[x]

The Man and the MoonHer mouth corners hung themselves
and I began to wonder if that was the death of them.
A simple, quiet death;
without broken fingernails lining the walls
with the stripes of a despairing end.
I began to ache with the questioning in my heart
with the echoes reverberating in my capillaries
of her face scorching sunshine in her smile
right before it crumpled
and nothing was left but a frowning moon
set firm in its resignation to an upcoming eclipse.

the scars on your shouldersthe scars on your shoulders
are braille to me, so that i
can read your skin, so that i
can know you better.

i like to listen to your heartbeat
and how it resounds differently
from mine, just so beautifully
like two songs played in tandem
to harmonise in rounds;

i like to hold your hands
and rub your back
so that maybe my love
can find its way through your pores
and seep into your blood
(never can i find the right words
to tell you just the way you feel to me)

and to think that and how i nearly missed you
makes me miss you more
every minute and mile we spend
elsewhere.
i can't sleep with another body
in my bed,
but sleeping without you
leav

He doesn't write poetry anymore.He doesn’t write poetry anymore,
even if he still collects it, reads it, saves it, treasures
faded verses from his wife the way connoisseurs
savor vinyl over metallic rainbows on disc.
I don’t mind not knowing, but I can’t stand not asking.

The record needle hits the groove wrong;
he stumbles over words that aren’t there,
rummaging for an answer he doesn’t really have.
He doesn’t write poetry anymore
and his confusion is strangely endearing.

But there’s a lyricism to his words that I love,
poetic lines inserted between the daily grind
of character names and who said what;
voiceless boys in white a

Overgrown ColorsRed like blood on a rose.
White like bone and stars.
Black like reclusiveness.
Green like dead air.
Orange like the savage instinct.
Purity like a god's heart.
Red like thawing hatred.
White like a frozen, severe cry.
Black like the night's deprived shadows.
Green like the wind in the grass.
Orange like the light in the shadows.
Purity like the sun rising.
So discharging through the moon in a wheeze is like luminous white, dispersed red.

PocketLeftover religion in the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
A key that unlocks nothing
A penny, a scrap of paper
With half of your name
Written in black ink

A song that is usually in my head
In the shriveled carcass
Of a long-dead dream
In the pocket
Of my trenchcoat
With the lint

with thanks to frosttwo roads diverged in a soulless dawn
and you pull over,
idling on the shoulder of route 50.
it's a polaroid morning and
the world is as grainy
and sleep-heavy
as your eyes,
and one million miles
is not far enough.
it plays back, filmstrip,
blurred along the length of
optic nerves,
and here you are:
facing a choice between
on
and
out.
and this?
this loosejointed, hollowbodied
weightless ache--
this is what
gone
feels like.

SurelyIt was raining
when we kissed for the first time,
for the last time.

Thin rivulets
sunk into the shrunken space
between our bodies
and divided us
like nothing could before,
like everything will
from now
until that never again
when we will
see each other once more,
no more.

Your eyes were
that bewitching shade
of dull brown blue
with all of the light darkness
whirling
in a placid pond
around a pupil
overflowing with vacancy,
and me
and my frowning smile.

The winter heat
fell like a rising tide
and,
for our every breath
was another death
so black and full of life --
embracing our boiled ice skin
as we drew apart,
came together and broke free

Condemnedbeneath the beaten earth they lay,
their dreams condemned to ashes,
and our restless bodies stretch,
for forgiveness, for direction –

survivors of the abyss,
amidst wide-eye, silent soldiers –
so many dead, so many maimed,

how many graves are we standing on, today?

SisterSister

A sister is like a soul mate;
Someone who is always there
to guide me through fate.

A sister is,
a part of childhood that I cannot erase;
A sister like you,
is one that I would never replace
because you always know how to
put a smile on my face.

I know I can depend on you
to always be there for me;
This is one hundred percent guaranteed!

I've had great memories with you
in the past;
and I hope there are many more
to come,
in the future.

