musings

Black iron box, strapped and sealed. The winds blow thru your innards. In you burns my fears. Furnace of shattering skull split log glow. Your orange leaping cellophane mouth frowns down upon me sitting on the couch. In disgust you crawl, a steam breath dragon, thru my frigid empty rooms on February days. Winning your rapture to the wopp..wopp..wopp.. of your fly-beat praying mantra. The winds flame the cast down effigies into hellish agony. Bearing your teeth behind that ever grimacing frown the shards explode. You became to bold, dragon. Yet tipping our hand, we invited our own down fall, now we sweat stress in disbelief. It is your obstinance, you created her, spewing her out. Then sensing the ragging glow, she challenged existence, and everything turns to blue. Her stole is opium from your heart. Chasing truth into the corner to be imprisoned, brick by brick by brick to become nothing but decorative details. She then turned on me with your fire burning in her eyes.


The portal slams open , window agape.

Taunting and tempting with your tong. She slowly licked my cheek. Melodic her voice blew in my ears. Windtales of embers, cracking and popping, stirring deep within the pit's bottom. In the pitch dark, her slow ungulations built to an electric blue flaming gyration of smashed mirrors. Depleting the ozone with a static furry that hissed and blistered the paint off my walls. With the never quenched emptiness, her breath sucked out the air from my body. My heart pangs. Between kiss and death I search for atmosphere that I didn't realize was gone. Only to gasp in shuttering surprise as she allows me to wake to life's forced ebbing. Dizzily she circles me with the innocent meandering of a flirtatious adolescent. With a sweet childish smile she ran her fingers thru my hair. I almost didn't notice the blood, small deep red drip sneaking between thin lips to caress the curve from the corner of her mouth to her chin. She burned deeply through my eyes. She ran her rose bud tong around those moist lips to catch every droplet. Sardonically smiling and taking me into her arms. Feeding off me like a familiar, I had no longer a will of my own. Present of mind vanished in the rapture of the god awful love of it all.

With a crack of her hair, I blindly follow her every move. I lost my reflection in that mirror, through soulless eyes. Displaced by her shape, her taste, her smell, I can see nothing at all until I awake in puddles of cold sweat with dizzied eyed head spinning exhaustion. Sirena with song of silk smooth wine, your stockings lye crumbling in the corner, and all I know is that I was thirsty.

This can't be really happening, she doesn't really exist. In the light of day all things seem so distant and dreamlike. "What follows from night to day, they force cannot be from any man", but what shit have I been living. Disillusionary man, I am a trained circus poodle who carries his own hoops. It hurts my eyes, scathing pale anxieties. I have lost all sense of tints and hues. Shadows are my only friends and this light reveals my inadequacies with microscopic illumination.

I shade my windows from the day and cower in pain ridden corners. Crackling transistor voices thinly echo repetitively in my head. And all say No and Down and Wrong, and I am left to listen to the refrigerator's soliloquy on modular time and ultimate worth relativity.

When everyday is a nightmare, I wonder why I don't sleep. They split my side open and said that it was nothing, easy. My guts unraveled, leaking and snaking along the dirty floor. Who is that staring at me from my mirror. I don't recognize you. You seem familiar, as if your nose or frown I've seen upon someone else's face. Don't purse your lips, speak. I don't understand this silence. Are you lost? You appear to be searching for something. Can you not speak, have you no tong? Your hands, all wretch and broken, folder in upon themselves. Joints show thru your bleached paper skin. What mark upon you forehead breaths. Sunken, almost hollow, wavering in a stance too fragile to hold, you eyeless attempt to mumble. Please tell me, I can not look at you any more.

I think I am loosing my mind, why do you ask he said.
I just put on my sunglasses and leave. Out of here.

The sun begins to sink into the wood as I watch from the window of the dark war room. I await for dusk and her arrival, it is there that I always return. Throughout the late afternoon, I catch her scent on wisps of nothings. Deja-vu light reflects off glasses in eye corners. Was that her?

I turn and look at movement I dreamt and wonder if hidden she follows me thru the day, as if I am the only one she dances for. My hearing has become overtly acute, I can hear the breeze whisper her words thru the smallest of branches in the tree top forest.

The sun, in a low pitch squelch grinds it way thru the down-turn in ever increasing screaming ferocity, burning it's way thru the forest, dying to bury itself within the earth. And the blackness stalks like a pack of dogs. Growling in tongs, it advances on the half wounded prey. Slowly, the deep tribal pulse, pounding in my temples, dog driven screams in base reverb shake the foundation until the earth quivers in syncopated rhythm.

There are crows in the woods, crows in the burning woods, crows burning. Their voices are the harmonic rain patter to the dog rhythm enormity of mutating blackness.

I like Sisyphus delve forever on this grade. Scared from the stone's bite, I watch in silence disbelief as the pitiless slag once again weights itself from the crest. Only while I, in foolish abandonment breathe, shall sweat these limbs in unattainable heart. In the scalding sun my sins pathetically play like phonographic vinyl. Struggling until no more, the dust arises last from my head and the task becomes a hoya to mark these lost bleached joints. And then what dreams will come?

I can smell the heating oil burning, the evil fumes of night. Even as I grip the stone again and force my will on the white cryptic weight, I can understand it's obstince. Soon the blackness will totally be upon us. The vortex is there, it's impenetrable mass draws the weight back to the start and my dumbfounded disbelief looses the muse to the ergonomics of it all. The night thick and acid black loudly announces it's victory. Howling dogs bark at the moon and I revel in giving my bones for ransom to unlock the changeling that awaits in the shadowy rooms. She rattles my body like keys treaded on the brass ring. While the bent and twisted tree branches push me to my destiny. I will never be forgiven.

There is her voice, whispering in the other room. I go there to numb the pain. To be engulfed by her hypnotic trance and to loose what I did gladly give away. Oh cursive beast, my desires lust for your taste. Dark cave dweller, creature of the undead, your hunger devours my personage. Her pale muscular body, glows lit from within. The room melts away into a churning volcanic floor of blue disco lava boiling. She once again slowly and loving sucks the life out of me, to the brink of death where she releases my being, now that the bill is paid. Never truly speaking our conversation last forever. With the thanks from my hand, her words smile. She wears those fingerprints like badges of honor, a seductive prize from the sacrificial host who drools upon conclusion of the commitment.

Temptress, what sacred thing have you enchanted? She beacons, a sweet narcotic, to ravish in an attempt to appease an unfulfilled appetite. The barren moon rises at her command. Perched on the wall, pale specter, wraith of beauty, your tong follows the trail up my abdomen and over my chest to the spot in my brain where the blood is still slowly running out. For how many years have your nightly visitations been the apex of my existence. Like smoke expanding into a void your power has reached out and engulfed it all. Your hands gently stroke my face and on your lips I can taste the thick coppery lust that joins us in symbiotic relationship. In my hands I hold your smooth silky body and falsely believe that I am in control. Smiling you kiss my eyelid and turn to leave. Your naked presents diminishing in it's blue glow to abandon me alone in a dark room.

The sun blindly raises on the eastern horizon. Flowing thru sweltering heat, by my nature I hug the stone. Throwing my being against it's complacent synergy. Heaping upon my condemned drudgery false pride, elevating it to a state of grace, a noble effort in my minds eye. In agonizing pain and aching bone sweat, I struggle and move a microinch at a time, believing that I am getting some-where. Until at the peak of the mound, as if not in broken sprits, smile and look over my shoulder for the voice in the trees that calls my name, and dream of the cool evening's rape.

Ok that’s about the TV…and my relationship with it..….pure tripe….