Inferior Dreams

I fall short
In the greater
Maddening scheme

Consumed
In a fog
Of self-centered peril

Overlapped
By the baying hounds
Who race with delight
So sure
In their endless spiral

I’ve fallen behind
The fear-ridden droves
As shadows loom
And prowl
With unmerciful lust

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An Upheld Curse

All I know and preserve
Are moonshine anthems
Joyously, roving
Each mournful mile of skin

I grow old
In their comforting binds
The pastime chorus
That wails, with ancestral despair

All I am
Is a wayward
And time-ravaged corpse

Displaced
Upon the morrow’s
Unwelcoming shore

May I stew
Well-beyond
My truthful prime

Enrobed
In the curves
Of counterfeit joy

The Seeds of Nightfall

Swift is nightfall’s
Accursed dagger
Draining
A full day’s glow

All for the good
Of her beloved
And devious young
In the care
Of her mothering shadow

Free
From the snarling
Blistering gleam
From the ravenous call
Of sunlit wrath

The wicked rave
With primal lust
As the silent drowse
Wearily
Indisposed, by savory dreams

Slumped and Indisposed

I’ve lost every savory
Blistering urge
To thrive with a mindless
Cast-iron grin

Cyclones
Shield me
In vengeful grey

From all worldly spoils
Ever-promising
And ripe

Within the constant
Dust-laden breeze
My dreams disband
Into glittering remains

Only dulled verses
Prevail
Primed and ready
To fall
Dormant, cold and unsought

Aftershock

We parted ways trembling
In the deathly rattles
Of joy

As we raged on internally
Consumed
In the fog of release

Coasting
With eyelids bound
Braced for the fall
The thrill of decline

Elation coiled
Our shock-ridden forms
Readily drained
To our barren
And peaceful demise

Each Day’s Circular Decline

Just the same
My nerves are aquiver
Confined to their nests
Of turbulent skin

The arteries rage
Indignant
And bourbon deep

To snuff out
The fires
Of inner distress

Still I curse
With foolish vigor
Gleefully spilling
The gutter’s
Disgraceful refrain

Just the same
I fume so young
Mindlessly prowling
For a homeland’s
Most coveted of hopes

Just the same
My footsteps curve
To a circular whim
Laboring
To their maddening depths

Bound for Northern Solace

As treetops covet
The autumn grey skies
I’d drowse
Into a long awaited calm

Drawing peace
In bound
For northern solace

And true
To the shoreline’s
Of home

Silence enshrouds
My every gripe
As time disbands
And all I know
Is coddled to rest

Rightful Disdain

The fault thrives in me
Through and through
In each moment
I thieve
The slightest of gusts

Disorder
Rings in my name
In the words I spill
With young
And casual ease

Never mind
The passersby
The onlookers
Simmering
In their rightful disdain

For madness
Surely thrives
In this feckless stride

Aimed
For the call
Of solitary bliss

Shroud of Self-Neglect

I’ve no truths to spare
From these caverns
Of self-neglect

Enshroud
By hatred’s
Devilish fumes

Where my words
Tread light
In a callous whisper

I’ve no truths to spare
From this low
This miserable hush

For all I bear
Are the  loathsome gripes
Of a fool awash
In the surf
Of his truth-bearing doubts

Escaping Refuge

Claustrophobia
Burrows within
To expel my form
From this den
Of untiring vice

Upon sobering
Solid ground
The open breeze
Prevails
With impassioned strength

With open panes
I receive
The bountiful world
Clear and restored to its prime

With firm treads
I yearn
For the morrow’s trove
From beyond, the coils
Of nurturing ground