SS3-II

Biding my time on a sundown soon set to become a memory
it too, feels the tremors that pass my narrative with a reckoning divide
sinister clouds tell of an honest passage
minor sentences mirror a rectifying shift
disarrayed despair to arresting sights
through her vigilant eyes
I watched the day blossom and decay
and I am swayed
as she sits, nihilistic and calm.

Trembling down, a cascade of abashment
of suggestive angry noises
bitter-most sweetness is all
all that was left behind.

SS3-I

Streets filled with mindless joy
fleeting faces, young & old
as I walk to find an open door
to a smile as unhindered & wild
as wind on earth's sweetest snow

Chirp the birds as they rob the sky
of her deprivations and her cries
weathered to a feather, but no cage to abide
so they sway and sink
into flight

soon they're out of sight
as we all remain
in the mercy of time
halfheartedly calm
for a chance to pretend
we know what's  to come
we know what's gone by
forgetful the souls
missunderstanding
life's our senseless paradox

SS0-VIII

Sitting alone/ he's on your arm/ now on your mind /
shaving your thoughts/ time and again/ sharp as the rain/
that's breaking his face/ into drops/ as they slide/ down a line/
that's pulling him through/ a common distress.

Stick around/ to catch the cries/ of a mass denial/
our softest desires/ sick, sickly and dark/ we are bent and aroused/
right under your eyes/ we shed them across/ this artful despise.

One by one/ we fade in our ways/ for a sacred heart/
for a lapsing out/ a foolish abide/ such a childish reliance/
on her charming disguise/ leaves you gently crossed/
with every smile that sails her lips sky wide/ that bates and locks.

A cure and a fall/ for all that it's worth/ you're a point of pride/
for all that has gone/ haywire or fine/ you're the oddest despair/
foreshadow the dawn/ hymns to our allergic needs and wants/
those subterranean to our daily trending files.

SS0-VI

My most faithful road
diminish so I can find another way
your dust, I know too well
now your rocks crack at her thunder
when her light shines the brightest
your days, I know all too well

Misty mirror sighs in silence
sees and reflects
his fearful climb
his restless denial
for a fearless fall

Old friend, airways fill
with your sweeping whispers
your words swing and sway
my paper moon on the rise
I am done with your days.

SS0-V

- I’ll call you, okay? Said A In the mist of eyeliner and bags as her soon to be former husband watched the rusty cab speed by the fucking street cats. Their “DO NOT ENTER” sign shook as the door slammed. Her entrance caused them a night’s well deserved solitude and rest.

.:.

B: Welcome! Oh my utmost pride! Turn the fucking TV down and put on some piano when your tears are dry.

A: Hello, got a solid surface to spare for a night and perhaps half a day?

C: Hello! Shocking don’t you think?

A: How so?

C: Well we haven’t seen you since your dad decided to painted the bathtub red.

A: Didn’t you get the letters I sent?

C: B mentioned them but I never took a glimpse.

B: If feelings are suddenly going to be the object of the game …

A: Be more abstract please! I won’t take you seriously if suddenly reason is leading your way.

B: My apologies, don’t mind if I do.

-   Time hammers another nail to a casket.

A: A friend drowned in the North Sea last year.

C: How awful!

A: It was tragically hilarious.

B: Wonders you’ve seen! Did you find it odd?

A: Just oddly amusing.

C: Is that the best you got?

A: Oh pardon my manners, but I have to punch something before I can connect to my birth giver again. Share a smoke with me before I sing that mirror a tune so deeply cursed?

B: Wait, let me look at you for a second.

A: Is something not usual with my distant presence?

B: Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s just that I can kill myself tomorrow if the weather is agreeable.

C: Take your pills and pipe down. And buy some candles for the funeral.

A: I’ll never get used to your senseless jumbling of words. I’d appreciate some obscurity if you could.

With pleasure C revolts: If you want my words on the Z-plane of a paper I’ll send you a letter and rejoice as my son finds a new home under six feet of dirt and an inch of snow.

.:.

C: What a coward your brother was.

A: We always received mixed reviews. Comment on him please. I’d love to tell his lovely bones.

C: For that I’d have to ask the cutlery set he destroyed.

B: Did you cut your own hair?

A: fuck you. My scissors weren’t as sharp as the blade you know so well how to use.

B: Well if I must confide in you and you alone, life put me on my ass, on my back and my hands even though that seems humanly impossible.

A: A tad inhumane but I think if done properly it may be possible to keep you hanging there like my brother’s chronicles.

C: Care for some milk darling? But with a prior warning, it has adapted a rather sickly taste.

A sat on the floor and gazed at C amazed.

A: You’ve soften quite a bit. Anything to do with the snow on your hair?

C: No darling, maybe the books on the shelves, and the pills by the bed. Or perhaps the marks on your dad’s arm and the fucks I reserved for your brother’s big day.

.:.

A: Kill yourself at a time between seasons.

B: Only if you’d burry me in that black duffle bag I kept when I threw his shit away. He said as he slapped his red gloves on the palm of his wrinkly hands and wept.

A: Well fine if the damn coffin can fit in it, can you two please be a bit more shrouded?! I am bored and this house if fucking crowded with whatever my brothers and I left when our age was a combination of one and eight.

C: Of course, darling, are you still living in a sentence that’s left without a dot?

A: yes, page eight thousand five hundred and twenty fucking five. But be careful! It may be under a layer of daddy’s blood or your gin soaked dresses that were hung on a different hotel wall every night of summer winter spring or fucking fall.

