Submissions by lightbaron

she told me she loved me because behind my arrogance she saw that i hated myself.
She saw seditiously through my stacks of skimmed through volumes, and deflated my loquacious balloon of self hypnotised glamoury before i could even spell check.
She was more impressed when i didnt have the right thing to say. With angelic reptilian eyes, she owned my madona whore complex completely and decided my role of snail or soldier with each sway of her affection.
She is just a muse i try to tell myself.
I should have known by her maternity, by her nurturing of everything that burns...

I very well may pass two thirds of the way through the great American novel...

 or at least through a bottle of its whiskey.

I may pass in a cold forgotten temple of of a misguided monk

    by mistaking the dosage or the registry.

My head might very well lie chilled and dormant in an abandoned row house-

       but i will still smell the roses i ran too,

          yet was too afraid to care for.

I will know somewhere between the lack of tears

and the knowledge of their absence,

  That i saw and stood...

I annoyed the white noise of the “in between”,
by steeping my breathing, and by seeming indifferent.
As the elusive energy maneuvered confused,
it missed its exit and rested congested on the axis of a spiraling fraction.
Dark matter is yelling “action” to the reenactors
practicing for the production of the big bang backwards….
And while all this is unfolding,
it appears that the hosts, or so called guardians have abandoned their posts.
Which in turn abandons most of my hopes for any assemblance of a recognizable sanity.
Not truly insane per say, but...

wiley...to the point of providing his own deception and alibi. High off the unbalanced pride and answering the why,with the why nots. Gutter opulence of the should have been prominence stopped short again by the neglectfulness of common sense.

he prolly forgot to roll when he copped, propped up on that mischievous libido...of his myth, his hero, and the battle with his own ego. Fed on the breath of the lotus eater, he been there~done that, but fell asleep on the cusp of actually seeing it through

a problem with honesty, an anomaly even amongst the crew motley with oddities....

Its all so obsessively loud and cluttered, yet silent and sterile.

There's more quiet in the chatter than communication yet no peace.... or even anger as the drowning itself falls short and chokes breath. It is perhaps the platform to perform the play of the plenty, but without momentum is a tap dance on elastic eggshells. Mobile and hindered between the shadows of an entropy and a faded memory of ecstasy, this lack or loss of dimension clothes the libertine idea in a wet and sogging cloak.

Harshly heavy is the burden hemmed upon the unburdened in these border towns where...