PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Chased, chasing, full after burners after buried Indian arrows thru' the Russian Tundra, riding on top of the Siberian train tracks and the shoulders of rich bearded Mongolians, empty of belief and treasure and the U-turn signs, constantly spinning, constantly signing somewhere, constantly U-turning, inebriated together, lasting together, fucked together, perpetually together on pause and hidden from the fiasco of Fashion Valley views atop the domesticated democracy of artificially fabricated tree trunks of SoCal, from the Starbucks internet reception, from the Man, in perpetual artificial hiding, smoking laced ganja and clove cigarettes and blowing smoke and doing jumping jump jump jacks atop the Pru, where, together, wretched torn hands and feet, rotting together, rolling it, in all of it, throwing paper planes off the Charles Bridge, mutilated mute button blown up into a giant graffiti wishing-wall, hoarse voice lipsyncing unwritten last-call nostalgia of last-stop Frederick, Maryland, haywire mind reading each other's Buddhist-induced comatose mindless melancholia, surrounded by question marks, abrupt beginnings and the sublime Atlantic, counting the burning boxcars, swimming after them, with arms in compulsive convulsions, inspired by unnamed deities from the Dark Ages, contained and inspired, contained and expired, contained and containted and breaking and breaking thru' the civil war era towns from Arkansas, Mid-West to Kirksville, Mid-West, to Inwood, West Virginia, East with war-torn cruel country sides owned by the Man, with the old not so innocent stare from Jim on a pedestal euthanasia footstool, scratching the gray beard, listening to the crickets, the whimsical cacophony of transcendental Earth-moon-mystery modesty, magical fecundity underneath the mistletoe, reaching for that yesterday toughness of togetherness, between the civilized nooses of the big Man's trucks raining havoc on the Land, in unison, in valid conformity, in rapture, stumbling, stuttering, staggering shattered-eye after restrained recoil dignity, staying up, awake to the beat of the footsteps downtown New York, praying and playing violin, 4 in the AM, rubbing eyes, rubbing alcohol, rubbing hands against the L Canal street stop Subway metal, denouncing Christ and each other, frictionless screaming against the sand of the not so innocent Pacific, drowning, bath tub full of Svedka, broken air conditioner, mutated gasp for unsolicited sex, solitude and sex, switching between Pandora, NPR, Hulu Porn, Facebook, TJ and throwing up yesterday's dinner into crusted brown recycled paper bags, repulsed, betrayed, bewildered, bent, making thousands of excuses with one verbose tongue in ancient Greek verbatim, bellowing full of smoke, blowing smoke and blowing strands of torn, split-ends, ravaged and shuddering, spoiling, half an ounce away from breaking, then breaking, then laughing, rising above the overtones of the thick American splendor of infinity and cradling the yearning, contained by the yearning, craving for the yearning and for one last euphoria of anal sex, calling out, shoving into the bottomless basin beauty of the eternal night, uncultured, unrelieved, unspoken, unfolded arms, free-falling into an empty pool, smashing against the tile, waking up, alone, rotten, with a half-crooked-half-cocked-half-crazy smile longing for another, amidst unlimited myriad of breaths drowned by down-spiral-depravity of the chase, containted heart contained, to surprise to live, vapid, to devour, to vulture, vanish