Riptide SkiesBeneath gilded skies, he visits me,Riptide Skies by betwixtthepages
his throat thick with painted symphonies.
In the dark, he sighs, a soliloquy
of the us we aren't allowed to be.
This peace, I know, isn't what it seems:
I'm caught in the riptide of sweet dreams.
Counting the Spaces BetweenToday's forecast:Counting the Spaces Between by betwixtthepages
sorrow with a chance of supernova.
This update brought to you by Kleenex:
when the silent weight of the spaces in between
drags you down to drown beneath,
count on lotion soft to lift you up!
(partnered with Red Bull--
soft cheeks and heart palpitations guaranteed;
please mix responsibly)
In other news, the Prince of Zombie Hearts
has struck once more -- a senseless slaughter.
WARNING: the following footage
is not suitable for young children or the weak-stomached;
please switch the channel now.
On location, Paul is talking pulse-beats with the body.
She's a few words of warning to our watchers
on how to love and leave over the holidays.
Let's listen in...
Bridge the gap from minute
to minute moments--
doomed desperation keeps track
with discounted touches
and reaching fingers.
You're damned, darling,
just a bystander looking in on destiny
set to repeat the crime spree,
set to screw up the crime scene,
set to hopscotch the rocks of your feelings
ElsewhereI do not cede your life to you.
All things begin in my aching bed.
Baristas, starmen, nothing has survived the light.
The living lose their space to me.
The last fond ritual before the ghosts will be allowed their speech
is the moment that I really live, when I breed all neurotic wants at once:
to king, to beggar, to whore out every figure
yet to be betrayed by gross approximation
and dumbly muddled by these dumb fingers.
The all important touch is just a disillusioned brute
hanging like an ugly halo around an arbitrary mass
that hosts your hidden magic.
And I kill the world to have it.
What bizarre and dissolute intelligence births itself in a hot smear of thought,
infests the throbbing slums of my sentience with ideas,
hungers and machinates for a free and unkempt soul,
reams into the deep darknet to damn my lazy search for hell,
or no, but to illuminate this damning of my design
and uncouple me from centuries of tiresome ontologies?
I’ve waited for the searing sign to emblaze
dissapore smeared like bad makeup,
this Facade glides in slow-motion
on my trickling cheek,
ticking like arcade tokens,
like a lack of sleep.
i leave my fingerprints
behind on Your skin
and fade You away.
form in a heap
of smudges on a crystal disk, combined,
death by erosion,
marks the toil of
disa-pour from my mouth
like hurrying saliva.
chronicthis linear progression of pain is inevitable,
an afterthought attached to an Armageddon
of perpetuation. see, these cells
fight those cells and put the rest of me
inside a cage
that even the prescribed pills can't unlock.
I've choked on my own illusions long enough
to know reality when it slinks in
wearing its superiority
like a black hat, velvet lined and tall.
these are the days I don't escape,
the days I wave the white flag
like a civilian before the cannons.
on these days, tomorrow
is the enemy and the question
is whether or not I'll face it.
2015 11 18 1730the deaths of my children
wake me at night: thunder
and the rain doesn't stop
it makes their graves soft
but they can't tell
and i'm countries away
counting the flowers i've stopped placing on their graves
little fishing lines
bob in the water
and the city lights are dull.
Where the Dead Sleep"Tam."
He heard the whisper, but detected no movement in any of the seven tubes. Life signs remained null. No one was awake, but he knew what he had heard. It sent a chill through him.
"Shut up, Tam, and pass the damn wrench."
Tam Sutherland continued to stare at the Sleepers through the silver glow of the stasis field. The repairs had been slow, and his partner, a woman with maddening resolve, had decided talk was bothersome. It didn't matter they were the only two awake on the blasted moon. Dr. Stanton wanted nothing to do with him.
"The sooner we finish, the sooner you can go home and I can get back into meditation," she had said.
Well, Tam didn't want to go back just yet. The Sleepers had gone into stasis nearly three centuries before after the infection nearly wiped out the colony. At the time, most of their scientists and doctors were dead, and those who were left were ill equipped to fight both the parasites and the deadly radiation that trailed in the wake of the sister planet.