Hot like Ice

It snows a white quilt

Downy with sleep's promises

Laid down in Summer.

Black and Blue and Blown Away

One lovely day

I came upon

A slug lying by

The side of the road

It had rolled into

A little ball

To hide from

The harmful rays

Of light.

Its antennae quivered

Moving in and out

Like pistons

In a slow moving car

Or an engine for a small toy

Cranked by an

Arthritic old man

Who isn't that interested

In the enterprise.

It was with a sad,

Sick sort of fascination

That I watched

Over many an hour

As the slug slowly

Dried up

Crumbled

And blew away.

Goodbye poor,

Little slug.

May your breeze born

Existence

Be kinder

Than your Earth bound life.

I'll miss you,

But not enough

To have saved you

Before the end.

A Pun is a Terrible thing to Waste, So I'll Just See how many Times I can Repeat the same Word

I made up my mind

Not to have a mind,

A mindless decision

In hindsight.

But, if I lost my mind

Before I'd made up my mind

To lose my mind

Where did it go?

To what far reaches of the galaxy

Did it travel

Tucked under the corner

Of a thief's traveling cloak?

A mind lost mindlessly

Is a terrible waste,

But I don't mind

As I am not of the mind

To mind

The lack of a mind,

At least not until

Next Mindday

If anyone is mindful

Of the existence

Of such a day,

Unless if only exists

In the mindless mind

Of the mindlessly minded

Mind.

Fumble

Made weak with hunger
The World slows, then stops turning
We climb off the ride.

If you Cannot Beat them, Do not Join

The incurable wrath of idiocy

Upset by logic

Or something like it

A dull weapon against

Blank eyed stares

Devoid of crafted thought

But capable of firing

An endless litany of nonsense

And misquoted facts

Told with such certainty

They would stand still

As their sock are set on fire

While stating that flames do not truly exist

And pain is merely an illusion

A mind control device to control the masses

Easily deflected by one with proper mental ability.

What can one poorly clad knight do in the face of such an attack

Armed poorly

By a government, who spent the year's budget entirely on pens

So as to build the world's largest pen tower,

With only the poor armor of an average mind and poor self esteem?

How is one to stand and escape

With neither scratch nor aneurysm?

To walk away is the only way,

To set aside pride, vanity and reason

To leave the idiotic muttering

And return home

Nursing a massive headache.

Step Lightly through the Trail of Lit Corpses

The harsh reality

That dreams cannot be made substance

Lest all rules to life itself

Be turned on their ear

As one whose dreams are steeped in blood

Walks endlessly through life

Without guilt nor hinderance.

These dreams, gilt brightly, held dear,

May not come to pass

Should not come to pass,

As they shred appart the hopes of millions,

Yet, they sometimes do

For brief moments of nightmarish clarity

Which begs the question

Whose dreams take precident?

As clearly, a pure heart is not rewarded on it's own merits,

But a clear vision often is, as it comes to be.

See clearly, or step away out of the line of fire

Step back.

Difficult does not mean Impossible

An empty thing

This dish

Which, despite its endless potential

To distill any matter of wondrous contents

Be they spirits, inspiration, or both

Lies mockingly empty.

A testament

To all the dreams never realised

And the harsh reality

Of a drought

That may well never end

Even if reason suggests

That water always comes.

One should despair of nothing,

As all things, eventually, change

But to hold back the tide of despair

Tears muscle, strains bone and breaks spirit

To the point that success

Inspires only a weakly gasped cheer

Then silence.

After many long hours

A tired mind turns

To the quiet contemplation

Of victory.

Miopic Vision

What came before now

Will be a convoluted

Mess seen in real time.

Whiling away the Hours

Gazing up into the sky

Eyes locked

In a staring contest

With the sun

Until its golden rays

Burn through my retinas

To my brain

And fry the lumpy grey matter

A golden brown

Is not the best of hobbies,

But, what can you do?

We all need to fill the time

Somehow.

Be Optimistic

So an airplane falls on you

Which means you've kind of

Had a bad day.

But, given the general

Mind numbing mundanity

Of life

How bad could a day

That results

In such a

Cartoonishly random

End to existence

Really be?

A Dusty Trail Laid in Glass

At the end of the journey,

A thousand footsteps on

Hard, unforgiving road,

I laid down

I slept

Ever deeper

As time waned on

Drowning in slumber

Until I could not wake

Having saved only

What I needed for the trip

Nothing for beyond

I had conquered the trial

The unforgiving tests

Of the path laid behind

But had kept nothing

For what lay ahead

I completed my taks

Which in turn

Completed me.

Imorality and Fear

The large snake lunges

A quick strike to catch its tail

In teeth for all eternity

The endless slumber

Imortality.

Bald Ceribrum

The thought process

Starts and ends

A procinium

Fully imersed

In self

Absorbed

Ignoring the line

Between

Inner and

Outer

Until the face is lost

And a haystack of ideas

Is all the eyes reveal.

The Enclosure Without Walls

A cloying warmth

Something like the sun

Ungentle like the sun

Binds my limbs.

Invisible chains

Weigh my body down

So I can barely drag my feet

With slow, shuffling footsteps.

Though it was not always so

The taste of the memory fades

Until this is my reality

My all

My being.

Although my burden may kill me

Remove the chains

And I will become ephemeral

A creature never there

Without purpose

I need purpose.

To Begin (July 17th)

The thing I saw brought

Such brilliant nightmares I dreamed

to not sleep again.

Unnatural

A taste on the air
Of decaying life laid bare,
Sickeningly sweet.

