D

"How in you mind" your

Scorpion feet lucky rabbit High desert love triangle. Will you fruit tree? Can you spot me glacier & wind gusts? Mountain meadows over dull yellow dunes. To soon, goodbyes, rifle in every corner. Turkish coffee Wearing my Ruana Devils’ tongue Chile Mouthfuls of honey & mango preserves Even the dog knows better than to nose poke a scorpion. But you see there is a brittle brown piece of plywood 30 yards from the front porch. Underneath it is a decomposing rabbit, and a fat see through scorpion. Poisonous & barbed kisses All full of babies. Heeled before its time. Who said “Rabbit's feet were lucky”? The Queen & The Locksmith From sunset 'til dawn, I'm grinding your keys. It's become assembly line robotic. The truth leaves me crippled, forced to beg "please". Smirking, you herald me, "New & Ionic". You bid me, "Need nothing", but file your lines. Sparks, and the wheel's shrill, all days & all ways. Your heel in the small of me back defines. Each way a man loves, and to what he prays. You chained me with habits, and claimed, "'’twas best". That a man could be drug held by your form. Needing your nature, I did not resist. My compulsive drive bid, "drone in your swarm". Now I'm hypnotized by your soft wing's song. It speaks to the yearn I have to belong". The Masonic Underling & the 33 degree The wheel of fifths stiffs me again, as your climax keeps the slow burn ward I was just nothing but your book collector then So still am I now I love you alone. Keeping our secret letters Sagittarius To be under you for all of that which is not Eternally yours Prometheus sang for vultures I gave you my fire and look what you did with it Love is for the birds Unmasking Wyverns Watch me slave at words I could never say Monsoon shark god furious The love of my father, she snaked away Wind swept waves bled 'til Sunday It's a shame I am that curious Watch me slave at words I could never say Fierce night howls paved the way And the way it was deleterious The love of my father, she snaked away Children raced past our well-lit display An unintentional metamorphosis Watch me slave at words I could never say A crow-haired woman asked, "Was I okay?" Lips crimson and voluptuous The love of my father, she snaked away A god of wind, a shark at play Your past is not mysterious Watch me slave at words I could never say The love of my father, she snaked away. The Rift Starts at a place that I cannot recall. A depravity structured. The strongest of walls. Dividing my soul from the beauty of God. Keeping me safe from what is, and what was. On this side pure darkness. with sounds that raise hair. Since, there was never a nexus, I studied despair. I learnt to bend shadows. And the secrets of words, but I never found out how I could be cured. Because, fear has been stronger then what they call love I can eat it, or make it. When push comes to shove. Independent of structure. Void of all heart. The rift is my gift, as it tears me apart. The Ebony Orchid of Theta The darkest orchid I have ever seen came to me last night through the realm of dream. Its pistils, onyx & its edges keen Though its center was a swirling off cream. I swore that I even could hear it speak to me of things I should choose not repeat. The way men's will can shrivel then turn weak And the way it spoke was hardly discreet. Of children in folds, and parents in dire, and of the greed of men consuming the world. Of matter less space, and colorless fire And of the way chaos shall reign unfurled. Part of me wondered how it had grown here. Flower black with a pollen of pure fear. The darkest woods ever They were the darkest woods ever. At least that I had ever seen. Trees with leaves almost of leather. Animals, that struck me as too lean. So I quickened up my rigid stride. While my eyes scanned for some light. If I had a horse, full speed I'd ride. If my lungs were not so tight. I never should have dared to trespass. Goddamn shortcuts are always wrong. Where is my boy scout with his compass? Why is this taking so awfully long? Wait... Is that a light that I see up ahead? No... Just the moon climbing higher instead. Las Gaviotas There is a burning moon in Mexico Love and blood go hand in hand So deep, and high, I can't let go. It rises red, its sky crawl is slow A bulging middle with golden band There is a burning moon in Mexico. Drunk, I watch the ebb tide flow Where waves wash away at the land So deep, and high, I can't let go. A guitar song with black pearls so consumed with guilt I cannot stand There is a burning moon in Mexico. She hangs there naked, all a glow Over an Ocean of silence and sand So deep, and high, I can't let go. In the distance a storm does grow Spinning eye pulls, strand by strand There is a burning moon in Mexico So deep, and high, I can't let go.

Sounds a lot like Brighton Beach in my home town of Brooklyn New York. Along with its neighbor, Coney Island, Brighton Beach has become a safe haven for gangs and Russian mobsters. Sad. -8-

timing is essential with expressing words like love...

