Last Chance Hellraiser

 

 

Forgone Lucky

 

 

 

 

First instance in how long, what clouds would call “immeasurable.”

 

With fingernails too [bobby] digital,

 

lately sentence structure breaches beyond verisimilitude.

 

 

 

 

We’ve lost our grip on permanence,

 

while disappearing-ink reveals a reprieve;

 

a jarring stir layered within abstract dreams, of retractable screams.

 

 

Aquatic foul falsified in the likeness of

 

the rubber tree, the hose for ooze’s sake,

 

quoting splashes from a bath in the orange tub.

 

 

 

 

Shadows practice acting

 

between the sheet’s natural creases,

 

no need for wiggle room.

 

 

A loss for indentured toes.

 

 

– J

 

 

“It’s Just Like the Story of the Grasshopper and the Octopus…”

 

Back-flipped Inventory

 

 

The moon behaves like a soulful North Star,

 

while the rest of the sky we lick

 

with full intention for heaven to dissolve and

 

ingest the full gardens of these heavens

 

 

we rely on to keep Awe at arm’s length.

 

Metamorphic crystals embracing their sprinkle

 

and geared up for the eventual fall.

 

 

– J

 

Battle-Toads Galactia

 

 

Celluloid Sheep-Skin Condom

 

 

 

Give my regards to overcast skies, as

 

I’ll be the one surfing light waves through

 

your inner-ear concepts of how to regulate

 

 

pitch and volume as it resonates why the blind

 

side-step cracks in sidewalks, and yet,

 

while I’m no longer aloud to invoke

 

a lost stance of Native American’s

 

 

bottled-up profession as a dance mentor…

 

luring you to remember, soulfully, what chords

 

intermixed within the nightingale’s call-out

 

you’re supposed to feel like you’ve embezzled

 

 

a hidden secret in the name of lost-layered tincture.

 

Never-mind through the first hypnotic lunge,

 

“Havin’ a good time…”

 

streaking secrets to unlock the sunshine,

 

 

…”like nobody’s looking…”

 

a rare chunk of gold in a mountain of coal.

 

I’m not judging, I just acknowledge your prolonged patience.

 

Waiting and then some for the chance to sparkle.

 

 

Because we were lead to the want to Shine

 

On, romantically try but be beaten upon

 

along the path your favorite woodland paths

 

promised you’d eventually meld with what you felt,

 

 

with what your eyes merely relayed

 

to the Charlotte’s Web you’re proud to be a bungee

 

spinal-chord of life for the rest of first-time

 

toe-dippers, ensuring a shag magic carpet is properly combed…

 

 

since the initial correspondence between freshly

 

let-loose toes and a seaweed solid ground;

 

“Weird enough to be alright,”

 

and by the way the Moon shows a naked shoulder tonight.

 

 

Two weeks ago, the full display of lunar microscope

 

accompanied by an outline of an inevitable peer,

 

as if an orbit related to the distance we can’t help but

 

embrace as a natural tell-tale of where I’ve been.

 

 

No-where near your mind constructs the day,

 

sniffing-off the last fumes of fallen leaves;

 

begging to see the first snowflake,

 

finding pride within naturally arrived-at geography.

 

 

I’m too lost in the sage’s pages

 

to be concerned with the frayed ends

 

of even the most intimate blankets

 

I let keep my life-force content.

 

 

 

 

The seams were stitched for a reason,

 

the patterns were left up to us

 

for a reason;

 

*Reference – **SEE: Jack’s Lament ….

 

 

 

 

 

 

– J

 

To the Sins of Un-Popped Colonels…

 

 

New Bed-Sheets in the Hue of Ozymandias

 

 

 

There’s something to be said about

 

the insecurities of skin, fake-up or make-up,

 

the world we know has Guinness Record fingernails

 

deep within Western vanity,

 

 

a mirror and two, at our least, in every room.

 

I’m as guilty as your neighbor or your mother,

 

but never you,

 

“Dear Prudence,” your confidence exudes.

 

 

 

 

Strolling to take the air from others

 

makes for meetings with undeserving Wheezles,

 

listening to teenage whispers of long-run streams,

 

but really here to wash and remind you.

 

 

Forging whatever paths no one saw forgoing

 

due to adventurous spontaneity,

 

everyone has an ice-scraper for Frost.

 

I drag the dead bodies I’ve relieved

 

 

 

 

from our frozen last resort.

 

Who decided antennae were the best course?

 

Other dimensions are leaking in again.

 

My apologies? You wouldn’t believe what it would take.

 

 

Acquiescence of miniscule defeat, steering electrons here

 

or any-fucking-where, when wrong is two flowers close to

 

a pair of bitey blades,

 

trimming with no need of instruction or your misogynistic suggestions.

 

 

 

 

god is a Man,

 

but he is only one

 

amongst our coven of Titans,

 

a reassured balance of wings.

 

 

– J

 

G Clef Ivy Maze

 

 

None Below the Neck

 

 

 

 

 

Pop-rock attention-spans, and side effects include

 

short-term memory-loss, though never at-a-loss,

 

because the carrot took you that way,

 

 

 

way too easily, even after this exposure

 

you will trust a donkey’s footsteps,

 

just look how high quality the orange is!!!

 

 

 

 

 

“Worryin’ about my worries,”

 

and shoveling snow you will be too.

 

When echoes briefly hollow out cortex’s

 

 

 

fail-safes, a sudden need to sneeze

 

through one’s earmuffs, chiseling off crystals

 

while shaking yourself of slipping reverberation;

 

 

 

Singing the petition, toned along desperate confusion,

 

certain cries reveal combinations to crow-cried wanderers;

 

adding the last piece of chorus harmony.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

– J

 

 

 

“Where the Stray Dogs Go Through It All”

 

Fan-Death

 

 

My nuclear fallout glow is better than

 

yours, one skittle in a rainbow

 

and somebody thinks they’ve got a lock

 

 

 

on the gold we meld, at the deepest

 

for insecurities’ sake. C’mon,

 

I know most of what is needed to know about you,

 

 

 

from your walk, your turn to talk,

 

who and when you mock, because we’re all birds here,

 

flippin out and what not over plenty of airspace.

 

 

 

 

 

The mirage hired Sirens as travel agents.

 

Book your stray, with all sails set, and final.

 

Refunds are like civil rights,

 

 

 

not of your concern until shit gets tropical;

 

that’s the bridge between us, when you come-to

 

on the beach and palm trees have you surrounded.

 

 

 

From a sling-shot the coconut-squall gorges

 

past the sand, ignoring the finer things in life,

 

and consumes quickly, defeat still struggling down.

 

 

 

 

 

Bluebird and Blackbird on a tryst,

 

singing for the sake of a natural scream.

 

Centuries of connect-the-dots,

 

 

 

and we still watch family starve.

 

We still measure dicks like Ego was going out of business;

 

let me just wipe the country’s rapes off the tip,

 

 

 

mainlining Hubris to the jugular.

 

I practice walking on tip-toes for who knows

 

when them Crazies’ scale will tip.

 

 

 

 

 

Practice the Moon. Learn the Sun.

 

We’ll find each other where shadows are none.

 

 

 

 

 

– J