I’ve fallen between the snarl and the calm whispers

I’ve fallen between the thin cracks and the hollow cries

I’ve fallen between insignificance and crumbs of emptiness

I’ve fallen between the corners and crevices of brokenness

I’ve fallen between the remains and disguised pieces

I’ve fallen between the torn walls and dreary coatings

I’ve fallen between apathy and a misfit playing in the black

I’ve fallen between misery and torture dancing in my blank eyes

Dressed in idiosyncratic views
criticism worn like a cheap skirt
Torn off by a rampage of civilians
Carelessness and malevolence brewing
Shrewd details dangle off her mouth

Romanticism is a lost melody played
by a homeless saxophone on 9th street
Headlights flash around 10:15pm
Signifying the death between the
vaccinated truth and tattooed lies

Borrowed verses stand like statues
Preachers waddling in the departed sea
Indoctrinated by diseased like paragraphs
written by voiceless and withered toys
Staring at blurry scriptures

Pieces of risk spread out like a puzzle
Surrounded by chain smoking scholars
ripping apart Socrates and Aristotle
Sipping on ancient horrifying scotch
Paralyzed by the paradoxes and allegories

Senseless rhymes and boiling arguments
Straddle over agendas and strategies
Wrapped up by a two dollar bow tie
Throw me into a river with a steel box
Sink the disguises and ski masks

Worn out stories told by vigilantes
Dancing with pirates and bone skulls
Tampering with justice and judges
Playing the fiddle in the middle
Silently inheriting a selfish generation

A mouth ajar

Sentimental winks

Rhythmic nod

Affection fluctuating

Tensions vibrating

Rising temperatures

Thoughts circling

Craving touch

Embracing pleasures

Lost in a trance

Clenched hands

Trembling fingers

Love and lust entangled

Chances taken

Fear of the unknown

Risking a silent heart beat

Mended old wounds

Slowly opening up

Slightly guarded

Light bulbs go on

The word living is alive


Check out my books!

Tapping my left foot

to the trembling acoustic sessions

Pouring out my sliced up heart

to a blind mannequin from Florida

Ignoring the gauze wrapped tight

around my twitching fingers

Manipulating the longwinded view

of the moment she packed her

things in a thousand dollar suitcase

to leave me empty bottles and

stains on the lavender sheets

Bartender, bartender pour me a shot

please fill up my glass of half empty truths

Tell me the melody won’t stop playing

in my spinning and rambling head

Paint me a picture of a crystal clear moon

Preach to the fire hydrants

the rain will put out the crying flames

Send me photographs of the future

with a bouquet of blossoming dreams

Write me a love letter without the

scent of scotch on the envelope

Tell me the six strings will reverberate

in my sea of liquid sorrow


Check out my books!

Available on Amazon

Like a sunburn in the desert

skin bright as copper

Peeling the layer of desensitized

anger off with bitter teeth

Lackluster consideration

Wrapped around her centered self

No longer grasping of love

Magenta saliva dripping off

his jaded and reckless tongue

Calm like a silent bomb

Ripped off exasperation

Provoking frustrations

Boiling animosity and tantrums

Scratched and irritated affection

Pecks and lifeless cold shoulders

Struggling to confine the stew

Outraged by the stillness

A piece of mind is endlessly shaking

Stumbling in and out
A blurry vision stuck in the corner
Moments ripped at the seams
Strangers on the edge of thirst

There was a rush
Some unspoken urgency
His alluring eyes dripped desire
Intoxicated with need

Thoughts unraveled
Urges climbing to the top
Animalistic hunger bitten
Senses enhanced

A throbbing pain
Engulfed her senses
Enthralled and smitten
By his glance

Intensity bursting
Hidden gliding hand
Slightly revealing
Inevitable attraction

Both were in trance
Captive in each other’s arms
Heaving and breathing
Forgetting all moral qualms

Deep thrusts of fire
Like a train in a tunnel
Torn clothes
Devouring velvet

Their night of passion
Met the break of dawn
They savored each moment
And moaned to climax


Braeden – Italics

Sakshi– Non Italics

Check out Sakshi’s blog if you haven’t!

You are a hidden mask

You are a contradiction with high regard

You are a picture without a frame

You are a weed in the garden

You are a chameleon in camouflage

You are a longwinded book without a cover

You are a fat lip with a lisp

You are a spider in the basements’ web

You are a leach in the morning

You are a branch that broke off the tree

Somewhere east along Highway 37
A neon sign flashes intermittently vacancy
The Scarecrow Hotel remains alone
Stained threadbare carpets muffle TVs
And tearful phone conversations
Sixteen parking spaces yet only four filled
Warm shower and a sagging bed for the night

The ancient bricks lure the demented and sick
Vultures eying through the windows
Black and blue clouds crying endlessly
Wooden floors feeling troubled feet
Surrounded by ravens and blackbirds
Five miles east of the bloodhound river

She threw her suitcase on the queen
Predictably it flew wide open
The latches never held right, just like her heart
Two changes of clothing to cover her bruises
He’ll never touch her again but
Wrinkled clothing and a wad of cash
Don’t heal scarred faces

