. . .

July 4,

Writ

on this line for the First time;

a lone, off the road, without you in sight.

Painful memories I pry to see your reflection

bare on the page, in my words and the curves

of my fingers painting,

Cyan Eyes and Amaranth Lips. i see

your colors, clear against the haze of that dreary, static;

white noise against a taupe backing, blazing across the fork

i took a part with, when I departed (the scene)

The Burial:

A surreal sequence to experience, Delirious Peerless Digging

and dumping your lifeless, overcast, lump onto a bed of leaves

I made for ye, ten feet deep. A Dress of Lilac and plum bonnet

Shielded the horror from m'Eyes, and 'fore could I say goodbye

i took your periwinkle handkerchief, Kissed your lips and clipped off

A lock of your salmon-peach hair, both I wear round my neck

and inspect on nights like this...

Nobody but me can see you now, gorgeous

as moonlite, shedding a reflected sol onto your life

diluted by distance, thinned then put to your skin

when we're dancing intune and white wedding perspectives

roll into our night still rooted by that dancing trend

kindling what would be without into sin

pero sin tu

pero sin tu

once again i'm absent-

cloud gazing out into space...

Forgetting my rage

As this mind becomes

Enveloped by the image of your face,

Before they drained you of all colors

And left me but one trace.

a golden pocket watch engraved with a spade.

I waited a day to set out for town seeking "the game" to play,

I found a shady place and sat down at a table,

Your Kerchief, peculiar, glued many eyes to me,

I kept to myself, played my hands cool, waiting

for someone to drop the slightest clue,

It took me all night, but I found one to inquire,

He drank to a stupor and babbled a prattling

pathetic pool of shit about his boss' favorite watch

and how He lost it, the cost would be his life,

I asked him where he left it, He said,

"On some bitches bed, I had a banged her last,

my lads shook into her first, second, and third,

Good god, what screams we heard from her,

Beyond annoying, she perverted our enjoyment,

so when I finished with a thrust that must've touched her gullet

I slit her goddamn throat. buttoned up a I picked up my coat,

the watch must've slipped out, Twas then or while I was ripping her apart,"

My gums, by then, were bleeding in the pressure of teeth clenching,

In lieu, for I could not have wept, I told him, instead, I know such a whore

'cross town, could take his mind off of much more than Death,

So we stumbled on out, both weights carried by my steps,

Away from all witness, even the stars slept 'hind clouds.

Endowed with Dark Fortunes, I pressed for confessions,

Set him down in an alley and asked him two questions,

Who were you with and who is your boss?

His head lolled low, fallen to the alcohol.

"My Boss is Ill Philip, and I done Killed the three I's with,

They let me lose that watch,

Fucking Idiots, don't deserve to live,"

I slid one hand to my jacket, the other to my holster,

withdrew the watch slowly, bolstered back the hammer,

The timepiece glowed an alien shade of gold, up to my face,

Reflecting Viridian in the spade,

Is this it?

Woken now, but no closer to sober,

He crawled over to me on hands and knees

"Well shit, where'd you find it?! ! I'll buy it, I will!

I'll pay you quite well,"

First give me your life,

Then go to Hell.

Bang

Bang

Bang

Bang

Bang

Bang

The Gun's smoke seemed to flow from the fallen foe,

Over the road, a floating ghost, that left its host to rot.

Ears ringing, those six shots still singing, I search for his wallet,

But found it, not. In his back pocket was this leather bound

Book, Pages all blank. I took it to fill, and for this Ill Philip,

Gave chase.

________________________________

August 15

As i walked through the trees,

Today, The leaves made a wind-song

for me: They Sang

"I made a friend today,

The woods were light-hearted,

Sun and song from birds

led me to the Bear.

He took me inside him,

Nevermore will I be scared."

The Words faded as

I approached an ornate chapel

in a clearing, at the edge of Kansas City,

a rapidly babbling old-man drew near,

Unravelling a madness,

mandibles foaming,

He spake;

"There’s a new grotesque in the westwork of the church, at the apex of a spire, it lurks!

