The Wedding Fog

Neat tight tuxedos, black and white
in arranged order, the harps and harpoons. 
Rag tag bands of men doing bowties right
alleyways flushed with flowers and goons

Harlots and Harlequins pile the pews
the stench of fresh lilies capture the air
lovers of pink and blue say adieu
the dim clouds play guest with its drear

Tinkering Toddlers Thinking aloud, about
soft slow sobs sweeping the chapel
women show streaks of mascara falling
men fall on their knobby knees calling

The Big Brown Box sitting
in a garden of pink magnolias
drawing gravity like a resounding king
Hamlet bellowing to his Ophelias

For one final, fatal kiss
For leaving his world, giving it a miss. 

Fallacy


The crimson veneer of the roses red
colours the crisp of your morning lips
carefully pursing, kissing my head
parading your lies, taking ether trips

Your fresh jhonnie-walker breath gushes
killing the crops of the crackers
but two hearts turning tar black, crashes
we become more than fiery hell shackers

Trumpets ablaze making sonorous music
chanting the creation of new lives
we become angel head hippies
pulsating with vengeance to love  

You then become to me as
I become to you
like time is in eternity and
in eternity is time.  

Funny Joy

What Cosmic Significance

I Expected When The Waves Hit The Shore

I Built Majestic Sandcastle In The Sand

Awaiting The Ocean’s Kiss

Feeling That My Sacrifice For The Stars

Will Reap The Joy That I Seek

A Fantasy, Clandestine Destiny


Fate, it really is funny 

Laugh, be jubilant, for it is indeed funny

It is funny - the waves never met the shore

It is funny, joy is funny

Like an electric bunny

It is unreal, a fantasy - 

                                our clandestine destiny. 

Soliloquy of the Solipsist

I?
I walk alone;
The midnight street
Spins itself from under my feet;
When my eyes shut
These dreaming houses all snuff out;
Through a whim of mine
Over gables the moon’s celestial onion
Hangs high.

I
Make houses shrink
And trees diminish
By going far; my look’s leash
Dangles the puppet-people
Who, unaware how they dwindle,
Laugh, kiss, get drunk,
Nor guess that if I choose to blink
They die.

I
When in good humor,
Give grass its green
Blazon sky blue, and endow the sun
With gold;
Yet, in my wintriest moods, I hold
Absolute power
To boycott any color and forbid any flower
To be.

I
Know you appear
Vivid at my side,
Denying you sprang out of my head,
Claiming you feel
Love fiery enough to prove flesh real,
Though it’s quite clear
All you beauty, all your wit, is a gift, my dear,
From me.

- Sylvia Plath 

Love me if you can.

Love me if you can

Eternal Sunshie

Let me get your tan

You are but mine.

The clouds can darken

The fog can roll in

But in the tempest

I remain sanguine

For i know,

Or rather i THINK i do

                              You Will Love Me

Vanished

I wish to know pain
as it were joy

I want to know hurt
as it were pleasure

I want to know love
as it were hate

the mysterious echoes of a
existence beyond the
human eye. Can I
ever see myself
through the
the storm.
I don’t
know.  

Tick,Tock

Think;

Cognition fails.

Feel;

Senses kill.

See;

Reality dreams.

Within time’s seamless grip

We choke

We fight her, we cry out

She stares down from eternity

And scoffs

We are eternally in cuffs

We are born but to die-

By the hands of the clock.

—

—-

——

——-

———

In yonder methinks

Wonders of the yesteryear

Life filled with kinks

I shed no tear

matrimony.

Like an angel in hell

In earth she dwells,

The fire beckon calls

The harps take a fall

The heavens exalt her existence

The pits of fire extend its persistence

She is chained

Tortured, tormented, taken.

But, by will she fell

Into the spiraling hell

It all began

When she said,

                         “I do”

Marry The Night: The Prelude Pathetique

When i look back at my life, it’s not that i don’t want to see things exactly as they happened; it’s just that i prefer to remember them in an artistic way.And truthfully the lie of it all is much more honest because i invented it. Clinical psychology tells us arguably that trauma is the ultimate killer. Memories are not recycled like atoms and particles in quantum physics. They can be lost forever. It’s sort of like my past is an unfinished painting, and as the artist of that painting i must fill in all the ugly holes and make it beautiful again. It’s not that i’ve been dishonest, it’s just that i loathe reality. For example those nurses; they are wearing next season Calvin Klein and so am i, and the shoes; custom Guiseppe Zannoti. I tipped their gauze caps to the side like Parisian berets because i think it’s romantic and i also believe that mint will be very big in fashion next spring. Check out this nurse on the right; she’s got a great ass. Bam. The truth is, back then at the clinic they only wore those funny hats to keep the blood out of their hair. And that girl on the left, she ordered gummy bears and a knife a couple hours ago, they only gave her the gummy bears. I’d wish they’d only given me the gummy bears. 

Flash Novel 1.0

He sang loudly; she refused to listen and fell.

This is my attempt at recreating Hemingways flash novels