Ether Angels

what past from this nostalgias' spun
what spoken words were mine
should i ever dare to ask,
what paradise i've bled and
crowned in sanguine eyes.
to escape, to find at last the lasting ride.

faith and preservation

there is no forgetting for a fool, to live between a smile and a tear. a life of brief encounters in the land of bliss. unbalanced flesh and faces fleeting lust and love defeated. surrender self in resolution for lack of faith and preservation

reprise

i can taste these pages stained in wine. my ink intertwined and spilled in guts sublime. strangers now, we only drive by. she only lives on lines, in between the truth and lies. time serves the life of lovers strife. dissent. smile. reprise.

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 sleep. a wake. a dream.

a sleep.
a wake.
a dream.
spirit of self,
thickened by the wine.

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.

Often & Abroad

i think of you, and i smile on the plane. in prior lives truly unseen combat the lesser known, my love and quarrels bought mistakes we know. but i think of you, often, and abroad, and all of them broken hearted for the time we've forced apart.

Coastal Penance

default to dreams,
in daunting ether spun.
reeling in the wild,
to find what you'll become.
the weather works in whisper,
listen, oust the sun.
from barstool baptism,
on roads for one.

Tired Lies

are there only lies when you close your eyes? are you sinking? are you sleeping? are the shadows real? in the dark and and fading wake when all thats seen is scared and stark. you're screaming fast, no scream could last and all the shade is glazed in fast contrast from black to black. the secret night you never speak. the presence bleak, and from oblique in evil pressed the damned unto your chest. sinking screaming, so good to rest alas! you wish, but not so blessed, no sound, unholy breath and black surround in life and death as livid limbs confound to live and break for light and breath. another night, another life. to sleep, its make or break or death.

Ships At Night Along The Coast

i feel for constant pulse, to see if im still here. i've seen behind my rosey-eyes, and through your smokey mirror. and though we know what passed is past, with history comes fear. the story goes, from we to woe all starry eyed and sheared.ships may pass in darkest night, but never disappear.

Black and Bliss

this instance blacked in ignorant bliss when on the darkened water nothing innocent came with that kiss in moments in the standstill spoken words were on the tips and wrapped within our lips, skipped the world with fingers curled, pressed into your skin. i dont know just what you are, but crave your taste again.

Uncertain Truth

so swept away we see in only black and white, and hope for guarantee, but fear to fail and fail to see what's always in between, the only certain truth for me is life in its uncertainty and so the plan is always gray and colors meant to change, in binary behind blue eyes that only see in green and greet each sun in smirk and smile under sheets or in denial. tried and tuned, the tired few all felt the burn in dual, the only certain jewel in life, is life's uncertain truth.

Ghost Romantic

we only play with fire. intrigued anonymous, infatuation at its finest behind those vegas eyes and sinners mile. blinded by the cheshire smile in the city lights and every souls desire. arm in arm along the way but only in denial, black and blue the words from who, but only for a while. i am i and you are you, but who are we to know the truth if only mortal in the sun, but true forever still to some. anonymous in love.

and you know them all so well...

and you know them all so well...all those dreams you used to have of faces faded in horizons, open roads and sun stained rogues. burnt forearms leaning out the windows all alone. stop, then go. the wild faces with wider smiles linger along the miles. raspy voices strung, slung with scratchy laughter from all the smoky lounges and jukebox romance that line the interstate islands. talks on loves from yesterdays past after yesterday has passed and the drowning sun admits to all the myth your mind could offer. until at last, amidst the chalky wisdom you become a ghost and disappear to only dusty memories to all those open arms. vagrants of the road. and on. and on.

Washed Out

i wonder. to find god in an empty room when it’s been so long since i've set foot in a holy house, i doubt one would remember my name. i think there’s something i've searched for, been searching for a long time but i'd be remiss to tell you i had any sort of finite grasp on what exactly "it" is. i'd settle just to say there is something missing. there must be more to this. in all my thought i've come across more questions, and questions rise to questions. faith is a dangerous word i've questioned mine for all time and lost it in the process. now i can sit here over the low lit crackling burn of this cigarette and promise you that this inherent faith of mine lies somewhere in the great unknown, i only hope that when the smoke clears and the ashes strung out in front sting the ground that i'll find some sign in all of it, my cavalier christ. maybe i'm asking too much, but hell...you never know what might come out in conversations with strangers in the dark. you could learn more about yourself in five awkward minutes than a lifetime of comforts and picturesque made beds. i like to dream that there are still some originals out there. it’s hard to see, hard to hope it’s not a hoax. harder still to tell what’s real and what feels coming around any corner with the snowfall of false truths and idols on the firing line. the best thing to do is take it all in stride, say always what’s on your mind. move on, and keep moving on in these streets of old gold storefronts and twenty-something teenage icons that line the curbs. right here for the taking, right next to all our faded jeans and washed out American dreams.