Countenance contorted, gnarled to a smile, snarling as its fingers writhe about some prize

That it found, or was rewarded, now it’s bound by its chimeric form of the Goblin-Wolf;

Erlkonig and Courtaud entwined and resulted engulfed within a squadron of daemons

Perched above the people, leering from their steeples rousing fears that steer

Them into the cathedral of Golden Stone . . . Its pose, Onerous,

This new Lucifer-goblin spent his life climbing to the crest, Inactive, now, he rests. Iconic and Ornamental, a chronic reference to all illiterates By Zealots, eliciting a belligerent imbalance

as the image is in sponsorship of a manipulative gravitation 'round the Golden Stone-

To stand atop all other Men, like the stance of this grotesque, tis vain! Hollowed is the game;

To say it plain, this petrifaction claimed him to supplement the active rapture

of this population pining for that Aurum base part! But

This grotesque is nothing royal, no Niobe nor Gargoyle, Just a ploy above the soil

Carved by Men akin to stone, who shaped his soulless skin to stretch over

The coldest of bones, the Kobold has now been molded, Frozen, in a state of shock,

A walking paradox ensnared in rock, sits upon the eaves for eternity to feed

The innocent his fantasy to be on top, and so they see, so they believe, and

I can’t find a way to stop it Nobody Believes Me Sooth, DO YOU?!"

I told him he was MAD

His eyes widened, wildly lunging

to sink his knife-in-hand inside me,

I shot the man thrice,

Watched his dying cries Disband.

When he fell he yelled his soul out;

Floating yellow wisp of cotton

caught wind and kept going.

The body he left, no longer worried,

No wishful thinking. Relaxed,

The body died, but stayed intact,

While

Carried, on air, the soul,

no longer had control and was

Whisked to shreds, in seconds.

When it rains here, he might be present,

and waiting for an infiltration,

The soul is all of wishful thinking.

I shot a man dead, in Kansas City, so I left.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

September 11

When the heart

Receives the rape of the syringe,

ADRENALINE!

Go! Go, go-go,

Depart not!

Pump blood back in

and out again, or you'll

Show, No Mo' Flo':

The End.

___________

October 31

I crossed two sons in Tulsa,

One defunct, one repulsive,

both their orange-skinned,

Poor injun blood became

by a shared maternal lineage.

Mother the same,

Fathers so different,

Combined, their names defined balance,

Bothers them not, So Odd, how they Merry,

They carried no weight but the (great) 9.8.

Believers,

bewildered by the power that pastel hides

Wish to possess.

Grieve,

In their pores over pictures of purity, Pricked

In endless refrain,

One

the defunct brother could speak, but was

Capable, only, to repeat:

Rain, the day after.

A week passes, the grass goes green

in all areas surrounding.

Such Verde, meant envy in those parts,

And it pains me to say that from that seed

grows the Wrath that lays asunder what we see

upon the surface, and these

men continue to plunge their torturous tools

like fools; perceiving themselves empowered

by some divine "Right" to empower themselves.

they appear unaware

what dare the few ensnare all in,

Dumbfounded by the golden glare,

They care not for this land and

Refuse to share with another man,

They pay no homage to a power, greater than human

They fancy themselves masters of destiny,

but they are ever lonely fingers, extensions

of this dirt, clay, plaster, lingering between

two states of nothingness.

One month after, the artery is tapped, drafted,

crafted, wrapped in metal casks

run unto the pastel masses as the new necessity

of the future path.

A full cycle of seasons brought

the blossom of the blemish,

What had once been a scene of

but one towering ugly thing,

is now a vexed terrain,

A vast, rotting rash of fifty -plus needles

Extracting the Crass and crude,

It grew and grew. . .

I will always remember

How it rained, the day after,

But I do not know why

I can not Describe it."