The letter “E” is barely visible in the sign
Voices humming a overture in the cellar
Last names engraved on walls by spirits
Doorknobs hanging by three threaded bolts
Driveway gravel is black as night
Welcome mat covered in red ants

He stares into the chipped mirror
Five o’clock shadow daily dulls razor blades
Just like the rings that dull his once bright eyes
The phone bill shows her increasing texts
Every time he travels to pay for her wants
More hours, more money, more fancy things
Less of him with less of her, he looks away

Dark stories unfolding in the rooms
Sheets covered in lies and betrayal
Cigarette smoke stirring up shadows
Tiny cracks in every bathroom’s mirror
Brown mustard dripping from faucets
Stained tears found in the corners of closets

She hears voices not her own
Listens every day upon a rented bed
One weekend she opened her eyes
Bloody hands and a very dull knife beside her
Finally a quiet clean house
Ever since then she lives with a smile
Mama taught her little girl don’t take no shit

Storytellers, dreamers, and howlers visit
Intending to sleep but fall in the depths
Replaying memories of the past
Cynics and liars raise a toast at the bar
Tipping the bartender bullets instead of dollars
Quarrels served at the table tops

He loosens a tie used as a tourniquet
Money well spent on the tricks of a whore
Last Friday he played two gigs stacked
Brain damage found in riding a white horse
Picks up his guitar and hums a few chords
Remembers the eyes of a lover
It’s another night, another hotel, another road

A neon sign flashes vacancy nonstop
Full of headaches, screams, and lost souls
Built on a cemetery of the Crowe family
Generations of terror between 6am and midnight
Sleep is just a word inside these haunted walls
Stories never die…


Braeden – non italic

Tara – Italics


This was a fun collaboration! I enjoyed it. Check out her blog if you haven’t.

(1st Verse)
I’ve been chasing rainbows in the dark
As you pull the strings on my heart
Wondering where can I turn
I’ve been misled by the curves of your words
As I stand in the quicksand of the hurt
Wondering if I will ever learn

CHORUS:
I’ve leaned in too far, too quick and too fast
Something about this tells this wasn’t built to last
I’ve ignored the logic and leaned toward all the emotions
Something about this tells me you aren’t about devotion
Something about this tells me you are already gone
Something about this tells me I’m not wrong

(2nd Verse)
I’ve been running against my intuition
Finally seeing something inside is missing
Wondering if I will ever see the message
I’ve been walking alone hand in hand
Finally seeing you won’t ever understand
Wondering if I’ve asked all the right questions

CHORUS:
I’ve leaned in too far, too quick and too fast
Something about this tells this wasn’t built to last
I’ve ignored the logic and leaned toward all the emotions
Something about this tells me you aren’t about devotion
Something about this tells me you are already gone
Something about this tells me I’m not wrong

Bridge:
And the walls are caving in
You are no where to be found
And when things seem to get tough
You are not around
And the pain seeps further in
You twist the story every time
And our world seems to fade
You seem to leave my mind

(2x) CHORUS:
I’ve leaned in too far, too quick and too fast
Something about this tells this wasn’t built to last
I’ve ignored the logic and leaned toward all the emotions
Something about this tells me you aren’t about devotion
Something about this tells me you are already gone
Something about this tells me I’m not wrong

In your arms

I felt the shine of the sun

In your arms

I felt the overjoyed love

In your arms

I felt the emptiness fade

In your arms

I felt the perfect embrace

In your arms

I felt the daydreams weep love

In your arms

I felt our worlds be complete

In your arms

I felt us melt as one

In your arms

I felt your precious tears

In your arms

I felt our life begin

Inexplicably enhanced

and distinguished

Incredibly distinctive

and profound

Kindness is italicized

A rare breed

One of a kind

Embracing humanity

Displaying compassion

Simple greetings

A lost instinctive art

Masses becoming selfish

“One nation under God”

