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time travel (continued)                                            
                                                i.
                                                precious moments-
                                                featherweight.

                                                ii.
                                                time heals, remember?

                                                iii.
                                                burying despair: death.

                                                iv.
                                                grandfather time, immortal?

                                 
silver-tinged twilight                                                            owls

                                                           nestle,

                                                           hooting

                                                           along

                                             with the help of lofty, fresh leaves

                                                so too, do the summer's evening

                                                     winds whistle around

                                                 the empty park bench passing

                                           through the p
Owl and CrowYour fingertips stuck to my forehead, and popped off when you pulled them back. We were both wearing black that day, mourning our own deaths. (Those little deaths that happen again and again.) Kisses planted grow rainbow flowers at twilight. We were waiting for twilight, that day. I pushed your fingers back into place on your hands, kissing the tips of each one. You cat-purred, I bird-screamed. Twilight rolled in like a fog, smooth and beautiful, the way it does sometimes in autumn. We didn't need anything more.
stargazersShe lives in a river of stars, intricately weaved into the eyes of Eden
 it's just
the way his roses find beauty in her bramble-berry eyes
watching the sun sink into the ocean
together
waiting for the night sky
 
I will always remember him, eyes dancing, hiding her broken heart
 
Rainwater, hurricanes of lonely gray spilling onto the cloudy sidewalk. The stars are gone tonight.
Gray MasqueradeStriding through this gray, empty world,
I peer upon the hard faces of my peers.
False laughter rings in my ears,
Strained smiles depict something's amiss.
They all fit in,
Just a bit too much.
Robotic and stiff,
They are unidentifiable.
Caught up in the crowd and judgment,
They have lost their identity and their pride,
And their emotions are as flat and cold as those disguises they sport.
The world has come to this.
Even they don't know who they are any longer,
And everynight
Is like a masquerade ball.
I would rather die
Than live a lie.
living misslethis was once the center of things
a garrison of mustard seed and sedulous
one-armed scissors

but now summarily surrendered
to the direction of those bred to push buttons
like Theseus throwing
   
himself to the Aegean
half dissolved and resolved
to be a better reagent
keepsakein old boxes we keep
next to spider web walls and heirloom
root cellars

small pieces of ourselves

watermarked
hoarded like weapons from the
enemies within

the shrapnel of unsettled palavers

waiting
for the right time on the wrong day
or
the right day but the wrong time

to echo sharp olloquies
thought erased with the analgesic
ebbing of time

salvaged from boxes
and back to the surface
displaced

like sickness in gingerale dreams
currently disclosable informationthey're naked ships on the horizon
smuggling the tender metal-armed children
who will untie our knots and
tend to our fields
raised on impunative
alchemy and indignant occamy

there is quite a strange
thing doing quite strange things
somewhere entrained by the eyes paregoric
a spate of pro-
biotic indifference

and there are some beasts
you can't catch with tackle and bait
ones you must lure
with more orwellian versions of the truth
and those are the ones to keep
locked in small skeleton closets
to smother with pillows and bury

in the basement on christmas eve
in vitro meatsloth;
sill diffusing the bombs

the crime sorcier of hyper-
sexual plants

this air is so dirty  
the sophists are sweating

while eating their supper, while
scratching their slogans

'to the spine of our eyes
shorthand-surreptitious

and the future assured
on the whim of synthetics
oneironautstereoisomers
we were proclaimed as the founders of feasts
not the same decaudate dogs
bred by the public domain

cool as the absolute/value of absolute zero

quasi-grunge
in the wheelhouse of liquid
shadowscapes churning
our compared notes on entropy

and all of the above

and the dark heart instilled
around itself builds
an army of somnabulist clones
ThawAs you are loaded
into the back
of the ambulance,

you thank God
that something
is happening at last.
brontosaurusthe slow strobe of thunder
everyone is fostering some Fabian ideas
      the rabbits on the run
the fingernails dirtied

even uncle traveling Matt and his silly
creatures of outer space

so craft your own consequence
and wash it down with black milk
ratified
by the garbage pile you keep at the edge of your garden

while the drawbridge holds
your doppelganger and its pavonine
pasquinades at bay

scandalous strokes to the slow strobe of thunder
the disorder of operationsa jaundiced account
we pledged our allegiance to carbon
rods and reactors

