I don’t live in this world

The world forged

By eons of soul-diminishing evolution

Not in the shrapnel cities

Of social materialism

I crawl through the mud

Burrow deep in the earth’s infrastructure

Become one with sediment


I write to capture genius

Between the veins

Of pale limp flesh

The ink soaked revelations

Of my tepid existence

Bleed through pages

Of egocentric musings


Anyone can be brilliant

If they offer up the heart

In the primitive act of sacrifice

Kindred beasts gather to worship

At incense fires and altars strewn

With poisoned flowers and peyote

They come not for my words

But for their own visions

A poet is nothing more than a spiritual catalyst

A Shaman reading animal bones


Through my words

I come to understand the world

In fragments, like wayward spirits

Glimpsed in over-exposed photographs

Or in the black windows of old houses

Without a voice I take on the pallor

Of one deceased


I slipped into the cellar

In the dark I drank all the wine

Sweet soporific secrets

Packed deep in layers of musky earth

On the cold damp floor

I dreamnt terrible and wondrous things

Siphoned wisdom from the ether

Stale in life, ravenous in imagination


Withered if left in the sun too long

I hide during the daytime

Deformed through observation

I know myself only through isolation

Through the pain of amputation

The apparent doesn’t satisy

My carnivorous appetites

I am compelled to create and interpret

Morsels of decayed consciousness



Photo courtesy: Wikipedia

Muffled in the harsh glare of neon lights

I found myself swallowed by the city

Arrested by indecisive stoplights

Chained to one-way streets and endless detours

Broken bottles littered my path

Embellished fragments of an inebriated self


Alleyways snaked like the flesh tunnels of narrowed veins

Sharp and vitriol-fueled businessman

Shuffled in and out of vicious metal skyscrapers

Wearing identical business suits

Well-dressed criminals, numbed in excess

Self-worth tucked inside Italian leather wallets

Morals as cheap and disposable as a pack of matches

(the kind with hotel logos emblazoned on the front)


Even the graffiti carved into degenerate walls

Is repeating the same iron-fisted gang mentalities

Huddled in a pornographic pink glow

Homeless men wield apocalyptic signs

The end indeed, the end of you and me

Of the variances in human hearts

The voice of dissent, the voice of reason

Hushed by the mindless clicks of technology


Love relegated to Bipolar affairs

Dreams assigned, stamped, and certified

Originality marketed and displayed

In carnivorous shop windows at outrageous prices

And I lost myself in the psychedelic glow of taillights

As I stood behind, warmed by an oil-drum fire

My soul as brittle and lined as the cracked pavement

Day 5 Lemonade Stand

Lemons fresh-squeezed and mixed with heaping spoonfuls of sugar

Effervescent children, over-filled paper cups

Melted ices cubes absorbed into dry mouth

Oppressive heat, salty sunburnt skin

Nickles and dimes secreted in metal tins

Ascorbic slices of sour fruit suspended in syrup

Dyslexic signs scribbled in bold by clumsy hands

Endless days quenched with concentrated sunlight


Summers sticky with humidity and heat

Toys purchased with charm-earned coins

Animated faces fueled with laughter

Neon colored beverages, cavity-sweet

Dilapidated shacks strategically situated


I have never actually seen an honest to goodness lemonade stand! Hopefully later today I will write a real poem this is my 21 days of summer challenge assignment.