Whites gone red,

The defunct son caught in a rhythm,

sat upon the dirt, while the repulsive

set his hand upon my shoulder,

I'm not sure what really happened,

they disappeared and I felt ten-fold older.

__________________

November 21

I crossed the red river, at dawn,

On the eastern horizon, I saw

the texas Sun ascend to mid-sky by nine,

By mid-day the Heat was a divine demand

to find shade, I let my sweat bind to my shirt,

The breeze was kind enough for a short time,

But soon I was overcome with the beating,

I dropped to my knees,

Inhaled a dry dust from the percussion

and when I looked up,

I saw the saloon.

I moved towards it, effortless,

stepped inside to find three men,

One behind the Bar,

Two enjoying his services.

I collapsed upright unto a stool,

"Agua Y Cerveza, poor favor"

All three stopped,

All three looked at me;

Vultures, necks of crooked

cultures, I felt hexed and looked for an exit,

Panicked, Fainted.

My eyes opened in the back of a wagon,

Hands tied behind me, holster wrongfully empty,

while the drivers murmur back and forth.

Your Kerchief nowhere to be seen,

I listened intently, shifting and shimmying

with the rough wooden-wheel's bumping along.

A bottle was being passed between the two men,

I thought of making a silent escape, but could not live bereft of

that periwinkle token. I broke out with a cough,

I hocked up blood, and choked up the best bluff I could.

"Weeel, lookey who done woke up,"

The co-driver jeered, We had a bet

going on and sho'nuff I Won, hee hee,

We're gonna have some fun with you, hoss,

We'll stop up ahead 'fore we take you to the boss,"

A glint in his whites

Like flints ignite fires.

"And Who is your Boss?

It may be He whom I'm seeking, you fool!

It had better not be the ill Philip you work for,

I'll have your testicles knotted and splintered!"

The driver Inquired,

"Who are you?!"

I'm a messenger,

I come from the North,

He's expecting me,

Untie These ropes now,

and I'll spare you his worst,

Though I've not met him, his wake

has shaken many to tales of his

The two men exchanged looks,

Necks crooked. The wagon stopped,

They cut through the binding.

Where is my gun and my Kerchief.

The small one handed my Gun over,

chambers still filled, while

The winner of the bet took a pause.

Where is the Kerchief, 'hoss'?

He kept his eyes locked,

Reaching to his crotch, from beneath

all trousers, pulled it out, crumpled

and clinging to itself, Scented obscene,

Semen and spit: the image needed no further words,

"You're a lucky man, stranger, Anyone else would have

soon found that kerchief in their mouth, with trousers

cut open, me Bucking behind, in a secluded ravine,

not far from the range. Count your blessings with optimism,

for the boss would have you tasting treacherous, painful things,

Much worse than my gism, or flesh, You seek out a man

that reaps beauty from the grotesque, "

It matters not, I replied,

Such is the way of all things in life,

Where are we headed to see him?, I asked,

"Dallas"

We stopped to make camp,

I poisoned their pot of beans,

Watched them retch after eating,

Disarmed them, Dragged their feet into the flame that claimed them throughout the night.

As I walked south, a seamline of jade smoke

marched to the mingle with wispy clouds out of sight.

___________________

December 24,

Christmas Eve;

Frigid gusts harrowed.

Chilled to the bones marrow and

Moving through a rebel town, beneath the stars,

I saw a lone soul sitting outside a saloon, long closed.

As I approached, the shadows showed her shape,

but her face never came into full focus.

"Howdy, madame," I did say,

"Would you mind, too terribly, if I joined your wait?"

"It matters not," did she reply, still,

"But If you stay, you will never see the sun rise."

"And why is that, am I in Danger?"

"Only if you stay, you see, my Boy

was took from me some time ago,

His father, Philip, found us, Livid. . .

Six years I spent endlessly escaping that ghoul-creature,

bluntly expired, when I saw his expression;

Thrill. Enthralled by the beautiful man I was raising,

Calling me to him by his body's brute strength,

He filled me in, on his desire to see, more of himself

from me.

