Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Laundry Day

My clothes don't match,
Or I am wearing something new,
This old guise is stilted with mildew.

I have watched the tedium rise to the occasion
And take my breath away!
It slunk into the shadows of a pose
That swayed like this...everyday.
Old and hackneyed, this laundry bin
Will fill to the brim before...
It tossed a pile of these old clothes
And gave the sun away,
To the resonant sacrilege of a duster
And a thousand charlatan runic frays.
How they bite the dust as they go
Round and round, high and lo',
How the saturnine brunt that befall
Their little deeds and writ proverbs,
Every day that goes by will see the sun
And the shadow it carves.

Suddenly they would come to a halt,
The sun will wonder why...
No soap to froth, no foam to smear,
As the clothes will need to dry.
The day is burnt,
Whims will scorn this nefarious end of time
For this mind...

The planets still revolved,

With the button that escaped
The clutches of the day
And remained...with the grime.

The bum who lives across the street
Will sew it to its heart and smile.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

All the words I know...That Rhyme.

(I have been alleged of complicating matters in my head.
I have been accused of taking petty emotions and turning it into a maelstrom of turbid psycho-emotional conflicts.
I have..been asked to simplify, liquefy, clarify what I am saying, what I am feeling...
Alright.I will...I will.)

When I stop what I feel,
I won't feel what I have killed,
I won't kill to reveal---
I will stand away from---my nemesis to defeat.

When I squirm in my revel,
I stop to marvel
What a wonder, I quell
The tremors,I laugh at my lucid drunken gait.

And you perfectly rhyme,
Even with my masked pantomime,
Like this white crime,
The whiteness that I prevaricate.

It was a mistake.You shouldn't have.

A lie.
I would be lying.
If I told I am trying...
To make it any simpler, for any of us.

A white lie,
I would be tying,
To your wrist of pining
Tourniquets, and repeated cadavers
Of dust.

If I hurt you,
I'm sorry to have loved you like mine.
If I pushed you away,
You said sorry too many times...

Or no...I tried...

Was that a smile?

Friday, July 1, 2011

The Three

Three things.
A crass poster of craven whispers of kisses,
A derelict plastic cup with a hole in it
And a half a pencil, eaten away at the butt.

All closing their deals with another opening...
The cracked ceiling.
On the wall, soggy and dripping with moist
My kisses could never deliver.
On the floor, overflowing from the one end
That never knew water before.
On the desk, washed clean...
Still writing...if only but better.