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. 

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Scribbled on the back of a public retirement home

[With a big Smile On My Knuckles, the bend of my arm, the valour of my struggles]

Let’s be friends through pricks and Gin
Let’s be mates through haze and paint thinners
Let’s hold hands for world peace while we, descend into the crushing waves of the horizon
Let’s wait on our lips and drink the tonic instead
Let’s figure out how to break down this insoluble high
Let’s be friends no matter how deep our lows bow
Like veins hiding between your toes
Dissolve…
What?
Dissolve…
Let’s not.

Hold aloft the crown of thyn jovial Constipations

A Can of bathtub infusions
Salts the essence of my tears,
How they scrub me deeply, firstly
and undo me, only, in the second act of this unholy, theory,
Sullen, drowsy,

Take pity with a drink for a knock on my liver
sprouts a bloom in my urethra

A Tongue lashing from my lover,
in the mirror
Who stares when I close my eyes, only…
Only…
I am hungry for my one and only.
My Last breath. My empty eternity.

If you do not mind me, death sang, then I am lonely
But I do mind you, I began, ’tis living I abhor mostly

Puppet Maestro

Finger tips abandon nails disclosure
Hot pot pan shoes grow atop mouldy fan
Give dentures share gums we’ll be friends
Forever and ever a man waltzes with warts
On his hands, on his upper lip and lower hip
Sir, if you would so kindly stir, the can of worms
The can of primary numbers which I do not possess
Much like my bank account, or theirs
I don’t know
Finger tips abandon

Death Ideation: The Scary Part is Youth

Teeth, face, eyes. What torture.

Draw your sword and bury it in my gut.
I am in a pit not of my own digging; I wish to free myself, not to escape and walk on level ground with the rest of society but rather, to be buried in it.

Tears. Death. Blog. What emptiness.
Unplug me from it all.
I have lived in half, quarter measures,
I wish to switch off completely.
Not fight inevitability.

…Solemnity