[Split]

Time Lapse
10/4/2012

Okay, feelin me?
Seats in the upright position.

Can you hear me?
Question poses rhetorical,
Purpose metaphorical,
That's the sound of indiscretion as this basis
Implies a presence near me.
Reality equates to the sum of every thought,
Fear subsides as I reverberate in cranium,
My success implies cooperation:
Insane is one to hear these teachings that I teach,
But the beat succeeds to plant me
ingrained between the lines you seek to speak.

Message received,
Text is crystal clear,
Drive pursuing truth
and this is what was seen:
My beams kiss the mirror,
Light can't be un-perceived
As the meaning's ever clearer.
The pixels as they read:

Red for finality,
tinted magenta aggression,
stop you in your tracks,
that's Amtrak intercession

Yellow the cautious treaty,
Amber holds the moment hostage
like mosquitoes two milli BC,
Wit edged sharp like penny's
aerial probability.

Green concludes the fable,
Paused and now enabled
Freedom leaves my lips,
changes color like the seasons
as I loose this reason by the clip,

Split Eight's the infinity
Set upon its' side,
Cracked in half to let me
Sew split-seconds at discretion,
I've got the power of perception fast and slow,
When the thought to challenge breaches surface,
realize illumination is my mission
vision self-fulfilled in purpose



Park Bench
10/6/2012

"Say something funny" is the text I see,
May '11, streetlights mist the streets.
Didn't seek the relationship but
that's how it always comes to be.
Her tone rings off-melodic,
Remains self-evident that hindsight drips sardonic,
In her open invitation- hesitation to partake.
The seed of doubt sewn to hoodies,
She scrawled the end in public paint.
Lettered together per tradition,
Simple heart on a park bench,
Names cross to spite what remained unknown,
Epitaph to words unspoken,
Prophecy of solitude unbroken except by time alone.
She sought friendship in delay of suicide,
Day before she died was hardest
Last thing she said to me was
"Leave a message at the tone".
Stars above the bench still reside,
Pave a familiar constellation,
Tilts uphill to unkempt adoration.
Connect the dot commiseration,
Fate the sacrificial agent
Cannot appease the debt another owes,
Yet complicates these contemplations.



Labor Day
10/16/2012

First season I recollect, crack the window and reflect, trees catch wind of death, ease into the next- cease to speak to coalesce, cut beauty by the blossom, glimpsed reason then lost him,
Breathe a frosty breath and introspect- nostalgia is the weapon catchin reminiscence in the chest,
Shape sister intuition, re-up the inhibition then relapse to stress,
Does the blood we bleed for betterment impress? Interrupt staccato macho cliques to beat some life into the mess, flicks his spliff to pause as-
tick, tick, tick
-mortal bates his breath to reckon with slick fits of schiz schizophrenic schisms,
Pray it's just a phase, man, panic risen,
Fall laces time to traditions, coax ambition, daydream wishing,
a scheme of blessing all who ask forgiveness- is he with it?
Pressing sense of slipping breaks even what Eight is missing,
What's he missing?
The question never reveals the key,
Broke the cypher in ninety five, two years alive, can't read while you rest,
Sleeping hieroglyphics are the lecture not the test,
Autumn turns leaves not pages, retrace the letters and close the text.



Marky Mark and the Catholic Clergy
10/17/2012

Keep your alliteration to yourself, cocksucker

Ahh, yes, Boston Massachusetts, city on a hill, built on swill and pilgrim nuisance,
Lost the pennant the past few fifty at bats, paired bloody stockings? Beyond useless.
Set the scene, pretty in green, but Fenway's table is lacking napkins, Paul Revere lived in that shithouse,
Freedom trail is long-winded don't I mean? Just about.

TD Garden, Banknorth, back and forth, rescinded in impatience,
Built on Mass graves of native civilization, they lost a couple limbs, we chopped the R's from our conversation,
Wicked pisser, sure did miss ya, Dunkin Donuts only fuckin onus is they can't swindle trans-fats for gilded caps.
City of sin, oasis polar, spin the globe over, only Europe in fact, Irish immigrants, you down for a round of Red Rover?
Vegas ain't got shit on this lime schemin' four leaf clover.
Baked beans and corned beef, win Stanley's mug, put the key to the city in the sheath, new batch of bastards is good for a couple pumps,
Got you out of work for half a century, thanks for Saint Paddy's fuckin chumps,
That's the spirit of New England, mention names, pack again, am i right B. Valentine?
Love these dirty waters but I sure wouldn't drink the Bay wine.

