
Where No Month Be Of Its Own Creation's Sake,
There Be Some Who Still Wool Their Eyes...
...
...
For The Soft Shelter By Giants,
And Pan-Handled Lullabys...
...
Reeds By The Mud Whistleing For The Wind,
As If The Winters Could Carry A Tune... Past Fury...
...
...
Flowing To The Skin,
And Then Back To The Grape Vine,
Devoted To The Devoured,
As If Flesh Could Grow On Trees.









Sunday 3 November 2013

Cassandra Be A Mother To Spiders

The World In A Migraine Of Cassandra,
TeleVision NetherWomb For Basins Of Milkyness... Spooning Nihil,
Static And Sex To Fuzz Out The Sharp Tang Of Gnawing Floral Scents,
Lightened As Could Be While Hooked InTo The Lithe Poise For Solitude To
Brighten Ready Under,
Mouthing Emptyness To Swallow The Heavens...
...
Vermilion And Saffron... Mercury Or Mercy...
...
Never To Land In The Swirling UnHeard,
To Lay Trapeze WithIn Sticky Weaver Threadings,
BlindFolding The Edges Of The Pedaling Foot,
There It Be... Pushing UpOn The Ethers...
...
Pulling DownIn The Embers...
...
...
The Womb Is A Grin,
Reading To Its UnBorn,
In ReCreation's Grasp To DisTill For Amphorae...
...
To Drink InTo Treacle,
Treating The Eye's Tooth...
...
...
For It Hungers For Planets,
Not ForGiveness.






Tuesday 29 October 2013

The Dead Would Buy Ways To Eastern Promises

The Gold Is Peeling Off Her Stoic Ensemble,
Flakeing And Flirting With Potential Escape,
In The MidDay RushHour It Rusts And Waits,
For The SweepStakes To Reveal The Weakness InGrained,
Slivers In The Melting Pot Glitter Like God In EveryOne,
Quotas To Be Performed In Sacred Closet Rituals,
She Examines The Daisys First And Then The Carnations For Pushers And Baby-Faced Romantics,
Trying The Jury For The Pews,
Reading From The Cue-Card Holder's Agony For Signs Of Depression,
Another Safe Check For ReCession,
Tumbleing The Bob To Prick Her Thumb...
...
And In Her Deep Sleep Dream A Thousand Islands,
On Each Island A Hidden Valley Of The Dolls,
Ceramic UnBlinking And UnCareing...
...
...
The Trees In Their Arbor Harbour The Mantle,
For Legs To Dangle,
With No Stilts To Widow Her NutCracker Suite
The Dolls Could Speak Like The Sparrows Lost In Souls To Carry,
BeFore The Pillow Can Be Felt...
...
A WetLand For Estranged Vineards...
...
Hers Is A Minded Oblivion,
With A Make-Up Case And A Mirror,
Smoke In The Fields,
Ashes From All That Was Once Shuttered From Flight...
...
Floating On Past The Carnival Lights,
MeaningLess In The Spread And Lunge,
Bitten InTo Cheapness Like Satiny Wax...
...
Buttoned Down,
And ButterFlyed Above The Fade.








Monday 28 October 2013

The One Thing About Those Little Sparks Is That You Have To Watch Your Wick

The Monkey Bangs The Tin Drum Dumb,
OnWard To Those Blackened Willed StrongHolds,
To Those Gutted-Twists In The Confines From Liberty,
Monday Beggars On Knees Of Glass,
While Shrapnel Zips Through Ears And Lips From Ten-Second Clicks
Whitening Teeth And CollarBones With Its Tickered Parade,
Bleaching Out The Fadeing Iris From Love PreTended...
...
...
...
A Bookie Sits With His Phone To His Head,
All Bets Are Off UnTil The StormTroopers Find The Smokeing Gun,
He Stares At The Ringed Stain From His Coffee Daze,
Hypnotized And Lost In The Bitten Styrofoam,
His Hand Is Burning And Wet...
...
...
SunLight Peeks Through EyeLash,
Stillness Through That Vision In A Cage,
Is It Snowing Past That Fanged Eclipse...?
...
Or Did The Phone Ring When It Did?









