Road number 2 1/2

Flossing the neck lamps.

Tramp built guillotine sat.

Glamour daemons anguished upon their fishing from the lists of dark moon rituals.

Calculator buns, fresh from the oven, ready to eat upon their half of the second street, horns and a coven whom hath been gathered.

Onion, Top Hats, Potato, Coal and Hatred used to summon the Captain of the great flush

He’s a tough nut to crack, even standing overdrawn by the rain next to a tobacconist. Muttering sweet hatred into the street corner, hoping your pity is worth another box of dime store magic.

Ever the half-life, shirt stained by ignoble truth he watched them, and all who come to pass. Daemons pay him little if any attention. Go about their endless quest to hear the fires of hell just a bit longer.

Shagging off the last of the most important smoke of the day, sagging and calving edgy cardboard boxes covered in blankets that keeps just enough of the downpour out. Aqualung is muttered, as he slenderly steps into the Dreamlands.

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Donkey sky blues (song)

The donky hanging down

Building up all that

Their is no stopping

For Progress, were hard hats

Donkey sky

Donkey sky

Blues

We die slowly

Nothing is growing

Harsh light glowing

City zoo full of fat cats

Donkey sky

Donkey sky

Blues

Look up at growth

For gentrifier sloths

Grope, slurp, rope

We’re guillotined hopes

Donkey sky

Donkey sky

Blues

Calamity street

Dodgers on a street mistreat all they greet Moldy shirtsleeves looking in the dirty earthly thirsty drags

smelt like the strike of blight, no they are not alright

Podgers conjured by the constabulary 

thicken the air with their reactionaries 

pressed clean curt is their mirth 

gelt like the pike of mights, no they are not right

 

Cuttlefishes going out to the shops

Bluetooth sings in his water bottle of a cave 

In the cave a cuttlefishes garden 

She has but sucking flowers 

Goes on and on for hours and hours

Trying tinkles rye ropes 

Harping ways of timing crossing

Just as much the work 

Part and marshal

Purple sky darkens 

I cannot apologize for this present marking 

Sealed with my lonely life

Peeled like a bone thife 

Marshal right

Why I’m so cold, distant from plight 

Partly my thoughts, partly my fright 

Scared like I am 

Of all these thing that can and have

Traumatized by their shouts and fights 

Mind anexity going at the speed of light 

Part and marshal, white distance frightful

Will any grass grow in my barren mind?

Salted as it is by hate, cold, hard, fire and brimstone that isn’t even real

It’s my birth of the color 

Caution, doors open outside your head but inside your mind

And mine were shut such a long time ago 

You were the only one who ever opened them 

Carapace and stillness

An old beachfront is drying Oceans once were full now dry

Death stench now gone

Replacement is the carapace or corpses

Preaching over this new desert

White bones, dark sky

No rain will fall

My salty tears 

The only wet thing left

Copper heart

I’m empty in a crowd sometimes Their is a little sadness in my mind 

A phase of the fellowship we shared 

Now gone to a place I cannot find 
Else your taking the path of pains

Iced winds digging veins on my face

Unless close to this faded cloud 
Copper my heart, cross my mind

Blind to the thoughts that crafted

Still as a photograph it’s me
Dust and molted pain flows on winds 

Cast gaze to me please I wisper

I’m going through it all day 
What’s the thing done with this play? 

Acrid lonelyness insisted

I’m

Bathed

In a statement 

The acrid 

Stink

The acid lonelyness

I’m not like that 

I’m not sure what I am

Bells toll on your words

Acrid days 

On the insisted distance 

I’m lonely. Not one of each of the nine.

I’m not even one of those who have

Or haven’t

Where do I belong? 

Called. Cast. Culled. Places like a spit.

Fires on my skin

The acrid

Arid days

Insidious minds

They, tell, me, to….

Survive.

My acrid lonelyness is insisted

Like a ghostly connection 

I’m not going to be meeting perfection

Misreable kingdom of sticky things that hit

Turning a blind

I’m loneliness

So I wander

Wander and call

Forme kind to answer 

Their are none. None here. 

My acrid lonelyness insisted 

Cell on a dime

Last meals of dead dog fish

It’s a peculiar dish

Walebone spoon, the atomic clouds loom

Dimes of soil, raining from the sky. 

All those silly little lies, lies, lies.
Capsules of hate, grading the best thoughts

I’m sure you’ve all bought

A ticket, to your own distarster

Don’t blame us, you were the fathers

All those silly little lies, lies, lies
Haven’t heeded the warning warming

Filling up the beach, 

little patter of feet

Worth and toils, to the sound of the meek

All those silly little lies, lies, lies
(Chorus)

Cell on a dime 

One last time 

Will we survive 

This fire filled time

All those silly little lies, lies, lies

  

Ovipositor

– This is a poem about dysphoria I felt in high school and how it returns to me sometimes,
even post transition. It’s about my past, present and my future. Its one of the poems I have tried to get into a poetry journal without success. I search for feedback on how to make thing better.

0. Ovipositor

It’s like a ovipositor

It’s not one thing or the over

It looks like them

The ones who have made me cry, alienated me from myself

1. Wasp

I’m like a wasp

All the hive is buzzing

All of them busy grey things in this nest

I’m trying to be like them

Trying

I’m doing the same things

I’m wearing the same full body grey suit

I’m helping with this grey mass we build

Mud, it’s so perfect a metaphor for my life

I’m like the sunshine on this mud

Heating it, hating it, making it solid

Into more hive

Strife, in a hive is dealt with quickly

I’m not sure why I wasn’t

They did that thing, the attack

The strike

The clipping

I’m not sure I can fly anymore

But they didn’t kill me

Like all the others

Ovipositor

I’m sure of it

2. Hive

On this day

This hateful day

Our grey bodies

Ready to go outside

I’m stuck in hear, in my mind at least

Leave the hive, but not really

I’m still grey

3. Cave

It’s dark

Cliff above us to the outside

One of them

Those others that pretend that I’m one of them

They drop a knife

It falls millimeters from my head

Anyone else see it?

