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O Taut Engorged Spleen of Bloody Wiles Beguiling…!
Lost—
ever, forever, and again…
lurking in the shadows,
shirking on the edge
of chaos’s abyss—
yet now, too,
as if on the outside
looking back in—
watching over
as I’m wigging out…
—a nimbus of warm light
coalescing around,
glimpsed by my third eye—
not yet felt…
wondering why
the darkening cloy
yet holds such sway—
how did it instill so deep…
why does it feel
like giving up
to try to banish it…
is it all just
alcoholic gloop,
sanguinary stickiness
upon the outer surface of my soul—
or direly heinous
burgeonings of madness
at the very central sphere
of consummate being…
my spleen feels tight……
Miami Rooftop
Rooftop high—
(didn’t think there’d be tigers
in Miami…)
looking out over the city,
down at lights
and lives
that flicker and shine…
lost—and rediscovered!—
in the smoky jungle nimbus
of mind’s and soul’s release…
ensconced in the cloying cushion
of subtropical night…
sound infusing—sight bemusing…
aloft o’er the city
in the softly subtle brilliance
of being……
Ensconced in Imaginings
—Glopsworth version
Ensconced in imaginings…
to escape from dreams daunted…
by goddesses of sun and moon haunted—
they ease in and breeze out,
bathing in golden radiance
or sheltering in silvered shadow…
my idealistic unrealities,
palpitations of life that won’t linger…
delusions of love that don’t last…
my soulful sphere forever bereft—
‘cause they just put their clothes on
and left………
“Why are you so tan?”
‘The Bubonic goiter
on my spleen burst…
and so now I have
endocrinological
blood poisoning…
yeah… and it really hurts…
and sometimes
I bleed out of my pores…
or the venom injected into me
by the Dark Overlords
—which caused the goiter in the first place, mind you—
gets into my brain…
and then I can’t stop screaming…
because it feels as if
I’m being flayed alive…
or poked all the way through
by long, fiery needles of heinousness
and unrighteous damnation…
it’s sort of a blessing
when I lose consciousness…
though, of course, when I wake up
I sort of cry a lot…
crouched in the corner,
under the table…
with a crucifix and a gun…
and my blankie…
and a beer………’
Haunted
Haunted…
by dreams
and lost memories—
so long obscured
in the hazy, envodka’d nimbus
of my soul’s suppression…
now resurfacing—
resurrecting
from darkened depths
of mine inner abyss…
arising in chaos—
a cacophony
of remembered everything—
instantaneously…
and I find myself
made of glass—
shattering
every moment
in the endless screams…
don’t know where I went—
how to get me back……
Musings – #67
Some people think
when you die
you appear in
a magical kingdom
of drunk wine gods
and dead virgins
and giant, harp-wielding faeries
and beatific bovines……
but I don’t know.
Musings – #71
I knew I loved her
the moment she walked in…
but I didn’t dare to hope
she could love me, too—
‘til she told me
she couldn’t feel my spleen…
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