Walking Times

A man placed a hat

On his head and beneath his feet

To show he was of two minds

But all he displayed

Was a ruined hat.

It All Comes Naturally

Pop psychology in prose

Forced down the throats

Of the gaping masses

So eager for easy answers

To clean the mess

That is their lives

Wherein lies

Quixotically

The very reason

For their distress

A lazy kind of apathy

Which takes dose

After sickeningly sweet dose

Of new age philosophy

Spread anon

Via chain mail.

Why change your life

When you can change your mind?

Why strive for something better

When you can tolerate what you have?

Why flush the toilet

When you can ignore the smell?

It all lies

In the seat of power

Which soars

While the body rots

A concious entity

In a crumbling shell:

Heaven in a hankerchief,

The library of our hearts,

Fall in love,

Read a good book,

Breathe in fresh air

On a smoggy day:

The illusion smacks of oblivion

In the worst,

Overly simplistic way.

Attain inner peace

An oxymoron

When surrounded by outer strife.

Just live.

Women and Children First

In time

Illusion

There is a World

Clutched in a child's hand

A precious thing

A momentus task

For one so young

Or anybody

And, as such tasks often are

It is soon set aside

In search of easier gratification

As duty gathers dust

Time ticks on

One chimera swapping itself

For the next great illusion

The afterlife.

Nothing Comes to Mind

The surreal thoughts
Of a real man
Come yellow, green and lavender
Readily to hand.
With many ghosts in the closet
Of a brackish hue
Who wail and moan about
Their better point of view.
Lying among the thrushes
In a narrow bog
Our man joins the other spirits
For lieing like a dog.

Tread Softly without Purpose

There is nothing

To be seen or heard

Nor said

Of any real meaning

Keep a careful silence.

Oblivion Passes Oblivious

A radiant scar
Mars the sea from north to south
Where gods cross the world.

Quietly Contemplating Moral Appetites

Oh little fish,
You stare at me
In your loving way
Without blinking.
Oh little fish,
I dare not enter a staring contest with you
Lest I lose myself in your unflinching gaze.
Oh little fish,
Though I must go
Know that my heart will always be with you.
Oh little fish,

Please stop staring

It makes it harder to eat you.

My Satelite

Gazing up into Space

The moon hangs, torn and ragged

With no face at all.

Key a B_W

Here lies a man

Cold and untrue

Great and small

In both mind and spirit

An accomplished ass

Who killed many a pedestrian

As he drove through life

Past stop sign after stop sign

Alas, without stopping

And shouldered many a driver off the road

As he travelled from point A to point B

As though the sea of pavement were a race track

Here lies a man

May piss rain down upon him

As he never rested

On the road kill encrusted path through life

May he never rest in peace.

Dose Thyself on Love and Hate in Equal Measure

Agony

The thing that binds

Great philosopher to humble beast

Where peasant and king tread the same footsteps.

Agony

Whether to give or to recieve

Bares a heavy burden

A cost in time, in sleep, in concience.

Agony

A careful friend

That brings the end nigh

Yet dangles it out of reach.

Agony

A child's toy

An epilepsy of the soul

As terribly exhilarating as any Earthly experience.

Agony

Damnation and Salvation

Sold each at an extortionately fair price

A pound of flesh to be paid in kind without putting paid to origin.

Agony

An end.

Fuel for the Hearth

His heart was replaced with a lump of coal
Yet still it beats
Blackened soot mixed with ocher blood
Operates his mechanisms
Yet his eyes are clear
Though the off-coloured veins are a little unsettling.
With no thought to efficiency
He doubles and redoubles his efforts
To pursue the art
Of diminishing returns
Until nothing is done at all.
He stands still in a corner
His blood dried to a viscous paste
His heart stone still
Less the man for ignoring his humanity
In acts of self inflicted inhumanity
As all those who aspire to be tin soldiers fall
The mind a trap to exploit the weakness of the flesh
The ego a trap to ensnare the mind
All unfortunately housed in the same box together
Bid farewell to the Man of Coal
He and his tin soldier ambitions are but ash.

Strolling through Ambition

A shallow stride,
Careful footsteps
Make no mistake:
Though each subsequent step
Is a misstep
The road ahead crisscrossed
With a thick husk
Of cracks and lines.
Make no mistake:
The road ahead is paved with good intentions
By their very nature
Impossible to keep;
Keep you heart in an iron cage
There is no room for sympathy
On this misdirected path.
Make no mistake:
Though wrought with error
Though wrought with strife
The overwrought road just might
Allow you to pass
Make no mistake.

Seaside Slumber

The ocean is a predator
It's maw open wide
As it bares down
On unsuspecting prey.
Wide eyed, it flees
The depths pursue
Throwing aside anchor and ship
Bounding over bank and building
Until the prey grows tired
Careless, the meal is easily cornered
It slumps exhausted
As the hungry undertaker
Draws closer, closer
Until with a roar
The prey is swallowed up
Into it's endless depths
And dragged out to sea.

Wag the Tongue

Hushed voices invade
I sneeze twice as my ears burn
Shut the gossip up.

See Sinner; See Saint

Keep safely enclosed from doubt
Aspire towards mediocrity
Where one is blighted by neither
Vanity nor Slothe
Safely nestled in stability
The soul enwrapped in assurance
Soothed to dyssomnias slumber
By the tide
Which ever reliably
Rises and falls.
Let all things fall away
Let ambition slide to ennui
Safely coast through life unto death
And slide easily therein
With little to differentiate living and dying days
With little to set apart rapture and inferno.
Be safe.