Seven pearls robbed
Ceramic contrivances replete
with squatter rights
entombing deep necrosis
for an Oscar appearance
staged and blanched
choreographed photoshoppery
of Cheshire cats
faux poses and grins
for psychedelic strobes
beneath neon footlights
and synchronised clatter
of frenzied palms
rhythmic and rigid
Politburo manoeuvres.
A thick porcelain shroud in a diamond vial,
Dabbing conceals the bruised moon beneath each socket,
A fine white mask stifles the shine,
Carving canyons to mimic where the pulse has retreated,
Brushing of a counterfeit fever upon the apples of the cheek,
Before a stroke of stardust illuminates the stifle,
Sweeping the lids with the velvet,
Ink the margins of gaze with a raven’s sharp intent,
Until the final petal of crimson seals the kiss,
The mirror reflects the tragedy of gravity claiming its heavy prize,
And beauty really is pain.
Nowhere is my place.
Escape evades my chase.
Shunned by lifes embrace.
Imbue with hindrance grace.
Consumed by peace I rot.
Exhume long hidden plot.
Solitude sought where it's not.
Accursed sanctum death forgot.
Self became a state of disassembling.
Formless integration of dismembering.
A gorgeous desecration of resembling.
Hopelessly fixate on not remembering.
Aimless unknown into wanderer strays.
Time lost in the wake of endless daze.
Necrosis grows so gorge on what decays.
Another phantom slipping out of phase.
I scream, I scream, as I tremble in dread!
The death bells toll, and I hear their piercing knell.
The grave, the grave, where I lie as if dead;
like a corpse buried deep, deep in bipolar hell!
Darkness and gloom, woe and despair, I know.
Like sheep, my Joy is carried to the slaughter;
and torn out, her heart's eaten by the black crow,
as fresh blood spills, and mingles with water.
Pure Bliss, the stuff of Joy, is never mine.
Like meat for sacrifice, she is killed and bled:
her soft flesh, cooked with herbs, oil, and spiced wine,
is prayed over; then devoured till all are fed.
So, it is! This manic-depressive disease:
a malady, a curse, an evil psychosis,
a bane and blight of the sick and ill at ease,
a mental illness of persistent necrosis.
I feel
the encroaching
necrosis settling in,
as the shadows finger their way
toward the growing twilight, etching my mind,
endless scratching with no escape!
It’s closing in on me,
this demon heart
I feel!
10/31/2017
Hands tick in motion but I hear naught
of the onslaught of killing time depicted.
Minutes run past me in tarred darkness
as the visions in my brain are obscured.
Clocks eat away moments of my life.
I admit I'm nearly frightened to death
of those mimed hands whose strokes
stab me with each gasp of breath I take.
Round and around, silent warning given
in gross opposition to the beastly roar,
aped by masses of such foolish people,
oblivious that my plight is also their own.
Reticence gives no relief to assault. I see
my fate's demise, and frightened I shall be
until death's full tariff has set my soul free.
Rhythmic tickings makes no difference to me.
Silence staggers my soul to substantiality.
Blinded by fear of my imminent necrosis,
I cannot traverse those two roving needles,
hellbent on stinging me to my neon grave!
Passage of time is but a travesty of life
in which man has no occasion to amend.
In the end, death haunts us all in silent
whispers; echoes of cruel scheming hands.
==========================
17th of April, 2016
The river is at autumnal peace
The spring runoff months long past.
The sun has mellowed, shrinking shadows.
Birds that once graced this glade
Have assayed the air and arched the horizon.
There is a gentleness in grass and tree—
A gentleness that reminds me of me.
My life’s season too is settling up,
Signed by silent, sober resignation.
What I once was, I am no more
My river has slowed to a feeble flow.
Legs that once fit me to jump and leap
Now struggle my balance to keep.
I see in nature’s changing trappings
Reflections of what is afoot for this form.
All of God's living things signal a cycle
Of orderly, ordained necrosis and renewal.
The river and sun and grass and tree
Are of the nature that is a part of me.
Sleep-needful eyes too heavy one day
Will tearlessly close in all being’s way.
I do not abhor the closing of the door.
My angel Mother whispered "there is more."
There is a bounty for our hearts Luv,
gold and fame for the flat riders who dare lower our flame
seeking to steal our fortune of raw carnal currency, our soul gold,
Love's law has decreed our passion a sedition against tradition,
a violation of virtue, a willful act of feral freedom, unauthorized love prize,
the old and ossified Judges are corrupt with dry eyes
the flesh upon which these laws are scribed suffers from necrosis,
they allege we are prisoners of passion
they say you are my **** of seduction
they assert I am your beast of brawn taboo
they know not that you are a rose of fire within my heart,
they fail to realize that I am your lion of lust and trust,
they squawk and hiss in their chambers of spoiled embers,
jealous and freezing from forgotten romance
what do they know of our embrace and fury,
When we cry for eachother, when we touch like none other,
when we come for one another, when we battle with scorching thunder
our love justice soars supreme, our only law, to love with rebel youth, to never surrender -
J.A.B.
The most precious of me.
The womanly comforts.
The 'lift you up'.
The birthing.
The healing.
The trying.
The love.
The loyalty.
The heat and honour.
These are what you used
To warm yourself.
Now you wonder why I run cold?
Do you even realise
That you spat your ego on me
In my darkest hour?
That you used the most vulnerable parts
of me
To wipe your muddy beliefs
As you turned away?
You took a gamble that I was complete in
sickness.
And you left me to die in pain
I survived for my children......
But for you....I am gone.
Continuously phantasmagoric is its vitality,
Crystallizing within the depths of my spirituality,
Sanctuary against the maleficent reality,
Encompassing past the fortification of mentality,
Dependency upon its draught of lethality,
Praying for the verisimilitude of immortality,
Enlightened after necrosis, for entwinement in universality
Our words will never change.
Rewind the arguments and keep the frame.
We've found a hidden vein.
I'm sick of mining these messes we've made.
We will not compromise.
This is exactly how it came to life.
I've said so many times,
The more we twist it, the better the knife.
This situation's stench,
reeks of a gangrenous relationship.
This mental necrosis,
kills off memories we're wanting to live.
Maybe I'll amputate,
so that we have a chance to not decay.
We'll have our better days.
At least one of us has to make a change.
In necrosis star does not die
On the contrary it shines brighter against midnight sky
Towards it great celestial eagle will fly
Of celestial necromicron it is the founding dye
The force where time is just a beginning
Of the celestial power beaming
As in abyss of otherworldly force is swimming
Force that death itself finds baffling
When connected to the base of the immortal soul
The celestial clock master will reach his goal
To put transcendent necromicron under spirits control
Creating the base for theory of all
When a schoolteacher’s got halitosis
What his pupils fear most when he’s close is
That the smell of his breath
It could choke them to death
And bring about chronic necrosis
Razed garden hung
Icicle vines crept mortar
Fingers of the dead
And the sun died
Cataract eyed sinking
This limitless implosion
Craven mustard then spread
Barbed
Waspish sting and evisceration
Slinking down the brick
I felt incorrigible
Violence
The lone oranges dangle
The only fruit
Are clockwork
My black heart suppurated
Necrosis
Nerve gas sought
Release to silence
The screaming
Myelin
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