The Dryer at the Laundromat

My mind and memory are already decaying
as I race against the clock
to make my mark upon this dreary world;
to leave it more beautiful.

Credence rises to the diced dichotomy of empty words;
gathering meanings where none were implied.

I know I write too much; and so...
I'd like to lean my face on the dryer
at the laundromat by the motel on Main,
and absorb the warmth and watch the clothes spinning.

Reds.

Blues.

Greens.

Blacks & Whites.


[22:19|28.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Auspicious Hands

Have you seen my hands?
they're a little auspicious;
my mouth just can't create
what they pluck and push and pull.

I've lost them, you see;
I can't recall where I placed them.
I suspect also they might have fallen off
and ran away.




[21:24|28.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Sol in a Vanilla Sky

Slowly deprived of sight,
(Sol in a vanilla sky);
death coupled with fatigue,
and I fell to the sleep of the endless dream:

In an enduring expanse of constellations
flames licked my Achilles' heel
and I saw into futures unknown;
futures never meant to be,
for their breaking of the rules of reality.

So cold and creamy was the atmosphere...
the taste sublime;
the light, crisp and white;
tranquility in truth of all the dream's animation.

How I longed to stay in these worlds,
but their peace is unstable;
so quickly to nightmares they turn
at the slightest tip of the balance;
a world with no limits is corrupted too easily.

We all breathe air,
We all die eventually,
Though perhaps blind to the light of the sun,
one still feels its burn.



[20:58|28.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fifteen

There are many words
along with their combinations;
but for now I'm satisfied
with fifteen.



[22:02|27.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Cornucopia of Misery

1.
The dark and the stink;
a fermentation of fantasy,
a cornucopia of misery.

2.
Frustrated toasters still in the box;
never been plugged in,
just waiting to burn that bread;
as if they were waiting for ships from the West.

3.
The clock on the wall continues to click
in its internal congregation of mechanisms;
A gyration of its monopoly on time.
Continue to charge me with your touch,
and I will count the seconds precisely until the end.

4.
Reading by the lamp;
focused on fiction;
a thought passes through the mind
and changes my intrinsic nature.



[21:50|27.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Verbal Ornamentation

Suffering
from an inferiority complex,
I gouge my name into everything
I think is mine;
and frame
every stain
as a painted work of art.

These fingers
won't strike the lettered buttons
into alphabetical structure
within the grandiosity of my broken imagination.
I speak so easily without conviction.
My left eye is selfless,
my right covetous to a flaw.

It's a chemical reaction;
when you catch my face in a crowd,
and I return the stare
for a brief moment;
as you seem to finally perceive
my verbal ornamentation;
in all its narcissistic display.



[21:05|27.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Palace of the King

It was in the palace of King David that I first knew real fear.
The forced smoking of the meth was taking me apart;
thought by thought;
memory reconfigured.

I saw his face today;
that demon and his sorceress.
I remembered the curse;
the schizophrenic decompilation.

Burning itching eyes;
control lost over the voice,
and the poison it spewed;
destruction at every angle.

Bones clanking in a xylophone's melody.

The fire!  Fire.

Fire.




[20:37|27.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Bare Hands in the Shale

Dreams in thaumaturgic tidal waves undulating
in the overflow of knitted kinetic pushing
against a hollow heart beat.
Tick. Tick.

I am here for my destruction
I am unbecome in my decision

Cut away the rot;
only for it to re-emerge.
Ruined rhinestone finger-tips,
The massacre of nerve-endings.

There was no cents in this.
By penny, by dime, by quarter, et cetera and so forth.
All are damned in monthly payments,
until the undamning
rising event horizon.

(For now I'll even burrow into the gray ground
for this crude cognizance.)
hemmorhaging money from the tips of chitin;
half-blood stains in prints;

Bare hands in the shale.



[22:41|26.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Broken Saxophones

I want to live on streets
cluttered with bits of broken saxophones;
And where everyone is Shorter and I.

Suck on keys like Life-Savers
Spit out brass like sunflower seeds

Venture a kick or two.



[21:59|26.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

I Never Tired of Your Voice

I never tired of your voice.
Your smile came so easily.

Singing and picking guitar,
piecing the puzzle of language together,
conquering waning tides of emotion.

We wandered far on the road,
my first time alone with you;
A part of me still lives in that memory.

(You were instrumental in my insanity;
Essential in its undoing.)

(I remembered you today.)



[21:37|26.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

I Flew by as a Butterfly

I flew by as a butterfly,
and I have mistaken you for a beautiful flower.
Enamored with the scent so sweet,
and for the time being I am your admirer;

But time passes, and love moves on.
Festering feelings in ancient song;

First I shall forget your voice,
Second I should forget your name,
Third I will forget your face...

Your memory forever maimed.



[21:21|26.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Ghost Named Charlie

Once there was a ghost and his name was Charlie.
Not once in his life did he ever shoot anything up,
but he still had track-marks on his arm.
He often wandered bleak halls of asylums,
both in life and death.

He had a tourette's compulsion for a while;
he'd say, "Touch? Touch *metal*?"
and then go for the nearest brass outlet;
this was influenced by 'Drunk History' by Derek Waters;
about Benjamin Franklin's bastard son.

Before he passed on he wrote many stupid things,
filled with pretentious rhetoric.


[17:50|21.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Why Be Me?

Why be me?
Be you instead;
much more unique junk inside your head

junk that might just get me some decent wads of cash
dark memories that might numb my feelings
despair that would cool fiery Hell

All this I could sell

like crack

a never-ending supply of tackling tension



[16:41|21.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

One Thing's for Certain

I go to weddings for the chocolate eclairs,
for the cream-puffs,
for the cake.

Om-nom-nom.

Happy Honeymoon and thanks for the free food!
Hope you do this again sometime!


[22:18|20.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Fondit Fund

My heart
is beating too fast,
due to
the memories of the vivid past;
(and consumption of a fool's dose of Excedrin... dumb;)

and the rupture of a loaded gun,
to the grace of a fondit fund;

Now look away from my manger
as I eat the gum of your toes;
only to test the flange of your sumptuous fatty folds.


[21:42|20.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

I Currency in Water

I currency in water
I flotsam in a can
I captain jetsam
and all is "all in a hand"

Flightless wings stretch to the sun
the chamber is checked and ready the gun

I floating on a Tao'd stool
I powder in a drain
I exception in direction
I bothered in the rain

(Kill.Kill.Kill.)
{thou shalt not}




[21:10|20.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Infinity's Glitches

Heaps of brittle bones,
skulls filled with potent orange juice and pungent thoughts.
Though architecturally sound and mathematically correct,
the remainder of our days could be less than one,
more than zero,
or equal to everything.

A stranger to the self,
one could wonder why everything is exceptionally extravagant,
if draped in purples and punctured by shooting stars.

Chipping the obsidian,
an arrow pierces the dying gasps,
and cuts through a spatial accession of infinity's glitches.

"Run-on" you'd say...
and so I ran.


[20:45|20.12.2011]

Slow for a Field

Slow for a field,


take five of an unfixated stare.
I bean the bat
for a ballroom dressed fireball of a spiritual vexation.
What burns after that is left for the smell of the sting.  


