The Stark Comma

Grifted from the madness of it all.

fluids and war

I swear, all that
humanity shares are
fluids and war.

transient atlantic

whenever I go on a break from
work, I take a seat on sandy
steps that lead out to the
Atlantic. listen to construction
workers yell as they build a
pier, the machinery humming and
clanking. light up a light blue
american spirit to match my
mood. as
homeless transients
and grey haired vacationers stroll
on behind me, I stare out into
the docile sea and think

I should find out how far I could
get if I walked right in.

bookends

there is nothing like the
sight of lover’s hair draped
over chest, glowing and
drenched.

there is nothing like the
sight of your lover packing
that last box, with middle
finger stretched.

nihilist feel

I can hear bullfrogs after
the rain. tranquility.

geese take up space amongst
the cloudy midnight. music.

when I’m drunk, I sense
everything inside of
everything.

the traffic dissipates and
love abounds.

sober self, when did
you become such a nihilist?

jurula glug

today is the day I write
something of importance,
of stature. of grandeur.

rose early, the swathed
dawn and my black joe.
feel the words
swoon.

curly puffs stand in
time with greenwich. that
         fickle tick.
as hazel beacons bob
with seagulls in big blue
tub, I can only think of
self and the messy
thirty I have been
conscious.

bought a bottle of cab with
ideas of wobbling to some
sorta gooddamn truth while
my typer becomes
magnetic
but
just like lunar tide, the
lunar lust begins to

creep. creep
wonders what

the college girls will
be wearing out tonight.

self and sex; what a shitty way to
waste another twenty four.

am I Vedic myth?

my right lobe is beginning to
resemble peshawar in
june. ancient and burning
up. former cleric moving heavily

towards third world. can

occupation be beautiful? analogy:
                 1849
rahj surrender. my

ruler, a

colorful yet drunken guard in
torn temple.

mauve ballet

we all make love
the flame stove top to kettle
whistle –
in the between.

we all touch
in hallway frame city
mauve –
righteous path.

and we all flicker
in bedroom dance ballroom
dip –
like beggars.

yes we all, we all;
all of you, yes us,
want to be loved pure
in acceptance holy,
the desirous truly.

for a sun and a moon: linseed oil mixture

hey signorina,
do you want to take the
blue line, bring a
flask and live like transients
in some orphaned idea?

we’re creative, so let us
be creative. left your
purse on a re-worked
dresser nobody wanted and
left my wallet on
some goodwill
nightstand.

create new names, I’ll be
caden, that means spirit
of battle I believe and you?

hotel rooftops push me you into
a ledge and drive those lips to
the deepest corners of
canvas.

iris fawn iris

we fall in love quickly
iris
fawn from about
thirty

feet.

we are in love for roughly
twenty
seven months
scientific studies

pen.

then we love the routine
useful
comfortable cozy
fills in

blank.

oh, then we stomp on love
clash
cats in burlap
that’s my fucking

book!

then we love ourselves
again
option flood with
no one to

question.

damn, then comes misery
toothbrush
lonely on vanity
singular in wine

drown.

brought ya down dear
reader but remember the
first stanza?

another in the whisky

ever look at your hands under
a soft light? the back a
desert, scaled and
beaten up by whatever this
life has dried out of you.

palm. rivers flow down to
a heartbeat. it’s fertile and
has others in it. they’ve
been traced from fingertip
to wrist in the good.

love or kill.

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