Dichotomies of Fantasies (Conflicts of Religion)

I kept a soft spoken
counter to the place
while 2nd hand drugs and drinks
are shoved into my face.
A carbon jail
in each case,
no fault in grey matters.
But who we were
and who we are
never equal after.
Relationships are sinking ships
like an albatross
is the cross
that is choking me.
That’s not my fault.
Despite what
faith justifies
“life” ain’t reality
“Truth” is testimony
with innocence and accidents
as lies we’re always seeing.
Youths on the right track
will still drown in love
if they only know being.
But imma let streetcars pass
as my desire for that below Georgia
puts me on blast
about relationships
with no chance to last
cause I judge people
with values that I never even had.
Sometimes we remember things
thinking we hear angels sing
with sounds just like
how demons scream…
We believe
we are who we say we are
which still places us
closer to the evil
that we say we aren’t.


October 31st, 2012

With no faith in gaudy demonstrations,
pleasant sounds of exhalation
that took shape with the environment
gave way to contentious thoughts.
I hate things so pretentious.
Reality competing with fantasy.
Pleasantries only when it’s easy.
How could this be
what you claim?
Have you no shame
using immodest words?
We fell into this
when it meant something
on the lips of parents.
We thought we knew the meaning.
A word so close to hate
that they become the same.

Our Aspirations

I saw through a room with eternal smoke
And a few jokes between truth
that in youth dulled serious statements
about death.
The scene fit the news.
Brown water and rocks in its own transparent world
that he, like a god, drank from
in between creating clouds
and worlds with the most beloved characters.
I heard about him from friends
who worship him.
I can’t begin to fathom being such a god.
Though isn’t that what we aspire to?
Me and you?
It’s blasphemous practice
though we don’t admit it.
This is our goal,
to trade our soul,
for abuse and inspiration,
brown water and cancer sticks,
traveling parties and ladies turning tricks
because love can’t be found in our free time.
Unless she’s close.
Extremely close.
No one would approve
and though your work be sick
your life should be soothing.
But that isn’t us.
Even if it is in us you trust
to reveal trust
entertainment and proof of some philosophical thoughts,
images that most wouldn’t understand
or bother to try.
And hated in life
we are loved when we die.

Time Departs

Three blades swirling that fuse
twirling white bodies of smoke
into a coil.
Below it all, in humid confines
with sweat its only moisture,
are tan walls and light outside.
Small roads of light illuminating dust piling on dark skin.
Fever chills till I can no longer move
a hand stroking my thinning hair
soothing someone’s coughing cries.
Oh just go already. Why are you still here?
Why do you force me to stare?
It hurts knowing
I will be leaving soon
are the thoughts we both own.
I fear doing this alone.
Yet you must escape away
I don’t want you to go
but I cannot be kind and stay
are the words
we wish to say.
But we shall be alone
and go as we are.
We are not fine.
Not yet I know.
Please come with me.
So I do not go alone.
Am I selfish
for thoughts that won’t be?
Perhaps I am undying
or in mourning.
Perhaps in a haze
we shall go on for days
after the second
we part ways.

Development of Value

Why are you so
willing to tell
of previous conquests
from other lives?
As a lady
a waitress
a stripper
a whore
for the orders of others.
Don’t tell me of other conquerors
that have explored your shores.
What should I know this for?
Of what use is it me
to know hidden reality?
So long as I’ve lived in fantasy.
One so pleasing.
Speak easy.
Speak quick.
Though best is no words at all from you.
So innocent beauty
is not torn asunder
and skewed.

My Daisy

I mull through cold rain.
Dreaming of you once again.
If this anesthesia does not dilute pain
then love has failed.
Quietly there are babbling whisperings
and if you are carefully listening
you’ll hear novelty washing off.
The sad thing is how beauty
is drown out if you listen too long.
Words bridge classes
but it shan’t last
though I could be wrong.
I spoke to you in suffocating solitude
your words shallow
as if they always had been.
But surely this was not the case.
I remember your beautiful face
and my memory serves me well.
There were evaporating street corners
drying sights dampened by salty shots
greenish blue rooms the colour of seaweed
where parties were held.
But you stood out there.
A mermaid whose beauty was clear
with a song I cannot remember.
There were receding mumblings from you
keeping confidence afloat
afraid to be judged at what you said.
These treading words.
I could not hear.
But I would have loved you still.
Despite things done, things did, or songs sung.
Scaling rung after rung.
In times abstract and absurd
it was your song I wish I had heard.
Cascading thoughts with atomic battles fought
for you, my love, and like a dove
so white, so pure with no cure.
You and I are our only kind.
This is so.
Others do not have
a rainbow as we do.
I loved swimming on your shores
forgetting about the waves of sound.
The ripples on your physical surface
I have seen through your carapace.
And yet I still love you miss.
So no words are needed.
And when you age
your worries will not matter so
I will still speak of your grace.
This you must always know.
Like those who fall out of love
when beauty is gone
we shall not.
For your beauty shall live forever on.
Must I speak more
of what I’ve spoken of.
You are my mermaid, my love.
A mermaid, my love.
And I do not think you shall sing to me.

The Street Outside/ Real Colours

If now, in a split second of indecision
A terrible mistake were to happen
I’d rise and stare through glass
At this clash of powerful forces.
Through green tops. Through instinct to creation.
With realization of circumstance
these people dance.
Gather. Pose questions
that offer no help.
Artificial red rivers and seas
that spread towards white scenery
like a disease
to mix with the rushing blues
showing contrasting hues.
Concepts and philosophy and images
define the two.
Black soars overhead
and lands on stretching brown.
This all exists as though
society does not now.
As people pass
there real colours carry life on
knowing that while here
we will soon be gone.