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-