Devilry

I am my own frustrations
For there is no seperate
What I see
I believe
And become
So lookout.

I ride the borealis
With wild eyes and spitfire
A demon
In my heart
Runs wild
Late at night.

Now vegabonds
Now miscreants
Now misdeeds
And devilry
Now laughter
Now chaos
And discover
Who we are.

Fever

When you look at me
Like I’m growing thin
Edges of my sloping chin
I walk amidst my fever ghosts
Lost, dark as night.
I feel the crown
Upon my heart
Fuse into my spine
That never woke
A fevered breath
That sounded hoarse as dust.
For when the game
Of morning light
Awakens this lost night
I will address
My dying breath
So delicate an embrace.

Between The Lines

I miss the nights
That line up
In the new part of an old city
Where street lights feel like rain
On cooler summer night
And my homeward spin
Takes me from a warm crowded room
Onto cobblestones
That echo from my engine
Roaring to life
In spite the effort
I have put
Into making the right moves
And swaying between the lines.

Inner Heart

Cold pangs of my inner heart
Have wildly swung amidst this wind
Clanging loudly against
Metallic edges of home
Where doors have been hung.

To aid my truth voice
In a song of no-mans-land,
I’ve wrapped my steel blades
In a leather sheath
To keep my quivering hand
From starting in a blur.

But pangs in message
– A lonesome call beyond forest’s wild –
Share what can never be drafted,
For a dove doth always take flight
Though eye’s embrace
Captures feverishly each beating wing
Against late mornings glow.

There doth echo
Memory once laid
And dreams yet played
For in a forgotten breath
A clang, a pang,
A caress of death
Deeply embraced
Amidst this inner heart.

Cold Fusion of the Mind

Cold fusion plugging my artery
Making its way into my brain
Locked in embrace
With two swines for dinner
Make me a salad if you please.

And a winedrop
Caressing the glass window
Spilled over with a passionate moment
Left a gray cloud
Hovering closely
To the carved portrait on the wall
With graceful messages
In times of need
To all those who took to listen.

And I never left the door open
To invite all the neighbours
Though they took all the mail
And ate the fridge dry
I wore my best suits
And tied my own tie.

Who listened when the podcasts were turned on?
Will the beet juice stain
Each keyboard with fury
Slowly running down the lips
Of the sweetheart
With eyes of translocation
Heavy on my mind.