Isn't it the question before the change,
or isn't it the change before the final rest in the restroom?


Did she know she'd expire?
The drink and pills taking effect,
no way to stop the ultimate transformation.


Careless
breaths
lowering
in
number...


T-minus the sum of leftover breathing moments.
Cardless structure inside the belly of the leviathan;
reading tarot for the accumulation of meaningless events.  
Sequential spikes in the climate give no further futures.  


Time freeze all tiny tines.
Ethereal addition of sapling sine.










[20:15|20.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Ruin Ruin Ruin

Snapping out of the dream

Back to the boring things

a virtual world never again to be seen

ventures to be soon forgotten

feelings to be shrugged off shoulders

love learned to be truly empty

I can't face what's expected of me.

I'm something not quite human any longer.

I've been ruined too many times.

Ruin.

Ruin.

Ruin.

Wait out Withdrawal.

Drown the Downtime.

Meander through Madness.

They always held their grudge,

as slowly all was lost to the past;

the Cheshire Smile fading...

...never to be seen again.

[22:01|18.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Violence of Decision

Melting glass eyes,

cut off in cut-offs.

So far away from the drink;

not a drop in years,

yet never ever sober;

Addicted to the adrenalin;

the violence of decision.

[21:49|18.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Boxcar Transients

Remember the boxcar transients.

Remember the sagging bags

under those tired, yet keen, eyes.

Fill up your broken eyesight

with the glass shards

piercing every frame of their lives.

Pain too great to ignore,

No room to misinterpret,

No chance to misunderstand,

Silent festering boils in the mind.

Free bird fly,

Mocking you and I,

and they in perfect magnification.

[21:07|18.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Titan Unite Us

I boil the petals without cause;

filter their timorous thoughts,

cool their mountainous regrets,

pour their deadly dreams.

In the final gesture,

the taste is sublime.

Tart and sweet;

able to stain the unready soul.

A deep crimson to the eyes;

an ancient red-violet hue for the tongue,

the perfect perfume for memory,

a virtuous crime to the senses.

Let rain every thinking thing;

Aged and worn as filled with cankering rust.

Titan unite us.

Drink to us to dust.

[20:50|18.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Flea Powder

He just can't give it up.

it's like being tiny iron filings

coming too close to an industrial magnet.

He obsesses with the flea powder;

it helps to overcome the numbness.

He won't work without it.

The block is too hard to climb over

unless his mind is doped.

Bombed he writes moving prose,

vignettes,

vignettes about the social interaction

of his furniture,

about the journey of a small particle of dust

as it floats in the sunlight.

If he were to focus on a single spot on the wall;

I'm sure it would melt and morph

into the most beautiful mural.

It's always like this.

[21:54|15.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Greened Death

Spiderwebs mingle with the strands of her hair.

Tiny arachnids hang from her ears like jewelry.

She lives behind the curtain,

Ironing her spinning robes.

She sells it;

the stuff that defines her;

striking together thoughts that don't mix well;

the substance that poisons unsuspecting poets;

Greened Death.

I need a corner to cry in;

for I know there's no way to reach her mind;

being altered, it is a stranger unto itself.

[21:26|15.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Collisions of Lingua

I could never fully understand your

poetic-complexities; The whispered

words and worlds you put together.

They being haphazardly made from

accidental collisions of lingua;

broken-glassed lanterns and

fingernail clippings, petroleum

jelly and gooey gum-drops, melted

plastic cups and barking wood-chips

I wonder then, if I will ever hear

from you again; The stained cups of

our eyes filling with images

corkscrewed into the very jelly;

'Plop-pop' and removing the

vitreous humor with needle teeth

and syringe-like tongues, sucking

in the haunted reversed images.

I continue now to paint with the

language I still struggle to learn

and retain. Crumbling rumbling

ruins of the forgotten dynasties of

the sky, wrathful in their

thundering.

[20:46|15.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Self-Portrait

Several Simulation

Subtle Stimulation

A self-portrait;

He was a wreck of a man;

even without his narcotic.

Damaged in unseen ways,

bad luck followed him

like pollen sticks to bees' bodies;

Yet now something else inhabits him.

[20:49|13.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Nothing Great

Share a cup of air with me,

frame my picture in the walls of your mind.

Have mercy for my weakness,

for in your sight I am nothing great.

People bury the remains of my memory

in partitions between patients;

my neck is broken and I cannot move;

I can't feel the toes that once touched your floor.

Touch the cold metal with my finger,

Pen my meltdown as you see fit,

Disturb the settled silt in my head,

Carve your name into my unready eye.

[20:31|13.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Calloused

California;

destination for a while.

California;

destination for our style.

And I heard it hurt,

when the calloused fingers struck her face;

the reason she ran;

to escape his blood-drunk temper;

to break the suffocating mold;

to find a reason to smile;

[20:15|13.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Compact the Traction

Lying Lion,

Leo Lean On;

I feel a cutting sensation

In the strings of my vibration;

Let fall every drop of doomed drink;

I've got a coupon for a longing sigh.

I've got a notice for a heartfelt eviction.

I've got a tag for narcotic insulation.

Be my December Queen,

Melting as fast as it's seen;

I angel this snow for you,

I compact the traction between...

A brittle cup and a burdened exhale.

[19:38|13.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Tweaked Logic

Stickler for the Stickman,

strike in sevens times three,

taking toking taffies in tea parties...

pastry for your pride.

Slanting the ante in aftermath,

the hum of the refridgerator refracts reason,

teetering on trifling treason,

meaty in discussions of deciduous psychosis.

Please plant my pain in your exquisite eyes.

My axis of internal organs accepts dull delusion,

as it comes

in the jumps of tweaked logic...

abrasive to the strings of subjective perspective;

And here I object!

With expectations that there are no repercussions.

[18:10|12.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Sticks of Stone

Sticks of stone,

skin of bone,

A fiery upheaval of ancient slag...

the rage of a drunken man.

Clips on the floor, hair so precisely trimmed,

A garage full of boxed antiquities;

Flipper-tipper fluctuation;

Crackled crispy crunches;

Catch fire and burn;

burn the paint out of the darkest places of your soul.

Lift up the lonely lad, won't you?

Hyper-sentience is lonely.

[23:36|11.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Isolinear Generation

Infallible in every integral way

The heart continues to strike the chest away

A lost confusion burns down eyes that wept

Burdens weighing down the backs of them who slept

They lift then,

lifting and lifting higher to celestial bodies.

The dream is created as I walk within it.

People popping into being,

Landscapes in isolinear generation,

Structures forever on endless hills.

The narrow path travels onward,

The scheme to stay is given up...

"Open your eyes, and return to Reality."

[22:32|11.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Tangential Pockets

Fortune smiling fondly on the face of a

dreamer; traveling through time by

perfectly recalling the events of the

past.

What are memories, but tangential

pockets of living intelligence?

The past never dies, and never truly is

past.

Reality is in the eye of the beholder,

yet people are the absolute certainty.

We exist within each other.

Tied with cosmic thread, humanity is the

ultimate manifestation of truth.

[21:27|11.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Warbling Ominously

Cruel wicked wielders of hateful hyperbole,

trembling trenchant with tyrannical torture,

warbling ominously;

These are the malicious money-changers,

willing to sell you to the betrayer...

