C1rc-um-sp3ct

industrialized Deities riding their Hummers below the horizon fluorescent knights rising in their place claiming adjudications over climbing ivys and demanding endless immolation carrion surfing the wake of mutating marine life increasing market prices on three eyed salmon delicacies of the one percent incense supplanted by smokestacks belching out signals of the coming floods Hark to the quieting Passerines even the Once-ler had regrets ground into the coffee on every corner amid the groves of glass and steel stark monuments to an incorporated soul their Green God so far in truth from mine

Streaming bodies Punched from a digitized haze Amsterdam heavyweights Torrents of cancerous fantasies washed from the minds of malignant masses Promised the willingness of unwilling innocence Youth forged into permeable currency Defining digital virginity at the behest of empty courtrooms Full of capital investment ponderous imagery, flickering discussing political depths of Thailand and the cost of a southern fence Pixilated across glowing screens Dancing in front of their papery hands Ticking away fantasies and stroking their keys Sons and daughters of the information age Who's judgments lie here where a bit outweighs a feather and we a

gather me enervated sheath of passion glittering coils to smooth calloused planes wrapping yourself in a beautiful jest of intricately timed idolatry your grace is not lost on non-believers heretics and malcontents they cannot gain purchase in your glass slippers or worship your heathen forms hungry stride confined to girlish flows pastiche for this solemn celebration colors too sharp not to pierce pale lids jetted in black, as though to rim those bounded sinkholes I've no hope to ever gain purchase in an image of storied skin adorning my pedestaled pathways encircling simple divinity you spiral ever closer to being

The purity of a fresh cut Spring parlor tricks, like beauty just pass me by. Yesterday was Sunday ... and last I checked I AM NO GOD.

Some selfish desire... twisted in intimacy Some doubting prophets auger... fraught with futile pain No ripples to lap ... up from the bowl No shadows thrown ... on Sunday picnics You are another piece of coal ... crushed to wealth I am some damned thief ... for stealing you so.

I do not break quietly tiny shards of glass splinters stuck into your sole I do not offer tweezing painless removal of offense sorry for your bleeds I can stand so proudly wondering at lucky survivors falling from so far I have seen the shows remnants of medical miracles no morphine for me I am epic in my ache tired of constant intonations of how happy I will be I thought my primer easy positive knowledge on fathoming the depth of my pain I still have far to learn not close to finish a final study so much for scholasticism I found in you a teacher no idea the truth of such things resplendent in poetic irony

My eyes follow the yellowed stains Brownish gold patterns spider-webbing across the surface of my chipped cracked coffee mug, no longer cheery blue I write this to see fulfillment; the culmination of an 8yr long wish, writ in naught but silence The chirping of the birds; musical squatters Distracting cries clinging to hard-won purchase On the skeletal husk of a chain link fence They say the only remains that matter A repetition of haunting cries; chipping away the peeling lilac skin of an abandoned rowboat My first friend, lost while inspiration came begging It's floating remains lying half dessicated by the dock I will escape t

Speak their yesterday this question of magic the woman whose vast secret voice squirms through you translucent, wild velvet steam surrounds the prisoner a salt glass tree no porcelain worry to devour pierce this longless morning when those who warm breath said that I must remember blind rhythm and open concrete nights which yet beat like a broken dog brilliant, ferocious

Vacant eyes over-flowing, like painstaking razor cuts never meant to break the skin. This tenuous verisimilitude rends the fluttering trails of conversation, With the gale of your precious words beating down upon my pane. Carried across the concrete basin like the grim staccato of tempered conscience, They genuflect woes on sinuous cushions amidst stifling regales of conquest. Bleeding beating proxy again offered forth to stand faithfully as your house colors; Unhorsed and heavy with palpable acceptance, a faltering gait marking my final damned mile. Wearing the shambles of my wanton pride like gathered compliments for my wedding shrou

Today Pythagoras chuckled at me and I found I like drawing circles lost minuscule pebbles strewn across the delta sprouting blossom for my garden path it soothes me long braids brushing the sand raking zen-lines outward from my pinnacle pen clattering down no cushions from this height fingers numb at the nerve I struck not so funny now are we taught too proudly I wonder how I call myself a scholar