Thursday, January 14, 2010



Golden child born
And bred golden…
And risen up golden
The first of the last
Of gold.

Tarnished gold—not gilded—
Not even tarnished—
But golden shining
The last of the first

Son of gold,
Not bronze or brass
Not steel or iron or

But golden gold unending:
Disappointed gold—nay—
Unending gold—
Pony gold,
Staying gold.



Morning after pill,
Tough—not impossible—to swallow.
Poisoned, carefree swill:
Candied arsenic.

Empty, thoughtless notions,
Strokes and gropes and kisses.
Indifferent, heartless notions,
Soul-rectifying impiety.

Lambasted heart yearns
For more and less and more.
Yet every second burns
For ill-conceived climax.

Pulse quickening,
Breath thickening,
Raspy, slobbered pants,
Light pours in—
Then darkness.

A final drawn respiration
And the fountain.

Love-imbittered, empty
Open spigot.

Then salty, sweaty hugs,
Then sleep.

Alone again.

Hurl Grey

Hurl Grey
Why grey?
Why ask—
Of glistening, dancing
Waves upon waves?
Of horizonic azure
Ad finitum?
Of heraldic, emeraldic
Land carrot?
Of salmon coral,
Hyacinthic dusk-dawn?

Why the synapse?
Why the lacking?
Why the confusion?
Why the coldness—
Why the fog?
Why the misery?
Why the black and the white?
Why must it remain the
Fucking grey?