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. 

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

You’ll Find Me In The Texts

The Whole Truth Honest Truth and Nothing but the Truth subsides these boarderless realms with their dead punctuations which exist merely as ghosts and every breath stolen and every glide of the eye so smooth and uninterrupted an illusion of structure of sense rises from nothing but the grammar of perception or the perception of grammatical reason which grounds firmly the idea or belief that as long as the word which flows and runs on down stream from the bosom of honesty makes logical sense then there is no need for any of those clunky and clanky punctuation doodly marks

I’ll See You In The Stars

Begin faded recountings of the fallen

Recollect most recent, or far beyond, the truth in breasted pocket

Think like a spider web trapped in a forest

Breathe fallen winter leaves where snow stares into the bosom of foggy mornings and grows blind under the nightly trickle of starlight

Bring with you a dozen teeth for the burial

Leave with you a hand severed from its marred arm

We cut to appease an ethereal enemy

We cry in bouts of triggernometry

Hammer by hammer until the bed sheet floats reachingly across the pool of this cinema nouveau

The hisspers begin:
“Exit here. Come out. Fear not. Come here.”

I wish i could make you feel better

The Blind Leading The Invisible

Here I am nothing.

Here (s)he is nothing.

Here you are nothing.

(S)he runs away, does a good disappearing act, nobody takes note.

Life’s too normal to be bothered about these little things.

That’s you; she. He.

Doesn’t make a difference the mirror’s foggy and so are my days running, crashing into each other, put your hand up if you’ve ever felt like the world was just one big “meh” (shrug of the shoulders)
haha! Yes yes yes! (Raises hand) that’s SO me!
Omg and today was one of them days because I woke up thirsty and I immediately thought to myself (you’re a chicken shit) and I knew I was telling the truth because it didn’t make me feel bad, that description, that reality.
Yeah. Maybe knowing you’re not alone in that pit of chicken shit will make you feel less like doodoo
I doubt that and I don’t do that (hope you get better) bull because it doesn’t cut through the static of (kill kill kill…) angry face! shouting in the mirror and screaming in the shadow. Phew. …. (Yourself)
and my colleagues look like angry lopsided ass cheeks

Quiet Kisses and a Date Night at Home

They Kiss Quiet

He kisses quiet and she kisses quiet

Nobody knows when they kiss except them

Any passion in their kiss is shared in private;
They haven’t done the French kiss;

He isn’t a prude, it’s the saliva, and besides – how do you coordinate such a thing?

She isn’t a prude either, it’s that foreign warmth, the texture of a tongue (her own tongue gives her the shivers at the best of times), what more a strangers’?

They watch porn together;
they’re fucking like maniacs, she says

He nods, adding: and so loud,

All of that sweat she concludes

They haven’t had sex, they would like to, theoretically. The idea of losing yourself in the moment, in another person, they both agree that this would be an exciting occasion. Although that’s very Hollywood, that «losing yourselves in the other», what does it actually mean, she wonders

He blunts out a theory, maybe like when a really deep song is playing you close your eyes and for those minutes you’re gone, on a another planet

She adds: In another dimension

They smile, if sex is like that then maybe it won’t be too bad, a few seconds of contemplative facial expressions, wistful even, quickly turn to frowns and furrowed brows

But the smell! And the noises! They both blurt out, laughter rings out in front of the muted TV.

Endless fucking; even in movies without sex, they manage to squeeze in something, be it a pointless relationship or love interest (or brothel, she intercepts). His words hover for a second.

The whole world is a Sex of Noise, she declares,

He smiles, nodding, but frowns immediately.
The porn flick concludes with an “Over the Moon” money shot and fades to black.

She says: I wonder what the rest of her day will be like. Wouldn’t it be funny if she went to visit the family back home and she’s kissing grandma and sister’s daughters.

They laugh and watch Classic Tom & Jerry cartoons into the mid-night and beyond.