Welcome to our homely harbor, get apathetic or get dead,
Marky Mark and the Catholic clergy stopped breaking bread,
If you know what's best, start taking what your pal said,
Reverse it, rehearse it, reimburse him, Boston Creme slander,
That's Brighton for ya, seems terse, no words for bystanders,
Absurd and mighty, Beacon Hill still stands here,
Advice, take a look and take it elsewhere



End's Gate
10/24/2012

Baby boom generation, settled for less than expectations, ghost-wrote the revolution from their tomb, set sanctions on salvation,
And now the duty to beseech supersedes validation,
Ten years of young minds, abandoned and unheard,
Angst incurred, the question posed in turn:

If God made us in His likeness, shouldn’t our moral mettle meet minimum qualifications?
Demand we better ourselves, stay righteous, unfetter from hate, but the greatest offenders populate the pews themselves?
To greet the canon with my fodder, I gotta repent for past itself?
Three ruminations from detonation, in all my gambled wealth- I couldn't read a tell if His red-italic knifeprint scrawled it on the felt,
Bet a bag of black chips, dealer's gonna bust, swift flip of tactics, slips a card from behind the belt,
Cue the knuckle dust, bump a line of rust, feels idyllic, thinks fuck the scripture,
Pulls out and flips the river, sets the audience aquiver plus mistrust- not to break vertebrae in shivers, do I digress or drip acryllic on the picture?
Honesty fails to prevail, found the silver lining when I struck my dick with flint then burnt His leather tome, not quite blasphemy- just in Rome.
Untethered to my mortal stint, Rhapsody in shades of gray plays as forefathers collect excessive severance,
Did they sift the footnotes at all, or stay obsessive over my lack of reverence?


Handwriting
11/25/2012

Regrets? I never quite learned cursive.
It was my teacher, I thought. Ancient. Coercive.
Dull expression, churlish, that of a coelacanth.
For every question had a practiced spiel on hand-
The same as print, in essence, with a subtle twist.
Think fame! Autographs! A sense of showmanship!
My wrist, for shame, well behind the pace,
Mind begins to race, untamed, these words pile on top of me,
Inspiration and ability, absurd dichotomy,
Headrush on a tilted tee without the spacing,
Heart strapped to sleeves, bleeding at the seams,
Art slapped with blood 'cuz we're not loosening the lacing.
Eight years silent, written bars then kept me stationed,
Now vibrant kindergarten scrawlings returns the favor,
Exhausting, spinning written images I've no time to savor,
Paying off this oxygen debt, two cents per installment,
Sick of people needing toxins to comprehend their smallness.
That's the catch, cardboard steeple for this substitute preacher,
Plastic patch on the starboard port, else blind becomes these creatures,
Chase the trailing off of ellipses, forming lines to glimpse eclipses,
I'm just happy sailing by, cutting strings on fingers, tying apples to failing eyes-
Never sin, just flash a wink to dames and sirens, face masked in a villain grin,
Seek a new horizon, sink to swim and become another nameless effort antonym-

But see? It all ties in. For want of a thought, the ink stains pages,
So I was taught, it's the art of sideways pen and mastery takes patience.




Split Eight's Whack @ Text
12/10/2012

GenericUser4, I was feelin that shit DEEP bruh.
I swear you turned to a spirit and fused with a fuckin cheetah.
"I'ma SPLIT EIGHT in half, two fours and times two he's still tru useless. on all fours w/ 8ball of cocaine"
Fuckin flames, mate. GU4 tha truth, mayne. Split... your wording's cut rate, slash a wreck.
Your whack text wordplay's a classic case of butterface at best,
Swap the paper for double plastic, and it's a maybe on the sex.
Which means if you pay me, I'll double date it's sister and skip on the check.
It's all true, b. Hardly gifted. I'm a skunk strain, truthfully. A pauper, can't stop penning thoughts.
It's Call of Duty, me and J-funk McCain versus Wahlberg and all of Denver SWAT.
Ole maverick bickers with his PR phonies, learning how to walk, and I'm mic-spamming TWAT trying to not get shot.
I guess Right Trigger is "you're domepieced and spawn with rabid dogs"

BUT YO Ima stay ecstatic. I got the picture, tbhonest I'm abstractish.
I got a laugh track of cats tellin me I'm a pompous asshat-
FUCK THEM. I'm PHat with a pH o fourteen, that's fact kid.
I failed chem, so I'm hoping that score means Eight's fantastic.



