Author: Pisceanesque

"It's not from within that I emerge; it's by emerging, that I am truly within." www.pisceanesque.com

THOUGHT #412

Look around you and judge, but only for the best place to seek an entrance within.

THE RIDE

Faced again with options,
– I am –
thumb sore,
from hitching a ride
to any direction
I’m taken:
partial nudity
framing the high risk
beneath these threads –
allowing nothing
but neglect
to course through these veins,
closer than a man’s knife.

Nothing but dis-ease
can stain like old graffiti:
stubborn and unwelcome,
and impossible to wash away.

It beckons to take my life
– this weed that chokes me –
but I know better than that:
it’s already gone.
What little of me remains
is always outside searching.

– red lights –

– red eyes –

– bloodied hope –

So I’ll take their word
– these men who stop to ogle –
and their banter,
and I’ll take the seat they offer
while I push their oily hands away,
just to sink back
for a moment
into the stubborn stench
of leathered history –
into the cosy
but broken seats
of the ride I’m taking now
– not the ride of my life,
but the pick-up
to another stop.

And as I sleep with eyes wide
and ears open
I search within

for freedom and peace

– an end to it all –

But it’s their cigarettes and coffee
that keep me breathing.

THOUGHT #407

All mistakes are resulting variations of free will.

THOUGHT #398

The key to one’s future is accepting the past one locks away.

THOUGHT #396

All that remains of portrayal is a shadow once you move beyond it.

THOUGHT #394

The perfect human being wanes in comparison to a perfect human, being.

THOUGHT #390

Spiritual lucidity is being a complex God devoted to the complexities of being a simple human.

THOUGHT #389

Even growth has its moments of separation and surrender.

THOUGHT #386

Observation is only as powerful as perspective.

A TIMELESS WAIT IN MADNESS

Life’s sweet promise coats me like a varnish
wrapping my sticky desires
in an airless, human
skin-tight vault

Fatally sealed, this
timeless wait in madness, this
paused intent of craftsmanship
–
one un-stepped frozen foot ahead
–
contains me like a parasite and
I, far from drowning
hibernate within

Eons of time bereft of touch
pass me (imprisoned) by
but
wide awake, alone, insane
inside this vacuumed husk, I
quench my heart
– reflection –
while my hunger
(still unfed)
provides the popcorn
and the trailers
to the feature film
that scratches at my
fading, timeless
statuesque, and stunted soul

I wait (believing)
baited and entombed
for the next civilisation to unbury me
and
recreate a reason for my being here
that parallels an excuse
for their own

WRITER STIMULUS

Your perfect lips
speak volumes,

an outline of their own

creating a story
of a thousand possibilities
straight from the mouth
of the beast,
the hidden tongue
of the devil,
and the mind
(digesting this author)

– the mind –

of
a
GOD

Your eternally paged fiction
stands alone,
(unseating its writer)
awaiting more images

– square jaw, naked mouth –

– bedroom lips –

to express the next chapter
of my printed vision
processed by a
hungry and
adulterous
need.