Brick

Don't let her go
   too,
crazy into the bottle

For want of silken plums
   above the dulcet Mikado
A pitcher full of craziness
   tugging ragged pleas
from a smear of scarlet knuckle
down by poor frisco.

Every last

When i learned to unplug
it was late,
   or far too early.
There was no sparseness 
left in the markings of my palm

i felt the one,
one boy sulking, stubborn upon steps
the grungy marble pride of old empire
a crumbling patina, vexed with time

i subsumed her next
one startled girl, petulant in herself 
a curtain swaying on divergent sands
with stranger fingers, careless left

we held the last
the actor, the lissome host of legion
nave without parish, 
 night without Polaris;
the abyssal yard which buried our fury.

I have to think about whether I even like this. Still, worth penning for consideration.

For context, I just finished watching Synecdoche, aka "what-can-we-do-to-Philip-Seymour-Hoffman-next!"

But the night is far worse

The darkness is always itself, one.
   An unbearable burden of the sun
The slick sliver of tongue
   texturing the tactless light

for is not a bedroom lamp akin 
   to her folding shape, by a sea
The spirit shroud of bold bodies
   ensiform in the fearsome geometry of light

A silver cellar door 
   by the incalculable variability of days
 the shifty droplets lit through rain
  slinking broken insects upon glass

   the passing headlights - guillotines
  a lesion of deadly terminus

   It is in the contrasts of twos
where winsome winnowing leaves one
 i am lonesome by candle light
with a breath I am one

- 2010


I am sick. I am delirious. The cough medicine tastes like ass. Naturally, this appears to be a good time to write.

I am pleased with my first verse of the year. May you find it so as well.