Show Me

Show me love that’s hard to find

I’ve got no use for the other kind

 

Progeny

Your progeny won’t delay your timely demise.

 

The Dark Hallway of Time

In the infinitude of existence, we find ourselves here and now, time and space perfectly warped for our particular delusion. Truth melts and fades with perception like so many candles lighting the dark hallway of time. The bumbling jesters are intoxicated with power, trading tricks for treats in the grand illusion. The veil waxes and wanes with the tides, the distant moons enlightening our little game, if only for a minute. With all truths left bare, the question yet lingers: how will we respond? With hate in our hearts? … or with LOVE?
 

The Gladiator

well the gladiator was
sad he ate her
he hacked his lady down
and winced to watch her warm sweet blood
seep into the ground
but the gladiator was
sad he ate her
he did not have a choice
the lady had been banished for
singing with her voice
and when she returned, the emperor
he cast her into the pit
and as for her
executioner
it was our hero that he picked
so the gladiator was
sad he ate her
but was himself a slave
and the carcass of his victim was
only vittles master gave
yes the gladiator was
sad he ate her
but he’s got to survive
if he’s gonna slay that emperor
he’s got to stay alive
 

Shower Talk

Tiles
Patterns of ivory
Easter pink
Green, yellow, blue
Simple patterns
Pressure only from water
Which is adjustable
Chemical bonds
I can catch in my arms
Your tears are my tears
Even if less salty
Your pressure is the best
To hold my sobs
Better than my arms
Home is
Where I am drenched with you
 

Trebled

when it’s dry

it’s so dry
and when it rains
it squirts
music, while lovely
(through tympanic membranes)
isn’t good enough
I want to drink it
have it in my blood
my body unsatisfied
until it
absorbs through every pore
ears are not enough
I long for no one
but for treble clef
I want to dance it up and down
to climb it like a ladder
with nothing to prove
 

I Bite My Lip

seconds become minutes, minutes become hours, and hours become days. my longing drags on, melting the fringes of time and my faltering perception of its intangible existence. how can hours in your sweet embrace seem to last seconds, yet seconds torn from your presence languidly saunter on, mocking my desires? moons wax and wane and the clock seems to pause, broken like my heart forgetting why it beats. i bite my lip, the blood cruelly reminding me of our impermanence. i still taste you in my mouth, the bittersweet taste of unrequited love. once again i will close my eyes in hopes of your return. i hear your voice, faint and but a whisper, but i can’t make out what it says.

 

To Caress My Beard Is to Know God

sweat drips languidly from my freshly trimmed beard. gazing into its magnificent shrubbery, i realize more time has been devoted to its elegance than I’ve given to my own self-preservation. but to hell with survival, it is a pillar of caveman existence, my paleo diet feeding the animal hugging my rough edges like a fly on a windshield. my lips hide beneath intertwined shadows, hearty roots on an ancient tree. to caress my beard is to know god.

 

Little Lightning Bolts

i’ve seen fires in a million shades of crimson, orange, and gold, but none of them as explosive as the little grey lightning bolts shooting through your roots. they say wisdom is won and never borrowed, but i would give anything to borrow the lessons these mercury lines could teach. like ancient branches dancing on a starlit shore, they shimmer and hug your sides as you tuck them behind your horizon. like the sagacious rings on a storied tree, i count the years that have brought us here, ever-growing, season-to-season, bursting with seemingly endless life. do not hide these trophies, for they have been rightly earned. and maybe in time, i will earn my place as well.

 

The Flickering Flame of Addiction

the abandoned clock tower proved to be the perfect squat, sheltering us from the outside world. she and i took solace in our solitude, hidden away hundreds of feet above the bustling city below. no one knew we were here, and we preferred it that way. we spent our numbered days chasing the flickering flame of addiction, wasting away behind the broken clock. the irony of time stopped was not wasted on us. the giant motionless arms of what was once a great feat of engineering cast eerie shadows throughout our abode. in the sticky hours of midday summer, we would huddle in their shade. life passed slower up here, death beckoning, always one hit away.