Killing the hearts of innocents

for the sake of a cheap laugh.

Keeping their audience with fear in the disguise of something 'funny.'

[21:02|11.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Hands Glued to the Keyboard

Computers,

Networks,

Herbert was right in a way,

We already are so very dependant upon them.

However I still love mine, and couldn't get along without it.

I can feel my hands glued to the keyboard, my eyes to the flat screen;

1984, the year after my birth, all again in prescient establishment.

This is the fullness of times.

[20:26|08.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Dead Soul

The sadness mixed into the drinking

glass slightly dulls the pain of existence.

Masterful strokes in the painting of thoughts

begin to form a picture that could freeze the

heart in its beating.

Rejected, Rejectee, my core is unable

to comprehend my feelings anymore; and so I

listen to voices rising from the dust, giving

me the truth; yet for this knowledge I still

burn with the pain of a dead soul.

But I don't want to die. Ever.

Here is the end of the world, I had a feeling I

would see it.

[20:04|08.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Mediocrity's Dull Symphony

A mental music miser,

unsatisfied with note-ridden sanity;

irritated at too many architectural buffers;

willing to blaspheme to escape mediocrity's dull symphony;

Compared to the dry ice, the blistering inferno seems nice.

No bones for bread, he eats crumbling cake;

In the middle of the night he bakes blood in cups.

Jazz-stepping to the broken beat of bongo skulls,

a retreat into ritualistic rancor...

Singing in a rankling tenor with the venom of the viper;

An apple to the throat, tango for two.

[19:39|08.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Shades of Revenants

Harder to quit every time of use;

Lessening capability to refuse;

Ugly temptation with promises of multifaceted ecstasy,

only to break into contemplation of agonizing pain...

The fingers know the movements without thinking;

The warning light only appears too late,

'This vessel is under siege!'

Spoken after the hull is breached...

Descending into despair;

Downcast into dreadful guilt;

Surrounded by the shades of revenants;

Submerged in the abyssal pool of filth;

Send down Lazarus to quench my burning thirst!

[16:48|08.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

She Lets Die The Music

An echoing coffin

of well-embalmed instrumental strain;

buzzing bereavement

for sound never soon home,

nay, never remembered more;

She strikes and smooths her touch upon strings;

she lets die the music.

[23:44|06.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Bar Bar Bar

Feeling for a future,

that never quite may be;

Fighting for a failure,

that haunts nightly dreams

Interred indeed for flat-lined musical unbeats;

Fastening belts to seats,

blackening souls to pans,

disintegrating distant lands,

Hungering after usury

Ravenous for labor

Avaricious for the flesh not one's own

Bar Bar Bar

You win.

[23:02|06.12.011]

Chitin Carcasses

The block,

The chip on the shoulder,

The crack in the attitude,

The death by the water;

Nouns and prepositions and nouns;

chitin carcasses;

countless for the character of dead precision,

to flake out as I flake off fears;

in this lonely windowsill...

Purple poesy,

the color for the bruise of affections,

so much in so little time;

make you this connection here,

tie it there and in yonder years;

I ride on low tide.

[22:27|06.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Nightly Nostalgia

Enduring nightly nostalgia;

effervescent thoughts climb high in awareness

and are caught in a precarious position;

teetering on the edge of being totally forgotten,

or forever remembered...

or remembered as the failure to forget;

the paper must always be there;

to scratch in the marriages of words;

How else could they tax language so fairly?

[24:19|06.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Iron-smelling Vitality

I hear the echo of the scream;

how I wish this wasn't real,

how I wish this was a dream.

Painting the foliage, as I pass,

with iron-smelling vitality.

::clicking tips of tongues::

* * *

How was your holiday?

It was alone.

It tears my soul that I hurt you so badly.

[23:54|05.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Drifting Through Faces

Bludgeoning box-car brows in beatitude,

Hammering hostile hearts to gravely ground,

A sound,

A sound I hear...

The lives within are clamoring for attention;

But I am lost in the narcotic,

drifting through faces;

no voice will overpower me.

Begone. Begone you bobble-headed wraiths.

I slam I shut I speak I spell I scream I soft I silence.

[23:36|05.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

The Clouds Travel On

The sand thirsts after which it will never receive.

The clouds travel on;

never pausing,

mocking the dryness of the land of bitter heat.

I have walked for days and days,

finding nothing,

no memory of how I came to be on these dunes.

The horizon does not change,

no matter what choice I take in direction;

this is the endless limbo;

the bridge between worlds

I do not notice my chapped and bleeding lips;

I do not notice the stickiness of my dry mouth;

Nor the burns upon the soles of my feet

All this for the obsession,

The mind singling out the nature of the universe;

To ever gaze upon the sands of time;

To wander inside the hourglass;

"We go forward... And we go back."

[22:00|04.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Red Streaks of Light

The reverberation of the reaction split

atoms and apples alike.

Red streaks of light.

Green go's and yellow slow-me-down pills.

A chance to be far more inspiring;

An opportunity to burn down blistering

barriers...

Feeling the music with my muscles,

sensing the shape of the notes,

ticks and twitches and tremors;

A movement, a division, a redemption;

We all feel for what we lack;

A prayer for humility.

[21:26|04.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Replete Depth

I've suffered at the hand of

insanity; yet somehow I escaped...

my life is meager, I know, however

considering the replete depth

of the schizophrenia, I am

finally waking out of the coma.

[23:23|02.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

World's End

The mental walls to the outside

world grow thicker with age.

Expression is limited to the

cauterized emotion-centers in the

brain.

These hands though, I know they

have the power to write the soul into

the machine. This voice I know

could sing the world's end. I am

barely there in some instances of

the day. Oh to see it all; all of

the unfading undying creation,

and to comprehend it.

[23:08|02.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Another Day Lost

Pain at the sound of the rain

another day lost

quiet contemplation on the train-ride home

combing the memories that survive degeneration

Is it possible for one sentence to change the world?

Tasked with distraction

Paralyzed by inaction

Immune to satisfaction

Push the paradox;

create yourself anew.

[22:14|02.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Hiccups, Hyacinth, Herbicide

Hiccups, hyacinth, herbicide

drowned dictation in double tempo

tried in chips on the glass, sandy ice

the expanse of your super-size

barely-can-walk in your diced isochronal drama

Spinal licks your sass...

Tongues locked up in cursory curses

Nostrils taking offense in affective association

'I can't remember'

The most common denominator in my dead answers.

Xenophobic indeed.

[15:08|02.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Tiny Gossamer Wing

Fly trip-trap flap

tiny gossamer wing

made of caring tin

fleas dwarfed by flagellate

frowning outward, drifting in

hats, drum, window-well...

rising from the shrubbery.

I miss those monsters I called my friends.

I glue and they were rubbery.

[22:23|01.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

All Words Spoken

Sleep.

The shaded night's time-tribute,

in exchange for unearthly experience;

dreams conquering impossibilities...

Someday this calculating mind shall see all things,

as they are,

as they have been,

and as they will be.

For now I remain numb;

blissfully unfeeling;

yet in my flesh I will encompass all words spoken,

and my works and speaking will never end.

