Ancient art
Flowers for the words
Flowered words laid to rest
Poetry is suffering
Loose soil in my hands
Digging
Black absorbing red
Fingernails split
Worn til nothing’s left
I wonder where it leads, never looking up from the depths
I test them, discovering
Becoming roots
Consuming death
Head full of seeds, scattered to earth
Simple flora
Flowering words
Over seven thousand days of putting pen to page
Started writing around nine
Poetry, my shame
For years I tried to hide
I found Baudelaire at twelve
Silent friend of a silent creature
Silver mirror in that hell
Obscured by shadow
Saw my reflection in the eyes
Indifference, anger, lust, avarice
Each cresting like waves, then placid for a while
Moments holding to the quiet
Reflecting on the beauty of the chaos and the violence
More years dwelling in perpetual dusk
Undone
Silhouette I’ve become
I’ve been a false idol
Cult like allure
Codependency
My time for their world
Those strange days of youth
Weak in the flesh
Words put to good use
The bond, quick to form
Letters to soothe
Patience to break the storm
Tore out my heart along the way
Realized what I’d become, never noticing the change
Oceans of bitter tears at the parting
I let it go to static
White noise and callous nothing
Alone now, on in years
Thought things were better off this way
No one left to hurt, nothing left to fear
No one to lead on, dreaming dreams of what can’t be
The dead end string of broken hearts, ending here with me
Ether from the cracks, spilling forth languidly
Lingering on the air, on the clothes, in the hair
No scent, sweet or sickly, but invisible
Visually nondescript
No taste, no sensation as it creeps across your skin
Spinning world, short of breath and out of balance
Laid low by the spirits
Invading lungs in silence
Pick me up
Put me down
Put me out again
I’m familiar with the deal
I know I’ll yield the shorter end
Send me up the river, adrift without a paddle
Leave me with the burden
With the weight, I am saddled
Run me aground and leave me there in pieces
It’s only hurt
Of late, I hardly feel it
So dulled is the world
Senses spent against the waves and rocks to which I’m hurled
I rise from forgotten places, somewhere in the dark
Body wasted, broken
Expression cold and stark
Bad omens mark my coming
Neither bird, nor beast, nor fellow man can hide their fearing of me
I’m all teeth and quiet malice
To run is a great fallacy
I thirst for the challenge
Just as I thirst for blood
No sudden movements, or life will come undone
You’ve got your job in government
I hope you’re gonna make a mint
‘Cause every penny ends up spent in court
Endless rounds of litigation
Legalese procrastination
All the while your savings waste away
By the time you pay your dues, to poverty you’ll be reduced
There’s no use, can’t quit while you’re ahead
Your bread and butter was from others
Now just another guy in the soup line
Thought inspires
When I tire, my mind carries on
I could write of anything
I often think in song
Rhyme is just a simple tool
I use it to retain
Then from time to time I let it spill onto the page
Wave after wave, residual of mist
Accumulating endlessly
The ink begins to drip
Sifting through the thoughts
Strung up in a frame
Slave to simple structure
Similarity, innate
thInkStains 