Wednesday 23 October 2013

Straw Buryed Fields In November

Drawing Breath,
The Browning Of What Was Left From Family Pardons,
Emptyed OnTo The DriveWays For U-Turn Commandos To Measure For Camera
Angles And Snow Blinding Rage,
SomeTimes I Think Of Falling Past The Rooted Earth...
...
To Not Get The Wind Knocked Out Of My Lungs...
...
...
The Fire Tricks Its Way InTo The Shuffle,
But Not To Fool The House InTo Leaveing Its Thrones UnGuarded,
ThankFull I Do Not Have To Wear Bells,
As I Hit The Ground...
...
...
SomeBody Is Cutting The Deck,
Playing The Blind Man's Bluff,
I Turn My Face To Burn Images InTo Memory,
Just This Once I Could Raise The Bet...
...
For Better Halves To Split The Snake's Tongue,
Carrying Ants Back To My Home,
To Teach Them The Depth Of Honey,
As I Lose My Height And A False Sense Of Security...
...
Joining The Droneing Buzz,
Drowning MySelf In My Duty Of Worthy Pollinateions...
...
InTo Orchids And Then Back InTo Waxen Structure...
...
...
And Then To Melt As I Fall.






Sunday 20 October 2013

Manatee For The Mouths Of May

Milk Tea,
Humanity,
Open Sore Sunday Poor,
Triumphant As A Chinese Lantern,
Moon Shine Princes And Little Girls With Their Thumbs In The Dyke,
Wooden Masks,
Tree Hugging Messiahs With Their German Shepherds,
Leafy Piles Of Burning Autumns,
Fashion Statement Fridays,
Water Cooler Empires With Cone Cup Annoyances,
Paper Cuts In BeTwixt The Pinky And The Ring,
Lingering House Calls From Jehovahs,
Suicideal GreenPeace Cannibals,
Dolphin Pride Mixed Deliciously InTo The Flaked Tuna,
Free Range Free Masonry With Their Halls Of No Such Thing As A Free Lunch,
American Debt Machines Linked Together Like A Brideal Train,
Salad Bar Junkies... Junk Food Monkeys... River Rat Hobo Hookers,
Tai-Chi Yoga Lemmings...
...
The UnExpected Leap InTo Forgiveness,
LapDance BibleThumpers Who Need Love From Their Local Hell's Angels,
Coca-Cola Test Subjects With Dietary Supplements,
Actresses That Pretend Man Is A Myth,
Man That Seeks The Myth...
...
Oven Mitted Motherly Hubbard Sends Out Beach Boy GirlFriends...
...
Stock Market Crashes Because Of OverSpending On Trips To Mars,
Scientists On The Pill... To Know The Feeling Of Numbness From HandCuffs,
ClothesHanger Alley Way Strays Fat On Mystery Meat,
Surviveal Of The Fleetist... Eat And Run,
Rats Chaseing Cats Up Trees For Chippendale Rescues To Thicken The Cream,
To Curdle When Left Over... Cheap Cheese For Rodents...
...
Bottom Feeders In Their Bathyscaphes Turning The Screws,
Archimedes Pleading On The Wire To Bell For Watson's Assistance,
Ringing In The New Year With Newton,
Terrorized Of Heights But AllWays Jumping,
To Prove The Wool... To Mull The Leg... To Dragonize The Woo,
Preaching Hell On Earth... Paradise Off Its Flattened Edge,
Tilt The Hand That Feeds The Brow...!... For It Strokes The Temple And Knows Its Other's Clap,
Why Stop...?... Just Drop And Roll.
...
...
Then... To The Rope And Pole.








Friday 18 October 2013

It Is Still Too Early For The Macintosh

Sombrero Days Are UpOn Us,
GunSmoke, HeeHaws And Cool Handed Lassos,
Greasy Kisses From Those Musky Tavern Whores Whose Pale Bosoms Do Throb
For Ways Under The Table,
Powdery Soft Like A Motherly Touch So Feigned
To Fan The Flames From A Cheater's Sleeve,
Dusk Beyond The Horizon And Beyond The Dust,
Enough Trust To One Night Steal A Stallion From Under The Marshall's Runny Nose,
To Get Those Short-Lived Steak Meals By The Fire-Lit Grotto
And Whiskey-Out The Fall From A Century AWay... Washed Up...
...
Trails At The Boot Strapped Of Every Wakeing Hour,
ToWards MythoLogical ReMemberance Of Faded Documentary Stills,
Nuggets In The RiverBed...
...
Holes In The Sky...
...
...
Holes In Your Hats...
...
Holes In Your Lives.





Wednesday 16 October 2013

Umbra-3

Here Is An Abstract "Computer Painting" That I Created This Morning. I Was Real Pissed About SomeThing, And I Got So Angry That I Saw Black For A Second And A Half, BeFore I Saw This Image Form In My Head.

