the ennui
of this
exhaustion
stretches over
the vastness
in these
hours that
even the
hissing of
insects
and the
clicking of
incandescent
bulbs
cannot span.
everything
here and now
is made only
to strip you
of your
senses.

that waitress will not
give you the time
don't even ask
do not even think it

she'll only break
your yellow little heart
the tiny eggshell
of whatever it is
that you are.

all right than
this place is saved
for someone,
not you

with each analysis
there will be a part
that dies, got rut
shot straight through
into hell.

it turns words
to poison arrows
shooting sparrows
flying through you

covers you with
death and sparrow shit.

and you, too stupid
to move, drowning
drowning in that
poison sparrow shit.

the night
has grown
tired with
you and
your sorrow.

could you
please shut
up?
could you
peel back
your face?

can't you
won't you
give us
something
more?

is this not
how you
measure
success?

filling little
buckets as
fast as
you can.

the night
will defecate
into each
and every one.

tomorrow
you'll have
to start over.

you'll have to
give way to
tomorrow's sun.

waking from
beneath the
filth of this
abhorrent night.

our turgid
souls

plodding
through the

disquiet
ruins of our

filthily livid
yellow days.

i feel you
walk through
my heart

do you see
what i see?

the exhausted
trajectory of
my evolution

do you see
these absurdities
of my untempered
heart

the un-melodic
clank of my pulse,
the wheezing swell
of my chest

as you stand now
you have seen more
than i cared
to show you.

there is a
war coming

and you stand
unbroken, still
and there is that
war, coming.

the bells won't
stop tolling
for this is
the apex of all
my accomplishments.

there is no use
in telling me
you hunger,
for i hunger too.

all that is left
for us to
consume,
the rabid blindness
of the wicked and
the dead.

the din
of this
place,
impossible

but it's
good to
get away

and onto
the streets
and into
the cafes

where you
know
others are
alive

because
tonight you'll
have to
face them

the four
walls,
the horsemen.

you'll have
to stand
brave,
that means

with courage
and without
rage.
still,

like the
equable light
that falls
softly,

slowly
setting all
those little
thoughts aflame.

the moonlight matches
the sound
the music floods
your eyes
you know the pain
will burn
and sting
sweet
like the richest honey
you know what
you know
but it's not enough
someone else
will always have
the upper
hand
the right words

your refusal
will be your downfall
the sound of
protests breaking
like leaves
letting go into
the wind
it will blister your ears
and the world
will remain full
of things
you'll never have
but always want

this space
i occupied
no longer
goes soft
and comfortable

the walls
wept when
the songs played

my blood
boiled as
i slept

i shrank
to nothing
i was glad
to do it
glad to

be rid
of that
anxiety

sometimes
horrors pass
through
my brain
and i feel
every capillary
contract

when i wake
i swear
i can sweat
blood.

i drift into
daydreams

brave
but incomplete

and words flow
and i believed
in then
and i believed
in them

i said i
would do it

maybe it's
just shit talkin'

but something's
right
something soared
now i'm on top
invincible

a god
full of shit.

murdering the days,
even the sunlight
turns blood red
and thick,
viscous with clot

slyly in sorrow
the yellow lights
blink on
blink off

a deep inhale,
hold it forever
exhale and wish
it to be over,
this slavery

and so
no more
words could be
forgotten.

there is a knocking
at the base and
sides of my skull

i struggle for words
as the drowning
do for air

there is a constriction
and interference
and everything starts to
shudder

the world blurs
the air turns to lighting
my ears, eclipsed
with a high pitched hum

i feel nothing
except for the blood
pounding against my veins

when it gets like this
i wish to set it free
spill it out so as to

keep my heart from
rattling the cage
in my chest

my eyes
grow dark
and dim
bleared with
ravenous
desires as
the glow
emanates
from your
center
burning holes
through the
crisp skies
that even
now the
birds will
avoid

your smile
quickens
the pulse
and my blood
thunders
down my
veins
everybody's
going down
no one
will be left
standing
you bring
the bright
morning
and i
the night's
murderous
intent.