Life, Death And A Pork Chop SandwichAll tangled up, hard to breathe
This steel cloud day that swirls
With heat and pounding hammers
I shake in my boots and cough up
Blood, rust and damaged flesh
Waiting for the second coming
Maybe next time around there'll be
Some chance for more than this

A twisted barbed wire halo
Wrapped tight around my skull
Blinding white light aura
Swarming with flies I'm flying
To pieces, thousands of shards
Cannot be brought back together
But I will remember the summer
Of my first Chevrolet in each bit

Gleaming bits of glass in the desert
Each reflecting a different moment
Still, now, enduring until the waves
Of a new ocean sweep them away
No pain

Pretty little things called words and dustif you weren't a hypocrite,
you'd be wrapped in the sweetest
perfumes
(learning
how to engulf the ocean
with your lungs
and think of how to cup it
in your hands
despite
your broken prayers and
still be beautiful)

dance with the gypsies
'till noon
(a quake in
your hips like the thrust
of continents
and the faultlines
emanating from
your spine,
but still
so, so graceful)

sing with the nymphs
in tune
(your voice,
it's growing old,
raspy even.
your throat's burning dry
like a monsoon
faltering in a desert,

and tones
still octaves
powerful)

be nestled in a king's arms
soon
(oh, you precious
little thing.
how

Puppet My tears fall,

like invisible

diamonds.

My heart beats,

like soundless

drums.

Unwanted,

because of the

strings attached.

Lost In ConfusionMy mind is spinning without a rest
emotions whirl and twirl around
A merry-go-round gaining speed
Until the world blurrs before my eyes
What's happening? What's going on?

The simplest thought slips away
Right from my mind, fading so fast
Trying to focus, I stare and stare
Until my eyes are heavy and unclear.
I don't understand, what is going on...

Emotions rise and fall again
Within the blink of an eye
I'm crying, laughing, and depressed
A rollercoaster ride that never ends
Am I losing my mind in this ?

I try to close my eyes and rest
But the world spins me around
I feel like I am failing this test
Voices and noisies echo in my min

DangerousMermaids; they seduce you then hold you under
Vampires; will kiss your lifeblood away
Mages, will turn your own mind against you
While trolls will hunt you down if you stay
Run through the woods, don’t stop for nothing
Monsters wait with jaws opened wide
Ignore that pretty elf, who’s probably plotting something dark
For she will torture you once she’s lured you inside
Orcs; will have a craving for your flesh
While dwarves are just prejudiced against your height
Dragons are very skilled when it comes to fire
While faeries will torment you throughout the night
So run little weakling, don’t stop now
The faery realm has go

A Night By the FireNo light,
The light sired by the night
All above whilst the day's delights
Now disappears from mortal sight.

Faded away is the sun's power,
Taking the stage now is night's sallow flower;
Now mortals may behold the stars and falling shower.

Set in a pit Nature's skyscraper ablaze
And revel in the emanating heat as you gaze,
Looking down on occasion when you hear a crack from the fire
And witness "fireflies" flying away from mother's blaze;
Dying shortly after but not lacking burning beauty do they desire!

I look out towards the teasing shore
And meditate as we sit upon her door,
Thinking on what my future has in store;
Who I am now and even

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UnSonnett of the UniVerseI had a dream about a paper cup
It was the universe i saw inside
and when i closed my eyes it was destroyed.

I caught a mouthful of the wind
and when i let it go,
weighted down with words,
it sank.

I let a butterfly.
and together we were free
inside the catchers net.

The Dream catcher,
Dream jailor,
The snatcher of all hope.
Wrapped in weeds and raindrops.
Destroyer of Universes.

I had a dream of a paper cup
and dreamed the universe inside
and that univerese was myself
and yourself.
and that universe
i killed.

To: The WolfWhen the health of summer had failed
and leaves were sucked dry
and curled inward, falling like
wrinkled flames of red and sunlight yellow,
when you shouted my name through the chill air
and the sparrows exploded into flight, they carried
my name with them as abandoned as the dead leaved of
Autumn, and scurried away from you like rabbits from
the wolf.

Then

Thirteen years later, i wrote this poem
to tell you I was dead.
To tell you that i have grown now into a dolphin
and i go where the wolf cannot follow and i cry for the wolf
and i hear him howling for me from the shore, but i never was
satisfied by the how or the why o

contradictionOld copper cannon
in a green churchyard stands
a contradiction

Red DecemberThe chestnut leaves
with their dead dry throats
crackle beneath the mowing feet
of the bootsteps in December

Bursting through the door
he tracks the brown muck all over the kitchen.