Strangely, I Felt Calm When I Saw It... Which Led To Me ReProduceing The Image On My LapTop's PaintBrush App.

Different From My Usual Poetry... WhatEver. I Think It's Cool, For It Being Simple... I Call It "Umbra-3".




Monday 14 October 2013

One Fine Day At The Truck Stop

If The Mantis Stopped By The Side Of The Road And Prayed For Its Supper,
A Chicken Would Eventually Show Up To Cross The Street,
Carrying SunShine And Secretive Egg Mysticism,
Scratching The Pavement For Rooster-Shaman Visionarys,
That One Future Might Be Caressed WithIn The Nest Of A Hen's Hour,
Clucking AWay The Fear Of Modern-Day Machinery,
To Make ItSelf An Example BeFore This Insectile World Of AntHills And Refugee Tarantulas,
Its Comb Shuddering With Each Passing Rush Of Monoxide And Black Balloon'd Death-Spinners,
Chrome Shineing Monsters-The Millipedes And Goliath Beetles Have Evolved InTo...!
...
How Could It Be For All The Peckings Of Young Hatchlings And The Congression
WithIn The Coop-Thought Chamber,
AllWays At War Against The Monkeys For Domination Over Humanity,
They Would Never Break A Ceremonyal Twig In Ritual For Treaty...
...
...
The Chicken Would Rest Three Quarters From Where The Mantis Stood Praying,
Spying The Greatness Of Roaring AirPlanes Over Its Twitchy Feathered Head,
Selling The Spiritual Journey Of Its Final Form To Curious Green Eyes And Tilted Mandibles,
Lifting Its FlightLess Wings To The Sky... As Spinning Death Blackness
Driven By The Engines Of Ancestral Fright Crushed Its Meaty Body
InTo The Flat Grey NoThing...
...
Beak DisLocated And Preening Hot-Grill For Kilometers... Shareing The Ride
With Equally SilkLess Moths...
...
...
"Oh Wow," The Mantis Would Think,
"If That Is What The Chickens Want Of The Monkeys,
It Is No Wonder I Have To AllWays Eat My Husbands!"





Sunday 13 October 2013

Slip 23 Catch 22

There Is AllWays Room For One More,
Off That Dock In The Cargo's Hold,
Where HollyWood Parks Its Tonsil'd Boat Of Tinder,
For Scenes With Golden Blonde GreenHouse Tenders,
Siamese With Delilah Where The Lighter Side Of Dark Meets,
With Flames In The Pantry And Blood On The Shag,
Still Competeing Against Rose McGowan's Shadow...
...
...
That Shadow Could Rise From The 70's With The Jackson 5,
Where Hannah In Porno Could Not Go-Go For Disco's Inferno...
...
At Least Not While Chain-Smokeing BeTween Takes,
Dalmatian-Salivateing And Straddleing Limo-Mafioso...
...
For The Attention Span Of A Waste Of Money
Bred High UpOn Albino Angst,
Kenneth Anger Projects And Loser Appeal,
Stage Tantrums Wearing Mickey's Ears And Rubber Pants,
Faux Berlin Burlesque And The LaVey Connection,
With Taste As Princess'd As Its Process Brought To Haste The Hand
From Its Honey,
Only The Lonely Know Why... That Jar Was So High...
...
...
...
We Were All Too HeartBroken From HomeWreckers,
I Had To Plead InSanity For A Touch Of Royalty
To Guide My Spirit Back To Its Balls.





Of Death And Tuxes

The Piece Of Cake Slices Its Wedge,
To Lodge In BeTwixt The Borrowed And The Blue,
The ArchWays Deprived Of Self-PreServeation,
Those Plastic Molded Castings Of PerFection
Hand In Hand Sinking InTo The Thinness,
Surrendering In Sacrificial Offerings Of Burned-Out Raceings
Around Precious Time And Capricious Space,
Brass Rings Grasped In Craveings For LeaderShip,
AllMost Poor Enough For A Wedding Free From Debt
Though AllReady Too Rich For The Greater Good,
Like Those Wisdom Teeth From Whence The Milk Once Hit,
Cracks Start To Appear...
...
The Silver Spoons Lay Tarnished In Their Maple Chest,
Registered In Spades To The Bride's Dismay,
While The Groom Stands Fit To Be Hung
For Cowardice En Route To The Confession's Blind...
...
No Man Be Present... The Mothers-In-Law Sob UnControllabley For The
Loss To Not Be Known,
And The Father Of The Bride Pays For His Tux The Old Fashioned Way...
...
AHead Of The Line.




