facing the wall

Wed, 21 Sep 2005 07:04:20 GMT

ocarina.aeolian.

maybe the writing is whore-dry, worthless of
Endorphins
and I don't want it anymore
who am I to throw away gifts of god?
meshing moments - stiff momentum -
thick, smoke-seared esperances on
the curtains of the church...
forgetting the war on the knees
and weapons of really old ladies.
Listless eyes and feet kick up sand-
['castle plots and plans?']
somewhere in there is stagnation,
and oh, I will pray,
I will pray, she said.
I will hold it in, and hope for
Animation.

what doesn't hurt? she cries,
in the pocket of her cheek
stretched out full for pleasure,
shiny-china churches, wax angels sing,
Hymnals are Bright Eyes' songs.
This promise is stale, this effort unable,
and oh, I will be careful,
I'll be careful.
And life is worth bouncing from pain to pain,
For a handful of hummus and a safe corner to die on.

The vertiginous eyes swirl as the Dead Sea's
sense of sea-sickness in still waters -
All this in the anchor of your head,
and it's coming apart in
the cautious sun over
the mysterious seams of
your tear-treasoned mouth -
clutches the last gulps of air, spit through,
the ocarina aeolian.

ky.

Wed, 03 Aug 2005 06:27:44 GMT

a pallid iconoclastic dissection deemed true

All was easier
When wind whispered softer
Through hair,
ached over by the moon
through
the sunroof,
seraphims and satellites –
our delight,
I and my smile - warmed by your imaginal vessel;
Tucked like an energy wheel behind your eyes.
[the waiting room of ill-regard]
Once simplicity seared the scalp in nocturne seas;
The nimbus hours but now
How it swoons, and how
I raise the vase to my lips,
When once raised to yours; kissed: now
A means of throwing up.
[the tireless fight]
How verily,
I throw up.

phermones seep through sweat-covered consoles,
a grasping for growth,
but only the stomach grows blind,
digesting every inch of promised spit shot
forth from your head -
Starved Intermission -
a skeleton steadily plunges from a cannon,
plummeting into the night fathom of ether,
stars are holes in the blanket of heaven,
love:shot:miss: fell intentional
[forging your shadow in every doorway... there's several]
entering into heaven.
Draw Mercy.

ky atherton.

Wed, 03 Aug 2005 06:09:21 GMT

A knuckle-malleated lullabye
Is all we’ve left, so,
cry, cry, cry,
nursing wounds and paper wires
red wagons and flaxen hats –
mmhmm, whatcha readin’ baby,
a fragrant lulling,
uh-huh –
it’s like a catch on a Sunday morning
of purest air,
as light as light ruptures,
it captures me; shut up in my hands, then
released, like
a paper bird birthed
in the fullness of my hands,
and it seems that all the vagueness in the vineyard is worth
the clarity that tops off the winepress.
Stripper pole; stamens thick with –
Revelation, therein –
Slavish peals of morning;
The flexuous muscle.

Throats rotted out on ardor,
He stands back, fists on the banister…
When it is over, there is nothing,
but the desire to
do it over.

Fri, 29 Jul 2005 01:53:29 GMT

a nail file, a knife
a plunging of steady hands
with bitter consent to the visitation,
my hand, and your flesh -
fresh on the knife.
a palpitable feast for morning coffee.

Fri, 22 Jul 2005 05:35:39 GMT

mouth moves with imaginings
lustily frothed under fingernails - Lunges -
I, lunging thirstily
after the nevus shadow soothing my bedroom into
softness shocked;
whispered trills,
the blithesome tongue taxes me
handprints at the windowsill
subpeona the severity
and your oblique carefree-ness; enough regard
to judge beauty, pale between the bed and the moon
I, monstrous amongst the stavesacre sheets
my hands mangled them underneath
clothes are rent and mind grows rakish
too easy to say I Lust After You, Heartily.
There is something there, of a Nimbus, and
I, overly-religious -
warming worship over my lips.

I'm aching Love, in loss of blood, lust distemper
seething, quicken, do it, sever
the sylvatic tongue, warmed blithesome
runes run over skin wax cold
it's an apt milieu for a chrysalis
hibernating eyes pierce
face the wall
and the transcendant You.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 23:17:25 GMT

untitled

all the stars are
dead and salted with
distance far
from which their eyes are turned upon
e're man and woman, girl, and son
the coal imbued in deepened sky
veils their view of earthly eyes
and devils - too,
once angels anon the Illiad Scar.

stars to scions

The stars, summoned, depraved the sky
To witness a birth, the second coming
Of millioned year-ed pinpricks of light
and graced, in a second's breath
The Host of Heaven, sightless, wept
A darkness which never looked the more stunning.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 23:00:00 GMT

The doors are locked.
I am safe here with you.
I can have my way with you.
You can have your way with me too.
My lover, my ________,

Soft.

