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?