quicksilver gizmos adorning our mantles
and the secrets we've found
in ancestral owl pellets

unearthed by the same
prosthetic hands
that tighten the tactical belt
You Took Something From MeI used to remember what was hidden in the moon
The light of a billion beautiful rays still shading in the looms
Now a broken soul, an apparatus to destruction, a tool
A word, a phrase, a paragraph or two
A day doesn't pass without me waking up in pain
To see your repugnant fucking face over me again
The terrors never cease and sometimes I desire
To be deceased, to baptise myself in fire
To leave this earth because my sanctity was violated
And I was young, how could you use this in advantage?
I can't even manage to describe my hate
You pushed the envelope, and I thought I was to blame
But it isn't that way now that I've realized
That I lied to
HumanI don't want to go outside.

It just don't

I hate explaining myself
I hate reality sometimes
I hate being alone
I hate having people around me

I'm sometimes a hypocrite
I'm sometimes a liar
I'm sometimes a procrastinator
I'm sometimes too bunt
I sometimes can't catch a clue
I sometimes don't understand
I sometimes get jealous
I sometimes get scared

I sometimes remember him
and want to slam my head on the counter
to erase what I thought was fatherly love

I'm scared of lots of things
I'm scared of bumps in the night
I'm scared of being touched
I'm scared of upsetting friends
I'm scared of being insensitive
I'm scared of people dying
I'm sca
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More from *thesquareroot

further  we are not
time's ever-lasting spirits
or even their intrinsic
externalizations

 we are kinetic fools
the aggregate of fabled and
opportunistic serpents
limping past cold snaps, flying false
flags of cronyism

an ignominious
contingency of riches
that sighs at its sutures
 we are defined
by the things we are not
 and we are not

inclined to continue much further

.
farragoharangued
by those born with the powers
to synthesize my future

i know i could shake this brick
be it haggard and unfulfilled
but that would only play into the plans

of these contemporary myths and their
irreverent phantoms
that cling to my cuffs

and scratch at my window
and should i let them in
things could only get better

things could only get slower
than this semantic tornado
which only ushers me further

from the brightest beast i could be
...harangued
by those who pull strings in my future
conversionpariahs proselytize
a diverse spectrum of senescence
or otherwise called faith
      in more intimate circles

while dosage the only de-
cathect betrayed by sunrise
applications

that come without instructions

and the vultures will circle
our glowing corpses like pre-ordained numbers
fontanelleit's the way we choose to process reality

that truly makes it interesting

the simple filter of perspective which can twist

truth to subterfuge

or how when betrayed by prehistoric voices

the true-believer can become a great devil

posturing to see which details will rule

in a world built on technicalities

yet  our lives are fated to be defined

by unsteady hands that paint and print the past

so you should live as loosely as you wish

for however shortly it may be

while the soft spots are well guarded

and the predators are sated

because in another thousand years

it all just gets reverted
chimericthe radical nature of human interaction
can never be completely predicted
but it can most certainly be
entirely enjoyed

so free your dilettantes and parlay greater
favor with nucleation
the shores must be re-taken;

the sundered traps/must be restored!

....

but we've grown flat
quondam in our carapace
sardonicly arranging
errant days like precious pills

until a trap restored has firmly sunk
her hooks into our heels
her fangs into our simple skulls

until poison is the panacea/to placate chemicals

and were this where prophets
came to die
we fools would be immortal
blinkwe tore the veil between our worlds -
with a pendulum's indifference

the voices in our lizard brains grown restless

and while interchanging egos,
its been noted by my senses,

that you've always known where i want to go:
  to   *blink*
and be defeated

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interchangeable parts

:iconthesquareroot:

-i-


we're all just meat
in the planetary fridge

drunk eyes and sweet lips

whiskey sighs on bruised hips

particles      [ ::: ]
  in a recombinant box


-ii-


but particles of what?

not the dna that mother gave us
or the de-
materialized ditch water that our

fathers used to bathe us


-iii-


blank slates,
open spaces,
or a strange myriad of faiths...

pray to any form you like
just know that when you're gone you'll be replaced
:iconthesquareroot:
"and when one piece moves/another replaces
quick into pockets/of vibrating spaces"
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