Serenade my ears, the spiritual hollow,
with a brush of a lip,
and a tickling promise,
to be gentle.
You whispered "...."
and "...."
and I giggled and melted.
gave the keys to the doorway
and, then standing, now seated,
I surrendered and assented.

Place a kiss, neatly, at my waistline;
patient fingers placed gingerly, at my navel and neckline,
Let it streamline with succor down my bloodlines, tickling laughlines,
your wispy, soft laughter lulling my legs to putty,
my fingers from weaving to trembling
through your thick russet hair,
and I smile the Smile I've awaited a week.
From my hips to the ceiling,
reverberating behind our locked mohagany door,
my boy, we are safe.
my sweet, darling boy,
We are safe. We are vulnerable.

kylie.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 19:40:15 GMT

((dolphin echo :: void))

killer makeshift board
chamomile comma con
terminal, and criminal -
your words and mine
yesterday's young
tertiary anile
knees knobbed floorboard
coughed up, ten tongues
death drops, tough up
drummed up
drivel touch
devil pen prescription,
scribble.scribble.
turnstiles are heavenly now
swab spit and sour sex
blunt tongue habitual
spare keys to suicide -
leave 'em on the table.

(( ))

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 18:23:11 GMT

white searing heat - cement
harpsichord strings fastened 'round the neck
a calm reaction to tears
veins fallen, on the floor -
around you; All
various threads of recognition
each wound bleeding, oft' remembered
your crackwhore feet,
shuffles over glass.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 18:14:16 GMT

Feels like Earth, arrested
Moons, outside, spinning around
Humans inside, milling around
For movement, Movement - all moving,
Except this giant slab of fruit
Subject, Project -
Mother Earth
Stuck in a cycle of breath, caught up in currents
Peace and paroxysms
Divorced from any sense of destiny
And I, the rock where moss will never grow –
The fuzzless face of the peachy –
They think I - destroyed by the human vanity
but the econo-clash of universal abrasions,
the cosmic misuse -
Oceans drying, soil dying -
like the tenements and alchemist trees
growing in brooklyn.
Purpose thwarted
by involuntary planetary suicide
For such is the tabulature to which the mind spins
When one is the greatest entity in a galaxy of mutations and movements
That serves the utter purpose of negating your own.

wrap your legs 'round this -
porcelain horse.
spinning.
I, spun.

Inside,
We’re all just buckets of blood, with blurred eyes
Waiting to be dosed out
On clean hair.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 18:12:52 GMT

Harpsichord
Gently vexated to arousal
Facial hair from five nights grew to shade the enveloping eyes with further immensity
In brazen masculinity - grow softer, I, grow softer
Ten thousand angels, fireflies, sighted from pillows lay creased with demons that frighten me

The quickest way to self-destruction is confession
The dark kohl eyelids of the sleepless and hidden
Soft fire, soft fire - softened fire
Upon the threshing floor, thrash, thrash into exile
Into exile or acceptance...

Everyone's so effing ridiculously serious these days, I just laugh and laugh and laugh.

()

chasing gods fearful of people, hiding in the shadowy alleys behind buildings, buying big macs for bums.
ghosts ridiculously clothed in white sheets, with eyeholes but no eyesockets.
aliens I will never encounter.

therein, a sophist palmistry when placed to ether
in the soil that swallows the open coffin lined with ether
weep, my dear, betrothed to a widow
stitches black at the edges
crows black at the meadow
picking at my gravesite.
christ, come back and bury me [exclamation]
effing lying on a bed of gaia in a hole
with a sunroof vision of reality,
torn apart by purgatory.
claustrophobia, coulrophobia,
fear of the dark.
fear of the dark.
I, bumble,
angel of narcolepsy.

Heaven is sometimes so ridiculous.
God goes ballistic and
locks all the colours in a lockbox
and Da Vinci whines, takes off his clothes, broods in the streets,
Heaven's swell, I love it.
I do, I love all of it.

