Saturday, June 16, 2012

Fuck Your Blindfold You Might As Well Shoot


I was trying

like hell

not to cry

before going to bed

tonight

but that failed

miserably

as do all assumptions

that think my heart

can be held in check

while a violence

flows beneath me

like a scorpion

being crushed

by my backbone

in the excruciating desert

upon which

I am hog tied

drizzled with molasses

and sequestered

upon an anthill

in the torturous summer

cadaverous sunbeams

delivering cremation

to armies

I have unbeknownst

dispatched

and trials ignited

that I am unaware

of their proceedings

hanging juries

awaiting my acquittal

suspending verdicts

plotting

my ultimate demise.



You might as well shoot.


I've long since quit smoking

and fuck your blindfold.

It clashes

with my heart stained arm band



I have appeared

naked in public

more times

than I can recall

baring my soul

spouting my sex

running

toward the object

of my affection

blindly

tumbling

ascensions destroyed

hierarchies crumbling

illusions decimated

unraveling

illustrious

imagery

concocted

in unillumined

brilliance



and still I rise

like Maya Angelou

told me to

unceasingly

until the perfection

of my illusion

crystallizes

and is impregnated

in a feverous dream

above my head

and within reach

of our infinite soul.

In all ways, all my love always,
Max


No comments:

Post a Comment