Fire Eyed Streets

that old time shine and smile, blink before the glamours gone in those lonely Hollywood lights. the white-shirt and smokes rebellion in the bright night gleam, out shined by racy women clad in hotel lace, all lined by silhouette to stoke the fire eyed dream. glitter and a red dress, machine guns peaked the streets. a city for the sinners, where angels face defeat.

The Restless Rhythm

to live forever is to live alone. not to be alone, for the constant flow and ample attraction of words and faces when beautiful minds like lightning strike and blind to counteract the loneliest of times. the melody of conversation, duality in a half-wit smile. embrace. every story lined with signposts just to leave behind, moving always only forward for horizons. the days stay long for existential pride and the rhythm always restless for the nomads. conspirators inspire in the search of pinprick mornings, pulled ashore before the yawning light. "to love and lose across an ocean floor is life" boasts the lonesome esoteric, live alone and live forever standing masked and stoic. i'd die today if just to say...

Best Friend Stranger

reckless endangered, on the other side of lives and all the stars lined intensity from birth to times. no star-crossed senses, they've all been bright aligned. good luck, good night my best friend stranger, love until the morning light. you know my flaws and all as candid arms have scrawled. i dove into you brief, extolled. lust in every language.belief.and always anguish.

Reverie

nervous to call. nervous to write. nervous to hear the voice, of a known stranger in the night. but it was different this time, and despite the wire i could feel the warmth of that shine and smile. stoic both, in past precautions so the world had woven in our hearts, tombs of unforgetting, looking west for all we've lost. in reverie, in broken parts. you're doing well.

A Princess and Misplaced. from the vault, 2009

I don't write short stories. This is based on a dream i had, and wrote about in 2009. there is a story in there if you look hard enough, but its all together abstract. i found this in an old notebook and liked it a lot in retrospect. the dream was righteous and nonsensical, in which i was collecting small wooden figures in order to save and release the greek princess Persephone from Hades. so unedited, enjoy...

The stranger approached from my blindside abroad and with a shoulder grip begged my presence."please! at once upon request, a man due east and north takes solace in your mind." so blessed be the day we fell to, close in stride. this home, this lounge and office with artifacts abundant glaring decadence, carpeted in culture, the walls all stoned maroon while subtle moons askew shone through few windows in corridors of tasteful sanity and brick. we spoke in words of glory days once passed, and proof the earth, for centuries has bled and drew her breath exhaling to the populous, all shores accounted for. we dreamt a cloud of ancient days and sharp tongues, people immersed in people and broad shouldered gods promising the earth. thus, he presented me with purpose and prestige, an ornament of which a goal was set to be achieved. i then displayed the pouch and laid out six sisters, wooden women of no age. six plus his, a family minus one, the patriarch of prisoners and spirits, a guard of dames in a world without a name. with speed i too the task, to find a father lost and never found. digging, sifting, searching through the ground in mines and caves, a mind on infamy and names not spoken since people lived with grace. alas, no luck and no location. in desperate times, desperate measures called, i called to arms with self and bottomed out when the shelves all fell, those starry eyed demands of mine went out. its the end they always claim, when revelry is shone, this case my own; and so on, once upon my dusty soul, a visitor from a shadow stepped into the cold. the old vagrant dimly lit the night around him. a profile disgraced, a character that knew no mothers touch or the horror in his gently scarred, abrasive face. in a moments notice a claw protruded from a blackened, burnt end sleeve. handed off the missing piece, and in his heart exposed the truth. pieces of eight now set in place, a family and estate. a goddess delivered in faith, and blood restored to live a fate her own. never once clandestine, forever predestined.