Here is where he left me,

Alone, with no dignity,

'Take my seed and make me a baby,

Before you leave this saloon.'

He bribed the owner to imprison me

and this christmas eve, he comes."

Adding percussion to her final point,

Hooves against gravelly dirt in the distance,

A solid silhouette, moonlit in the grainy blue terrain,

"Why now," I asked, "Does he run this path?"

"He's heard through the grapevine I have birthed

A boy, beyond divine, and though 'tis true, tis a cous-

de-ta, o' mine, for his fair warning was bought by

My whoring holes and outbid, did I, the bartender's bribe.

$3,141 Dollars,

One for each day I've worn his damned collar,

round this neck."

"And what of the Child?"

"The child is dead."

And when she said this,

Her form finally moved,

Kicking the water trough at her feet.

I peeked into the crystal clear liquid,

rippling a wake that made the clump of

softened skin seem to shiver, the Figure

On horse was now closer, encroaching

the main street, I heard him a-calling,

"Is that you misty, sitting neathe the overhang?

Who's that witche?"

"Tis I with your child," Misty responded,

her words carried on air as if writ to a song,

"He's a boy with your face, and this stranger

was kind enough to join me, in waiting,

Come closer, come see your beautiful new baby,

let your horse drink some water, come inside

and you may take me! Come see young philip,

I've named him after ye!"

The scene, now, was slowing, I sensed a shifting behind me,

a glance then revealed peeling curtains, the saloon was not empty.

The father dismounted, his eyes, glowing opals

Bothered not by the water trough, his stride

slow but sure, His horse loosely tied, he made his way

towards misty, Took her hair and erected her, violently,

Stared to her soul and locked his wretched lips,

As he did this, she plunged a knife into his ribs,

having hid it at the hip, she withdrew it and pushed,

Tripped him over the trough, then tipped it to soak him

in death, he leapt up to heel, caught sight of the corpse

And reeled 'round his steed, reaching for his saddle-fastened

gun, a double-barrel from hell, My chest swelled;

Without thinking I threw my hat to distract him,

as it moved into the moonlight, it took a new look,

The pasty green of a dying blade o' grass, he was

Taken aback and I pounced; every ounce I carried,

Connected. As we both fell, we parried over the arm,

I dug three fingers into his warm, freshly opened flesh

And he howled, as this all happened a foul clapping

of flashes from afar let it be known, he was not alone.

Thrown off track, I dropped to the ground, grabbed the gun,

The night resounded maniacal laughter from the ill figure,

Hacking up blood, teeth stained smile spatting one last curse,

"You can kill me, sure,

But you'll never kill Kim!

Hahahahahaha"

Another pop, followed briskly by a blazing bullets fizzzz,

I pulled back on both triggers and his face disappeared in

a business of lavender-blue fuschia, I removed your kerchief

from my neck and wrapped it around my head, while the distant

shootist drew near, I masked my identity with periwinkle

...and facing down Carsons, I drew my pistol.

x

Now I know,

The smell of Gunsmoke stings like a shot of destiny it lingers devastatingly astringent, strange. Peculiar how that powder penetrates the senses, after being spent, perpetuating hairs to stand erect on my neck. Sweat wets my skin, little liquid diamonds engendered by the pressure of my situation, My lungs' inflation draws backs my tongue, bite down and feel the flushing adrenaline elation, running towards him, while he smiles like I'm some lover he's been waiting for. . .

"Bang"

The haze remains, a looming sensation of doom, groomed in the echoes of the chamber shifts, as the hammer lifts to trigger ignition, Ammunition sent on a one-way expedition down destiny's fine pipeline between what is and what could be, round the axis, we spin, making love around the point neither can touch, like we're striving to grasp a twister's inner funnel Oh how we're swirling in orbit at exorbitant speeds, I see both barrels flashing wishes of greed, heeding another day to see come and go-

That's when it all went Black.

Hell- That's all I'll ever know.