Skip to main content

Puritan







Puritan




I see long strolls/
On lost scrolls/
I've read, absolved, cold/
But not bored/
Of the hot scorn/
I've earned, chalk pours/
Down its scarred board/
From harsh boor-/
Ish rains that mopped floors/
Clean and halted chores/
Calm before/
The stalled storm/
My parched soul/
It's caused more/
Than a heart torn/
Apart for/
No reason other/
Than a deeper cut for/
A creeping dusty/
Harp's chord/
My star's warm/
And you're all warned/
That these cards shorn/
From a fleeting custom/
Are beating up the/
Tall, short/
And tarred, hoarse/
Dark horse/
Starched, coarse/
And marked floral/
Though I sound a tad redundant/
But I had to punch this/
Active running/
Mouthy fucker/
In the back to summit/
This mountain, lunch is/
Tasting sweeter/
Make defeat a/
Fountain rushing/
To the surface, get lashed and blunted/
Ashes flushed in/
To the floor, savage lunging/
Towards the outer drudger-/
Y, asking, wondering/
Why the past is thundering/
Acid, stomach/
Seems to be reacting troubling/
Naps and slumbering/
Can't save me/
From the angry/
Pacing/
Internaly of the passion stunted/
So I have to gun it/
And pass the cusp if/
I'm going to master love in/
Every aspect/
I have left/
And stand in sun kissed/
Pastures humming/
I'm not average, ugly/
Just slandered, rustling/
Bushes, I'm stammering, muttering/
To myself/
To try bells/
To ring, shower under/
The classics, studying/
My massive hundreds/
Of books, magic trusting it/
In the ravaged rubbish bin/
Of my mind, a rowdy clustered shiv/
That has me suffering/
The clouds are drumming with/
Tears unwept/
Fears I've swept/
Under veneers unkempt/
Cheerful sense-/
Less clear distress/
My peers suggest/
I hear and list-/
En to a therapist/
Daring missed/
Chances/
Are wrapping/
Around me/
Paired and bent/
Out of shape/
Mouth agape/
Weary bless-/
Ing, jeers and weathering/
This searing flesh/
Has me veering left/
Towards the bleary trench/
I hear the sledge-/
Hammer falling down, I cheer and flinch/
A near direct/
Approach/
Comes close/
To fear again/
I'm here to win/
Austere and slim/
Dearest send/
Your mirror and pen/
So I can scrawl my/
Vision all night/
Drawn tight/
And sneer at scents/
That leer and tremb-/
Le disshevelled/
Remember/
I'm the Puritan/
That lured you in/

Popular posts from this blog

My Return To The Field

How often must I remain here? I must have died unexpectedly, and my wandering spirit, aura thick with malevolence and anguish, refuses to acknowledge my own death. Indeed, I have become a ghost, cursed to haunt diners, coffeeshops, bars and beaches, pen brandished and book unsheathed. I've grown so distant from others that Im more statue than Man, yet where this separation once stung painfully, it now soothes reassuringly. Lumped in with a generation of "men" with testosterone levels lower than a woman's would be 30 years ago, and forced to make due with "women" that proudly proclaim themselves sluts and will actually attempt to fistfight men if they are ignored and eschewed, as they should be, my sentiment is clear. I want no part of this generation. It's filthy and degraded. You could say I'm living a daydream right now, a fantasy granted the breath of life by divine providence. How many shifts at work have I frittered away contemplating the per

Crystal Lake

Crystal Lake I'm begging you to let me immolate/ This is straight/ From the heart because this inner pain/ Won't dissipate/ I'm lifting weights/ With every bitter day/ Because this hidden angst/ Fuck, it simply weighs/ Too much for me to mitigate/ What I'm feeling, to be alone, a risk to take/ I'm in a pickle late-/ Ly, as I sit and wait/ On a phone call from a certain little name/ That will never hit the stained/ Glass, so I rip and rage/ Against myself, against the strain/ Of this mistake/ And with that one, the ripples graze/ Across the surface of the crystal lake/ Of my mind, the crypt I lay/ In is of my own building, I fell in, tripped and splayed/ Out on the concrete/ All these/ Haunting/ Images come back to taunt me/ I'm wanting/ The past to arm me/ With calm things/ Palm me/ In your hand baby and stop me/ From washing/ Away these thoughts each/ Night with whiskey and oxy/ I'm falling/ Darkly/ Into the halls

Frostbite

I often feel apart from the world. I enjoy it, partake in it, and have connections within its borders, but I am not of it. Truth is that I can't relate to the vast majority of people. Like seeing a flop at a poker table, Ive just become intimately attuned with a variety of social situations and the nuances they require. Admittedly, and indeed surprisingly to some to whom I never waste my breath, I tend to be very commanding and articulate in conversation. I can converse on a variety of topics with nimble comfort, and set the focus of my attention at ease rather quickly. Im particularly adept at engaging strangers in conversation, breaking them from their reveries, then gleaning what I need from them. On a whole Im very Machiavellian, and I harbor no shame about this side of my nature. The world turned its back on me years ago, so I have no qualms about using its denizens for my own gain when they've proven themselves sufficiently immoral and ill-mannered. From the perspective