Wednesday, November 30, 2011

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

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

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

Monday, November 28, 2011

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

Thursday, November 24, 2011

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


Sunday, November 13, 2011

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

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

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

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

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

Thursday, November 3, 2011

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

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

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