Pay heed to head that seeks a home
for when in Rome we pleasure dome
then bid adieu to xanadu 
lovers coo within the con

"Blah blah
Blah"

    Those 3 words that brake at dawn
empty bed
lovers gone — % &

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Tribulation underscores a story
and we the readers seek to make it last
though all the woe we know is transitory
we trap ourselves within imperfect past

selfish are the things that often own us
place onus of all suffering on self
reactions tend to rely on ones tonus
while tender thoughts are often left on shelf— % &

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Jagged lines reduce to blur
tender thoughts begin to stir
with glass half full
I start to ponder
why absinthe makes the heart grow fonder
— % &

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Who am I
to justify the bloodshed

Who am I
to deny the fly what's dead— % &

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I salivate
at the mere thought of a freedom from fate
then run my knife along the barren plate


Unsavory 
the self saviors that cave to knavery
and speak of the greater good (slavery)— % &

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All of my Friends are Words

All composition follows rule of thirds
and subjects never centered in the shot
so how am I to illustrate this thought?

Should lines define where I should place my words?
a lie can be the truth if it's not caught
and horrid stain can sometimes hit the spot

We loosen up the language that was taut
this tightrope act; a trope that's for the birds
all composition follows rule of thirds

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Matador Read

the bull of our age still leads with the head
we dress to impress, is Matador read?
or are all these frills but fricative flair
gruesome tradition to castrate despair

muleta distracts the eye of the beast
migraines are calmed by the pills in our feast
we torture true strength and keep it confined
we prod and jab untill hate is aligned

We shake and shutter at thought of the 'spear'
A three act tragedy that ends in cheer
our bullet point deaths are kept in the books
that later we burn before someone looks

Timeless the nature of things that mattered
my grains were sought when hour glass shattered

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Ripples from a Wake

Pondering ripples that stem from a wake
should I chose to star in this film noir
I desire a change that I cannot make

I am the droplet that dances with flake
the unseen beauty that crashes the car
pondering ripples that stem from a wake

how tantalizing the things we can't take
scarlet the lips that lay kiss on the scar
I desire a change that I cannot make

how selfish the love that falls in the lake
the floaters in eyes disguise who we are
pondering ripples that stem from a wake

I live out this dream as I lie awake
where I dance alone inside the boudoir
I desire a change that I cannot make

shrouded in mist; floating tears of the ache
searching for a comfort that seems so far
pondering ripples that stem from a wake
I desire a change that I cannot make

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Re-spite In My Face

To bare it all and take the heat
whilst wiser men are in retreat
or bite my tongue for tasteless trash
as burning books reduce to ash

We traded out insightful truth
for trite respite of desperate youth

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Off the Books

Set my work ablaze with your Ill praise
for I desire a pure pyre

Puree my passion...for the fruits of my labor are worm infested and laden with syntax errors. Though most artists are ADAMant about the perfection of their craft...I am EVEr so certain that serpentameter is the devil's work.

The uninspired should cleaver the clever in an endeavor to end our favor with fascist fashionistas.
Rhymes are the equivalent of mimes...
annoying
untalented
unwanted

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