Travels Through Death Soon to Come II
My death is arriv-
ing with brown and purple hugs,
temporary nails,
Gregorian chant sneaks up,
John Cage cheers my soul
Trippy Wires
Posted by Carl in Finding Purpose, Poems on October 5, 2021
Nine rooms, flexing shapes
empty spaces with cocktail
tables, one or two,
footrests, blue trash, Porsche, empty
town stop, one-ninety away
Travels Through Death Soon to Come
windows cloak brown tracks
crossing past your vacant face
hiding drying tears
pulsating legs muddle fears
while rivers reverse their flows
Recursive Empty
That Hole, It Survives
A ghost sat
on me, relishing
in darkness
my colored
dance with her warm red hugs –
she left me nothing
Testing Chairs
Confessions
from you create soft
pain, stick me
on gray streets
with orange guns, staring at
me and killing me.
Where Did I Go?
I had an idea and I didn’t
write it down.
The dogs are looking at me
funny, using their beady eyes,
just because I was getting
into my Sibelius
I Can’t Find Myself
I fall in
to bleak
crevices where
my skin
flows and carves at my
insides, and I ask
myself, Who are you,
old man,
to blister away
time like
hot dogs in
a 7-eleven? or
like humans on a
turquoise lake?
My Spirit Gets Lost in the Dark at Times
And in that
morning, sleep crawls on
pieces of
flesh, blisters
happiness, falsifies death
of dark depression
.
stillfugue 