blood art
i am he
one who is
written in opulence
spitting handcrafted verses
cousin to loki
a mediocre man of mystery
a hero in decline

slow to reason
as hollow headlights
frame this passing despair
blank as a mutant stare
time drips slow
like freezing water
waiting to become something new
as i decide to renew
or discontinue
these soft unspoken melodies

run from the red sun
i have this big black beating heart
but just because it’s black
doesn’t mean it’s dark
more wounded than some
but not as much as others
i’m sometimes gripped by too much emotion
i could lie down in a field with you and die
or perpetuate a reminiscent revolution

snowman touch
fire in the eyes of night
i’m rewritten and rewired
drinking, dancing, fucking
waiting for another macerated morning

human image
waning under a boss moon
i’m a cat (on the prowl)
i’m a bird (of prey)
lost one minute
and found the next

juicy mind
with a thousand reckless words
i’m not a poet, not really
i’m just a tired guy
casting words upon the wind
and dreaming of the balance
of misfit angels in bliss