ramble and jack

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

And he sat on, upon this stool,
Cloaked in gold, like the chocolate center idol
That preached his tyrannical mind,
That had brought to his feet fruits of decay.
He wasn't as adamantine inside, the poor mush fool -
Judging lest he be judged?
Judging lest he missed his last judgement
Of some résumé and his reformed god.
He wasn't always king,
He was always the pauper in disguise
Under a rotted wood sceptre.
He stood gleaming foil
And as lights left his side,
He collapsed, broken as he always was breaking,
In his overcooked shell.
Strutting a good eye at the crowd,
Smirking a false sense to the mirrors,
Hogging the popularity pie, the fiend that feeds,
Preying upon the blood that would cure him of age.
Was it age?
He that had the exoskeleton too much like the insect,
Blinked like a blind madness,
Picked out the craters that tainted others' flesh,
Among these scurrying souls inside their plastic cages,
Embedded and jaded and studded, and what doesn't belong,
Till silence points the spotlight on his banter,
That he digressed;
And diffident, coughing up the occasional small talks,
As to want never to conform to what¡­
Yeah what?
Surrounded by modern puppets to his shrine,
Oh they were all so easy those gremlins,
Swaying his head, when he is alone of course, meditated on vulnerability.
Oh no, he knew, and he didn't deny,
And I'm talking to the daisies.
A mind a mind that never sparkled such a dull hue,
Or with such intensity did the dirt covered his scars,
I didn't think anyone could linger.
[counting the times I'm right...not many]
Metal water, it is metal water that ran through the veins,
Seeping a gradual death, choking up the lustre,
I wanted it to cling on that sweater.
The blackened spine of his withered soul, sung out in exquisite rust,
Trudged through the mud that clung to his soles,
Scratched the surface of his skin,
And bloody nails... Those bloody nails,
A rather quiet dead.
Till another day comes,
Spreading my eyelids across the globe,
(when did I need a glass eye?)
And shattered the seas with a sand in my eye,
Dipped and ripped the wick in vegetable oils.

I believe in the oxygen that rushes to my head.
I believe the dirt that collects in my pores.
I believe in the frost that melts on my palm.
I believe the pill that altered states.
I believe in the disaster that gave me sight.
I believe in the age that gave me work.
I believe the sun that never shone.
I believe the picture that made him immortal.
I believe in the etches on the oak.
I believe the fathoms of the well.
I believe the idiots as I believe myself.
I believe the scents that mingled my copper blood.
I believe in the pain that stopped the emotions.
I believe the sappy lines that I am spewing.
And the people that denied my intuitions.

One day, he'll take me alive
(sharpen a stick at both ends?)
To that skimpy line without explanation, he cracks?
Can't justify the assumptions, they are just assumptions my holy whore.
[humming a tune from the ice cream shoppe]

*clutching the veil nightmares*
*crawled on fours to find a transparent pin*
*killed a song with too many rotations*
*sniff the baking air to hideous extents*
*lived the story that he didn't write for me...but I want to live it (I whined)*
*rolled up the script that I had put my name on, it's mine you liching bastard*
*pinching the flesh of that pus filled carbuncle, suck on this!*
*missing the purely jaded poems I use to write*
*scratching my head to wonder why I had ever begun*
*strangling the meat I can't eat*
*crying the salt I can't weep*
*stuttering the words I meant to say... (damned speech therapists never helped)*
*searching for the whimper that first moved me*
*throwing a fit of happiness before eating too much sugar*
*trying to forget my thoughts*
*loving the nonsense that he lied*
*deny having lost innocence too early too late*
*closing my eyes to the melody that put me into a coma*
*pushing the stone over my foot that I kept kicking*
*kissed the postman that bought me the bad news*
*slapped the mother that gave birth to my lover*
*glad the thunder hit the boy on the head*

[takes a drink of water]

*waves to the hunchback*
*picks at his zit*
Ok u fat bloke... scoot or mock me in the room why don't you?

quand on se fini pour le soir,
quand on ne sait quoi de dire
quand j'ai perdu tous mes rêves
quand il a pris mon corps dans ses mains
je lui a donné un sourire
pour ça, il m'a frappé dans la bouche.
mange les yeux, et ne plus me fais a folle
venir sans truc, partir sans merci
j'ai lui déjà donné mon secours.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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