Thursday 10 October 2013

InTo Greener Pastures

The Crossing Wired Division,
Sweetness Lost Over Time,
That Bridge Over Soured Waters,
Frozen In Perpetual Ripple,
Never Reaching The End Of Its Echo'd Tide,
Drifting WithIn ItSelf To Erase Momentum...
...
Signalling Under The Pull,
The Ebb Throbbing In Its Veins,
With No Need For Artery... It Will Bleed ForEver...
...
Never Staying APart Of The Pulse,
Trickleing Down Off Icicles...
...
InTo Cycles.





Monday 23 September 2013

Mustache-Mask

A Runt Raised From A Milk-Crate's Curdled Drippings ,
With His Associate From Some Fraternal LumberYard,
Arrived InConspiciously To Aggravate And Stir,
Mustache-Masked And Wrinkled Chunk-Faced... Such The GentleMan And His Sir,
Chivalry And Its Chevaliers As If On Call From Cervantes,
Though Questionable In A Change Of Wardrobe... MayBe As George And Lenny...
...
May Be By The Work Of Twain... Their Migration Through Depression Could Lead Their
Bare Feet To Those Proud Marys And CrawDaddys,
Running As Fugitives Through Acres Of Spring Wheat,
To Smoke-Houses And Steam-Baths,
Card Sharks Tilt Their Heads... Slightly... To The Echoing Draft Of Future Tense,
The Two Roost From UpOn Top Bunks... In A Room With The Truly HomeLess,
Promiseing One More Week Of Stay...
...
...
Till Then... A Tale Epic Through Its Gandering!
...
One Has Come In Search Of A Golden Organ,
'Fore Harps Can Be Plucked And Loosed,
He Has The Passionate Charity Of A "Sister",
When All Else Be UnPheasantly Goose'd...
...
Seeking The Slumber Of Pasture So PeaceFull,
No Wolf Can Lie In Wait,
Speaking Soft To All Stone-Hearted,
Bringing Calmness For His Bait...
...
The Other Be In Turmoil,
Needing Silver For His Lung,
He Closes Open Shutters,
And Bangs On E'ry Rung...
...
When At Time It Is For BreakFast,
He Shines Like Children Do,
Chaseing RainBows From The Windows,
And Knocking E'ry Shoe...
...
They Both Will Leave UpOn The Day,
Their Mission Done Or Naught,
For Their Golden Organ To Be Chalice'd,
Or To Their Chapel Be It Brought.









Sunday 22 September 2013

Rolling Pigeons Towards Collapseing Turtled Gloves

The Arguement Soaks Through The Filter,
Through The Membrane...Through The Electric Channels,
It Drips Out Through The Holes Like Hamburger Through A Meat-Grinder,
Through And Through...
...
Through... And Through...
...
InTo The Hungry Ear Starveing For Daily ConFlict,
EveryBody Has An Ear Like That...
...
MayBe It Is Your Left... Perhaps... It Is Your Right...
...
It Devours Those Scratchy Static Runes As A Casino Table Would To Dice,
Hopeing For The Code Of Gods To Reveal Their Little Etched Order,
SomeTimes To Tumble From Cups...
...
InTo The HereSay... Palms Sweeping ACross Sweating Brows...
...
...
The Skins Of Gamblers Are Brought To The Wire... Still Wet...
...
To Be Stretched And Pinned... Then Drummed For The RimShot
InTo Echoing Stillness,
Above The Green Felt And Perched ReServeations,
Then InTo The Clicking Of Teeth...
...
Or Through The Whistleing Of Others...
...
To The Rough... Then Tacked Smooth.

Saturday 14 September 2013

Shrödinger's Cathedral (Originally Written On Monday,September 13th,2010)





 One fine day, Shrödinger woke up and realized that he was bored.

 Bored Of EveryThing.

 Most shockingly... Shrödinger was bored to tears of his cat... who he once upon a time had given the name "Whiskers". He rose from his bed, stepped into his slippers, whipped on his moth-holed bath-robe and trudged down the stairs... his cat skipping by his feet into the waiting kitchen.

 Shrödinger had planned all week for this... This Day was going to put an end to the tedious mornings and nights of feline-interventions upon his miserable existence of being a *physics professor (*and not even a good one by scholastic standards)... and he was going to go out, and buy a dog.

