the daughter universeLonely men, I’ve noticed, will pay off their little housesthe daughter universe by spoems
and live in them by themselves until they burn down
from a dead gas pilot and 80’s paperback philosophy.
In other words, out on one hundred highway north at dusk,
which is a daylight’s ride from the sack, the dunes simply
spill out on the road; the crazy thing being, nobody’s worried.
Keep driving until the damn thing just ends at the last rogue pier
on the island’s tip. There’s a dark night beach on the right
and if you wade into the waves, about 130 feet, east by northeast,
you’ll find a miraculous shoal where the salt from a trillion graves
will wash up on your thighs and the moon searches the dark pitch
of water like a frantic mother. Pick any wave and follow it fondly
until you forget of me,
AlchemyInside these walls, I wait past dark.Alchemy by spoems
The shadows steep and over-brew
long before I move a bone;
I’ll never return to mother’s moon.
Star and night, my bench flakes off
cicada shells and sunflower wilt.
By Venus light, it’s a driftwood throne,
an old carob bullet firing straight for the sun.
The air like ink collects and cools:
it is the black throat where braying forms,
and where shady gardens melt and pool;
absorbing the ghosts of cigarette-waft.
These onyx planets swell and bloom,
and metabolise like sheer witchspells -
I turn these crystals to my core
And try unlearn this spiderweb gloom.
Former days contort through tremulous fisheyes
relapse at the bottom of two emptied mugs.
My disfigured mass quakes in its past,
crumples like a demon husk, roadkilled in a dream.
How many molts with their veiny dead hues
do souls need traverse, an urbanex sulking
through concrete petals, ’till our sin
becomes sarcoline, an imperceptible solute?
Electromagnetic eyes to lick
workshopThe hearth in your denim pocket,workshop by spoems
quietus and earthen floor
windows settle nostalgic dust
and hold outcroppings through their pores:
maps, manuals, flightless single wings
awaiting consequence, a bloodless chore
in the future you have willed the world
for those of us who still remain
workless as the dead.
workingI wakeworking by spoems
on the end.
each blade of body
greys like cedar
from their sleep
with a cruel child’s
yet god, buddha,
or the last aching
offers up a salve
at our Mass of the Unnamed:
in the early grave
Forward About Nothing Forward About NothingForward About Nothing by spoems
Ive always been somewhat aware of the unthinkable totality of the infinite. Throughout my struggle with or ignorance of this perception, i always looked upon art as a way of subjecting the massless eternity into objective material form. Soon after reading the bop-steaming unconsciousness that is Mexico City Blues by J. Kerouac, I was hyper-exhilarated, dumbfounded, and struck bluntly with an instrument of pure, free, heretical poesy. While I have no real interest in any style, per se, i realized an opportunity within myself to be inspired by the cult-heroic example of the boundless flow of formlessness into a uniquely receptive plenum of material cognition.
I have developed a fascina
Quiddityminds reaching out.Quiddity by Piscesandthediamonds
pieces of the whole unite.
conduits are filled.
join like mercury on the
slit of a knife's blade.
that portrays descrepancy
as a false concept.
Vowels and VowsFerr(I)ed toVowels and Vows by Piscesandthediamonds
and seraphic pathos.
They cover secrets
like a clo(U)d
of blue handkerchiefs
that spell out
(and ) I am (coming after)
Tree-bloodHey wet eyes,Tree-blood by Piscesandthediamonds
don't despair -
I caught some
in my shell
SuckerfishLockedSuckerfish by Piscesandthediamonds
oh diamond cud
in your skull
(most of all, me)
AlchemybutAlchemy by Piscesandthediamonds
I am off
in the heart
of tiered hearts.
at my feet
like a gift
in a reoccurring dream.
