a self-inflicted series of adulteration

                                     
                                                    l.
                                             
                                              Stale after-hour miasmas arose from sticky linoleum floorboards, as quaint human cogitations pressed a velour curtained sill shut,
                                              while two-floors down darkling streets shuddered through sapient sidewalk premonitions; awaiting carnal hours of dissipated commerce and nomadic refuge;      
                                              concupiscent mammals of climatic routine welcome          
               personal destruction and its alluring precipice, jagged tenement windows are all that remain.
                                               Meanwhile, rusted bed-springs thwart in dull mechanics, solely she goads an opaque retina with infected hangnail, itched her motherly calves to bug-bit complexion.
                                         
                                                     ll. sleep and dream
                                       
                                             Prior to dawns illumined shadowing, frail straits of dreamland circumambulated her deluded sub-conscious,
                                            a feminine psyche dissolved below rash equators: lurid moonbeams of oceanic lethargy encompassed an institutional bedspread perimeter.
                               (Blue diamond-sky vestiges wafted 'round the plaza fountain effigy.
                               A maternal penitence wallowed grimly between hollow centuries of her forsaken ancestry and pawned heirlooms).
                                         She wiped her crusted eyes and momentarily quivered, sheathed in embryonic laces of traumatic childhood then
                                          cursed herself beyond last night's toxic solemnity.
                                               
                                     lll.  cockroach kitchen cupboard tupperware upholstery
                                           
                                       An automatic forenoon effluent impressed her lukewarm senses, aromatic auras imitated a lost inclusive nostalgia, like sauntering uptown towards Wall St. in stolen leather heels-high on methamphetamine.
                                          An a.m. sink-spout swaddled in worn browned fabric. Trivial hyperboles formed at the drop of a pence
                                    from cavernous depths of her sallow throat, and
                                       fervently spreads as
                                          rabid reptiles unfurl down neighborhood streetlamp wiring.                                             She initiates a phone-call, claims her bruised heart as her own to give intimately
                                  after expediting her soul to any everyday patron,
                                         her skin reddened knees hung
                                              feeble and cloaked in beige knickers.
                                           a feted breath reverberated vulnerably from a pneumatic lung
                                          into a germinated receiver to her connection  (a man in Venice)
                                         as Italian couples publicly commiserate into
                                        sinuous canals of disposable filth-ridden gondoliers.
                    Disgustingly prehistoric hours dwindle gradually as leaden soot falls from morning chimney grates,
                                            above a sleeping city into the polluted firmament
                                     interweaving public transit stations to a jaded metropolitan skyline
                                   pedestrian passengers aloft in slumbering repose and one-eyed visions of urban billboards, flashes of trees slide by as translucent frames of an antique kaleidoscope,
                                              the elevated train supersedes the old trolley line
                                             supplicating the lower-class west-side by early winter evening pilgrimages windward,
                                   play me a lottery ticket; shriek the winning number throughout anfractuous alleyways of dolorous intent,
                                            lv.   a domestic digression
                                               
                                    We'll continue struggling
                                          not to break a sweat on weekday afternoons, its only stomach indigestion its only acidic fluctuation,
                         its but
                            a seasons cycle through the prostrate eyes of network demagogues: A candid voice pressed out through artificial screens of electronic domestics.
                                                 I arose and dallied to an evening refrigerator; and she: my doleful orator of temporal romanticism; vibrated in dark silken apparel 'till a midnight demeanor assuaged our situation toward retirement.                             What is rank and unappealing now, we'll try again tomorrow. 
                                            We faced a week's summit together, ambling through your sister's arboreal backyard down rural pathways uncoiling out onto outskirt Appalachian freeways, among summer weevils sipping honeycomb in tranquil intervals of deliberation.
                                         
                                            A couple of years ago I fell into a nocturnal self-induced abyss of nothingness, that's the worst it'll ever get,
                                     but now I have to wait at the warm narrow gate as pleasure-seeking foreigners harass me on the other side, calling me stupid names.
                                  
                                     

An Aerial Allegory

                            We may of been chosen,
                            while dead-end city streets remain interwoven and gritty. Soiled alleyways of poignant effluent unravel below traffic-signal equipage. Sordid ink-smeared newspaper elegies dissipate with seasonal gusts of scattered thundershowers. Hungover denizens may curse morning traffic spilling convenient store coffee staining bleached collared shirtsleeves, splashing mud-filled puddles upon poor spirited pedestrians.
                         I've been picked on and picked up, ascended into celestial havens of ecclesiastical symmetry.
                   Carnal midnight eternally weeps its strayed acquaintance.  Ariel rays of golden sunlight draft below velvet curtained windows draped in sallow evenings aside fiery residential mantels. Routine alloy cutlery cordially placed upon bleak damasks of hopelessness; I've seen her pale face embroidered, bewildered: inflect off silver soup-spoons.
                            Quarter to one she popped Valium into her sparkling poinsettia. Crimson fizz rose off her polished glass onto a scarlet tourniquet. Her supple face rapidly flushed to complexion incarnadine. The process initiated early that day, she started slurring forsaken languages at a quarter to three; and no one came to see me that day. I reached into my torn pockets for refuge and cough medicine. Lascivious syrups of desirable dementia; don't forget myself lover amid sour bourbon aftershave kisses, below auburn coffered ceilings she rambled on until placid daybreak, "but how rotten and spoiled you become the next-day my love, being so bittersweet on evenings prior! You my love have created a narcissistic weapon, a warped existence consisting of backsliding ideals and mistaken morality."
                              Gradual digression diverted us through the wee hours of Saturday night into dawn's sleepless highway of depraved serotonin and forlorn acrobats, were we to awake the next morning? And pay homage to a local delicatessen owner catty-corner to a neighborhood baptist cathedral, the one with those neat stained-glass windows we enjoy every other Sunday.
                            Rosemary:
                                    Rosary, grief-stricken mother of opaque vestiges, maternally weeping mortal transgressors, "my son is a corpse in repose, they turned his father's house into a den of electronic signatures," Pawnshop street plaza counters tick off and on, unwinding monotonous minutes to frail business infrastructures of commerce and protocol, below skyscraper skylines of shrouded constellations.
                                   "These heartless concubines and their graceless husbandmen, lead self-absorbed lives and children through wide gates of Eden into numb faceless abysses of sweet-smelling purgatory, this bread of life, this subway dough provides unnecessary indigestion to mindless populaces. In frantic rat-races destined to death and disease"- (it is not written that we pray to her)
                                Its easy and leisurely to be chosen by Satan, all you have to do is open your eyelids. Society moans and pangs along vacated tenements of brick-columned mortar and nocturnal desolation. Austere declamations of lukewarm predecessors abide in painted urban murals.
                                The pigeon women, and all the pigeon offspring lowly hover around a village epicenter scavenging breadcrumbs and soda-cans: how blessed they are!
                                Christ came roaring in through the frigid tropics, melting a gaping hole through Israel's hollow equator. The ground-breaker, the game changer- the one and only glory through godly retinas of forgiveness, unconditional love and humility!

Passion

                           Someone told me:                                                                                                                        "if you don't have anything passionate to write about don't write at all then. Its gotta flow out of your pen as frail angelic virgins heave upon pink celestial clouds of.. "

                           I interrupted the person and told her "Fuck off",                                                                                                              I felt passionate            
                        so I wrote.