She, mop still held in one porceline hand
shatters his face red
and he stomps back outside
rubbing the sting from his cheeck
Dragging his muddy boots back over the
breathless leaves.

but who amoung the trees or birds would tell this human giant
off?
none would pay the price of speaking
unlike the woman
they would all bare when best laid plans go wrong

SpearThat spear is heavy
Thirteen years heavy
And every ounce of it
Is your fathers eyes on you
Like the sun.
sharpened by the fire of the sand
Beneath your feet
Thick as your blue
Swollen ankles,
Steady as hunger,
Because you have to eat.
And even though it is dark,
And even though the spear is heavy
You will learn to throw it.

Love the rotted worldLove the rotted world
Thorn and blackberry bush,
Where we climbed pine trees
And ate blueberries.
Remember ferris wheel rides
And ocean sun rises
From the boardwalk
Where homeless beggars urinated.
Love the rotted world.
Its book burnings, paintings and museums.
Its glass displays of carefully preserved breath.
Love its bombs and bullets and the blue sky,
And the rain that kept us in bed
Where we
first fucked,
And after saw the newborn turtles
Paddle toward the waves
Knowing most were doomed to seagull beaks
But others did survive.
Love the rotted world
Where seeds grow
And die
And grow again.

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Today

by ~Khrishna, Jan 19, 2004, 8:38:09 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

Today I died some.
Buttoned my blue collar a little tighter,
My face a little more sour purple.
Stalin would have been proud.
Today I buckled my boots and clicked my heels some.
Raised a hand and saluted death some.
Today I watched the news and got duped into
Buying eight rolls of duct-tape.
I counted my nickels at the Abercrombie counter,
Buying that shirt I could get fucked in.
Today I painted pictures in Muslim blood
And on one side of the wall they cheered.
I puked up my soul
Then, and shrieked At its spare ness.
I drank some
Until my head exploded. Until
I was shrieking Merry Christmas
To all, and to all…
And to all…
I waited.
Nothing happened.
Just the mornings hangover.
We missed the point of red chickens
Flying toward a watery sunrise.
But maybe all the duct-tape
will help us
with That.

Todayby ~Khrishna

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Free Verse

A sort of angry poem i guess
trying to make sense of some of the ironies
or stupidity of being human and being alive in this society.
tell me what you think

~Rockgenie Jun 27, 2004

That is like my plans for the weekend! Yay!... except now I feel unoriginal. Stinking Muslims, why do you have to be so hatable... and duct tape so lovable... did I mention I like girls? He he he. Warning, they are trickzy, but they have boobs. Boobs are our downfall... but we like it!

~Khrishna Jun 27, 2004

MWAHAHAHA!!

boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobs boobscunt

there. more boobs than you can pinch with a jumper cable.
but you are quite right. they are trickzy as mercury, only more fun.
!the end
armies we do not need, only crowded bedchambers

~zerothirtythree Jun 21, 2004

"I counted my nickels at the Abercrombie counter,
Buying that shirt I could get fucked in."

That is a fucking amazing line.
In fact, I like the peice so much
that I'm going to masturbate to it
while the television whispers sweet nothings
into my ear.

Bad news gets me off.

Thanks for posting this. You rock.

~Khrishna Jun 21, 2004

It does all ways.(m e too)

Thank you for the fav.
It has touched me in places i

should not be touched

dirtydirtydirty

~c0mablack Jun 17, 2004

I quite like this.
It's very...something,
But I'm not sure what.
Very lovely.

~Khrishna Jun 18, 2004

thankyouthankyouthankyou!!!!!

for the fav too. I love that it's lovely.

~lizard43queen71 Jan 21, 2004

i like this a lot chris. i particularly like the fact that you mentioned duct tape (because americans for some reason feel the need to suffocate themselves in their own homes to feel safe....?!), and i like the line about painting pictures in muslim blood a lot. good job, sir. *curtsy*

~Khrishna Jan 21, 2004

Thank you most graciously my lady
surely you are too kind.

~Khrishna Jan 21, 2004

Thank you most graciously my lady
surely you are too kind.

~WoodwindWhore Jan 20, 2004

I love your writing a lot.

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