Two weather torn men
shuffling their feet,
creating whirling clouds
of dust.
The journey is the key
to open the chest
of dreams and ambition.
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Tidal waves of crimson flesh
pounding onto the beaches of
caramel scented love wishing
I was under the influence of
kinder hearts and souls
all the while
pale fruit is ripe for the picking.
Teeth and lips flashing and dancing to the beat of the moons drums
casting a shadow that speeds the breath and slows the mind.
Pouring a warm soda
over cold ice.
Pops and fizzles
as it melts away.
Tiny rockets of
carbonation
launching out
of the cool glass.
Gently wetting
my hand.
Slow drags
on my cigarette.
Lazy fan blades cooling
light perspiration on
my brow.
All is quiet,
all is calm.
I can hear you
In the back
of my head.
You tell me all the things
I could have done
to fix all lifes problems.
How could you-
Why would you-
If only you-
Fuck you
I made a rainbow with my stock
of bright and cheerful pills.
They sing la-de-da and dance for me.
Asking in a sickly sweet chorus
to be joined together in my gut.
They leisurely float down my lazy river
singing la-de-da.
They cheer as they make splashdown,
stripping themselves of their clothing.
Singing la-de-da.
Once naked they fraternize and frolic.
Their bare bodies melting into each other
creating bliss soup.
Singing la-de-da.
Blind frustration bubbling
over the brim of your
eyes.
Slamming your hands down
on the piano of life
until your fingers bleed.
Hoping the noise will
drown out the drone
of the internal
monologue.
I’d prefer a power drill
to the forehead over
having to look at myself.
Sweat it out
don’t show
IT
Chew it up
Chug it down
Choke on it.
Blend it
so it
IS
easy to swallow.
Bathe
Time to shine
chrome chills
up and down
gurgling pulses of
rot.
Hey everyone! My brother john decided to follow suit and put his writing on a blog also. Feel free to check it out! You can find it at http://ravenhardt.wordpress.com/
Groan and moan,
sweet cheeks rising.
The sun is waiting.
It’s a beacon
of hopes horizon.
Fresh starts
for fresh minds.
Deep breaths
and long sighs.
Hangmans callin.
It sickens me to think
about the pasty grey mush
that the brain is.
Like pudding
in a cheap can.
Cut it open and shake it out
like cranberry relish
at thanksgiving time.
Observe the wrinkles and fine lines
that have developed
from sitting in that can for so long.
Poke it?
Prod it?
Ask it to dance!
Watch it slowly wilt
like a sad slinky
abandoned for other
more entertaining
things.
