Plaything

Is it odd of me to think of you,

As a paper doll all shiny and new,

Folded just right,

So thin and so tight,

As a toy which hangs for consumers to view?

Is it crude of me to only see,

You unwrapped and I controlling thee,

Removed of fabric,

Left soft and so smooth,

Or do you like it when I peel back your plastic packaging?

Does it turn you on when I press,

Along the buttons of your chest,

So your face lights up,

And you huff and puff,

Until your hands start to fondle, then caress?

Do you always tend to be,

So willing to test your flexibility,

Playing so rough,

So noisy, so gruff,

That we melt in each other’s flame of symmetry?

Then let me have my way with you,

Where I’ll pull you apart and violate you,

Until your paint chips,

Scratched and bruised,

Beyond repair from ever being sold as used,

But don’t worry doll, this bond is strong,

Which is why I wrote my name down on your underarm.

Alone

A line that lingers in your mind for days,

On repeat,

And repeat,

And repeat,

But know not what it says.

Splice it together and tether a knot,

Of notebook,

After notebook,

After notebook,

Of misbegotten thought.

Let it lead you to where your mind may roam,

In excess,

And forever,

And ever,

So you don’t go insane,

And you always have a place to call home.

2/12/09

 

 

To enter the dark,

We sit stationary twelve to one,

In separated seminary circles of thin design,

On a red carpet plain to guide our discussion,

Of relaying on religion while shaded by blinds,

But she stares me down with a thick-lipped sneer,

Such shades are drawn like a snuff nosed whore,

Whose only source of income’s a black haired boy,

Balanced upon a pole with hands clutched below the belt

Ever enticing consumers with unbroken pallid posed skin,

So white it is to touch which resonates such rainbows,

And casts small shadows across the backs of men,

Who walk thin corridors lined by narrow light,

Lasting longer than most, but shorter than many,

More ready than all to progress to the past,

Where twelve is to one,

And one is to we.

 

 

 

 

2/11/09.

 

 

 

Impoverished and unwelcome,

The universal lamp is partly lit,

Providing light to the better half of earth,

Where semi-precious buildings made of oak submit to the skies,

And birds made of plastic fade from the sun,

While fish fall upwards with weak willed wings,

Like balloons let loose to roam the ocean,

Only here, the world’s constructed of rubber bands,

Binding flat faced beauties behind panes of glass,

So they find time to read their own obituaries,

While pre-teen girls cherish lawyers like holy relics,

And come to find love in laws and government,

Where men wage war over a cup of tea,

Leaving seas of fabric to hang like cloisters,

Giving in to habitual tendencies,

And shit faced with lust.

 

 

Resurgence

 

 

Never chance to assimilate where hearts have broken,

In a land of unbecoming beauty,

Tarnished by war devoted to love,

 

A new world upon the same earth,

 

Skin like streamers hang from limestone walls,

Blemished by blood soaked sand,

Where metallic beasts roam,

 

A new world upon the same earth,

 

A cultural division sewn together by conflict,

Trained to live by enforced truths,

They walk with internal disrupt,

 

A new world upon the same earth,

 

Skies stripped of splendor by power line scars,

Where man made clouds billow white,

And tragedy tangles with grief,

 

A new world upon the same earth,

 

Black bags adorn heads of men like crowns,

As a staged presentation commences,

And cheers arise like prayer,

 

A new world upon the same earth

 

Widows who wither with malice intent,

Holding decapitated trophies of war,

With a past that’s never present,

 

A new world upon the same earth,

 

You wish you were home but you’re already there