Originally Posted by
Mr. Black
i've been wishing for a perfect moment. maybe it's now
patient denial. sit in solitude and wait for a sound.
is vibration. silence is a nigh myth though, for us urbanites it might exist only relatively.
save me a smile for when it's over and we're back at the house
fight and claw then fuck so that it balances out
patient detail/save me a smile. cute. i sometimes wonder where the masochism stems from. mildly prurient
i feel manic one moment and then i'm somber the next
that center-point's the closest thing to God I've accepted
that was a dope idea - just trying to find a balance.
beautiful in hateful times, chaotic at best
slide 3 coins into the slot so i can call you collect
ok.
i've watched my circle turn to addicts, dealers and lawyers
as the drippy sun drops behind a field of sequoias
sequoias bothered me, momentarily, not because i didn't know what it was (though i don't, but 'plant' is a safe assumption, probably a tree (or flower)) but i couldn't pronounce it. yet it's rare for you to un-rhyme couplets. dense of me. i thought 'drippy sun' was awkward if not for:
searched for solace in the sciences and fell in the cracks
lit a candle for my fallen love and melted the wax
it relating, more than vaguely, to the burning candle. this was an excellent pair of lines. really concise. well, at least brief and dense, though not necessarily clear. phrases are succinct when you're educated enough to pluck their meaning, and it's not always a matter of intelligence, often just disposition. but yea.
I'm centered, self-centrifugal and selfish at that
it takes a lot of chemicals to help me relax
probably the reason i'm having panic attacks.
self-awareness is the devil's romance, salty her flesh
summer dusk, graveyard passages. so foggy our breath
do not like salty her flesh - as in a descriptor for its taste? - i liked foggy our breath.
that it stuck to our exchanges as we talked of resent
until we reached the parking lot and parted. confess
nice. sticking to exchanges... i fux with zis.
your secret inner monologues or live with a ghost
like moldy bacterium on a cellular host
infection, she wrote. grab my wrist and check for a pulse
let the silence sink and watch me float..
you're so fond of mold. and reprising the phrase '... she wrote' with a different prefix? obscure metaphor threading through a few of your pieces. not enough to be consistent. i like references to one's own catalog, even if i rarely employ. it's conceited and self-insistent but as natural as our PULSE. less rhyme-centric.
i feel like i don't even know my friends anymore
more alone than ever as they enter the door
the crowd is where the recluse feels most alone. on his own he is home.
lighter flame and bottle glass and trips to the store
sweating icy bullets as the temperature soars
the antipode of fire and ice was, at most, a passing reference.
betwixt our stories long-distorted like olympian lore
we fantasized in unison of treasures galore
bloodletter platelet perforation festering sores
moi cheri amore. i love you but there has to be more
you wandered a bit here and i didn't mind it. i couldn't decide on one of two definitions for blood-letter. mon chéri amour as my beurette-ex would lead me to belief.
comfort is a luxury we've taken for granted
i'd trade it all away for just a taste of enchantment
mistaking decay for mere stasis.
necromantic my dossier, documental the curse
which is likely the reason i've never finished a verse
lol. i would have liked to expound more, but this is a solid last salvo.