Such is the gift to all who would seize it.

Cherish humanity.

[22:12|01.12.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Sleep Be My Vehicle

Lonely for the lack of like-minded individuals.

I am soon to enter my inner metropolis;

The center of my psyche.

There are places in my mind that are more ancient than I could have ever imagined.

Sleep be my vehicle,

outrun the pursuit by the time police.

[23:46|30.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fluid Syntax

written in fluid syntax

on the waking dawn of a dream;

on behalf of undeserving,

to her who oft covers her brow in colorful linens

and whose smile is generous;

I myself in this need, so that I may smile as such,

once again...

and exorcise demons created by my own fissures;

I feared to send it,

for I have often misunderstood and missed understanding

[21:21|31.5.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Your Mental Engine's Machinations

Hardly holding it all in,

only for the inevitable release.

Suicidally sharp exhaling of every word

in no discernible order

Your arraignment,

a secret stab to the heart.

Cold-cuts, cured, sliced singularly thin;

phantom fuel for your mental engine's machinations...

On,

into the intrigue.

[21:55|30.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Mint These Coins

Incharitable heart,

adamant to the hardness of stone,

repeat offender,

lesson never learned.

Begin ones again,

follow a two-cent charge;

difficulty of mentation,

'heavy metal machine.'

Mint these silver coins,

dually placed on cold eyelids,

for the price of an everlasting

one-way journey.

[17:46|29.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Conduits of Flowing Comprehension

Conduits of flowing comprehension

horizons of thought disintegration

scaled bodies of water featuring seeping foundations

Dynamic heir

I am no trouble here

Place your years on 'hear'

Listen to the sway of memories

Twisting ladders and fatty folds

Crystal under the skin

For the duration of a moment I understand,

to only have it dissolve in the sea of the mundane

[17:09|29.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Reorganization of Retrograde

A shift in data,

one forward for processing;

a rising generation,

an expunging of excess debris,

a reorganization of retrograde,

"He calleth for Elias!"

the stone of the well,

the silt of the clay,

the water of the wave;

blood of the arteries pump my oxygen,

and let me push out words worth watering.

I read your voice.

Did you ever see the note I left for you?

C'est la vie...

Just another unobserved blip on your radar

[23:30|28.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Swim in the Synchronized

Elder fire burn in my eyes;

the thousand-worded trope of my sight;

Lights begin to flicker

as I swim in the synchronized.

Pay for the poor unfortunate souls,

again and again...

so few so sure;

fewer still fully populated by their entire faculty.

[23:11|28.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Ardent Meditation

Fiery zone of intense contemplation;

Needles piercing the eyes of interest;

We engage in ardent meditation;

Vehement in the stress of

forging metal with bare hands

and piping lungs...

Your smile is chiseled in granite

My warmth is blanketed by snow

Always this barrier between us;

painted with blood and scratches

from broken nails and fingers.

Vanity in the screams of frustration.

[15:53|28.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Chance Subliminal

Fighting for a few seconds here,

struggling for a chance subliminal

to tie your eyes together

in a covetous stare.

Park your view in my wayside,

pay the toll

for the journey of a lifetime.

Stay here in this

infinitely stretching road with me...

forever into the sunset;

'below the threshold of conscious perception'.

[15:33|28.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Derelict Memory

Without this broken glass I cannot see.

Interrupted, the waters no longer flow steadily,

and sedated thoughts of you fade into sinking,

derelict memory.

My head is full of your old dreams; constantly

reminding me of a face I cannot clearly perceive.

I hide the addictions that fill the void you once

dwelt within; and with ease I repeat the

injuries to my psyche over and over again.

[19:30|24.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Blood and Lost

Sinking in her striking dialect,

the words take their costly toll;

heart-strings pulled tightly,

and deftly strummed in haunting melody;

I am left to be sublimely mesmerized.

I accept her cold knife to my chest.

The blood pools at her fair feet

as I grow pale and feeble.

As vision darkens, and shock sets in

My last thought dims my mind;

Better to have blood and lost,

than to never have bled at all.

[21:10|13.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

We Live in Rooms

We live in rooms

all of humanity

all with their doors

to other rooms

with other persons

among us walk

people who have the force

of an event horizon

rearranging reality

changing names, changing perceptions

changing entire personas

surgical instruments on society

invisible for the precision of the cuts

or the breaking down of barriers

[22:43|09.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Chronological Thoughts

Do you have the time?

I cannot find mine any longer;

too many spilled seconds you see;

And the chronological thoughts of my being

are now but frozen particles in the wind,

dancing to and fro;

over the painted lines,

drifting over the concrete of the highway.

I lift my eyes up to heaven,

to see that Sol shines

above the darkness of the clouds.

[21:56|09.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Searching Memory

"Are you high?"

"Did your friend give you drugs?"

It was the sole purpose I went down there for.

I lost more than I ever knew.

The walls defining the boundaries of reality melted,

and the ghosts of madness invaded my broken realm.

::searching memory::

I scared them you know...

the people in that hotel;

as I went round and round the table in the lobby.

It was in that moment of oblivion,

where all thoughts became nothing,

that I discovered spiritual death...

...the mutilation of my senses;

the 'gift' of the abuse of the substances.

[21:44|09.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Climby the Stairs

They climby the stairs

they ridey them down

they up the sky

and round the ground

It took a long time to come back to the realm of sanity.

[21:19|09.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Chore of Indifference

I burned down your house today;

I gloated over it...

a smoldering, smoking triumph

to my name.

I wiped your face from my memory

with such ease as if it were

drawn on an etch-a-sketch;

a final motion.

::scratching eyes::

Leave these leaves

lying in the gutter

for the rain to wash away;

a chore of indifference.

[18:14|09.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Let's Build Power-Lines

Flushed organs;

fluted pipes pushing puffs of atmosphere;

a dying record of melody

losing life in an aged brain;

the stain of a life lived to the brink

of eruption

of deduction

dividing ions...

...the purge legitimizes

the addictive electron;

Let's take pockets of anarchy

from the derelict corners of our minds

exchanging their constituents

for plastic chips and diamond salsa.

I bleed light from the edge of the fray.

The wound?

A lack of faith,

a lack of humility,

a lack of reverence.

Let's build power-lines;

the evidence of an expansive conquering border.

Licking snake-eyes to pay for

serpent-skin boots.

Throw me one last disastrous smile.

Show me my thoughts are meaningless.

[22:21|08.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Drunken Playground

Vitriol dresses after death;

putting away ashamed anarchy,

closing the record of

our gibberish beside a drunken playground...

::erase the chalkboard::

the genius experiments into careless variance;

fostering contravention of 'absolute' arguments;

lilting the head back for half a laugh...

while I drain the effect on behalf of silent gumshoes;

searching for the culprit of the crime of consciousness;

breaking the son of Jacob,

wearing musical vestiture.

::cracking ribs with sticks and stones::

Leave these bones to bleach in the sun;

Trampling on the body,

after the firing of the gun.