 Yes... A DOG.
 ...
 Shrödinger wanted his afternoons laden with pipe smoke and his boney ass in his saggy recliner by the warm flickering hearth, and a fox-hound abundant with old english charm laying by his slippered feet... a Friend Of Equal Importance as any of a chess match to a maestro befitting of a symphony dedicated to the nature of Jupiter's reach towards all things known to Professors Of Science.

 So... in accordance with The Proper Disposeal of Pets To Be UnLoved And Returned To Nature, Shrödinger bought a large cardboard box... from the local grocer's for a pense-sake or two... earlier that week. It now rested open-flapped upon his breakfast table beside a roll of packing tape.

 Shrödinger brewed his coffee.

 He stooped down and picked up his cat, walked over to the box, and dumped the tabby inside.

 The cat looked up at Shrödinger... ever so curious. The cat... the curiosity belonged to the cat. Shrödinger had no need for the 8th nor 9th Wonder Of The World. He was meticulous in his atrocity to the feline persuasion... closeing the box and tapeing cardboard flaps shut, locking in the kitty's inquisitive emerald glare.

 He sat smug with his mug of hot coffee.

 Watching the box, Shrödinger pondered a method for its destruction... and settled for driving it to a flooded lime-stone quarry... To, Of Course... Drown The Cat. Yes... he was going to drown that annoyance... And Then(!)...
...
Shrödinger was going to buy his fox-hound.

 The kitchen was now beginning to fill with day light, Shrödinger sat in his vigil, drinking his coffee. as scratching came forth from the box's interior...
...
Scratch...scratch, scratch...
...
Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.... mew...mew...meeeeewww... 
...
Scratch, scratch...
...
...
Meeeeee-eeeeeeeewww...meeewwww...
...
Scratch... scratch...scratch, scratch...meewwww...MEEEEWWwwwwww... 
...
And so on...

 Shrödinger stood up five minutes into the calamity. The cat had to be silenced... or did it really have to be silenced at all?? After all... he WAS enjoying the tormenting of his former house-mate... did he REALLY want to put an end to all that Godly-Magnificence manifesting itself as well-awaited desperation begging aloud from the darkness of the cardboard box?

No.

 Shrödinger smiled his scientist smile. HE was the River-God NOW... not THAT forsaken flea-ridden gift of his mother's virtuosity to his future as a lone studymate to The Milky Way and beyond!
...
...
 He trudged to the corner of his kitchen, to where he had fed the Mummy's Curse kibbles and cream for more than two years. Shrödinger picked up the cat-food dish, walked over to the sink and washed it out with soap and water. He then poured a good helping of his morning coffee into the bowl, filling it... laughing a little at the boxed cacophony... and took it carefully to the table, ripping open the box's taped flaps. The cat looked up at Shrödinger, mewing its annoyance at betrayal to the ears and eyes of hardship. Its food-dish... now filled with black coffee...was placed before its presence upon the bottom of the box.

 It sniffed at the coffee... looking up one last time at Shrödinger, crying as he folded-down the flaps... tapeing them shut for the second time.

 Shrödinger... satisfied with his bitter deed... nodded self-approval. He plunked the tape upon the table and sat back down, watching the box.

 Hours and hours Shrödinger sat. His coffee drinking transitioning with the pace of a solar exodus to his usual afternoon tea... to his evening cognac... with meals in between to even out the liquid assets of a Sunday well kept to his Gods... and his dream of fox-hounds to be.

 The house was now silent... strange was that silence... was the cat dead? Perhaps a trip to the quarry was not needed if it would be of fated efficiency that coffee be the trick to tip the cat out of its skin. But... WAS IT DEAD? IS it dead? Is it sleeping???

 No... thought Shrödinger... not if it were to drink the coffee... it would be at the ready for a chance to escape... certainly!!

 Shrödinger rose quickly from his chair...maybe it be time to see if the cat was in fact DEAD and NOT awaiting for a chance to claw out of the watery depths...

 If the box were to get wet... hmmm... yes... cardboard IS weak upon saturation...
...
...
 Well! There was NO WAY that the cat was going to have a second chance to enter his life again! Even if it might be of courageous intent to surface from Hell's deep pit like a survivor of some sinking U-boat disaster... dragging its soggy cat-tail up that quarry road... back into town... through the bedroom window...
...
...
 It had to be proven to be dead. There was no other way.

 And if it were to be not as those on route to the Eulesian fields in search of mice...
...
 Shrödinger reached into a drawer by the sink. Brandishing a butcher-knife he crept to the table... upon his toes... heels high...