Matchmaker
12/16/2012

yeah. saturday night alone. fuck Rusko... puzzled still? don't ask, aight?
bagged another half-dime. little dash of muscled guilt then-
corner of my eye...
"Fuck her, Bill. Brosign" "ASK HER OUT KID-" Walked with a pitch outside.
America's pasttime, that's the gist, sound the message. Wind up a kiss... slider, ounce of prevention.
Time flies, tied up in pride. Dragging by. Pillfull of anti-depressants, shout in St. Doubt's Basilica, pounce--
Tagged out at half-time. It's willful, huh? "Milk it, cuz. We'll build it up, more asinine,"
If DJ Illwill don't get you pussy- a jog down first baselines- you're a goner, past your prime.
Eighteen, steams Bill, useless as the cogs grind, concubines at this point on his mind,
Sweaty palms, ostracized, Xanies kicking in (Dog, I feel fine)
"We got a Plan B, crack a Natty, I'll feed you lines-"
"Bill." Two sets averted eyes. "This is Mel. She likes goldfish and awkward silence..."
Was that bold? Quick, internalize it. It's honest, offer birds a dance and sage advice.
Two cockatiels sing off the lull of byes, the cage of words, a plot device that Spock-in-heels rejected,
The sacrifice Buffalo Bill never half-inspected. It's toxic, a muffled hack. Nameless sex, exotic self-expression, duffel bags packed-
A sect of zero self-respect, sauced and weepy, if opposites attract then I'm the hero Deus Ex.
My thoughts, you're seeking? Fuck off, regrets? Know we only play the hits...
Throw away the script. I'll be rehearsing my growing rant of brave attempts,
Writing romance with grave intents, flipped first to third person.



Ace of Hearts
12/27/2012

I'm sorry, Megan...

You know you're annoying? Jesus.
Closed mouths equal buoyancy, bitches...
Lo-down on the seuel- just toying with e-Kisses-
What I'm saying is your praying won't bring romance OR worldly peaces.
'Come back to Cleveland' but I've left and she's leaving,
Would've felt sorry if it wasn't so easy.

I'm Jay and the green light's fading out of vision,
Grating superstitions conflicting with aeortic incisions.
I mean, forty flicks past quick without conflicts of interest,
If I'm honest, not gonna waste my life only dreaming scenics...
I totally mean it. Sun oozing between the blinds.
I smell of looseys and she smacks of a different kind.
I had the bad luck to never color between the lines,
So these pastel designs wreak havock on hazy eyes,
A soft sheep in the paddock, begging the wolf to stay a while.
I fake a glance at the dial. I get my living in while I can.
No eye contact, but I'm sure she understands. Leaving...

I can feel the hurt, in every missing word,
But if memory serves, she never made my heart burn.
That's it... only sad if the princess' face is pert.
Not discarded- rewinded before quietly returned.
(more unwinded pride of a bride undeserved)
Every digit of my cell grace her eyelids, she found,
I got hers- not consecutive, single 5 or thereabout...
and yo, not fit for any executive, that's the hand dealt
I always knew 'unrequited' meant waiting on the shelf,
And when she stutters as she breathes, it's hard, yes...
As far as hearts in sleeves, I'll always have her card left...



Duly Noted
1/11/2013

"Dedicated to everyone who wonders if I'm writing about them. I am."

Brittany. Eighteen. First dream, president,
Kinda pubescent so she ditched it when she got tits,
Apparently with two shots, spills thoughts like broken beakers,
Titrating lines from empty wisdom, mixed in darkened Cleveland theaters,
Wants to suck face- next to booming speakers. Bass leaves metallic aftertaste.
Hearts racing, Ritalin syringe, dialed in a twist to the lacing,
Silver screen adrenaline, settled into panning city scenes-
snapped to scrolls past the scripted dreams-

An itch I gotta pen to pad in handicap stalls, distract pendulums as they fall,
Or risk the twisting scrawl of tongues between thickly lipsticked lips.
Muses drip thick passions in globs. Typewriter hammers fall, smith the feelings hot,
Limelighters screen calls from amateur crystal balls- audience exits right-
And I'm left to write, double-crossed in promised written thrills.
Full of ink to spill in sprawling walls.

