Index – Poems
What I want
Appearance of the Dragon
Faeries
Travel
Orobouric Mantra of the Self
Reason Explanation
魔鬼草著人
Oxidize
時候
WIP
Walls
Aspirations
Tears
Fish
Knife Thin
Love Me
Bullet
Flinger
Must I really say it?
I want to squeeze you tight so you make a little squeak.
I want to feed you right until you're hot: base to peak.
I want to stroke with the grain and play with your hair.
I want to kiss you and miss you and spin in the air.
Do I want to listen? Really listen, to all your dreams and your fears? Another time, I swear, I'll be all ears.
Do I want to respect you - an individual with desires and goals, an inner world as complex as mine? Listen, baby, we don't have unlimited time.
Of course I love you, I'll say it again, what more do you need?
Wait, where are you going? Is it me? Did I say something wrong? Ah shit... well... that's the end of the song.
Sometimes when the dragon appears,
it grips me a little too tight.
So that when it releases I go tumbling down,
and nothing feels quite right.
But it only lasts a little while,
and soon I go back to living again.
Blissfully unaware
of that looming scaly friend.
Oh soaring flitting thing
who's flutter dance and shimmer trance
entombed in storybooks that sing of
Oh rushing flight of mind
soar upward high with insect wings,
on skybound winds toward divine and
Oh blasted ancient sign
that open blue and gaping wound,
beyond it can't be much more time until
Oh fabled deal is struck
in moments I, about to leave,
it's just my luck.
Sleep late, sleep now.
Sleep for days.
Sleep forever.
Never face that pale point confessor.
Eight thousand year stare.
Grave of nebuchadnezzar.
Lie in the fields,
let plants grow through your chest.
Lie in the text,
guilt blooms in your bowels.
Another charm, another trowel.
Travel where the cursed go,
by precinct, cell, and gavel.
Empty nest of filthy towels.
I am trouble because I am good
I am good because I am trouble
one dwells within, the other dwells without
one exacts a fee, the other I can offer for free
you are confused when you ask the first by the seconds name.
你知道他嗎？
那邊那個魔鬼操者。
啊，誰我說這是麼？
老早時候我知道他。
我即使操了個把魔鬼們自己。
all in flux
acid clutch
catalyze 'till princip rust
shallow breathing fore the lust
suspended by hearts lockets, trussed
shibrari cage the mentat main
until a final gush of pain
melt the wires
stoke the fires
lacerate the bonded liars
impinge on all those granted time
until past final plaintive wine
collapse unto a heap of meat
dissolve thyself, and eat, and eat
現在是什麼。
以前是什麼。
一直是什麼。
conflate consume contend constrain
there is no essence behind presence
no conscript behind conflict
flattened whiteness
cold endured
there is no bottom on the surface of the world
a wall, a very great wall
the wall is what makes us human
in all things, a wall
in a wall, separation
in separation, perception
a wall between thee and thou
a wall between day and night
and a wall between life and death
compelling are the forces which unmake walls
to drive people toward unification
one must only provide a wall so grand
that it occludes those priors in it's shadow
Uniform
Unify
Unite
Control
Congeal
Catalyze
flame sun sepulcher
the mast lung messiah, sir
paste tongue petrichor
and waste son hey velour
upside clung insides westward
wasted heft sting plain south
meleiorist trenchfoot hangman out
nouth about the mouth
advanced ye harties left behind
twisted hair scalpel brine
and filthy skin beside
no-one who seeks the art
or the wake
or half the part at least
awake in the night
forsooth and weft
canker zine surround the cleft
pull and pull until it cries.
And so I wriggle and writhe
upon thy hook and ball of twine,
a simple rod projected thus
under a rock, beneath a bush
and by a tranquil riverside:
abandoned then, just might a push
knock it free from such a perch
and so I twist, a single fish.
Your blade is dull
It has no tip
You keep it concealed
But never sharpen it
The crashing wave
the blazing flame
the rushing wind
the striking limb
the roiling breath
the toiling chest
the twisted guts
the legs what's left
the brilliant day
the vacant night
the pulsing heart
the dreams of flight
the somber tongue
the inflamed lung
the grinning jaw
the winning smile
the dancing only once a while
the song of birds
the rumbling words
the tusks, the trucks, the girls
oh brilliant life, let's speak again sometime.
love,
me.
limited in scope
a bullet between the eyes
maybe it's time for us to go
outside
I find myself afflicted once again
by some manner of depression curse.
Not the great curse of Dragon's will
which evades even such naming,
but something much more mundane.
The air is cold and damp and fresh
but holds no scent of spring.
The day is quiet and long
but grows only thinner
and there is no hope of rest.
My muscles ache and cry as if they had done anything but lie still.
We both wait for my mind to return from where it has been flung.
But who is the flinger? And a question further still,
is this the state of nature or merely a passing ill?