 His knife sliced through the tape, freeing the flaps...
...
 Shrödinger opened the box...
...
...
 The cat was gone.

 Gone??? It was GONE??? Shrödinger was in shock... gasping in surprise! He was by the box the entire time! Where is the cat??? Where did it go???
...
 He saw something white... from the corner of his twitching eye...

Paper... there was paper in the cat dish... at the bottom of the box...
...
???
 Shrödinger dropped the knife and grabbed the cat-food dish, Snatching the sheet of paper... he tossed the plastic bowl aside, sending it scittering across the floor. The paper was folded... neatly.

 Shrödinger slowly unfolded it with trembleing hands... and he stared...

 Written in ink(!) from a cat's claw (!!) was the scratched out message:

"THANKS ASSHOLE!!! I NEEDED THAT!!"
...
...
...
 Shrödinger... The World's Most Astounded Physics Professor stood... with his mouth agape... astounded.

 He ran in his raggy bath-robe to the front door, wrenching it open... knocking down his coat rack. Shrödinger rushed outside into his front lawn. Ignoreing the water sprinkler as it soaked his day-long lab-coat, he called for his cat...

"Whiskers? Whiskers???? WHIIIIIIIISKERS!!" "WHIIIIIIIISKERS"!!!!
...
"Here Boy... here Whiskers,Whiskers,Whiskers....!"
...
...
"WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIISKERS!!! WHISKERS!!"
...
 Shrödinger glanced around at his neighbors arriveing from work, their children with their bicycles or with their balls... an elderly widow walking her french poodle- barking at the physicist amidst his being the spontaneous Spectacle Of Science. All frozen in astonishment.
...
 All eyes upon Shrödinger... 

 He spun around and rushed back into his house, slamming the door behind him... The old hag's poodle still yipping across the street at his former spot in the wet grass. Shrödinger sloshed in his slippers, nearly crashing his ass at the kitchen entrance, resting momentarily upon the edge of the table...

The table...
...
 The table that had the box upon it. Now open... with no cat.

 Shrödinger leaped up in sudden revelation... Yes!!! The BACK YARD...
...
 He didn't search THERE as of late...
...
 Per chance... the cat be there?? In the flower patch? Playing in the rowans???

EUREKA!!! 
...
 The Cat would certainly be THERE... in the rowan bush!! Awaiting for a finch or two to run out of fly-time... it was definitely possible... for it was known to Shrödinger that cats... like "Whiskers"... often stalked after BIRDS... and...mice...
...
 But IT WAS ALSO PROBABLE that there were no mice in the back yard...
...
...
...
 What was he THINKING?? MICE????PROBABILITY???? Where was the CAT???

 Shrödinger kicked off his water-logged house slippers, unbolted the back door and stumbled into his backyard...
...
...
 "Whiskers?"
...
...
 "Mew..."
...
 Shrödinger heard the cat's meow... excitedly, he called towards the sound...
...
 "Whiskers????"
...
...
 "Meew?"
...
...
 He orientated himself to its general origination... the bed of tulips that had been growing since spring...

 Shrödinger peered at it with his blood-shot eyes, once again calling for his cat...
...
 "Whiskers?? Whiskers? Where ARE you, Old Boy?"
...
 "Mew?"
...
 "Mew?"
...
...
 Bewildered, Shrödinger looked at a tulip in the patch... he gazed right into it and tried one more time...
...
"Whiskers?"
...
...
...
 The tulip stared back into Shrödinger... The Professor Of Physics... deeply... and replied...

 "Mew?"






Friday 13 September 2013

Ellipsis

...
...
...
On The Thirteenth Day In The Thirteenth Year,
From The Years Two Thousandth... Oh My Dear,
In The Month That Was Named In Latin For The Seventh,
The Nineth BeFore October... AllWays The Eleventh...
...
...
...

Saturday 7 September 2013

Glass House Windows

Yankee Poodle Jettisoned Its Self From Pointing Figures... A Daughter Of The Green Mile,
InTo The Streaming Concrete RiverBed Of The EveryDay North Of Bordered Nods,
The Door Ways Opened Through Dimensions Betwixt Quarters Flipped And Dimes Spinning On Their Rasp-Edge MilliMeter Seconds,
Trade Negotiations Under Cover Of Cedar-Sided Secrets And In The Thin Air BeHind The Sleeping Ears Of Man,
Not Many Would Dare To Approach Those Treacherous Steps To That Treasury Built
To Spill All But The Skulls Of Cain...
...
Closeing Their Eyes As The Windows Are Shut...
...
Aqueducts In The Settleing Deaths Of Drowning Monolithic Mirages,
The Sacred Sirens Became Violent As Their Silence Could Not Keep The Gold From Looping Over,
Flashing InTo The Places Where Once There Was A LightHouse And Its Keeper,
Now Shadows Burnt AWay From Memory...
...
...
Leaves On Copper... In The New Deal... I Be Still A Ghost Amongst The Dead...
...
Where Walt Whitman Treads Not To Wake,
I Place My Foot...
...
...
And Weight.