BulbsI cannotBulbs by Piscesandthediamonds
of your gardens,
your shape cuts
out of me.
in the molasses,
knocking at the dark pouches
as the bees
that know their death,
I (too) die
Tea partyAnd I still considerTea party by Piscesandthediamonds
like a Turkish dream,
some kind of
biting antic baited upon
the reel of
something that wont
the plastic stars
floating on glittered water,
stuck in plastic meniscus,
stuck in the aquarium-walls of
Oh the cruelty of it,
the cruelty of
the hurt that melts like a Dali;
left out in the
too long -
austere as autumn,
it brides my shadows
it brides my sisters
Upside-downWe hide behindUpside-down by Piscesandthediamonds
on to train-tracks
in a sick pram,
and its not the rain,
no, it isnt the rain.
do not exist
that tell people
love is a place,
is it a place?
off-trackIts sprungoff-track by Piscesandthediamonds
like a cuckoo clock
at the wrong time,
when I wander
slick with rain
and black as voodoo,
where the water-colour
reflections do not
where they do not
by the cinema around me:
punched in by skyscrapers
and their needle tops
injecting the heavens
with an invisible venom.
are out tonight,
yes the puppets are out
and leaking dark
as they fill the shadows
on the walls, with themselves.
They serve as distractions
from the jewel-robbed
the velvet pillows
like the craters of the moon.
fill and empty
the chemicals come out
but I wont remember
the coming or
going of these transient executions,
when the time comes
to lay myself down
in a coffin or a flower bed,
still wearing my shoes
Maybe Ill remember
the increments of those lost hours
in a dream
and forget the details of ether
when I wa
SuitcasePickled feelingsSuitcase by Piscesandthediamonds
kept like a time capsule,
(m)or(e) like a ticking time-bomb.
Its curdling the milk
of my skin,
and Im fading out
Ive decided to
Ill be leaving
with little ambulances in my bones,
so lets just stop
with our battles, mumma
lets lay these stillborns to rest.
Im ready to let
go of this:
and the flu,
always really knowing
it was actually me
|my favorite dA poetry|
Little GirlLittle girl,
You've been hurt.
Betrayed by those who should have been the most loyal,
hurt by those who should have loved you,
scarred by most everyone
you ever met.
I know the shadows in your heart,
how they obfuscate every minute
of your life.
Nightmare paths in forests of wakefulness.
Deep in the woods.
One day, you will learn to walk.
One day, you will learn to run.
You will be unable to move,
You're eyes flitting frenetically,
in the headlights of your sudden life.
It will be OK.
Take that step off of that ledge that seems so terribly,
Do the unthinkable,
Take his hands,
I know where you fall,
in the end,
when you resist.
Half your years gone.
Half of your life in Your Hell,
bringing him with you,
pulling on his hand,
nails so deep they draw blood and scar.
You know you don't scar the ones who matter most.
they don't matter any more.
RivalryHello there sir! If I could just show you here,
a painting by none other than myself – glorious!
I have painted for many a rich man like yourself.
Take in my colours, the way the light soars on down
and perfectly lights my subjects face – superb!
I am a perfect candidate for your choosing right here!
Hello good sir, I am but mediocre in this craft
I have little knowledge of drawing the hills, however,
my skills in anatomy and hands are showing through.
Please pick my work, I only strive to improve.
What nonsense this boy speaks! His art is worth nothing.
Compare his forehead to mine, what do you see?
I have lines which show my effort and wisdom, him?
As blank as his mind - you need a real artist
who's art you can hang proudly and not be disgraced!
Look at the canvases alongside and see who is the best!
Excuse me sir, you're not being fair! For you were me once.
My spirit would be lifted, I assure you I am worth-
Come here my good sir, leave this fraud behind.
Name That BabyI'm gonna lay it on the table
Do the tell
Get the spelling right
Got called "depressed"
Took it up to "manic"
Bipolar in the head
And they said --
"Make it longer,
On taking pills,
To flatten my hills
Knock out the frills,
I got double-damned.
'Cause a this shit --
Father dies in a pool
Mother dies too,
In love with a fool
Mother let days pass,
No food or water
How did she last?
I closed her eyes,
They felt alive,
Like little butterflies.
Hector also dies,
Left alone by
The very unwise,
Young white cats
Die like that.
Spat out with
All the cancer-dead
She too went back.
And nothing stopped.
I saw them all
Saw them all day,
Blood and flood
Not from me
Not my feed
Just these -- "things."
Small cold voices
In my ear
None could hear.
Little people sat
And they stood
And they spun,
In colorful fun
They had their run,