Time Gazing
concert noise
cigarette amps
crushing pedals with steel toe riffs
picking guitars
that’s how you smoke it
if this is the Noise they said would sweep me away
they said I’d drown under,
be carried away by
dreamy sleepy Vocalist
drifting in the 90s
floating on VCR tapes and rusty groovy reels of graphic melodies,
then I was born for this
yeah, nostalgia burning a hole in my lungs.
Friends
empty boxes and black shelves of her occult books.
here a ring under a scarf, she thought one of her spirits stole it, and there a small journal of spells, pungent with the perfume of leaves from her garden.
the last note a paragraph on resurrections.
I miss my friend…
2017 pictoral
keeping sane is a job in itself.
Memories of Us
died; got all of his possessions.
dungeon load of music, hellish crime scene photos, memories of us.
clothes; got all of her soul, Nikotine™.
Old and crusty Make-up; didn’t know he wore any, magazines of self-loathing, rusty blades for his angry fur.
faded memories of us.
nothing more.
Noise
flailing under weighted blankets with the world’s sniggering vitriol dampening my resolve which never was up to it anyway like everything else or everyone I’ve known, few as they may be, and diminished by time and the noise of my tentacled senses holding me under, I can’t breathe.
Release me.
Syntax Arm Wrestle
Masturbating in the absence of professional optometrists endangers the sobriety of waterlogged store clerks.
Asperganoid 