Love Poems for the Dark of Mind

As clear as hounds howl, howl
With sobs, those grim and eerie,
Choking on an outdrawn vowel,
Is the my transparency when you’re near me.

As sticky as an earwax slug
Burrowed in the thickest dung
In a treacle pit of tar, freshly dug ,
Is how twist-tied you twiddle my tongue.

And as ships are chomped by the rocks,
Just as little bugs are food for bats,
If I were a starving sailor who stalks
His prey , then I’d want you to be the rats.

 

Give everything you can away
In the end, it gets hard to lift.
Fuck tomorrow, just then, and yesterday
Take right now, and make it a gift.

Untitled #48

When Jealousy creeps
And probably sleeps
With every word that’s ever been said;
Tis then, from the deeps
That Distance leaps
And annotates what you’ve read

About great White Whales,
Tumultuous tales,
Of captains mad with fervor;
Searching holy grails
Or unmapped trails,
In order to get further

Away, away, so far away
From romantic ropes which fray
And fail to rise the heat;
And on that day,
When your blood turns gray:
That’s when Jealousy has you beat.

Untitled #47

When once sweet smiles
Lose their luster,
To be smudged,
And dented
– Tarnished –
By once-in-a-whiles,
And heartless filibuster
They’re forlorn to be re-varnished.

Untitled #44

Now hush, my sweet sorrow sparrow –
And hark, my lovely lark;
In a cave of rocks,
There is a fox
With a bite-worse-bark
And strange pleasures in the dark.

Be very wary, humming hen –
Yet don’t be shy, dear darling dove;
Though he often bites,
After a few nights
He may fall in love.
Then you’ll have (almost) noting to be afraid of.

Untitled #43

It’s blunt and bludgeoning 

Like a concrete boot,

When it trips you down

And kicks you.  

It’s a half-hearted mad

Hand that’s bundled up in apathy. 

But believe me, kid,

When it hits you –

Doesn’t matter what words you

Try to stutter in short lines you

Wrote,  or hidden little tricks you

Have tucked up in your sleeve

Where, by your liar sweat, it sticks to

Your pale skin when she says 

“I’m sorry, 

 But I can’t fix you”

Untitled #42

I submitted my poetry, and short stories, too 

With desire to spread my creativity,

And my lines were met by glowing review 

Of brightlyburning negativity. 

Untitled #41

A simply splendid shade of red
Has been spotted dead ahead
Despite how hardly it breaks through
The bottomless, crumpling blue
Into which you’ve now sunk
By all the weighted iron drunk
While washing down the plates of lead
That you ate to crush your dread.