i think of Lorca
in the field
beneath spain's
cruel sun
field wrens
screeching
the gypsies'
lament
startled by sharp
and abrupt
reports
rending the
drowsing
afternoon air

the soldiers
merely boys as
green as the
early summer
wheat
as their own
uniforms
turning back
toward the
muddied jeep
thinking of
lovers
and eager
for pussy
heading back
into town
to sip some
sour
ruby wine
and disregard
their deed

and i dream
of his heart
in that melancholy
field
splintered by
the youthful
bullets of duty
into those violet
and crepuscular
dragonflies
skimming
hovering above
the backwaters
of his tender
solicitude

the rider's bones
clattered and
clanked behind
a dusted horse
on the cobbled
empty streets
awash with the
early rains that
brought us all
this gloom..
in this, the last
of our seasons.

here is where
i long to stand
undeserving to
witness even
a glimpse,
i have
prodigiously,
wasted its beauty.

yet i have
dragged through
pained days,
searched and
scoured through
this bleeding
heart, just to
make it
back home.

trembling at
the abyss
overwhelmed
by trepidation
and wonderment,
paralyzed by
this beleaguered
choice.

i harrow
the barren
soil of
these days
to find nary
a word
or thought,
to sprout forth
anything from
the unyielding
earth of my
frozen pneuma.

the rains
came fast
and hot.
washing all
our dreams
tangled
on the ends
of their
pitiful
little ropes,
swaying from
the belabored
boughs.

the winds
rattled the
splintered
rafters in
the washed
out belfry.
tolling faintly,
the bell
for all
our wicked
imbecility.
and our
mesmerized
benefaction
fooled by
our own
gadgetry.

there are streets
not too far
from here
lined with ruins,
burnt down
and out.
a dull and raw
nevi revered in
disgust. a
forlorn stigmata,
in disbelief.
perhaps, it has
been mused,
beauty sleeps
and is scarified
there. a sluggardly
return to a
pungent humus.
and when the sun
escapes from
there at its end,
little whispers
float about and
all around
in the empty
and nearly
silent wind.

they can't be
saved and they
won't be,
if there was
just some way
to show it
to you as
it sleeps
gentle and brutal
in its malevolent,
violent silence.
it wilts and
it thrives and
i can't make a bit
of sense out
of any of it.
it is all there
in all its
blankness.
nameless, just
beyond the word,
beyond the
abject fascination
within the
salted tears,
without a
flowering reason.

two more
swallows of
this coffee
gone rancid
and cold,
i'll be on
my way
attempting
to make it
back through
the trenches
and barbed
wire.
praying that
it won't
be there,
waiting
for me,
that trap
i've set
and fallen
onto and into
so often.
each time,
forgetting
where
exactly it
has been
laid.

she tears
into it
with rusty
dull tools.
pain flows
like a slow
spring stream
and no one
smiles round
here anymore.
it soaks
through
everything.

there is
really
no use in
hiding
anything.
without
exception,
it is always
the same.

we build
addictions
and routines
as skyscrapers
and
monuments.
we swear on
the graves
of mothers
and saints,
that there
is no way
in hell
we'll succumb
to all
of this
again.

there is grandeur
around every corner
and it is
in the trees
and on the
leaves that
have collected
themselves on
the sides of roads.

sometimes it ebbs
forth from dented
speakers serenely,
quickly and it fills
the mouth
the nose
the eyes and most
importantly, the ears.
it fills the lungs
and stops everything.

the room gets
quieter, warmer
even though the nights
come swiftly and time
emanates relentlessly,
still out of reach
but still somehow alright.

and these, our torn hearts,
we mend every time
using stronger cords
and wiser stitching
believing that
each time we
have immunized
our rickety pumps.

nevertheless, the storms
always come and
they bring their love
with their spears, knives,
and cold razors.