is just a line in an oath

Kindness should be italicized

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness,
starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking
for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking
in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating
across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw
Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs
illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the
scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing
obscene odes on the windows of the skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their
money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through
the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo
with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise
Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and
cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in
the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson,
illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns,
wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of
teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon
and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn,
ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from
Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of
wheels and children brought them down shuddering
mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of
brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s floated out
and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate
Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen
jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to
Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,
a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the
stoops off fire escapes off windowsills of Empire State out
of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and
memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of
hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and
nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on
the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of
ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and
migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark’s bleak
furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad
yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken
hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and
bop kabbalah because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at
their feet in Kansas, who loned it through the streets of
Idaho seeking visionary indian angels who were visionary
indian angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in
supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on
the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz
or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to
converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and
so took ship to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind
nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of
poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the FBI in
beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark
skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the
narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square
weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos
wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten
Island ferry also wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and
trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in
policecars for committing no crime but their own wild
cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off
the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists,
and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors,
caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and
the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their
semen freely to whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob
behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blond & naked
angel came to pierce them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one
eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew
that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does
nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman’s loom.
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a
sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the
bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and
ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt
and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the
sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to
sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under
barns and naked in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen
night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and
Adonis of Denver–joy to the memory of his innumerable lays
of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses’
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt
waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings
& especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, &
hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams,
woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out
of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of
Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment
offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the
snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open
to a room full of steamheat and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of
the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon &
their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at
the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full
of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and
rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame
under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of
theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations
which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas
dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for
Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads
every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave
up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought
they were growing old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison
Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of
the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of
the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister
intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs
of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and
walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of
Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free
beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway
window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried
all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot
smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930s
German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into
the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of
colossal steamwhistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to the
each other’s hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or
Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry
seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had
a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to
Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver &
brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find
out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each
other’s salvation and light and breasts, until the soul
illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible
criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their
hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to
tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the
black locomotive or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism &
were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and
subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of
the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of
suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin Metrazol
electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy
pingpong & amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong
table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and
tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of
the madtowns of the East,
Pilgrim State’s Rockland’s and Greystone’s foetid halls, bickering
with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the
midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life
a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book flung out
of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 a.m.
and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the
last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental
furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the
closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little
bit of hallucination–
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you’re
really in the total animal soup of time–
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a
sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the
catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through
images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul
between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and
set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and
stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking
with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform
to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting
down here what might be left to say in time come after
death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn
shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America’s naked
mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani
saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their
own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls
and ate up their brains and imagination?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unobtainable
dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boys
sobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless!
Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the crossbone
soulless jailhouse and Congress of sorrows! Moloch
whose buildings are judgment! Moloch the vast stone of
war! Moloch the stunned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is
running money! Moloch whose fingers are ten armies!
Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose
ear is a smoking tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows! Moloch whose
skyscrapers stand in the long streets like endless
Jehovahs! Moloch whose factories dream and croak in the
fog! Moloch whose smokestacks and antennae crown the
cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch whose soul is
electricity and banks! Moloch whose poverty is the specter
of genius! Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless
hydrogen! Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream Angels!
Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in Moloch! Lacklove and
manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom I am a
consciousness without a body! Moloch who frightened me out
of my natural ecstasy! Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in
Moloch! Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs! skeleton
treasuries! blind capitals! demonic industries! spectral
nations! invincible mad houses granite cocks! monstrous
bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pavements,
trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to Heaven which exists
and is everywhere about us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies! gone down the
American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole boatload
of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions! gone down
the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! Despairs! Ten years’ animal
screams and suicides! Minds! New loves! Mad generation!
down on the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the wild eyes! the
holy yells! They bade farewell! They jumped off the roof to
solitude! waving! carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the
street!

Rhythmic and pleasurable

Pulsating and magnificent

Up and down

Dripping and inviting

Exciting and unbelievable

In and out

Spectacular and bewildering

Heart stirring and astonishing

Slipping and sliding

Stunning and uplifting

Spine tingling and extraordinary

Faster and harder

Waltzing into a drawn out riddle

Between the watered down confessions

and the bold face fabrications

A violent outburst of schemes drizzle

Crumpled up promissory notes

Pockets full of fireworks blown

Indecent proposals flickering

Tossing and turning in the hot rain

Exposed hands dipped in sweetness

A secret lurking behind the curves

Will the words ever be spoken

Indecisions hide like bats in the echoes of the cave
Uncertainty sips from the acidic river
Vinegar seeping between the crushed bones and sharp nerves
Isolation and desolation are thumbs ripped from each hand
And the rattle lingers in the corner of the ear drum

Dismay is tucked away behind a faded curtain
Flaws stick to me like starving fleas
Substance is the saliva dripping from the piranha’s teeth
The equilibrium inside me wakes up the storm
And the rattle parades in a rhythm that disturbs the haze

Symptoms of a nontransparent disease spread
Inside the soliloquy the cage embraces the thunder
Murmurs and grumbles tremble with fright
Theology and myths walking in unison
And the rattle pounds like a headache

Butchered insults and splinters drive three inches through my anger
Crude laughs and vicious skies open up pouring sadness
Exasperation drags my eyelids through the dirt
Sorrow is a creek that I cleanse the silence
And the rattle pierces my aching skin

And I lay here with the rattle in the cage soothing the emptiness

Hypnotized by the sound of ice
Clinking in the sound of a glass
Smoggy and dreary atmosphere
Bottles full of hollowness
Mixed exchanges and signals
Pleasantries found in a blur
Spinning comments climbing up
Overdosed by her lustful winks
Lost between delusions and rainbows
First impressions engraved
A fragrance of whiskey circles
Crack of the cue ball dances
Spreading the triangle to all the corners
Quarters placed on the table
Perfume and alcohol mesh
A stench causing grins and sneers
Digits written in pink lipstick of the bathroom stall
A bartenders chuckle reverberates
Jukebox music playing at a ridiculous decibel
Communication at a bare minimal
Skirts and cleavage lecture over a free drink
Epilogues stumbling in and out
Clumsiness and truth cross paths
Ex lovers stuck close in a soap box
Identities hidden promenading in
Monologues spoken wobbling out
A haven of melancholic thoughts
Stationed between 2nd street and the laundry mat
Match made in intoxicating nirvana