Kylieness.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 18:11:41 GMT

an invocation of peace blankets oxygen this morning as
dew-soft rain pampers
the southern-soft grass
and skin is bathed in steam and oxygen
from which a stark-naked figure emerges into the
shadowy open rooms, a slender aspen, an attentuated lover
crawls from heavenly wetnesses of showers and water embracings
finds the thunder comfort of blankets again.
all over, the mourning is squeezed out in darkness ripe with newness and
the ambiguity of this special heliacal time of orbit when
stars and moons, abstracted with rainfall and death-cusp clouds,
wax passingly over fields of wheat and armies of grass where
sunlit passion rouses meager knees to plod the floorboards in eager awakenings.
maybe today will be better than the one that preceeded it.
maybe today we'll be better than the one that preceeded it.
maybe we'll find promise - a garnish laid out on the dark spots of the sun
nursing hurts and wounds and limbs to lively refreshings...
how peaceful consciousness would be in a welcome garden of alienation
committing oneself to nakedness, blankets and sheets, ceiling fans undoing
rivulets of wetfulness from a soaking shower
and the quivering, steady voice of your Lover, as a trumpet, a whisper,
rouses re-laxed arms and tingles fingers,
words wispily kissing ears and elbow niches,
smoky, svelte tongues unsheathed, dipping in each other's sublimation...
a vested longing, when we broke away in sleep,
satisfied in the muted echoes of an irrepressible bedroom and
the darkling rainfall of an evolving morning...
peace.

the morning drive lasts, with a pleasant sense, longer than usual,
and under the boughs of holly you walk, catching the last drops of night rain with
your face, your hair, with your mouth held open,
knowing that peace was left yearning at your bedside, in fawning attentiveness.
that the arborous archway held a haven of sensibility not
meant for the semantics of this day.
all of creation is conscious when you cringe,
from bedside, to cobblestones, to prolonged awakenings
all of your bones flinchingly await something,
a well-skewered fantasy -
peaceable fire.
urgent consummations.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 18:10:40 GMT

morning awoken
apolegetic sun, unapologetic still.
white walls carry white light well - daylight, from the sounds of it.
lips bitten, eyes swollen, hair ripped, bodies sore.
eyes open, all is still, save
four blinking scythes of long lashes and the
harmonious breathing from two beauties...
Still, All.

awoken.
cradled in the comfort, the shadowless haven of my lover's arms.
with her lover's eyes steady upon me.
vigilant as I sleep -
I, sleeping sheltered, as if never a shadow could pass over.
and what could step to cloud the mind,
in this naked vulnerability.
and where else is there safer sanctity -
than in the place where fulfillment and felicity crash and lie.
lying together entangled, unsorted.
as usual, thoughts and neurons kiss, but now
lips brusied, do too.
and there is no place else I'd rather sleep
revitalize my flesh
than besides the warm-scented peachy flesh
of her goddess-ness.
deeply enamoured, I,
and You, blushing brightly
I stammer awkwardly, breathlessly pubescent
and vague darknesses haunt my mind; I - worried,
ill-bodied, dark thoughts, I - powerless, I -
an avalanche of apathy,
so much so, my body machina cannot respond in kind,
and you are magnetic,
your love, unconditional,
her hands and mouth tracing runes upon my body,
and I am apologetic,
for the lust burning underneath my fingernails
that sink into a crushing passivity
as i sink into your embrace,
and want nothing else but to rest there.

and apologetics flow profuse,
if the intimacy fell through
without the ground of my intensity to set it on.

I stand on the rich soil of your influence
my feet making deep impressions in your earth
proclamations of love - Deep, Infinite.
The eyes in my head tweaked out on kinship like a microwave
burnt out by the celestial carousel
and You, rocking on the front porch,
in the rocker chairs we bought from Cracker Barrel -
so we could watch the sun come up between the mountains -
rocking away to a mutual rhythm,
motioning to c'mon up.
just leave the throat singing to the professionals

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 18:09:42 GMT

calm portraits of wild horses
four legs fishing for
earth marrow, soil, suggestions
homeless symmetry
the sweetness of the pursuit...
like the honey that quickens the spine
a heart perfumed with lotus desires
and a mind stirred to superiority
how delicate the teeth, in the undressing stretch of the smile,
the wind stirs it, the light shirs it
how capable, how timeless, how free - I,
possessing nothing, absorbing everything...
bliss trickles softly
lips twitch at the touch
protrusions of destiny
underneath that tumble of hair
the smoky chambers of new oxygen too
and a smile which swept me away at first glance to
a haven of assured confidence...
how I weep with understanding.
the blood tingles with conviction.
I'm about to become everything.

death is where the birds are missing.

Wed, 20 Jul 2005 17:25:40 GMT

clutch a dove to my chest like a hand grenade
explosion enraptured
in the feeble strings of
trust in chain cells and
paper hanging hearts like lanterns
fell the light like
shrapnel whispers imbedded in
the finest veins of the heart
and yours is such a sullen constitution
a tithing treasure under gaunt wing
dust the skin for diamonds and treasures and
find them deep within my kohl-laced eyes as
chilled as oysters as smooth as
a written poetic version of sex as it, the Oyster, can only
be storybook when written spitted
in writing, fucking on fire where
diamonds wield the thicket of night the
light withdrawn into a wall
I, withdrawn into a wall. I
stop the darkness thick with toughness
to sing amongst the abcessed chalk and
death is where the birds are missing.
Death is truly where the birds are missing.