Why the hell not?

[Shucklak]

lost anywhere beneath the sky
lost in the twilight hours perpetually
lost in a city or a desert or between peaks of mountains or in the miles of urban sprawl
lost uptown and downtown, the badlands, in deserted lots and abandoned buildings, between stop signs and traffic lights, around dead end corners, behind a chain link fence, in dirty alleyways with broken glass underfoot
lost in the sea of a crowd or alone in a four cornered room
lost on a deserted dirt road among crumbling barns and silos, in endless fields of brown glasses or gnarled woods
lost in a jail cell, lost in shackles, lost in the tank, the dayroom, in one pair of underwear, lost on the block, lost in the sallyport, lost in the chapel and the yard
lost in an institution, in a swirl of cream in coffee, in line for the payphone, lost in the tired faces, in the vacant stares
lost in the shadows of memories
lost in the face of a girl who i loved, in her eyes and smile and skin, in the heat of her body and the sweet scent of her perfume
lost in her hair splayed beneath me on the pillow, her voice whispering in my ear, lost in Her
lost in what is no longer and can never be again
lost in candlelight, in moonlight, in the illumination of chemical light, light from the display of 4:30 am on the clock
lost in the darkness and the light
lost in and out of my own mind
lost in love and lost in pain
simply lost..........

 

[Shucklak]

i am surrounded all day by beautiful young women
they sit next to me on the bus and walk before me on the sidewalks and in the hallways
they are beautiful and all things beautiful are of them
women are the mothers of the world and men are hammers and socket wrenches and the universe is the womb of the eternal feminine that gives birth to creation
there was a girl on the bus today, slight and tiny, she was holding a plastic bottle to her chest. In my hands it would have been a tool but she was so small that her body was wrapped around it, cradling it like an infant.
i love women in all ways
I want to be held by the mother in them
I want to fuck the adolescent princess in them
and i fall in love with the little girl in them
and I have never met a woman who wasnt so beautiful inside that no man could ever compare

 

[Shucklak]

your alliteration reader

murderers manufacture machines of atomic apocolypse and celebrate the celibate mother at the same sunday service

its not me who builds bridges and burns bodies and balances the budget

follow the footprints of the fools to where they wait for whatever, face to face and forgetten

figurative flowers sit freeform in lonely rainbow gasoline sorrow while magic mirrors reflect the song sung in silence and picasso painted crazy cubist guitar players to serenade the same

edited for flow

 

[Shucklak]

fuck woodgrain dreams and moviehouse madness
fuck the existentialists, fuck the realists and the materialists monotheists and fuck the eidetic monistic mystics

fuck the cell phones and text messages and ringtones and headphones
fuck the freeflow of information and fuck the opinions and fuck the precious young peacocks

fuck you fuck me

fuck
fuck
fuck

i will murder this page and pound the keys and characters like a mad hammer upon mad nails while the conspirators obliterate gravestones with acid breath in a mad cemetery and laugh and laugh and laugh

your forms and pretensions are bullshit says the sage in his forms and pretensions apprehensive

a flower is pretty and men hang themselves by the neck from the rafters

its snowing outside.

what
the
fuck
.

 

[hearshot-kiddisaster]

some of the lines are truly vivid thought provoking imagery. I want to make more useful intelligent comments than that but my brain isn't working with me tonight.

 

[Shucklak]

flawless fusion and warped dreamscapes of heatwave fumes in zero gravity

set fire to sentimental musings with flames that do not consume and watch the conflagration emit no smoke

i came here not to burn and i run the gauntlet of flashbulb insanity and toil upon a ponderous chain

two rites and a ritual like death in a quiet room and a soul that crumbles like dry clay

all your criticisms and equations and tomes and volumes mean nothing to me

give me a match and i will burn all your books and deconstruct your abstractions

i see nothing but an instance of atemporal arbitrary apathy

this room and this chair and all these 1's and 0's are a lie

whoever created them is a doddering old fool who rides the subway to work

my dream is a dream and i am the shadow of my shadow

please someone take a jackhammer to my head to cleanse the palate

i want to watch myself bleed and contemplate the wound

get the hell away from here, its just me and the fireflies now.

 

[Shucklak]

i behold my demons in dreams of allegorical principle

my countenance detatched
elongated
ephemeral
i stand witness to myself
i shake my own hand
and i realize that i am an impossibility

an abstraction

a gesture

and then it all blows away like burnt paper in the wind

and not even the echoes have echoes