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