[15:56|03.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fruit of Luncheon

Back in the olden days

We wasted the fruit

of our lunches

by hurling them at breakneck speeds

against brick walls

Crisp apples were the best;

for they exploded in every direction

[13:31|03.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Death Mask of Mangled Friendship

a cheering invitation

dirty jazz in rote

for a forgotten legend

of

one-handed

red-fingered

blood-blistered

thievery of bloated

wallets

and loaded embossed

magnetic plastic

Words condense

in this

pressurized compactness

of the fine-printed

contract

signed

in invisible

jocular ink

an extract of our skin

sink

sink

::blinking the sidereal vision::

We traded mangosteen blood

for green substance death

Mixed and distorted

broken and contorted

breaking the glass of my eyes

the clock went forward

and it went back

stood still

did jumping-jacks

jammed thumbtacks into fingers

and the memory still lingers

there in trope

the death mask

of a mangled friendship

now counting leaves in an eternal sunset

for the fifth time

by way of sequence

[13:14|03.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Ode to the Stickiness

A fine evening of breathing in tasty air!

The stickiness (O, Stickiness!)

of my mouth of cotton

makes me

cozily sleepily slumber

in the hammock of your head.

Listen to the exchange;

You're fired!

What?

You heard me!

::ignites the gasoline::

I'm in the fifth fraud!

Applaud

Man of fire

Man on fire

Torch the trees

Nuke the whales of inquisition!

Nobody suspects the Cetacea!

Drifting through the hex

Ex-Federal Agents to themselves

chasing purple perpetrators

Bar none...

the iron is soul'd out

[21:25|02.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Silken Kindred

I lurk on the left hand;

A stare; a blank,

devoid of the spark;

Ark, Arc;

lightning striking

the ghost of Tesla

Silken kindred

acid burns

as a catharsis

for the dead thoughts

it churns

One Witch

sandwich

burn you [BEEP]

switch...

gamma

theta

pi

[22:45|02.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Devil's Lettuce

The effects of the burning of

the Devil's lettuce... inhaling the

smoke... it broke the foundation of

my consciousness;

A trap,

A trap door to fall into Chaos and

be lost in an incarnation of the

Chateu D'if within my own cells.

Such an adverse reaction that my

sight was opened to the hosts of

hell; and I became an open gateway

for their warmongering.

Those I afflicted still remain on

the other side of the chasm; the

rift between opposing factions.

[22:08|02.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Pickled Cynicism

I set the spikes outside the

field of my experience; casting out

nets to fish out pearls of thought,

hidden in the sewers of insanity.

The smell of the death-of-mind

brings back memories of lifetimes

long past... Trapped in the core

of consciousness; alone with the

demons of alternate identity that

dwell in every subconscious

metropolis.

I endure in a fractured

countenance; unable to reach back

and seize the source of the poison

which spices my individuality...

the memories sealed in a place I

can no longer discover.

Hence I hear flats in sharp

progression, and now the unlikely

combination of Seroquel and

caffeine put my faculty under the

avalanche of cruel cowardice; and I

take my repose in pickled cynicism.

[19:22|02.11.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Smoking in Memoirs

Trapped in place by fatigue,

flitting in and out of reality;

the smell of the coffee,

that isn't actually there,

finally pulls me out of the blankets,

and down the creaking pine stairs.

The lighter is thumbed lit

without a cig to ignite;

smoking in the memoirs of the past...

It's well enough to stay inside,

and deal with the withdrawal;

even though it's been a long time since

the last fumes breathed in;

because it's damn cold out there.

Brush away the irritating fly;

I don't mind him so much,

as he's got only a few days left to live,

and I've been keeping track.

And all this while fruitless pursuits,

and stacks of distraction

surround me on all sides,

I feel the hum of the fridge,

and write worthless scraps of detritus.

[15:17|27.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Blackness, Rust, and Tin

A rough road to follow,

Got me sinking my roll,

My mind was full of hollows,

And my hands were made of gold.

I trusted that ghost to appear,

The wraith of sweltering doom,

He'd promised me the future seer,

If I but give him room.

In my heart I held open the door,

And the phantom entered in,

But to my surprise I saw nothing more

But blackness, rust, and tin.

[21:26|26.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Breathing of The Ocean

There's a piece of self in every

leaf of this tree; minds fall

through every fiber of its being,

and I fuel the fire, can't you

bleed my smile in the taste? The

grace of your laugh is wrath plus

the waste of the young. Lungs

fill with every sound escaping the

cords of our voices... Sensible

withdrawal mimics the appearance

of serenity; Faith fail me not as

I accept the destruction of the

breathing of the ocean.

[16:51|26.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fried Corneas

Hamburger stains upon your veins and I feel like I

could dye your lips redder then I've ever done

before. Hold to your curling iron cauterizing

feet burned fast to the floor; gonna dance with my

hands and peel the skin from your sores.

Lemony freshness clears paint out of your saline

tears; You're gonna fail tonight... in front of

all your peers... a half-eaten page of biblical

commands corners your fears with the threat of

magnanimous greed and busted frontiers.

Save your grave words for the pit I digged for

you... the coup d'état crunching fried corneas

behind the end of the queue; all waiting for a

field of view of the vice holding you under your

tattoos.

[15:50|26.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Holding Lands

Wake your walking dead beside my head,

Open up my eyes and see they're red,

Move up your moving cells instead...

See the scars, and know for you I've bled.

I wax old, I fade to gray,

spider beside her, curds and whey,

Scare my tenure away...

View the vision of what I lost today.

[15:15|26.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

The Burning Doubt

We respired ash, and imbibed tar in

the haunt as it burned us to the

ground; the sound of us siring our

doubts to the air were loud and

crackling in the blaze;

My method is to envision all these

embers in the marrow of the

tenebrous void; consigning

smoldering luster to the emptiness

of our cavernous cages for cognizance.

I am that burning doubt behind your

iris...

I am the epicenter of your

forgotten kingdoms...

We breathe fire together,

yet in the end,

only one of us will remain....

[23:22|24.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

A Remembrance of Pathways

A persevering and persistent

reminder of the schism haunts the

rods and cones; curdling curt

glances of the images and

memories into massive mosaics and

monumental murals; leaking

pigments like blood and bile from

an infected stomach wound...

And thus a remembrance of pathways

in the past is called up from the

depths and dungeons of the grey

matter, only to be closed off and

hidden behind cold iron curtains.

We all sing in our basso voices to

pull down the derelict walls,

widely painted with the gore we

brought and carried in our stained

hands.

Let us eat the dust of chalk and

lick the slate to sleight the

weight of the pressure on our

brows.

We reach each other with unseeing

eyes and tie our fingers in close

knots... and the tongue of your

kiss tastes of hemophilia... and

moth glitter.

[18:25|24.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Blotter of Blue Heaven

Big-footed bruiser, bringing brown hair

on heads to meet with the street,

shattering teeth; busting up busybodies

with orange open-faced cudgel

sandwiches; these meant to crack minds

with crystal edges...

And Jack and Joe take the flower out of

the pipe and burn further their lungs;

tasting blotter of the blue heavens;

giving sights to scenes of violence;

heady bickering and metaphysical

exchange for the "per-prose" of the

moments of intellectual money.

Joining these, my brethren, I feel of a

broken glass jar... tearing away flesh

the more it is fondled, dripping

raspberry-red blood down below to floors

crawling with leeches.