Wide fingered to pretend parents. Tasty. (I hate that place)

Part I : Catching the Bird At a hotel room in Royal Oak Sleeping the day away. Upside down on the couch. The mail slot in the door would open, with a box of light, indiscriminately. A set of eyes with voice, "You got your rent?” Silently, I put my pants on. Letting the question answer itself. Border towns & the runs A border town faceless and hostile as a car bomb With sailors and donkeys And prostitutes that pull their life's work behind them In a suitcase on loud wheels. A drunken bald tattooed spic gets his head bashed in with a Corona bottle While I'm talking to a cute and pudgy beauty that thinks I'm as fruity As parrot soup & chili Verde. Everything is for sale Everyone is waiting To take you into their doors and give you a taste of your own medicine. One last walk around the cobble-stoned block A beautiful streetwalker flashes me her brown tits Then pulls up her skirt To whip out a dick. I flick my cigarette and then show her mine's bigger than hers, limp. Later, I go eat at something resembling a Denny's I order using the "English" menu I get the "scrabeled eggs and Bakon" with a smile turned mad grin. When the sun finally arrives I find a crack to climb into. To sleep it off, and wait it out. Having no intention of seeing these filthy in between people returning back to normal. Because, I know we won't ever let them. It's too fucking affordable, lazy, and risky. John Denver's Han glider Bobbing, fluorescents... Hot pink, electric blue nylon Wing, waves, slight breeze... Sunset, Albatross eyeing the situation. Always looking out for a lazy moment to preen and one leg. Spanning the remnants of music and water. I can vaguely hear a blowhole off in the distance. If I was not so hypothermic and disoriented. Treading for my life. I bet I could even imagine how its spray might feel; If my saturation currently was instead a desert, a dune, a Gila monster's paradise, and me oh my oh was not so awash with thirst and sun burnt laziness. Is that a dingy dinging? The bark of a sea lion? The fin of a Maeko shark? When I last hugged a tree? It was for dear life. I had been on peyote for days, and I was convinced that if I squeezed hard enough. It would pull me in. For good. Current, riptide, undertow. All fine examples of secret movement. Moon, blood, women. Yes, I'm awake. More bright eyed and bushy tailed than that hare who shunned holes for pipes and slippers and drumsticks. Fast, but not proud. Warm milk spoiled. Cycles, poles, reproduction. In my past life, I was a square boulder from Mu. Then some surly native went and carved me into a giant head with exaggerated ear lobes and lips. Doomed to fall face first, I did. Snow Coning Movie of the week "The man on the ice float" Drifting further south Than most have ever. He spies a plane circling And decides to piss the word "Privacy" in immaculate cursive. The plane writes, "Buy a car this 4th of July!" In large puffy cottony letters. The man ponders the invitation, But then hunches down & scoops himself a snow cone out of his new home with his hat. Happy fucking Birth Day, America. Thoughts on getting back On getting back; Who are you said plant to yr hazel. I am witch. I am your sore thumb. Glass explodes Death Gardel. & 7:30 comes. My grandfather has a flesh-eating bacteria. 1966 jungle parasite. STAFF SEEPING IN GAUZE JESUS ANTI PALM PRINT Black blood & full moon. Pull push fog lighthouse Tahoe. I lick my cold sore Who in the fuck are you? I am yr bad hand. I am yr rattrap Snapping dragon poppy sac kneel bicuspid slip yawning nap then twilight and Columbian guitar for my family Aye yah yah yah yah. cuckoo rue cuckoo. I am yr long nail. When I luv for keeps. I keep. Mini van Arco Mexican eyelash & miniature cantaloupe. When I was five I climbed trees. Yes, trees I hid I was silent & forgettable I extended I still am. pulling from, and to shadows. Now scratching at the shudder. rattle breath you do howl low you do still & yr mine, and only a vineyard and a grape walk and a long talk can save us now. Save us now and happen. Recording yr yesterdays. Air sickness bag Sitting next to you on that airplane could only be compared to being cooked alive by pygmies with no salt, or culinary etiquette. And when you started comparatively analyzing yourself to people in magazines? Was right about the time when I yawned and asked for a pillow and blanket.

I liked it up until the point where i said "hey? I don't have a gap in my smile?!". then I became heated and jealous enough to go outside and piss in a garbage can. what if you called it "children of the cornhouse?"

yes, exactly

Keeps too.

C)By the first line, x must represent an adjective, but by the third line, x must be a noun, etc. Therefore, there is no word which sucessfully satisfies all the conditions put on x, and so there is no solution. A schoolboy error. -0-

The first three fifths of verse 2 are the best thing I've ever read. The same portion of verse 6 is pretty excellent as well. I would give these sections a 10, but if I have to vote on the whole poem, -7-

"Usher" lol. Ailes are only so big. Atolls, however, are huge!

The one

Dear Horus8: Stop riding on shit buddy. Take a deep breath and realize that you wouldn’t get so pissed unless it wasn’t good. I am sorry that your life is so meaningless; breathing down my back about my writing might make your day a little more enlightening but no need to sweat me. I don’t post here for you to judge me I post here cause I have a lot of readers.

cute, like the parts about it being like a painting or pastel drawing

The End.

I would say this poem is somewhat elliptical, if you don't mind my saying so. -4-

Yeah, that was better than I first expected. I liked "gory glory". Did you misspell denial on purpose- play on "the Nile"? I liked your "breathe in, breathe out", too.

Really!!