On Being Broke

Broken inside but still ticking
No way of knowing
Where this train is going

So many dangerous words
Dangerous thoughts
Evil beckons slyly

Waiting
For a chance
To flower

Poison dripping
Patiently
Into my soul

I would have to save this whole awful world
To make a dent in my perfect wrongness

Or just go away
Quickly and quietly
Before doing any more harm

broken

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See Me

Under the guise of Nakedness
I am as cold as a razor blade
And darkly opaque
Vanishing slowly as only a seasoned exhibitionist knows how.

You said, hurriedly, towards the never-ending ending
That perhaps your own absence had a taste

It tastes like comfort exploding so slowly
That only my soul feels it at all.

But down deep we are strangers
Dangling our toes in the cool dark water near the shore
Of a darkly dreaming inter-subjective abyss

There is no center
No resting point in the dance of desperate signification
Just endless broken clones
Godhead shattered
Purity infected
Sanity sanitized and become a new toy of the mad

I like it when you see me
I like the fact that you want to see me
But this quagmire Freudian cozy swampy couch
Swallows me faithfully
And you circle like a dove or a vulture
In your straight-backed precocious chair

This ramble
More than the rest
Means just about nothing – or everything
But thank you for going on the journey with me

dream_2a6e7e9873 (1)

Next Time

unravel

I think my main mistake was I tried to force.
Everything.
It was fucking exhausting.

And to try to squeeze you into a box.
Cut off your arms and legs and put you in a block of cement
Which I called love.

And throw the block of cement into the dark cold ocean of my soul.
As if that would turn an underwater wasteland
into a flowery meadow of love and joy and pizza.

So next time
I may just let things
Unfold and not unravel

Game On (2015 Remix)

Strangely diabolical spiritual deflorations
On the table tonight you were a black rose
And the priests and the workers
Were pulling off your petals
Grinning like aged teachers
Or crying like frustrated psychic surgeons
Waiting to get to the heart of your matter

The poet is often sleepless
He meets the Game-master in the Lonely Lounge
And they discuss methods of deceit, sleight of soul
And their favorite conundrum
Sexualized endgame Zeppelin parties

The Dark Princess gets up early
And wearing her sleepy mask
Makes another move
In the game without a name

Just the other day I had a truly selfless thought
Please God just let her be happy
It was a warm fuzzy thought
That brought tears to my eyes

But just outside the temple
The cripples were doing their dance
And the liars and deniers were circling
Like vultures waiting to feed on their own corpse

The bed wetters turned on their electric blanket
Singing less said the better
And the game goes on and on and on

dark princess