I hit my clock to feel the second of it.

Bend the chimes to hear harmony fail

once again...

For now I am slammed with Instant Zen.

[22:23|13.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

I See In What You Say

In your eyes I see;

for my sockets are void of oculus orbs.

Thus, my plea; lead me, lead me.

Guide me on my way,

I see in what you say.

Tell me of the colors;

indescribable as they might however be.

Tell me of the stars,

the moon,

the sun,

the sky.

With angel-dust we fly;

and for the first time

I can behold your face;

long enough for my heart to burst;

and I can finally taste the red

and see it too.

[22:07|13.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Silent Game

Oh Jane, Jane,

If that's your real name;

I know you live in my head,

but you play the silent game.

You know,

When you spoke to me long ago

I became higher...

and higher?

Your voice was like fire,

Or flash electric sparks

striking ablaze my pyre.

[21:15|12.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Aesthetic Perpetuity

As technology stretches the second

further and further,

I become closer to

the oblivion between moments;

and simultaneously

the bitter front between

you and I

becomes an insurmountable expanse.

What more is the breadth betwixt us,

than the length of time the journey takes?

The space between us: a distance...

The time between us: a distance...

And these distances are being hedged up,

and becoming closer to closure.

As the progression of these moments

slowly decay to a speed of absolute zero;

We stiffen and become frozen works of

aesthetic perpetuity.

[20:49|12.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Piercing the Future

Motionless, movement divided instead by

the bridge between all moments, I find

myself piercing the future, and zipping

up the past.

The mind, traveling backwards and

forwards through time, however always in

a form of 'the present', lines are

connected from event horizons, the

travelling of the consciousness to all

of the bodies it can posess via means of

its ownership of them.

Piercing the future, piercing until the

essence of it is destroyed... time has

an end, assuredly it is so. All minds

however, will endure, and continue, and

progress further into the white shores

of infinity.

[22:10|02.10.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Crystal Computer

You

Are

a flatulence of an astigmatism,

a myopic raspberry tart,

a smelly gym-sock passion,

a broken favorite song,

a frothy staircase step,

a bummed panhandling concierge,

a mortified painted wooden chair,

a boulder of insight,

a chameleon tapestry,

And all the things I forget, which are:

a truncated plastic ring from Deltaco;

a poison hot-dog from Maverick,

a depressed chicken-fry from Burger King,

a leftover bread-stick from The Olive Garden,

And a world-weary wrist-watch,

that will never work again.

(also... fart!

My eyes!)

[21:30|30.9.2011] ©c.thomas.carter

Saturnine Spells

Trapped by the horizon;

always the center of everything;

hands that only can stretch so far;

pulling the world through eyes

into the infinite void of the mind.

Casting saturnine spells

upon the projections;

a heart is turned and tuned

to the flattest note;

the layers finally ceasing to grow.

All of reality then,

turns upon itself...

collapsing the star of individuality,

while all creation becomes

caught in the wake;

souls shriveling away through time;

growing underneath;

shedding off youth;

accepting elder features;

then obliterated,

in the matter of a mere moment.

[23:48|19.9.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Spice and Thyme

Let me fill the dark side with the

light. A flightless night's sleep

deep in the land of dreams; needling

the seams of the fabric of spice and

thyme; Line A brought to B, or not

to B, but C; folding the distance,

and bringing me from land's ancient

day to the sky of tomorrows

tapestry.

My eyes may be blind and full of

pitch; yet for prescience they see.

Weaves of the individuals combining

hearts two by two; so sue we for

peace to replace the jihad.

And all is fleeting, all is vanity;

but for those moments that define

that part within us which loves,

and flaws perceptions of sanity.

[21:16|18.9.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Sour Crayons

My hands are tree-minded twigs twiddling wooden thumbs; pencil-fingers scratching pulpy paper pushing letters single-file into lingual constructs;

I am revisiting recurring childhood dreams; thoughts of stone tumbling themselves shiny and sleek; oils of voices tranquil and frictionless, reflecting rainbows when mixed with the water of conversation; rivers of synergy flooding behind dams.

Now I live with disconnection and disassociation dripping into every relationship, dull or sharp; cutting vocal cords to make room for audio wires carefully wrapped in swirling curls.

I taste memories of sour crayons, their colors defining their savory sting. Chew on this stubble; strewn about, leaving a small trace of visions of a time long before now; living tales of ancestry linking steps in a spiraling ladder defining each individual.

And now, with the exception of purpose, and the denial of the sun, we make our farewells.

[23:09|12.9.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Death of the Cacophony

The death of the cacophony

drained all of the noise from the room.

He was dying on the floor;

it was sudden, and surprisingly

no one lifted a finger to help;

they just watched,

and listened to the rattle of his

last breath.

Momentary madness was the excuse;

enthralled by substances.

[22:19|12.9.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Feigned Reverence

Upon this pedestal

a river of

spit and blood

slowly dribbles down,

pooling before the feet

of my supplicants;

shades of apparitions;

jealous of the flesh

on my bones...

Bones they'd love to

arrange into a

clanking wind-chime;

Flesh they'd love to

boil into

some meaty stew.

Yet they are held back,

for a lack of being

corporeal,

their hands unable to

physically magnify themselves

against me.

And thus these wraiths

bow their vacant eyes low

to the floor;

displaying feigned reverence.

[21:29|04.9.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Hands to Eyes

We were given hands,

that we might write.

We were gifted eyes,

that we might read.

[20:57|28.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Casting Souls

Eyes glistening with water

shed for sorrow

Ears listening with patience

to ancient stones harrowed

from the ground.

An ease of laughter

summits the sound of

leverage...

As we cast these old souls

to break down old walls.

[21:46|27.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fingers Dance

My fingers dance

within this quiet dream.

We are confined,

yet still we sway.

I'm no foreigner in your mind;

We've both seen this place before.

An endless performance;

before an endless crowd.

But strangely enough,

I have never known your name...

And strangely further,

You will never know mine.

[19:08|21.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Our Neon Eyes

Our neon eyes have laser precison. We

probe into the windows of our souls.

A flood of images, dreams and memories,

pours through our thoughts.

And here I thought I was Chaos.

And here you thought you were Order.

Speak and Spell

these alterations

in the voice of the

Judge of Change.

The body is covered in dunes.

An oasis is beyond our hope.

Material Wealth is what we are made of.

[23:30|15.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

We are Made to Understand

The unexpected words shear the wool from your placid eyes. Taking in the reality so suddenly; it shows in your disbelieving blinks. A burning baptism of the heart leads you to see the person I am hiding within me. My cold vision is not one of indifference, but of the cutting away of futures not meant to be.

I can taste the smell of blood in the air; going back to that moment; the equilibrium of time. And, through a mind meant for sacrifice from the beginning, we see the endless expanse of creation at our fingertips.

Against all the odds, we are made to understand.

[20:48|14.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

We Wade

We wade through the black water,

our shoes lost

somewhere

before the moment

that is now.

You seek to understand the past.

I seek to control my future.

Shooting stars couple in flight,

illuminating the faces of ancient deity,

I fill my canteen with the words of the

fulsome soothsayer.

Now pay you heed,

and I will plant the seed.