Thursday 22 August 2013

Necronomicondominium Crumb (The Short Tale Of "HeavenLess Evan" & "Eric The Night-Goat")

Necronomicondominium Crumb,
The BeSpectacled Bread Of Flight And Worth,
Under The Earth... The Oceans Boil,
A Fossilized Hatchery Of Woe And MisCreation,
Fissure-Bobbing In The Pulling Gravity,
Where Darkness Is Smooth And Cold,
Rubbing ItSelf Against Your Deep-Suited Diveing Fear,
An Echoing Jeer...
...
SomeWhere Not Beige Or Taupe,
Neither In The Nether Nor In A Mother's Land,
Not With Knee-Highs Or Pantomime,
Shadows Cast No Fright WithIn The Tarry Deep,
A Mind With No Way To Speak Its Rind,
Sight Like A Orange With No Day For Rhyme...
...
UpOn The Knees,
The GingerBread House Of SchoolYard Sufferings,
Biologically Devoid Of Being Voided Of Logic,
When It All Makes Sense In The Lasting Minutes...
...
THAT Is When The UnderStanding Knows Its Limits,
All The Smaller Fishes Swim To The Light,
They Find Solace In A FisherMan's Net...
...
...
While The Curious Blink AWay The Stars,
To Catch A Glimpse Of Deeper Waters.

Wednesday 21 August 2013

Bucktooth Stereotype From The Great Jello Mold In The Sky

Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Likes To Juggle Juggle Juggle So That Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Can Be Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy He Got Trouble Trouble Trouble From The Thinny Thinny Thinny And The Skinny Skinny Skinny Knows Its Double Double Double... You See, Sally Likes To Cuddle With Jimmy On The Double But Jimmy Has To Juggle From The Thinny And Its Trouble... And Sally Wants To Cuddle Cuddle Cuddle... Cuddle Cuddle Cuddle...Cuddle Cuddle Cuddle...
Cuddle Cuddle Cuddle... Sally Wants To Build Build Build A Bubble Bubble Bubble Just To Keep Her Jimmy From The Juggle Juggle Juggle But The Trouble With That Jimmy Is His Juggle On The Skinny And Sally Wants The Double Of Jimmy Just To Cuddle With The Bubble From The Breaking Of The Thinny From The Juggle Juggle Juggle But Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Likes To Juggle Juggle Juggle So That Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Can Be Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy And Sally Sally Sally Sees The Skinny Skinny Skinny And The Trouble Trouble Trouble With Sally And Her Bubble Makes Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Want To Juggle From The Cuddle Cause The Cuddle Cuddle Cuddle Is The Puddle Puddle Puddle By The Thinny Thinny Thinny And Her Puzzle Puzzle Puzzle Just To Cuddle Cuddle Cuddle Is Why Jimmy's Got The Skinny On The Bubble While He Juggles On The Double From The Thinny And The Puddle... While The Juggle Juggle Juggle Bubbles Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy  From The Skinny Skinny Skinny Of The Cuddle Cuddle Cuddle ... And Sally's Got The Trouble Of Jimmy And His Juggle Just To Build Another Bubble For The Puddle Of Her Puzzle Made For Jimmy While He... While He... While He... While He... Juggles Juggles Juggles So That Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Can Be Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy...He Got Trouble Trouble Trouble From The Thinny Thinny Thinny And The Skinny Skinny Skinny Knows Its Double Double Double.

