Long Inkblots Poems

The moon rabbit is chasing a man on the moon                         ...

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Denouement

The plot thickens broadens in plastered confused juxtapositions
over time there and then weaves tapestries lost unfound caught

Viscous tears dried out shed rivers searching oases oceans of love
squeeze suffering hatred solid misconceptions scripted resolve 

Crocheted dreams...

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Doc is very worried
He says I’m half insane
I have the feelings buried
And have a taste for pain

He says he has a method
To look and see what I see
So I stare into the black
And see the...

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He’s a man of few words when he wants to be
And his silence can rival the Sphinx,
But be spins a good yarn during therapy
With his analyst pouring the drinks.
His obsession with fishing’s a mania,
Always dying...

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Dwell not upon “when” with unpleasant thoughts.
For joy depends on one’s state of mind.
Delight yourself; live unbound by past blots.

Worry not about old fears and inkblots.  
Make choices; decide which daydreams can stay. ...

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Sshh…
I can see it
Creeping behind the wounded paper
Fabricated in the surface of the wall
The wall. Yes the wall.
Countless stains embedded
Thousand images magnified during midnights
Raindrop stains transformed into wars
Inkblots turned into murder scenes
A dot of blood...

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Somebody got the best of me
I'm only half a man
Simple mind on overdrive
but i do the best I can
Something turned me inside out
I don't know if I'll ever love
choking on soo many complexes
don't think you'll...

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My Yin and my Yang are at odds with one another
I place the blame for my Oedipus Complex squarely on the shoulders of my mother
I cannot be held responsible for the mistakes I make each...

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Too many years since we said hello...
Let's face it, you've been a novel I can't quite put down...
I've tried, losing the pages...
Forgetting the binds...
Hell even tried to drown...
But many pages left with words unspoken...
Inkblots of...

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I am the pen of life
Held between the fingers
Of a much greater power
I flow my footprints onto pages
Even glass, wood or the roughest surface
Engraving a non cryptic legacy
Bleeding in cursive inkblots
Embedding confusion into the psyche
Of...

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In the shadow of sunlight,
shapes shift and dance around.
In ever changing patterns,
they move across the ground.

Some shadows tell a story
like inkblots on the mind,
but sunlight is the master 
and shadow follows behind. 

I don't always...

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A pen to scribble, upon thou texture of nature’s art,
Thrashing about, men’s minds of nomenclature prose,
His mind’s turn to rotate with sequential prowess,
Lines of truth within thou heart of endowments,
To depart from former figures, all...

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