It's far from passion. It's creation in deconstruction,
Building tension in recursive functions, a discursive luncheon
with lusty inversions, choke-- hurried the words in on a stretcher
Then misinterpret every quirk and gesture- catch the DNR tag.
Fuck.
See, it's hard to patch the art in, the day stitched me in grips,
Piqued catharsis then dragged along it's brother resistance.
Fenced in carpe noctem. Pieces, foam puzzles. Car carpets.
Nostalgia in puddles, formerly known as the mindful artist. Exhausted.
Arkless. Speechless sparked the brush, seamless darkness stroked it with genius.
It's the contrast! The past to which we pledge allegiance.
But once we lost meaningless, the flood broke through to greet us.

Two of every kind, they're infinite and leaderless,
Defined by minarets of drugs and booze, featureless,
I'm here to lead them, yet shrug the shepherd's creed...

Jenny, the stoned teacher featurette,
Wants to preach the value of education,
But writing's an ancient escape and not an exit-
Stop and pause the lecture, lets dissect that tidbit...
shakes her head, what a hypocrite.
That's the problem, or the tip of it.
Words that bubble up, but aint worth the come-up,
Too much to stomach, abstract, but hang for a moment.
Writing's a pact of saving sayings. A drive to hold the prose in.
Then drop weight in letters and rhyme components.
Knowing people's unspoken, lonely, and comes without a bonus.
Write it down.

Mazes
1/28/13

"I think this aquarium's bigger than the last one"

every technological acheivement,
philosophical soap box thesis,
offering me no soft egress.
only thoughts like sliding pieces.
the space between the lines we shift.
breeze, timelessness, whitewash colors,
freshest style. test tube vials not uncovered.
bless you, tiles, sleep on holy linoleum with a woven bathmat,
exfoliating lab rats, shots of Stoli numb their cataracts.
they won't see or feel the lack of meaning,
with every sip fleeting from just the tip of what we feed em.

Science is not fear in numbers but application of your demons.
walk down your favorite city street. tell me what you see...
paper chaser dreams taped paper over in betweens,
the blackness of alleys- cardboard walls tacked to fallacy.
shards of stone, torches, holy tomes, null practicality.

paintings in blood in France of coarse song and dance...
what forced the hand to snap the evolutionary chain?
trapped in solutions, jewelry hangs, tax elusion high and low,
blacksmiths of polluting, dressed to kill in pastel clothes.

I walk the Paxil road. Packs tipped for looseys. Facts corrode,
But fictions atone for ages. Windermere, dog-ear pages-
Alcohol spills fears. Obsessions.
She manifests them in the rear of Malcolm's Cavalier.
talcum tears, can't adjust to candle scents and velvet either.
help is here. screwdriver, two timer- takes advantage, that's clear.
symptoms have expanded, faster than we can take it,
The divide between effect and cause, cure and vaccination,
fades to a haze in the speakers' gauze. insert your interpretation.

"keepers, hold them dear", me? Or notions of the dagger's teeters?
Packed in theaters. Potion from bottles, drags of ether,
They can't kill us just quite, full throttle to white lights... we're the deer.
But deer know their fate. Aristotle's plight, am i right? Hold my beer.
A toast to cheers... No one knows what it means. Posterchild for numbing cheese.
Silly, broken homes've become thr start it seems, endemic- a plague, disease,
Deer know their end, and I fail to comprehend the faded seams in place behind the trees.

Deja vu comes in twos and ancient falling dreams. Now is never,
It scrawls on the patient's schemes in graphite letters.
It's all for the better. Not for us, for the life we invented.
Cover tucks, sleep tight under the knife of intentions.
Pall Malls and vacant stays, not literal... the phase we delayed,
Cardboard walls. Familiar traipses rearranged. A single match away....
Freedom in death. Facts are facts, burn the path
we all die as rats.