B: I’ll pass by on the way to my accountant’s office. I do miss how you used to dip your quill in every cross I made with a shaving blade.

C: I’ll pass on passing but I’ll sing you my secondary version of a saving grace. Shall we give the cemetery a go?

A: Lead the way.

C: Funny.

A: I thought so.

.:.

B: So how many pens had to bleed for you to write this non-sentimental piece of sentiment?

Three, said A as she, B and C walked through the name-bearing stones of life’s predicament, Classified and categorized as if the ground had a sense of accomplishment.

B: Look who it is.

Slowest time of the slowest day of the slowest year for A as he walked towards them with a sadness screaming under his blank fixated stare.

C: Now that’s kind of a fuck you isn’t it? All of your children at one place but only one of them is properly dressed.

D: Are you stuck between a bitch and a cunt gear again?

C: 16^th time this week, and counting. Does she lick the right spot?

D responded as he looked as his watch: Right on the dot.

C: Excuse me! Something I forgot.

B: what?

C: I forgot.

B: You’re happy aren’t you?

C: yes, but slightly of a different kind.

D: He was always considered an asshole as you know.

A: I know, and for you timing was never right, I always thought you were a little unfortunate. Want some advice from a point of utter indifference?

D: Leave me the fuck alone. A bit of respect please, but only if you’d make it extra obscure.

C: You smell like a dead cat my sweet girl.

B: Ah it’s right beside your left leg darling.

C: Ah how unfortunate. Flatten and flushed, gone in such an ugly way.

A: It’s hard to say, I heard it was going through a nervous breakdown.

B: Because of me as well? Just hang me with all the ropes in your head.

A: yes, but I have to admit that it wasn’t your fault.

D: don’t be silly, your unpoetic presence never hurt a soul. Want to count the stitches though?

C: Stop adding and subtracting dear, just ash your smoke cuz the end of something beautiful is near.

A: Have you taken a holiday from thinking?

D: No, but I’m stuck in the line that was pulling me through.

A: Speaking of things that might kill you and let that vacancy in their heads to remain unfilled, can you please bring the car around B? I don’t want the dead cat to miss the epilogue but I’m cold and the earth’s need has already been fulfilled. 

-       B took one last look at the empty grass adjacent to his son's grave. Jealousy shines greener when every other shade is painted in vain.

.:.

Subtle breeze, white skies and a silent street through which her whispers spread past infidelity, lost time and estranged progeny to keep this life afloat over his sense of irony that keeps him up all night by the phone that’s been unplugged form a wall that welcomes no soothing sound through the door as dust settles on his table and coffee mug as he lights up another one when the fucking street cats start to make some noise. The crossing of I know and I don’t knows as the siblings mark their line around the less than motivated piano sets the tone of another winter, another chance to truly be fucking alone. Obscure is the sensation that rules their weary souls.

SS0-IV

Night falls and a sacred panic arises

As eyes sense what’s missing,

brain whispers the descant to a cedar’s cry,

wrapped in the grip of a climaxing flame 

the interring meadowlarks swing through the fazing haze

searing spin of mortals fans the flame

pixie dust on trial, pop the seeds and eggs

a motherly caress, crest of all latency

the crestfallen cedar now fills the air and time

As fingertips long to feel

ears fill with silence in the suspense of ash and pines 

roots now parted, as night roots anew  

SS0-II

Somewhere along the axes that made up his psyche, between the bars that cress every thought or sensation, rests a hole. One might think it came to be when the incident took place, but he felt like it was there, or technically not there, all along. It's a strange entity if one might call it that. This void, depths of pitch black nothingness, echoing wordless silence, calls for him with the wave of  a non-existing hand. He can see it now, he can understand it, but he never saw it coming. The framework of one's mind disappears with a faint gradient to outline the void, as if it's the quicksand for the whole of reality, minus him. He sees himself falling, without any fear or distress, without any sense of anxiety or peril. He is in perpetual motion. There is nothing, no sides or circumference, nothing that can be physically sensed. Basically, nothing to contort.

...

SS0-I

Hey stranger

I'm sitting in a room that can dim any ray, vibration or notion of change, to an unfathomable string of words. I sit down and look around, the tiniest particle of dust, the unruly books that claim the desk as their own and rightfully so. On the yellow wall, four heads are bowed, the crestfallen girls of a land lost in a sinful slow dance with a tinted rhetoric. They look down on a piece of poetry, as if they can read it:

"window was yesterday,
and a sun that only shined on me.
Tree is today,
and a shade craving for my jaded soul.
Breeze is tomorrow,
in a scorching summer day, when I am burning,
waiting for you.

You are yesterday, today and tomorrow.

Not just for me, but for whoever knows the windows and the trees and the breeze."



Olive leaves glow when they share a look with you
singular stretch of a second
shattered soon after, the crushing grip of a soothing thought:
'Remain and you shall overcome"
hacked in the core of the waltz
obliging their every move, but
the trace of their eyes
still paints my night sky
as they wait, settles the dust of time
on their hairs and on their homes
on the doorknobs and window shades
"Remain and you shall overcome".

Remain the forsaken walls
to validate a dead society
long after the rain washed the curse off the tombstone.

Ominous and dire
they watch the road
they watch the moon above them
and they watch the dirt beneath
and they watch the bright dust that lays in between
"To remain is to overcome"
they think to themselves
as the dust waltz
their aches into oblivion.