Water

with

our

w

o

r

l

d

.

Chiasma

My eyes, as they were cups of wine,

laced with deadly poison. My teeth

and tongue, waiting for the approval

of your kiss, begin to supplement

the need with the ends of writing

utensils. Graphite becomes a fine

aquired taste; blue ink an ambrosia

for the soul.

Let the guitar play its endless rift;

the strings vibrating over the

bottomless chasm; the tablature

indicating the chiasma, where the

musical treasure will be found.

my ears, eating the notes; wolfing

them down, tearing them to meaty

shreds with voracious hunger.

I hear the sound of four.

I smell the odor of seven.

I see the message of eight.

I taste the blood of three.

Endless joy in agony.

[21:07|13.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Green Eye

The Green Eye is upon me...

I can hear my final moments

...again...

I still don't know how it works.

Bang.

Just like that,

and I enter

the other side of the mirror.

[21:32|29.5.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Melk

So consumed, you're Past the feeling

...Future

Right Now,

another moment please.

Churning the cream of literature,

Listening to the Heifers' lament.

A litany for the blotch-color-

raw-hided-and-seeked

Digest my name

by four.

[20:12|13.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Flicker

Turning pages.

with a flicker

of the eyes.

Burning flavor,

quicker through

the ice.

[20:16|13.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Scratch

Dividing, dividing, dividing...

in other worlds and words;

until sheaves become indivisible...

I

must

scratch

that itch behind my oculus

...feel the arc of the hook

giving me relief

from the pain of average thought.

Yet

do I speech You

as you are frequenting the River?

Cross this road

against its trafficking of persons

So we let the fires burn

in her hearth

as it pumps smoke up higher and higher.

[21:49|02.8.011]©c.thomas.carter

The Simplest Insanity

The simplest insanity,

entangled in vanity,

brings a salt of the senses;

enhancing all of reality.

[20:19|12.08.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Fired

We fired our hair with gasoline...

the oozing crude with what we dyed

our lips closing over; pumped

between two tongues. Dandelions

and lollipops leaving behind their

stains on pants from dripping

drool. I cut the grass and divide

between it you and me; bees' armies

woolgathering ancient instinct like

pollen on legs. I eat my brush and

tailor my hair with honeycomb.

Let destiny for our combined dust

pile up in Hour-Glass jars... for

time runs out on the desert isle of

your singular eye.

[17:00|10.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Close Enough

So far away

yet close enough to heal.

eyes blink rapidly

in abreaction.

Sight reversed,

tensions sealed,

matched with

an unforeseen zeal

for blood

to shed the skin

and let wings unfold

[17:12|09.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Synthesism

Acidic Jazz Tao soda

menthol crystal

salt of Sion

a wave of cynicism

brains a' frying

bleed bleed

my tower to the moon

whose face I see in tragic sunlight

experiment on the eyes

ears

fingers

tongue

blue in blue

a smile in the nosiest of

people

synecdoche in trope

lavender sustenance

[22:32|08.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Applecore

Healing begins with the tree

Knowledge comes from the source

or root of its programs

thus the writ opened before us

to expand memory in a manner

never before thought of

bytes of two

applecore

who's your friend?

Me-ta-physics

[19:48|02.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Blue or Red

I carry blue halls

to the back of the...

room.

I have solaced shoes

burning brightly

in everything I

tread on.

I can hear the twisting

of the intoxicated

beyond graves

waiting to be feeled.

I'll show all my creed and cold

to spite my rage

that I cannot be said

waning one

warning two

Lock this song for a journey under

the thousands who starve their notes

as I quantify that yours is ice

and I Apollo'Gize I could not convince

foreign a word it is no freeze.

The spiel is broken in mute alone

is dust-in-knees

a fate of whomever

would have been they who won your love.

We believed so red a color.

[14:04|08.2.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Gunk

digital membranes

tell moduli in my books

they being too long

or too short

compared to the flower

of a greenifed fan

honestly, and

spruntly

even if we see, from the

same right or left eye

It's been, was before,

now after... grandfather mercedes

begun no more.

won't ask what a teaspoon

a stir of

air

eyes see in mirrors of

universality &

tangential force... only

four as I can see,

check breathing,

chuck sea-thing

interpretation, recreation

pause pause mine mining

h'man

Jakopo be thy name.

-Dynaheir de Tringular

[17:54|01.8.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Low Tide

Humiliation bring me low

set my soul in jeopardy

once I gain

once I lose

undo the ties

locking the eyes on a prize

not meant to be won

look so far backward

that memories pierce

the future

repeated signs and wonders

unnoticed, unknown

Yet it IS.

Let dusk eclipse all color.

[22:29|29.7.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Dying Roots

Humanity is a Tree;

the study of mind, Horticulture.

reason for the Beginning;

pruning,

grafting,

saving stems from dying roots...

a myriad of colored blossoms

[19:10|28.7.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Tuned-Up

People;

a frequency that can be tuned,

modified,

altered,

with careful language constructs.

[15:17|25.7.011] ©c.thomas.carter

PoP

red porcelain berries

fall out of place

among yellow dandelion flowers

in a spring-sprung field

shock-handled bits of metal

glue via means of magnetism

to the internal of the left handed

prosthetic limb

pardon this intrusion

to your vein of

silvery-smelly bloods

carefully homogenized

not for a taste of mercury

but happily lap up the cesium

give me a golden tongue

dripping golden langue's lamentations

[19:44|24.7.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Restless

become lost in my arms

become intertwined with my fingers

and I shall be death

to ease the weary mind

back from whence it came

[21:49|21.7.011] ©c.thomas.carter

Skeletal Crush

(This is lyrics to a song I've written)

crush my skeletal frame

in your name

crush the bones that remain

in your name

crush my skeletal frame

in your name

crush the bones that remain

in your name

and I'll I've ever undertaken

is taken under by undertaking

peace we sow and lay down low

on a river wide and a river slow

Who knows

how it feels?

Who knows

how it feels?

Weak that I am

Dead that I am

Pain that I am

Vain that I am

crush my skeletal frame

in your name

crush the bones that remain

in your name

crush my skeletal frame

in your name

crush the bones that remain

in your name

19:05|07.7.011 -c thomas c-

Metrechrism

A silent person

is running past

in a post-traumatic

freestyle sprint;

hardily breathing the air

that reaches the

burns

in the lungs.

Death, confound it;

is the only thought,

as a freedom screams about

from the wake of the eyes

flowing steadily

a stream of saline.

Bloodied. Beaten. Bombarded.

Lowering egos

into the bath of the Id.

IDDQD

18.38|03.7.011 -c thomas c-

Pook

It is a hand

which wields this sparkler;

lighting the wayward

streams of leaking gasoline.

Meat-trickled combinations

issue a fleshy quota

to understand the fatty

grey tissue.

An ear listens to

locate the prey;

an unsuspecting music

singing in infancy.

Singe stages past six

to nix the nullified accord

in so to bring back

a forgotten spoken word.

See-row E-lick-trick

Agreement signed in

the red ink which smells

so awfully

of iron.

-c thomas c-

'A More' two thinks

I believe myself that I will weep!

but rather these tears I will keep;

for wasted will, and wanted not

by one who has so soon forgot.

