I know this night, I know its call. Agony wears a harpy's grin to tempt the lungs to drown within. The bedfellow of cortisol; this life raft needs prescription scrawl before we're buried in its skin. I know this night. A panic button protocol shotgunned with cheap raspberry gin. Hope: the very first deadly sin that chokes us all against the wall I know this night.
Your mind is already closed. Can you still hear me? Are you here?
Walking in the shadows of your footprints Trying to pretend I can see you still Hoping I just might Knowing I won't. Wishing the trail leads somewhere final Fearing there's an end Hiding from the present Abandoning the past.
Bite me beast. Feel this saccharine smile melt the rotting gum beneath the teeth in the same ringing, rusted tone as the "I told you so" that was never said. Bite me! See how fast the slack jaw snaps back to sink a saddened sully into your sore shoulders. Feel the teeth vibrate against the muscle - adrenaline promised you taste best when the meat is tender, so with open mouth, I'll knead the submission back into your rebellion. Bite. Me. Beast Savour the silence of shock, for that bite only ends in a wrath of stars: striking to transfix the minds eye, and feigning relief to hide a shattered grin.
Just when early fear arrives, famished: feasting on abundant insecurity, hope whispers loudly to break free! Destroy the doubt.
Bent toes cling to the surface that might fall. Do I stand upon the ground or the wall? Swaying in gentle breeze I brace to plummet fast, but land with grace if this dream deems me unworthy. Clouds stream with torrential echoes of doubt that nourish my inner progressions drought. The grip of untrodden steps fails - I wait to land upon the shales But fall upward into the stars. Free floating among the weightless moonlight, I look below with more pleasant hindsight. I was bound in scared appeasement - Now fear suffers a bereavement as I cross into my own light.
nature n u r t u r e s man
man f e a r s death
death c h a s e s life
man e x p l o i t s nature
life k i l l s man
nature r e c e i v e s man
death l o v e s nature
Am I to be poured of cold glass and dance with death in soft pink gin? We'll spin upon a tailor's pin wearing the tarnish of brass. Bewitched in gaze, sunk in morass, I tread both lines in mortal skin. Am I to be poured of smashed glass and dance soft with death in pink gin? Reaper smiles sickeningly crass rapping bone on pondering chin with a heavy sigh of chagrin. This moment of visit must pass. I am poured out of cold smashed glass while death dances soft in pink gin.
The beads of your sweat dance As glitter in the dull candle light: Pooling in tiny wells of anticipation Purified in the heat of subtle terror. My beautiful centerpiece Trussed up securely A hungered entrée display Admired with heavy breaths, You're examined by ravenous eyes, Traced by the fingers of libidinous desire, For patience wears at starvation's tolerance. Let sharpened blade be unsheathed Let us feast on you To satiate this hunger Watch your warm entrails drip With the remaining lucid seconds. My pitiful meal, how shameful you've become Watching your heart stop beating in love's cold hand
No one digs in the corners Where the smell festers deepest. Their shovels just clang and clack On the crumbled poured cement That’s broken in the centre Because it lifts easier that grey concrete rubble bow Where the walls join together, Connected to the cold ground: Below the record player, That knew only but one song At entirely the wrong speed: Is where she lays, still waiting, Still wasting, still wailing out. No one will ever find her. The ammonia stings their eyes Should they wander close enough To spot the fresh plaster marks, Or the abandoned teddy Adorned with a bow, alas, No one digs in the corners.
The Poet Armistead 