"...to arrow through the corridors with nothing to spike,
leaving no vestige to beguile thy words. "
Each poem is named after a song that has either everything or nothing to do with the poem itself.
As an artist, I use the melodic clamor of imagination to bring forth the emotion and intent of my words.
The titles of my poems, whether metaphoric or literal are honest accounts of moments, both lived + dreamt, captured under the umbrella of noise.
DON'T BE A FOOL- SHAWN Mendez
SUGAR FOR THE PILL- SLOWDIVE
I WANT TO BE ADORNED- THE STONE ROSES
BAM - SISTER NANCY
FAITH- GEORGE MICHAEL
BABY- Donny + jOEL EMERSON
PEACE PIPE- BILL EVANS
ME + MR. JONES- AMY WINEHOUSE
I WOULDN'T NEED YOU- NORAH JONES
DON'T BE A FOOL
I woke up from a dream and took shock to the wind that left my mouth with dragon empty to exhaust anything but the waking nightmare and seraphim that once stood its place,
The damp grip that cemented itself abreast my fingertips just to tickle the edge of what obviously could never be just by the sheer evidence on any platter of physics taking place in this realm or all other for the nature of ones own mind-workings,
There, where walls and candor filled their frame from every angle that a prism could fathom, all beaming a different shade of happiness and furthermore toxins that plague the four chambers to palpitante over the mammalian conquests,
Dripped down the side like Cadillac gleams over freshly cut grass, shaking the frame to distort only what can be touched or melted down for the bone, we had built castles of them, made the marrow the stage and the poor gaggle roam free to fend for themselves,
So heavy was the early morning flare! Such bright blue washed down by the distance of its giver to post even grey tones against a putrid color of a substance, dangling there like the air and all her waves of long silhouettes had a migraine that only rose to win back a bet once lost by Kyros,
Struck to stand before my anointed time it followed me to my feet into the hallway, croaked it’s voice as we tipped down the stairs and finally gave wind somewhere between the inhales of tobacco and the same rusty pipes that before be the effect of lesser vice,
I Want to be Adored
In one lapse of the sun I turned space to museum hold. Left the traces of clippings and pop tart crumbs along the sidewalks of alphabet city for Eros to find and consume as fact and reason that humans can exist between the this and that of time.
I took the prism shards + sparks of side streets unbeknownst under daydream mural no man has ever seen to the farthest depths that 12ft x 12ft could white wall be covered and contained.
So unclear the long walls of concrete slab and iron route to take the ruffled edges of calendar turn and make them pristine with the stuff of dreams no more vanquished than the imagination of new born dreamers who often lie to convince you of the truth
Sugar For The Pill
From across the waters
you spoke to me,
Making tangible the melody
that painted our landscape
On distance ends
our feet do stand
To give heavy breath to the hands
that remain clasped in holy palmers kiss
"Dripped down the side like Cadillac gleams over freshly cut grass, shaking the frame to distort only what can be touched or melted down for the bone"
The reality is and for the time being will be sought after as harshly as the truth runs from dreams and the waking nightmares of lovers who too often resort themselves to the notions of yesteryear and never the unknown plum that darkens at the edges around them.
Pummeled to the dotted line beneath the words of man we are left with nothing but the actions that have yet to take form. festered into being like the monsters who cradle themselves to sleep behind closet doors open, out and now up up and away.
I have been here before,
soared witness to these wide roads creasing at the sides
like lost children to the fire forged in Neverland
rancid to the quench of rivers below
and dormant to the tides that pull to make more
more room for the fallen dreamers who tell no more tales
more facets of the same odyssey too foolish not to squander
more sleeves for blood to embroider like the shields of cupids army
all of which I have conquered in the same lapse of moons end
that it did take to respite and be fooled once more
Was it not my own word as sword who hath tickle the beast
and rejoiced in its laughter?!
When the milk hath dropped from its gnarled mouth,
and drenched me a new man had the invitation of the sun
dried me bare to leave these hairs at nimble wind to the groove?
Had it been the shades in the passing leaves
who neon and blind make reels of disguised humanity
dormant where our eyes meet their slumber?
Speak to the drum that remains to beat still
in the chamber that you hath given
or take away thy labyrinth of prism shards
alabaster and brownstone
to destroy its minerals and bury them with those who didn't make it
or fell too ill to hear the call.
