lovelorne

I've had those that I loved

And those who I've lost

Those who were cheap

And those who had cost.

I wanted some

While others I tossed

But always I ended up with me

As the boss.

And always it was me 

who had to pay the cost.

One too many mistakes

The winter days are sad and slow as is-

My beauty's blade is wilting from my long awaited kiss.

I cannot even start to show 

how I am nothing no!

not even glow-

or have her see me for my secret light 

for darkness I enter in her life.

If but temptation she would see my fire for her burn

If only temptation hadn't sent me to the pyre to burn, she would yearn

my epic armor set, knife wounds only saying, "he's battle born"

and yet-

here I lay with armor shattered

A broken man, a pauper, a devil despite himself no matter

Just a ghost who floats in asphodel

Neither in heaven, neither in hell

Although I've tasted both in life

I hold in one hand her picture

And in the other, the knife.

Elegy for Syl

Her voice shuddered speech

But was clear with love

And when she thundered it still didn't rain

She would always wonder and wow

And yet how, I thought, would such a soul ever die.

I thought for sure there would be explosions

Gang land violence of yenta thugs.

Yet in the end, she went on her terms

Surprised us all with peaceful sojourn

It wasn't drawn out, she didn't linger

And I bet in the end she wagged her finger

Told God himself, "I'm coming. Hold your horses."

Then got up and walked the staircase

Realizing it got easier with each step.

Her eyes went from white to aetherial blue

And as she looked back, she said to all her family

I love you.

Goodnight aunt Syl. We'll miss you

And though you're in heaven, give 'em hell.

Life is but a Drama

Television on!

Teeth grinding party at the corner of 7th and main

Specifically to listen to multicultural eargasms.

Fire in the hole!

Dance in untrained rhythm.

Drop, stop, shut it down

Close up shop.

What a life!

What a tragedy.

Get up, get out of bed, drag a brush across your teeth

Scrub meat, stuff tacos, reclaim normalcy

For the purposes of

What's next?

Visions of wealth

Fridgerator of person who says fridge

Rethink the last 12 seconds.

Realize you have no idea

The symphony you would compose.

Right handed drinking

Left handed church

12 steps to the door

Lights out

Bed time

See you tomorrow.

Scrub meat, stuff tacos, reclaim normalcy for insane dreams.

how to tell a piece of shit by their sheets

Different people you run into

Deserve different sheets.

Some deserve soft sheets

They're good and deserve to be cushioned

Others because they're soft and need to be cushioned.

Some deserve hard sheets

They deserve to feel the scratchy belly of life

Others because they flagellate

And maybe they enjoy that type of thing

Who knows?

Others still deserve brown sheets

Because then at least we know

When they crawl into bed

Roll around from life's discomfort they create

The sheets are already the right color.

I'd give it up if I could

As evidenced by your insurrection--

Unscrupulous practices against unfair odds

Tempestuous emotions and turgid hunger

I hereby recall you from active duty!

At once I said. At once!

Oh no? All the fancy words

And my own perceived cleverness

And you still won't leave your high horse.

Fine but I'll continue to find a way to live

While I cut you out:

My dear heart.

ambivelant beggar

There's something so becomes us when our attachments either away

The most turgid windbag becomes Don Juan when he just shuts the heck up for a bit and disappears 

How like man to live his greatest triumph in evanescence!

Slowly fading away to the point that someone recognizes his absence like a discontinued taco and shouts, "remember how cool he was?"

And suddenly he's cool like the brooding teenage nightmare who's dreamy in all his vapid dangers.

Who recognizes his dreams deferred? Langston Hughes?

Does he swell like a boiling pot of water bubble and burst again and again in so many fractions of a second?

How does the hollow man truly end of no whimper comes out?

What does the bard sing when he forgets his song?

What does the paladin swing at when the monsters are beating him by simply living better lives?

Does that make him the monster for only knowing how to swing a sword?

No. I detest the self pity and woe that one such creature might have for himself

But if it's not too much trouble, spare a hand?