That I was nearly dead?

Nope

I’m told to take the knife back

All the way up the cliffs

Carry the weapons of my enemies

I’m broken inside

I’m dead inside

I’m never going to escape the grey

4. Hyena

I’m in the library?

Not a wasp right now

I’m a reader

Reading about a hyena

Vagina that’s like mine

I’m a hyena?

I’m not, but I am

My piece, my bit feels like that

On the outside it looks like

On the inside

In my mind

It’s not

5. Escape

I’m out of the hive

Not in grey

I’m out

I’m me

I’m no longer pretending

But how long?

How long was it before?

I was outside

Still in their grasp

Like a dog?
6. Dog

I’m trained

I’m trying to be them

I’m pretending

I’m also trained

Like me, barking, sniffing, digging, pissing

But secret, shhhh I’m not. I just pretend

I’m not a good barker

7. Ovipositor (2)

I’m not pretending anymore

I still have my ovipositor

But I’m me

In many ways

One day, one day I can

Be all me

All I want to be

For now?

I’m as me as I can be

Ask me and I will say so

Windy back flanked by a hot argument

• The meeting 

Into the dark room, full of clapping skeletons 

Living person of the future sees this moment as one to change

It replays, a broken record of failure 

They all sit in the room

None take the action needed

Feasting on their own flesh

Cannibalizing their own business

Never seeing beyond a quality of a quarter year

• The absence 

They call it something new, a foamy thing

Sucks that carbon right up

Sun powers it like a little engine that could

Will it be enough?

The absence of our own lives is perhaps what we will notice the most
We have been exhumed, exiled and exhausted by the fixing 

Building of the jelly 

• Hearing the winds 

Out of the gusty trips, the winds are strong hear 

Burning the sky a brilliant red this evening 

Political winds will never curse us

Their is a better way, technology has responded to this curse

The wind directs its power, the change comes like the sands

We survive in our exhibition of new

I’m no expert, but human we are no longer, we have not been since before the clapping of those skeletons 

Grey concrete

The grounds of the places

Walking lonely like a lost little sole

Unsure of myself and others

I’m a wanderer really

Lost in this great grey game

Bricks and metals cold and icy rain

Grey trees, bear leaf

I’m not in grief 

Implying I have lost

How can you loose what your never sure you had

The past is a dream 

Concrete 

Gray and lonely, slowly slowly going mad

Then that hate

Red and stright 

First and fists

Down and smelt

The fire won’t start

I’m given a chance 

I pick up a bit of your broken pieces 

I’m armed 

Fighting for my life

Then escape

Grey concrete, never seemed so full of color 

Bloated firestorm

Every fire in my stomach 

Tired of the drive from this place

Gloating firefly in the doorway

Shutting down the black marble road

Crowds shoutout for anguish and drama 

Them are surprise to get it, is that the social karma?

Fifty fires, down inside, empathy of the day 

Just the frosty icing licks, just the hatful knife that wil kiss 

Postcard from a old God

sweet pear

Missing one with some care

Attach to a soul without scrutinizing your foundation

Silver circle in the sky, green cross on your arm 

Eating, at a sensual cafe, it says that on yelp

Their barista could do with some considerable help

Red light, speed, wireless fidelity without a byte to spare

Down to the callar, for some wine and stake. discuss the demise of the shark.

Taking a breadstick in my pocket. I sigh as I leave. I notice the stark look of the man who closes up shop. Back later for his pity and maybe some plonk. 

I’m not one to pass judgement on those unpleasant men, whose bleeding makes my job so easy. Every cut taken in vain succles the essence I can tap it.

I ramble so long. You don’t even know my name. Or do you. 

Hope this card finds you well, though I rather doubt it. You know who I am by now. 

Liversidge placard

my fair garden of unearthed might

Four square soildiers sent to flight

Placard diagonally thrusted, quite

ignored meadowlark screeching fright

House of nations thunder cainabal 

Me and glass squarely reflecting mandibles 

Egg and spoon triangulate the moon 

Swoon those who swam the heated bloom

Possibly

In the higher days of possible place
Never knew on the mellow hand
Tricks I have seen in the morning
Awake now I’m going north

Elder architecture singing for lace
Marrow sand blowing on the land
Nicks of flesh out of the calling
Onwards to the point of mort

Nude Dreams in a Park

Wind flowing past brushing gently against her naked skin. Silky leaves tussling like bad hair on a winters day. The noise of frogs and crickets, cicada and owls, foxes punctuating with their baby like cries, they all filled up the air. A cup overflowing with noise.
Zil could stay here forever and more. Standing here at the edge of the water, an angel on the edge of a cloud, watching the cool world below. Fish swimming in no apparent pattern a mortal could ascertain. Leaves and grass floating with gay abandon, they are brown and green.
Zil tried to count how many green, how many brown. Then as she was up to 25 green, 5 brown an insect landed on the pond. She smiled. A fish swam up and in contrary to popular thought the insect grew 1000 times its size and ate the fish.
This was her world.
Then she woke.