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
it's already happenedit's already happened by spoems
how long will i prop up this poisoned messiah,
squeeze false atmosphere
from these heavy lungs?
i want to get up
drive one thousand miles
to the cauldron's teaming lip
and perform last rites by the roadside.
i see myself
as a diver
hurtling faster than your voice
from this dimension of accidents.
if i am an interruption in the blessedness,
a scarry mandala
in a blunder of motion,
if i am (to be) a curse
that hangs from your sternum spike
then i will grant you
FireflyI lost myFirefly by Blueskye27
It took a
but I finally
found it again
buried in the
youd hidden it in
a patch of pretty weeds
beneath the dried husks of
multitudes of dead fireflies.
I dug it up
with my bare hands,
my nails embedded
with earth rich brown
as rocks scored my skin,
scented me with
blood and fecundity.
The price Ive paid
for my cowardice
makes this ground
weep with wisdom.
I let you turn
me against myself.
All the years
that have washed
past me cry out
I have heard
I have found
and I will hide
in the dark
Geometric NoirIn the lingeringGeometric Noir by indiana-w
silks and velvets
of the evening
(the panels of gowns, the tawdry-short
skirts of street walking women, the aromas
of gourmet dining and cheap cigarettes)
we are drawn down,
into the inky darkness of night
by our fallible natures, our vices
(revealed better by the caked eyeshadows,
tinseled-tassels decorating brazen breasts,
and the bedazzled shaping jeans of lonely women
than by the clean light of day)
armed with the honesty
of our costumes
we indulge in a vast drama
of failure, regrets, forgetting,
secret pleasures, and not-so-secret pleasures
it is the shadowed resolution
of the day
it is the equal and o
monarchsI am troubled with the opaque nothingnessmonarchs by mesmeric-revelation
that has decided to(with all but his sad
shaped hat and curious shrieking plaid tr
ousers)choose the seat beside me, stale w
ith pigeons that have no destination, ree
king of amity and all his clever friends.
I am forced to expose my neck, shrug twi
ce and not thrice, and eloquently explain
that I am a string of fuck yous with one
bulb burnt out. I also must explain the
delicate lace in the pit of my stomach,
the hidden worlds wrapped around your ir
ises, and most of all, the feeling of c
atching a butterfly within your palms.
Newspaper crinkles with the silence of
potholes and smug coughing as I stare
into the palms of my hands; somewhere,
there is hope in between my fingers
like bags filled with tissue pap
er. Somewhere, you are sleep
ing with wings writhing in
your teeth and in your ha
ir. Somewhere, I know
the feeling of
As he nodded I created violets
in the lifeless smudge on the
Disappointment is uninspiring.
AutumnalI will not love AutumnAutumnal by indiana-w
Autumn is the slow, agonizing death of Summer
(Summer, which dies, and is reborn in Spring,
which grows in the womb of Time)
Autumn is the grasping fingers of chilly Winter,
of chilly Death
It is a season of restlessness before the season of rest
It is a season of waning light, before a long watch
in the darkness
Autumn is the slow tumbling
of living things
Autumn is the slow dimming
in the year's flame
It calls to me
to run, and fly, and swim;
to breed, to feed, to bury;
to spin out
over and over
beneath the sky
It brings the spices
of savory foods,
of burning wood,
of falling leaves,
of fresh hay
(It reminds us
of how temporary we all are,
even though the Sun, like a phoenix,
will rise again)
I will not love Autumn
You and Other Naked MysteriesYouYou and Other Naked Mysteries by indiana-w
rolls through the air
like a sea serpent tossing on the waves
You, held at bay
You, caught in the gaze
of another of life's explorer/conquerors
wafting on the breeze
like the aroma of warm honey
You, filling me
soaks up the light
capturing the sun
with unequivocable loveliness
a title, an honor,
a concept of distinction
the black hole
behind the dancing of my galaxy
seared into my dreams
like a slavebrand, a singular mark
forever on the intimate parts of me
carved into my forever
like sex and scarification
breaking my bones
one at a time
as you reach from the past
as a fist
Starfielda constellation-Starfield by indiana-w
arrangements of bright black stars
on the vast, pale page
Michael's HaikuInterconnected,Michael's Haiku by AlecBell
minds exchanging words, across
Zodiacyour name is enoughZodiac by indiana-w
to fill the profound silence
it rolls from my mouth
your name is like hammered gold
your name is like dark crystals
An Instantaftershave spiralsAn Instant by indiana-w
sunlight splashes the concrete
where blood slowly pools
|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,