A wee poetic bundle.

Owen and Theta.

Oh what to speak of, these medicine men
whose life, it seems, consumes my own
and nowhere shall my fear hide and whine
like a dog, like a dog smeared show
of petty anger and frustration.

Hypodermic fixation: such hypocrisy!
In life, those who bide by that old
Hippocratic Oath sends me afright
and the cowardice seems justified.

And yet you fix me, the men who make things
better it seems, are somewhat off the scale
off the radar of my iatrophobia.
Can such psychologies be so
independent? What fear do i have

of the dead doctor-men who broke my
vascular system without true wit?
And where shall i live again
with no medical ailments and
where the world seems clinical?

Doctors, where will I live without you
and fearing both never and always?

Such despicable ambivalence.
I envy death.

Saving.

Salvation never took me under
it's wing nor shall I decree
it so, and such is like

and all those filler words
that make mine speech sound
more than it is.

And where did my saviour go?
The footprints on destiny's beach
never made a form,

walking on water, cursing the sky
and wondering, to such base points -
why the sky seems dead.

Serenity And Other Myths.

My, my and look what my unconscious
mind has dragged into the fore once again!
Tis my old infatuation who

does not does not and does not.
Where did our love go?
All mine has wrapped itself

around a chaos theory gentleman
whose name and mine do not agree.
And you seem to have not changed.

Are you eternal like the dark energy
which exists forever and ever amen?
I have no such joy.

I flinch and mutate like influenza and
chokes chokes chokes all mundane
realism and hope. Poison Ivy

flitting between frost and fire -
all and nothing, one and zero.
Being nothing and everything and

no more a lover than a trifle
or a deer so dainty in
the curse-driven snow.

Where did that all go?
Tis sour now, thorough
no fault of our own.

Time hath killed Serenity
and Worry is my mistress now
and the eternal Vexation.

Tis for Thee, Hamlet!

Is this a dagger I see before me?

No, 'tis only a key - for where, for where?
What doth thee unlock? Tis merely a trifle
to begin the end, to begin the end.

Time ripples as the heart drops -
marbled, dead - a fossil of a love story.
And it itches! and it repeats
in my head, in my head.

The words do not agree
and thou will never be mine
thine never mine, no no no.

And where shall we meet
except in my dreams?
Only in my dreams.

Venusian Tempest.

I keep my heart locked away
in a rusty tin box
incase your eyes go astray
and you pluck the moon from
the stars for me.

Love, love, sweet love,
master of us all.
You make us peasants yearn
for a life beyond our own
and yet we will never have.

Damn my heart and my veins for
this dastardly infatuation.

I'm working out the chemistry that
I need to stop endlessly
to be, to be, to be or not to be?

I love you, darling that much I know
but I know that much it don't show
and you don't love me at all
do you do you do you, no.

Love, love, my words transcend
all the mouths of mortal men
and should our paths cross
on some snow-blazen night,
I'll compensate for the time lost
and share my crimson delight.

Scattered voices in my dreams
should tease my mind to live
beyond it's terrestial measures.

But all the constellations in the sky
would fall to Earth and burn
if you ever knew my name.

Alas! Mercy please, ma belle dame.
Thou art not with child yet yet yet
my blood seems to be afore with
no barren urges of feveres of the
older woman. Such as would make his
head turn in dismay. Alas, alas!

Venusian tempest, playing on my thoughts
would not make such unachievable dreams.

Oh, my Muse inspirata!
Destiny! Thy name in the stars!

I dream of being a bride - I do, I do
and the kisses are heavy, lead-laden
and only my heart knows the poison.

I dream of being an adventurer of
my truest personality: not this
persona, not this.

I want no more of this.

I want the world to sparkle like
my eyes did when I walked in the fields.
Snow blindness was magnificent,
little beams of light that astronauts see
as cosmic rays pass through their eyes i
n orbit. To experience that would be glorious.

Since, oh since! My God, my love is not controlled
I would forgo everything to remain alive
to fulfill those dreams for a chanced moment.

Take my heart, boy-child. Take my
blood for ice and my milk for bile.
Lovers' embraces are worth a
life of hell, worth a life of hell.

Thee, thee, oh what desire
in the light of day, such dismay
no more no more no more should I
do this, I am not a teenager
yet my hormones are afire
with this frustrated desire.

Love, love you are a curse and
madness's bastard child.

Ennui.

Melancholy hath more finery than thee!
And yet it is so near, the rancid breath
is flushing in out in out

in my hair, on my neck and
across my tentative veinery.
Vanity, oh what vanity drives you.

Is this the words you spoke about
in my nightmares, in my dreams?
To despise things to do and places to see

and people to love, laugh and hold
and reject reality? Nothing -
such unphilosophical nihlism.

The organism is asleep it seems.
And no orgasm to provoke
any true feeling beyond my ego-centre.

Sonnet for Ten (II)

What could a simple human make of you?
Thine eyes are no more brown than mine eyes grey
And such delicacy in movements made
And shall my heart become to be dismayed?
The words have not yet been written to say
if such carnal fantasies become true.

And shall my name be forgotten in thine
Time's eternal avarice? No more a
lovesick child beckoning a pallid rhyme
To illustrate her heart's desire and may
Such semantics be dreadful to assign!
They hold no purpose; a lover's array;

An attempt for one shining moment seen
Where Solaris is king and Selene queen.