On the precipice of action
in choice against or beside the arms of Imani
does such a wayward motion make stars in the blanket of Time
nestled amongst the creatures of thought
and the monsters of our own making
do idle question fester the rim of chalice untouched
as it does bite back with rage in feeble air
to arrow through the corridors with nothing to spike
leaving no vestige to beguile thy words
Right to boundless minds intrinsic am I
with tongue savvy to the heeds of honest code
I take no quarrel neither levy the weight of optimal illusion
that knowing thy enemy is the balance to love
wretched in the forbidden doctrines by any means necessary
thrown asunder where the lavender meet lilac in shaded brow
until the night doth fall remised.
"It is there crouched behind the the prism of choice where the light has no reach "
"Record play to silver rims where the bottom lip makes contact before anything else no matter the pages of Time"
"I took the prism shards + sparks of side streets unbeknownst under daydream mural no man has ever seen"
I remove the black
from mine eyes
as to plainly see
+ color outside the lines
with the stuff of dreams
where each corner
of the frame extends
to unending mind innate
I wouldn't expect you to understand.
You with your petty coat dressings and left over casserole that line the walls of the rubrik's cube deemed inconsolable by the three eyed shrews of fate.
You, who iron your socks to match the personality worn to hide the snarl of humanity you seem to leverage in bored rooms and coffee houses so the last drop of royal blood can be plucked.
If I go back to Manhattan it will be by my own accord and not enforced by the leathers too old to sway or too swayed to think otherwise set in their ways of how decorum need be served with adequate thought for the mind of others.
It is there crouched behind the the prism of choice where the light has no reach that the morn will rise and the answers will remain unwrit and ever free to roam the hallways like children in fully furnished castles made of sand for sale by owner.
When all that ever could have been given has formed its fables in the name of Lethe the stench of moral code oh clamorous in its drum, does play the chords of back scratch-toe tap-high hat, remnant of the same beat that lead sodium pools to leap in the like to resent the very existence of Cupid's army who list of dreamers most wanted does bear my name still,
That iron rod and lilac no further does the poison stick to the triumph made by the leathers of promise bliss and the pure matter of imagination, tangible in the stuff of child's play where taxes and death are as certain as the hundred or so blows that linger around the air of earthkind in three ways or another.
What began as the mouse trap of labyrinth play in accidental falling asleep on bodies in motion to waking grinds that nudge the notion forward from thought to action, has deemed itself something without alerting its very gamers.
Record play to silver rims where the bottom lip makes contact before anything else no matter the pages of Time it takes to gulp and make something of all the séraphin who dance with intent to massacre the three eyed shrews of fate into extinction.
The decree that this here and now be ever more than before is a claim to the over romantics of pastime woes dwindling above the fan that not yet needed in winter time spring of trips back to Manhattan after the land of jazz, sex & soul has woken up.
" remain unwrit and ever free to roam the hallways like children in fully furnished castles made of sand for sale by owner."
If I could hold water without gravity or the sun and let the prism shards + sparks create the dynamo of electric notion to break free of reason, then I wouldn't need you.
If the marks unhinged from my silent nerve did not speak and merit vanity to every crossing guard or John who too drunk with the old New Amsterdam to folly, then your place would serve but the purpose of space.
Taken up and used for something other than touch nor ascended to the hold of breath together only to release it all the same in rhapsody to white sheets afloat open windows during that spring that felt more like winter.
It would be so easy to question the day and the plainly seen masked in iron regime and sold out daydreams everlasting
If I graced the frame with as much to bloom from the kisses as lights vast reach to even the plum skies that come when the sun has lost this round, I wouldn't need you.
I am as certain of that as I am confident my shield confronts no noise in the chamber of scarlet testaments and pungent romanticism with you.
With you the match has already been won and the crowd has long gone seen another no more curious to the disposition of like and the kin to love.
Who watches the burns take shape in brute sole and cobble stone towers made of dreams deferred in laden suit and crowded bathrooms that still taste of tetrahydrocannabinol.
Saturated in the never doing of anything worth telling or written down to fable a white lie into legend do they squander their humanity.
Taking no chance to crease knees to shoulders rounding blade or fall reign to sweat and much more ale than had before.