Tuesday, April 13, 2010


We accept the distance,
it has feet,
and we use it,
full bodied and stout.
Something that opens,
and swallows everything,
hopes and desires,
hanging on the clothesline.
The fresh wind,
filling in the spaces,
a white flag waves,
you follow up and over.
Blue creaks along,
a barren conclusion,
she tips the point,
red willing streaks.
Chasing each other,
with cut-out lives,
peel and stick,
dull serrated edge.
Her bad attitude,
curled up on the couch,
soaking in the sun,
always unforgiving.


I told my secrets,
to the mountain,
reading Kama Sutra,
an enchanting mix.
A household name,
rolling over the stone,
the queen of swords,
justice is her aim.
She seduces me,
with her stolen words,
waving a tortured finger,
petulant trust.
Her thrust out boldness,
as snappish and sulky,
potatoes on the boil,
thrashing in the broth.
finds mystical connections,
in crossword puzzles,
an irascible prophetic email,
read between puffs of smoke.
The words of god,
drift in the window,
on the laughter of angels,
revelation exposed.
Her trust is in trinkets,
tingle against her throat,
so vivid and real,
a causal sensation.
You thrill me,
as reality escapes,
through swollen fingers,
and silent tongues.
Poised for adventure,
with her glass of sherry,
a stain upon her lips,
she tells your secrets.
She packs her pistol,
in yellow taffeta,
with an impish grin,
full metal jacket.
You stimulate my,
pleasures and rewards,
necessary side effects,
my motivated tool.

You had to be the invisible one,
I saw you had your spurs on,
emotions out of control,
once more we dance.
Tearing down the foundations,
of your perfect commercialized life,
selling you pre-packaged beliefs,
my favorite freak.
Watch the rising flame,
burn it all down,
spreading across,
from me to you.
The tiger trusts no one,
new levels of shit,
war in the streets,
death is no surprise.
More is less,
the gurus chant,
save your pennies,
throw away your faith.
There is no end,
to your nightmare,
your American dream,
not manifest destiny.
This is not your constitution,
no one died for your freedom,
save yourself and not the whales,
keep on believing.
Good trousers for my birthday,
a trashy kind of vodka,
you say you understand,
when I leave in the middle.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

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