can you hear me, now?, esp3052x [books recommended by bts .txt] 📗

awaken


alive
again

born on the tongue
of eight dead
and pleasant hours

ended now

awakened
to this horrible moment

and me

the silence of delusion
the weight of despair
i collapse like a star
when its fuel is converted
perverted by time and fate.

now the shower.


bar and grille


the bar and grille
is rusted
and waiting is the hardest place

eating boredom
with a damaged fork
or a cotton dress made mute...
the ivory tongue

toxic and hungry
4 things scream
(the rest i cancel out)
and a monkey could do this

such unholy noise

in his image
we all piss blood

it's on the menu
like dead fish,
banging metal noise,
and saturday


the bed weeps

a canopy

only time
covers it with clean sheets
muffles its humanity
rests

stab light
with bleary eyes
pupils open
like a woman's love

black handles
red walls
the woods
her arms that held the meat
in

tomes and tonics
and memories that taste like
ashes
and mold

the only arms
to hold anything
now


bleeding fire
soaking in the sadness
like lonely gasoline


chill and damp
this earthworm morning
loamy with the silt of rules

on the cracks
(the pavement teeth)
our car's fearful push

to alexandria

to the north

to the source of all things
cold

begins


the dawning day
like a bludgeon

restless
it awakes


good night yesterday
the moon has pulled me
to the night
pooling with the other darknesses
under iron skies
on an iron bed
in a tired place
of calm


london

an echo in the bone;
the evening's cool embrace,
aloof.

out at sea,
a party,
submerged in
blue-green tears.

the proof
eludes the senseless
years
through sensible days
of plenty and woe.

but empty hands and
churches, clockless,
whisper crystal
"time to go."


london memories

scrawled on the surface
in the desert of waiting
"way out"

bang

grand central christmasly lit chaos
grand fucking central from my eyes in london flat
grand central station gold & gilt chandelier of crystal
& pine.

my eyes tremble open.
inverted, my eyes see all the room.
there is janus a'nod. maybe i left her in manhattan.
such a pretty pillow.

bang

indexical islands
white capped waves licking metalic beach
not waiting for me as i had waited.
violet sky over sand, verte. and orange sun, sans rind.
no natives.

my eyes tremble open.
eyesee feet, mine, resting on a wall.
where is j-?
quiet worship of old mother earth
via porcelain autophone, shyly.

bang
Imprint

Text: (c) 2008 esp
Publication Date: 12-09-2008

All Rights Reserved