This is not working. How does one write poetry? I have forgotten.

If the world is but a stage
then I am but a mime,
lost for words and lost in words
and trapped by words,
for the significance of sound
is lost to the mute.

In silence I have brought forth
the essence of craftwork,
washed myself in the afterbirth
of Loki Lie-Smith.

(copyright a(scetic)verse, for whatever fucking reason I want to copyright a godawful draft, 8/25/09)

Foxmask

This harsh dark bold towering text,
black on off-white yellowing curling page,
reminds me of why I thrive on contrast:
indistinction, indiscretion, misdirection,
tools of the Foxmask facing aggression.
I thrive, die, vivify.

Pale cold oceanic salt blur-
I cannot sleep angry and ashamed,
even though you are as blinded
by spacetime as by mock faith and mirror virtue.

This dull steady pathos-flood of oceantide quietus
validates, vindicates;
night and solitude, however,
ransom sensibility
and so I hold onto my perhaps
damnfool hope for your burgeoning regret.

(copyright a(scetic)verse, 1/21/2009)

Meditation on Certainty

The beat in my blood
is the heartsong of creation
'canted in Gregorian basso harmony
with the swansong of existence.

Verse, chorus, verse bridge
chorus. As long as each begins
I can still be sure, at least,
that it will end.

It's the same with days. If
with any certainty
I can say that today has begun,
then so may I say that this day
will end and
the next will come in turn,

at least until it doesn't.

(copyright a(scetic)verse, 7/12/2009)

No title, but I dig it.

The coppery burn of
you
on his tongue and
embedded in his nostrils
wakes him even
from morphine-sleep.

Aftertaste, afterimage, lingering
beneath living skin. You can die
in flesh, but you had
to die
in his arms and so
you will live viscerally,
vicariously, 'til you have twice
decayed.

(copyright a(scetic)verse, 7/12/2009)

I only wrote half of this.

There once was an ostrich, his neck was so long,
and even though he lived in a zoo, he was oh-so strong.
His name was Ollie, but his name was his folly-
he didn't know from where it came!
His mom and dad just didn't have fame.
Ollie lived in the zoo from the time he was two,
without his mommy and daddy. Which
ostrich parents were his? He just didn't know who.
So Ollie wanted a quest. A quest to find his
mom and dad, and he would do his best.

On one dark night, the moon tucked
in to its blanket of cloud, Ollie slipped
out of his cage, over a high wall he flipped.
An easy feat for an ostrich so strong!
He jumped so high he dodged the fence,
and the alarm stayed asleep, it didn't sing its song.
Ollie went from cage to cage to find his mom and dad,
but so far the search was going bad.
A great lion heard him walk,
beckoned him over to talk.
The king of beasts said Ollie was out of luck,
that all the parents had been taken away in a truck.
What would Ollie do? He just didn't have a clue!

(copyright a(scetic)verse, whenthefuck ever, steal this if you want i don't give a fuck)