My Prince Fights Denmark.

Shattering These Scissors

Dogging artillery strikes
You stepped over borders / seeped through walls / melted into that thing that thumped I once knew in my          chest.
I feel your heart
      beat
I dance with thoughts of you.
The turquoise futon sways as your skirt,
Am I to feel as your black cloud?   

Your care grew faster than wild flower seeds.
My love elevated to the point of hallucinations,
or maybe they are secrets I wish to be                    my imagination. 
I may not buy flowers. / Yet / / How many times do the seeds we plant bloom?

I am your black cloud.
Tell me what you are thinking. When did that stop?
I’m not sick I am dehydrated,
why did I stop telling myself that.
You are syphilis eating into my brain.

I switch through these channels of emotional free-for-alls. Does that scare you? It does
me.
I walked into my mother’s house holding a damn near full bottle of vodka,
and
in front of her,                                                              dumped it
shattered these scissors                                                          down the drain.
that clip your wings                              you are free until I can once again fly next to you.

...

Two-Faced Fate

Fate is forgiving                    
or is it chance
in which wisdom I seek?

Ask a coin
for indecisive questions
spinning                                                  hoping
sacrifice yourself
Karma                      o      r                    Chance
give in to it.
Follow it, even if it goes
against what you want.

Dread                              
upon the answers you receive
two questions, two answers
Yes          and           No
Flip it twice                              
same answers.
Do you dare question  fate?

...

Ol’Chore

Pain / in my nose from you
                                       Ol’Chore.
Your unpleasant bag / defiles my fingers
                                                 filth to be washed away.
Nails try to catch / your string
                                       leaving a nest for flies.
Finally able to bowtie your stench
                             sealed in a grime covered bag.
Out of your box / waterfalls of growing life
                                       bleed through / tar for the mop.
The pain in my nose returns as you join your previous brothers and sisters
                                                 I try not to breath / taste my now bitter doughnuts.
I worship you / plumbing
                             always there to wash away / what I bear not to look at.
You bottle of citrus / thank you.
                   The way you glide between fingers
                                                           to cleanse hands from even these fly nests
I dare not imagine the disgust
                                       as your hair tangles in the tar /  you are strong mop.
I thank you last / clean trash bag
                             You do not yet stink / covered with our filth.

...

Would You Like To Be My Butterfly?


Black and yellow wings
land on my knee.
Unafraid and comfortable

sharing a space in harmony.
Wings beat with my heart
enjoying unity.

My toes claw the dirt
cedar is in the air
blue skies magnify the butterfly’s stare.

I wonder if the butterfly
Felt pain as I separated its wing.
It did not retaliate

nor did I hesitate
as I picked off pieces of its other wing.
I began on its legs

the first one simply fell off
the rest / I took
enjoyment in twisting between my fingers.

The grass is still green
without it on my knee.
The sky is still blue.

There you go,
a fluttering diamond
in your eye.

I lay my back to be
comforted by the blades of grass.
Even the ants respect my hands.

...

1/21/13

Everyone’s prince
                             fights a denmark
trying to
continue on a path / outlasting ashes,

Lights
         dwindle
         and dim
stars on a cloudy night.

Hopes of time’s lie
To mark nothing / / more than memory.
Personal borders of no perfection
to weigh the risks        and
protect a persona from          
                             a conscious coma.
Darkness within.

Here comes a star.
         Arms wrapped
pain recedes.


Memories / of pain
and a fear of death plummet,
for I had greater fear of your
                                                 disappointment.

Disapproved / pretty gold
and
                             shinny diamonds
hazel eyes hold my
                             only precious
minerals.

Thrift store spendthrift

Contemplations beyond children questions
wrecking ball crumbled walls
remains of mounds / become mazed mysteries.

...

‘It’s a Pirate’s Life for Me’

Sometimes I wish I had a child
                   if only for something to fight for.
These things I keep bottled
                             even at the bottom of
                                                 every bottle

Over the rail
                   raulphing
the stars reflect my regrets
                                       in the waves
         the waving skull and cross bones
                                                 give me hope

A slap on my back
“’E mate, still aint found your sea ‘egs?”
Again I feed the fish with my stomach’s contents
A child
         I think maybe
                             a child could make a fight
      worthwhile          
“Mop o’ bottle?”
         Again I drink
Three months at sea and
                             within these rails I feel truly
                                                                               free

“’ip oy” 
                      “douse ‘e ‘ights”
The drunken slur of captain Charlotte de Berry signifies a soon
        to be plunder
I pull three swords from my scabbard
Slicing
I stumble swaying
        between imaginary foes
“First light we board.” The only sober voice commands