08 THE GRAVE ROBBER

THE GRAVE ROBBER 

As the smoke settles

(thick mix of cheap cigar

And strong Asian blend of

Spices compressed

In a single scented vine

Of incense)

I can see the page

Where my words supposedly come to life,

And jump out towards me

Like arrows

Flying through the smoke

Scraping my head,

Making me realize just how

Dull they really are.

I tried to jumpstart them,

I tried to breath life in their

Dead and dry lungs, but

These words are long gone

And now meaningless.

Useless.

So why do I keep writing?

Why do I force myself to

Dig out the corpses laying

In the graveyard in the back of my mind?

Maybe because somewhere inside of me

I can’t really bring myself to stop.

Maybe these zombies moaning and

Wobbling their way through these

White pages, spreading their black blood

Everywhere are just as alive

As any other creature that

Walks the earth.

Maybe the fact that I write them

Is enough to give them meaning.

Maybe this. Maybe that.

Maybe I’m just full of shit and complain too much.

Maybe I should just stop writing.

Maybe later.

07 KYLE

There was a knock on my door last night around 3 Am. It was my mysterious neighbor, once again wearing his suit. His hands were covered in blood. He asked if he could come in. I stupidly let him in without asking any questions. He headed towards the kitchen and washed the blood off his hands. The blood is still in there, I should probably clean it out. He kept looking out of the window frantically, as if someone was following him. After about ten minutes, he thanked me and headed out. Before leaving he said his name was Kyle. Immediately he ran out and headed into a dark alleyway. I don't know what it is about this guy, but I feel strangely comfortable around him, even during the awkwardness of his silence the other day. 


No poem today. 

06 ON HOW CHOPPING BASIL IS SOMEWHAT THERAPEUTIC

I saw the guy again, he was wearing the same suit. I introduced myself. I asked him his name. He just stood quietly looking around himself. I attempted to make small talk but it was no use. He never said anything. I felt really awkward so I just went to work. 


At work I came up with this weird thing.


ON HOW CHOPPING BASIL IS SOMEWHAT THERAPEUTIC 

The drama of the hour.

Workplace tension surrounding

Every corner, so much that it

Can be cut with a knife

And served as a filet.

The knife suddenly is in my hand,

And although the stress is

Served to me gratis on a

Golden platter, I rather not have any.

I turn my attention to the basil:

Humble green leaves scattered

Across the lime colored cutting board

Like sheep heading to the slaughter.

And I am the executioner.

With swift, quick chops,

I decapitate the head of the leaf.

Slowly the population grows,

Turning from few happy peasants,

To terrified masses.

I see the blood flow

From the green veins,

Filling the air with aromas

That stimulate multiple sense.

Wonderful.

Lustful.

Orgasmic.

I can’t stop.

I pick up a tin casket and

Fill it with the corpses

Of the once lively leaves.

My work is now complete.

I hold my wrist tight,

Now tired from the incessant chopping

And look around:

The thick musty smell of work induced stress

Is now substituted by the pungent and sensual

Aroma of the basil,

Which now lays dead in a small pan,

After embracing death just to

Bring food to life.

05 BOREDOM PERVADES

I just saw this man in a suit enter the apartment next door, he could have been in his mid twenties. He must be a new tenant. I said hi, but he just stared at me and then walked into the door. I don't know why but his hazel eyes gave me the chills. It's like I was frozen solid, and I couldn't look at anything else. I might be over reacting. He might just be shy. If I see him I will say hi. Anyhow, here's a quirky short one I wrote a little while ago:


BOREDOM PERVADES 

On this very moment

Time flies

Like the slow bird

At the end of the flock.

04 SEX IS A FOUR LETTER WORD

SEX IS A FOUR LETTER WORD

Sweet seductive voice of

Her from mere hours away,

Dangling the forbidden fruit

Over my head.

The lustful red lips utter

Words that make me quake

And shiver in utter passion

But no one is there for me

To share it with.

Moments that last a lifetime.

The fruit is right there,

Inviting and tempting,

But the more I reach out for it,

And the more I tell it I need it,

The more distant it gets.

The only sex in the air

Is the sound of the fruit

Fucking with my head.

03 SEA WATER FOLLIES

SEA WATER FOLLIES

Laying in front of the waves,

The children of the sea salt

Cover their arms and legs with sand.

Perfect blend of laughter and screams,

Pervade the air,

As the waves collide

With their fragile bodies.

And although at times oxygen might elude them,

Replaced by the sting of sea water,

They keep returning there,

Placing their bodies motionless

On the wet sand. 

02 SHE

SHE

In your arms

I am lifeless and frozen,

Melting away

In the warmth of your embrace.

Then the wind blows

Over the ocean of me:

A gentle warm breath

Giving me new life,

And finally

I breathe again.