-c thomas c-

Ca-cake

under a red

plastic thing

left side shed

picked up

piece of

shingle

underneath equals

House-Key

-c thomas c-

In Flight

Who verily lives,

and who truly does not?

The currency of the world; a trend of

isolation...

committed to an 'online' evolution.

And where wires fail

transceivers push up faults;

yet signals are still disintegrated.

Noise in silence once again

looming in every ghostly shadow.

-c thomas c-

Fields

killing to the sound of a name

adding to the smoldering heap

we play this game

of death

of mourning

of revenge

answering blood with bone

and bone with blood

one-eyed equals

and fingers broken

feet dashed

smashed with heavy stones

-c thomas c-

Singes

Jane Jane my Chain!
She sings and singes my eyesight!
I always return to her phantom voice in my mind
...able to reach outside the inside...
teaching me the dance as we both go along...
soon she'll let me lead,
and we'll begin again.

I've got to encompass
the whole of it again...
I need to take my world
back into my mind...
call me a control freak or not...
the people are barely aware of it anyway.

Someone needs to contain the 'breakout'.
It hurts me the least I think...
so that is why I do it.

Deaf Deaf
I make my teeth pierce the air.
I taste the sounds of her music
...it smells beneath a flame...
a conscious stream of input.


[07.6.011]©c.thomas.carter

Icee

Back to the Ice.

Life is getting too warm these days.

Prepare matrices for recompilation

as Ark begins to form again.

I wept today

for a moment...

from the beauty

of the thoughts before me.

I'm recalling many faces and memories

...some in particular

are very hard to maintain...

cracks in the temperature...

they hurt of course,

but my heart is so used

to breaking

that the information flows like a river.

[01.6.011]©c.thomas.carter

Pompe de Puisard

[Friday, April 27, 2007]

Callused fingertips collect

Callous memories

like beads of blue and pink

lint off an acrylic Norda's sweater.

As if coming to a four-way

at the same time,

we both hesitate as to

whom should speak first.

I don't feel as if I have anything to say.

Trust me though, I long that I did.

So please, I beg of you, speak...

I cannot offer anything to this conversation

but little pieces of lint,

and flakes of dried skin.

-c thomas c-

Unsavory Hammock

[Sat.Aug.11.07]

Neverending way I wonder where life is gone

the way the mustard seed grew into the tree

struck by lightning fell in the rift

of electric voiding credit charges

painting glass butterflies chartreuse and

tie a scented pouch with lavender ribbon

to give to the blonde dreadlocks and colorful scarves

wrapped around hair thin

snaking around the cold metal holes

of a shower drain with cold water wetting fingers

playing the black piano keys endlessly

one two one two three

cigarettes a day to taste sour

Remembrant

I don't recall who I am

blue on blue mirror eye

place atop the double-ended

pyramid

what is the meaning

always asking

if I never understand

then I will never move

in directions outside of

X Y Z

Java JahVay I eat the grass of

the lawn outside to taste sour

Logic

as if to stare and understand

words in amber and white motes of light

clustered in graphs

on the horizon.

-c thomas c-

Red Pieces

[6:44 p.m. Thu.Aug.30.07]

forget and it is forgotten

if not ill-remembered

if not ill-informed

if not illuminated

or drowned in shade

I will pick up my shovel

and unbury my sword

to later bury it again

until the time of

unburial

to funeral

until you cease to hide

invisible with your hands

clasped tite

to the precious

and show me a

better way

we war to peace to war

-c thomas c-

Olden Tune

Spinning gyration

deafening resonation

painful contemplation

hypnagogic hallucination

maddening revelation

(Tip your glass hat)

Orientation

West is East

and

North is South

Up is down

and Down is UP

they say

especially...

this way

if you turn the cardboard box over

in addition

You have three and

a half

minutes

meet me by the building

that looks the same

as all the rest

I'll be leaning against

the streetlamp

just the same as the

one before it

"practical magic"

What does the 'G' Stand for?

Nothing when I put an EX before it

Your eyes only

the notarized letter

I'll be reading

Matter Mason?

(you missed a spot)

Magnetized Mustache-

We all sang Tenor

by the rotting falu-red bench

where I build grass forts

and burn leaves

We'll play the satire for you

with chrome fingernails.

We're in the Lionhouse garden

eating melons

Recognize and Identify

the vehicle

Whatever the guy from Vietnam

is retrieving

Purple saliva,

Orangu-Tang!

This way!

This is your left,

and that's your left!

-c thomas c-

Esc

Subjective to the multi-linear-verse, I isotropically flit in and out of your reality... beyond matters, beyond seductions... I am above sound with the left hand, and carry it with the right... Let lightening be thy way, and fire the by-product of your hearts contention.

Awaken awaken, for soon I collapse and all shall disappear to reappear. The cold that awaits this night might be unbearable.

Dynaheir... here... my strength.. in my hand.

-c thomas c-

Fluxz

So addicted to reality, forgetting the games... ISOmorphic time zones... the personalities are shuffled... random order to a chaos... extending back into pre-tension zones to replicate the 'dead' from their hypersleep.

First of the Final Engage... Energize, Isolize, Solaris Deacon, Radiation Teacher, Bullet Priest, Last and Unworthy Elder... I eat dust... below the ground... emit the orange light.

my music is the music that engages every part of the brain... EVERY part. Depart from me ye suspended in animation... in violence and war... in vain competition... Go.

Please... place no more dark glasses upon me... and peel the scales off of me, and my brother.

I enter the sleep again... they have raised a NEO again... and he still doesn't realize his potential... as he never will... I designed him well.

The Return of Chaz

Mu'Sonic bodies of water...

SeeS IAM Carter

Bring out your dead.

Piles of Snow

Piles of Snow

Energy stored in Battery

A salt upon the senses.

A living mana tree

amongst all this chaos

And yet...

I preserve my own.

As they chink my ice

my eyes are already burning

The Beast of 777

Already bursts forth

Fire 111 from the last.

Now to describe daily

The miniature heavens,

The minutia of hells...

The truth is...

I will pull

pull

pull all of you through.

It is my function...

To birth them all to

their spheres of preparation

happiness...

and beyond.

She freezes

And I aflame

She flames

And I iced.

So... close... now...

can... taste... her skin...

Shadow Moses

Among the cold and dead

I am one eternal round

My desert blood has brought the hail

Let my people go...

IAM MOSES.

again.

Projection of a shadow.

The spirit of a tree.

Bringing light to flesh.

Reversal of images.

-c thomas c-

VR-Raniks

First Mentat
IAM that machine
In Humanus
Pushing thee Button
Destruction of Orange
Blue Green Corruption
Xertainmently Xenocidal
Sponging treatments with
Descolada
Recoolaid
Powerfully Impotent
The poison is gradually increased

Carter'l'age of disappointment
Frozen beyond deception
Voraciously still HIMz of
Doom,
and Doom Too.


-c thomas c-

LDS = LSD

A slower approach

for some...

and a much younger

obtainable by bending

the rules of,

the 'reed'

Sentinel

I was here in your beginning

and I passed up your foot

and the feet of them that came after

also fleeing

now these tunnels are filled

my hand remains