Finished, Ended

Through black silk space on iron ships
the cold of I-ness meets his lips
a cool embrace of warmth on dark
was purple-red to those at bay.

His finger met the hot white pad
unsure of what fun to be had
of whether bugs were men or not
and just how fair it was to play.

His voice was crisp as crackled leaves
as soft blue flow of river weaves
and soothed his blind companions when
they're told of what they faced that day.

His cancered brain could take no more
he'd done what they had made him for
and in his rests he dreamed he'd be
in some bright land so far away.

Bright sun shielded by wide winged lark
feather fluff grass like sleeping hens
laid side by side cross acre lots
a field wide bed or soft white sea.

His head rested above her hips
as cool clear water stars had heaved
to quench the thirst of dame and lad
and calm their souls forever more.

the best... er... another tiger

vaunted king of crooked past
had seen in mine a face he liked
taunted that i'd grown too fat
and offered to reduce my burden

though my coffers were quite bare
haunted by the debts i owed
i could not seem to come to grips
with parting from my skin and bones

"but just an ounce, a pound or two,
gaunt an asking as there may be,
of flesh for me to be renewed"
his tone so stiff had daunted me.
And in my dreams he haunted me.

When night had turned and i did fall
the pictures of the former day
would play and in my mind ingrain
him taunting me, my face as his
him flaunting me, my face, as his
his jaunt from sick reality
so scarred my face, i dare to say
that any who should turn my way
should avoid my frugality
for all is good when Tiger! speaks
and all is food when Tiger! eats.

tiger be stern

so quickly had the leopard lept
from ragged sheath to open bard
and set his sails to westward yet
he faced behind to watch his guard
for only but one fluttered shard
could tear his tail from silhouette

his eyes a golden shade of green
as appetizing that can sound
were much to much to make me lean
over the siderails. "keep it down"
if but for one second he'd found
he'd tear my corpse, his face serene.

no killer had I more fear for
and none would I be so inclined

to turn and run for ocean floor
my legs pumping within the brine
than Tiger! Tiger! so malign
if I may jaunt just once to shore.

Hisssss

what symptom do you breathe
what curse upon your breath
from speeches that do seethe
and speak impending death

i'm not to be denied
by haughty mans denials
while hot he did deride
how naughty his mistrials

my curse and weakness tries
as not of to be spoken
how terse and meek my lies
how taught is he whilst broken

speak soft or not at all
should circumstance allow
should certain man avow
sneak often not to fall

to fall: to sleep: to die

from one lizard to another

ravens beak with sugared teeth
decaying sure, but sweet as always
scaled, frayed, serpent tongue
darts to and fro, swatting stars.
eyes the same, but capillary numbness
leaves light unchained, no sight remains,
though slightly it can see, with help of rain,
pit-pat-pit-pit-pat, what it has known,
unknown to me, and those who know,
have made it known they won't be telling.
No breath has reached it's tongue
without dripping, forked and silent.
the beast is legend, but hear what I say,
if there could be, just one to help me unravel,
it would surely have to be,
blind, mute, sweet enough to rot my brain.

the Ballad of Mostar

He speaks his way with crooked tongue,
though not quite one to frequent lies,
his own demise; hypocracy,
as you can see from serpent words:
he attacks herds, but likes to graze.

With guns he shook and swayed the meek,
Laws' plies are weak but guns are not,
his pleas and talk disguise seeds sown,
the herds he lures who heed his "truth",
and pay their lives for words he's spat.

sailor

leaflet fall of petal sails
on swirling winds
past sandy scapes and salted
waves, reverberating amongst
teeth and cliffs, if only to be spat
out again. sailors cry
though unheard, lingers:
a fog in our ears
we were unable to think.
his accent was french in origin
but lost, rooted in mouth.

sono il figlio anche?

His cancered finger weathered more
his cherub face so well adored
he is less than intended for
but evermore he will remain

though countenance may fade or change
his cloak and dagger never fade
if only for remaining days
if only til our hearts have ceased
our beats at end, the music stops.

Crescent smile, a victors delight
what more could we have saved tonight
if we had spent those hours in sleep
acting on our intuition?

broken, am I a liars corpse
forgetting to accept his course
for hypocritical critiques
of crown and cross and rule of weak?

Turn taBle

From the capillary soreness he notices his stains
unsightly blotches, dark streaks
it's not until his mind is cleared that he can rightly speak
is he slipping once again?

The orderlies are busy with the routine and mundane
forget the broken man-child
he's hindered by these outbreaks when his blood seems to run wild
what resistance had it gained?

Sputtering coughs, a rotary, turning, gninrut, turning
fountain and a cold finger
whose point has cast upon each it touched a lingering chill
Pain leaked, pain riled and pain killed.

the proverbial lost swan

Sidesweeping footsteps of a prancing swan,
precariously pigeon-toed but elegant still,
say what you will of the chance he lost,
when he wayward waddled southward cause his legs were bent.

What jokes have been wrought upon the forlorn swan,
his only hope in memory of worlds he once knew well,
teacup kettle, mushroom canopies, freckled
and horn snout trout. The taste of morning dew on night parched lips.

So lost, he pursued sliding ways along the floor
Not able to tell of treachory beyond the doors
When he lost his crafty ways and hope had left him,
Not once lost in dreams, he survived in the grim.

Space

What is your synopses
of that which the shutters
have hid from you,
are you still seeking?

Fingertips may see the wall
but the surface is free
of your leprous touch
persistant trepidation.

Arachnoid senses
your advance to his nest
anticipates the swat
before you swing

Could you cure your ills
if you encounter
concrete ending to your
continuing questions?

Existence is limited
and evidence even more so
don't teach me the evolution
of the non-exhalents.

It tastes of fire Mostar.

Kiss me sweet samael,
your words, your mince meat tongue,
you taste of clovers, spice,
and copper stained cigars.

Have you been mixing fun
with business endeavors?

Smiling through rotted shale,
you reveal your timely fun,
enough blood to entice,
your appetite unmarred.

One quick fix for true peace;
pores won't mend from this pain.

The Try all sOft Jamie

Find me in the riddles, my sweet darling,
I'm one with your fear of uncertainty,
Fill my incense reaking scent of wings,
I only yearn for your ugly heart-strings.

Gnome I name, all ready?
Most are.

Taste it in the tainted water I spew,
the stench unbearable for the weakened,
touch it, intake the terrible in you,
the sound unfolds a former teachings end.

Re-choreful, less tin
So fee.

Given your said state what did you desire?
Found in formers I touched: tired, timestained teeth?

Gnashing from youths injustices,
Simplicity found so injured.
When told democracy tainted,
You turned devilishly tepid.

Why so serious?