The Subjective Self

A sideways swim
under the bloated ocean
of self-cognizance;
perfect for the exercise of
the subjective self.

Here am I,
burning in the cradling hands
of the inferno,
waiting for the flow
of the channeled poison of healing;
madness one day to end.
with nothing to share,
and dragging loneliness
through the streets,
I eat the dust settled around fading memories.

And for a brief moment,
as I wander through the crowd,
my vision is suddenly locked onto a pure face;
Your eyes are an Oasis in this sea of dunes;
a brief respite from the ailing populace.

It will make what will happen easier;
as I am betrayed by ravenous wolves,
once allies.

To the sound of
stones smashing my body,
I am able see the light
beyond,
below,
and above,
reality in its fluid form.


10:37 PM 8/16/2012 ©c.thomas.carter

Backstreet Doors

backstreet doors on the floors
of the lives below,

oh no.

popcorn-ceiling falls
from the seismic calls...

so low.

and you could always make a choice;
turn your passion to a mess of noise;
singing captured in your tone of voice;

burning secrets with your graceful poise.

cat may cry in the light
of the autumn day,

I say.

hats off fly in the right
of the dust of grey

ballet

and you could always step aside;
turn your fashion to a different light;
singing rapture in the coming tide;

burning secrets with in whom you confide.


[17:04|16.8.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Caved-In Retinas

Peerless destruction,
caved-in retinas speaking nothing but darkness...
the fire, spreading outward,
can only be inwardly felt.

[23:07|14.8.012] ©c.thomas.carter

First Light

First light,
Death by sorrow,
Caricatures etched in ice;
Kissing tongues locked in frozen embrace.

He travels by light,
Reaching the eyes of Universal Time;
Hertz his Heartbeats closer to Nothing,
Feel a fine loss of bloody cells;

Imprisoned by Mercury Years;
A smoldering heap, hating introversion,
Lost in isolation, forgotten by green things;
The ash flows in the air,  coating vivid memories.

Ebony Embers,
Charcoal Faces drawn on stone;
The last man waits for the last love,
Hoping hell won't take him too soon.


[16:10|03.8.012] ©c.thomas.carter

Purpose in the Kill

Burning post-it notes
Fueled by passionate whispers
Hidden in tepid darkness
Behind wrinkled red curtains

Blood and Bone
Flesh and Fire
Sweeping notions of nostalgic harmony
Beating wings of flightless love

Post Rock
Tissue Paper
Golden Scissors
Battle between tripled variables

Caches of secret memory
Circuits of neural branches
Purpose in the kill
Devouring seeds of thought

The fall of Babylon


[15:49|03.8.012] ©c.thomas.carter