Monday 19 August 2013

The Parachutes Open Only UpOn Impact

DeFormed ReDundant Structures Of Husbandry,
Valleys Of Lilliputian Remnants With RailRoad Jaundice And Varicose Coals,
Switching Tracks To Greener Minds,
Farm Handled Love And Petting Zoology,
Rugged Baleings Over The Sulking Spines Of Its Mules,
Crossing The Intersections In Packs...
...
In Threes... SomeTimes Risking It In Twos...
...
Sloppy Second Secret Winks On Coffee Break,
While Tripping Elastic To The Mirror's Image In Hair Curlers And Morning Breath...
The HemiSpheres And Divide...
Masculine EyeShadow Like Racoons In A Vaudeville Tap-Dance,
Banging TrashCans By The Curbs At Seven A.M.,
Running Late To Keep Up Appearance,
CarWash Schedules And PerHaps A Gathering Of Geneology To Pick Out A Fresh Pine Scent...
...
The Quick Shake Of A Greying Mane,
Like A Four Year Old With An Etch-A Sketch...
...
To Sell The WindowLess Dream...
...
And Make That Wonder Stretch.



Sunday 11 August 2013

Try The New Flavour Of Sensitive Summons To CourtShip! A One Stop Shop For Moments Of Meticulous Paveings!

You May Be The Type To Want A Century To Roll By... A Simple Trek To Another Bold Year, With Out The Interest Of An Aeon For BreakFast Cereal Boxed Prizes And Left Over Milk... Sugary And Lumpy... The Crinkleing Of NewsPaper And The Clinking Of Spoon Hitting The InSide Of A Chipped Mug... Throat Clearing AWay The Drone Of LawnMowers, Cicadas Grinding Out Their Final Clicks To The Auditions Of Dead Wooded Spirits ALoft In The Fadeing Morning Covers... Of Fallen Leaves... Mulch Empires... The Cool Spaces Under Concrete...
...
I Want A Sensible Jury To Stand In... Net Worth Is For The Fishes... A Boat For My Liveing Leg- Never The Wooden Legend, To Watch The Drowning Of Whores In The Ether... Those Broken-Armed Drama Kinks Seeking A Barnacled Hold UpOn My Life... To Cut ASide And Burn Off A Leeching Presence... To Stab InTo The White Octopus And Rip Out Its Ability To Count ItSelf Lucky... To Be Put ASleep By Spiders... Then To Be AWoken By The Sounds Of A Distant Ocean...
...
Now Closer... Closer Than The Calming Trinkets Of Knotting WindMills And Pompous Lips...
...
A Way To The Simpler Times... The Half Eaten Measure Of Rythym Not Kneaded InTo Shape By The Passing Over By The Machines Of Equilibrium...
...
...
If You Lack The Ability To Only Be One Thing And One Thing Only... Try Laying UpOn The Grass, In The Lapse Of Moonlight And Ration... And Let That Which You Might Be Stealing To Be... Be Left To The Days Forgotten... To Rot... And Stay BeFore Nights BeGotten From Decades Seeping InTo The Soil's Workings...

Tuesday 6 August 2013

Lonely As The Gator Gets, I Ain't Rolling With It

Sitting Around... On Top Of Chairs... On My Feet Standing By Buzzing Walk/Do Not Walk Signs With The Stretched Shadowy Confines Of Retards By The Grains Of Breezy Beautyfull Poster Childen Floating In The Monoxide Of Passing Traffic, Right InTo My Teary Eyes.
...
If Boredom Be A Kingdom, I Would Be Its Exiled Joker To Plead In Madness To The River Gods For A Priestess To Fuck For Alligator Boots And Fast Cars... MayBe Smooth Sedans At My Control... To Crash InTo The Greens And The Reds... ByPass The Cautionary Tales From The Yellows... Skip The Blues... Dance By The Worldly Wreckage For RainDrops To Fall UpOn My Head.
...
Don't Mean My Eyes Will Soon Be Turning Red... Dieing's Not For Me... Crying's For The Birds By The Turbulent Waters Rushing InTo The Gutters By My Feet... Rubber Soled And Double-Knotted...
...
The City Acts GutLess For Sympathy... Well, It ACTS Sympathetic For A Man To Follow In The Flow Of Schemeatic Foot-Trails... Entrails InTo The Hidden UnderGround, To The Pipes In Motion... The Nights Of Arranged Turnings Of The FingerLess Valved Jazzless Commune. Those EyeLess Sucking Infancys Crawling For Bloody Dripping Gashes Of The Holy Rolling Sun Across The Razor's Glinting Straits... Corroded And Covered In A Polyester Faith By The Heated Waste Of Infantry Rigor...
...
...
At Some Part Of The Way, BeTwixt The Roaring Traffic And The Clicking Of Pivoting ClockWork-Heels... My Own Finger Will Twitch.
...
With No Need For Politics... Swelling The Clouds... Pierceing... Ripping Through... That Trigger... That Synaptic Shudder To Flinch And Retrieve.