how can i survive when the winter is not just cold

but grey?

grey paint over all my golden beaches

my parisian pink skies have been washed out into nothing

and my terracotta landscape is now just another city,

another town where blank faces roam and romance

is another word for fantasy

which only appears on screen

or maybe in a book

but never in our hearts or actions.

here, roses are white and coffee cups

hold no special meaning,

and when the sun sets

it only means night, again.

and still my tongue only knows the language it was given

though sometimes i speak a different kind of poetry

but other days are amnesia

and i forget

that hope was on the horizon.

hope is gold and green and

reflected in its light

i see myself better than ever

today

   i am not here

   i do not exist

   i am silent

grey

sleeping forever

in just another town, another city,

and i am romance only when the film starts

and i finish when it ends

Amnesia

hope is golden

but that’s the only thing i remember.

This
Popcorn
Bursts
Through my
Headphones
And falls
A scattered
Mess
At my
Feet

The cats
Curious
Sniff for a bit
And then
Go about
Their
Business

Leaving me alone
Again
With this
Synthesizer
Magic
That has
Exploded
So very
Close
To me

I’m ok
I’ve survived
It

In fact
I have
Never
Been better

The hairspray
Bomb
That came
My way
Just now
Missed me
By
A 80th
Of an inch

Taking the
Cans
Off my
Head
I place them
Gently
On the turntable
And bend
Over
To pick up
The mess

The wife
Won’t be
Pleased with
Such
A sight

(I want to marry
A lighthouse keeper)

I wonder
How much
More heat
I can take

I’ll head back
To my space
In front
Of the
Stereo
And
Have another
Go round
With these
Things

This pop
Music
Just
Knocks
My
Socks
Off

Each and
Every time

My spine is
Crumpled and old
As I sit in the broken chair
Smoking a cheap cigarette
And wondering
Where it all went

Age slaps me
Around my face
And the marks are a
Bright color of
Red
Mixed with facial grease
And something that
Kinda passes
As a beard

I do not dance
Hell, I can barely walk
But I smile still
As I am ripped off and raped
Under the sweltering sunlight
Of America

Rising I straighten my back
And move one foot
Ahead of me
And then the other
And it is good to be
Alive
Despite the
Colossal wrongdoings
And pickpockets

So, I shove some sweet candy
Into my black tooth mouth
And chew with care
As they come to my door
Looking for me

Quickly out of the bath
I bolt the door quietly
And hightail it back to the water
To soak my dying hip
And corroding bones

All of this
And still
I love my spine
Standing up
Defeated behind me
Waving white flags
And whistling hymns
From long ago

Out of money
Out of luck
Out of time
Out of pills

This will end sooner
Then you know
And I pat myself down…
Make it to the bed
Where I slowly climb in
To call it a night
As my spine will dream of glorious things
Like fifty dollars
And reefer
Knowing full well
That I’ll never see either again

Life can be a difficult 24 hours
At times
And today simply sucked ass

Goodnight sweet spine
Goodnight to you
With eyes shut tight
I slide into sleep
On a lead pillow and concrete sheets

Yes, a horrible day
For me and my bones
And tomorrow promises to be
A bit more of the same

Good times are not here again
As I smile to myself
With the knowledge that
I’ll make it to
Tomorrow

Alive

People remain silent
As degradation 
Becomes normalized,
But, 
Yet,
Nudity is still considered to be 
“Scandalous”!
America
Is being raped.

It is a strange thing to fade within
The self, becoming
One with the pale white jar that contains
The mind in all its solemn grey,
As such do I wonder if this fate
Was self-chosen or inborn, but
More and more I come to the conclusion
That I am a brain.

I am a brain.
Scholarly nigh perpetually.
Reduced to a processing information.
Deductions. Conclusions. Philosophy.

Dreams.

More and more the tangible world
Has become foreign
To me, and it is ever so rarely
That I descend into the physical realms
Dictated by the deficiencies
Of my humanity.

There is a book I’m trying to read,
Yet the words,
They cannot speak to me;
They do not build the open world I seek
Where hidden paths are illuminated
By synaptic scintillation.

This hunger remains
Unsatiated.

Between the lines, no, between
Each individual letter
She appears.

And I, more mind than matter, am baffled,
Confused and rattled; appalled
By my own incapacity to supersede
These images flashing in front of my retina;
Each blink but a short interruption
Of the indomitable movie.

I am appalled
Because I do not love her.

There is not even a volatile desire
For a shared future.

Not a single prognosis could ever justify
Her invading and dominating
The realm of my mind
Like she does,

Tearing me down,

Back into this body I am used to do without.

I do not find her beautiful. She does not
Have me
Helplessly mesmerized,

Yet she is sex in the flesh,

Exuding the premise of bodily pleasure
From her every pore. She has
An aura of passion;
Of ecstatic gratification,
Wild and unbound and free from inhibition.

And in her liberty she is my polar opposite;
Lascivious, she breaks
My will so rigid;

Annuls every
Unwritten rule by morals dictated;
The terms of engagement I have always
Seen as self-evident for me to
Share this body.

This body that I do not feel, yet now do feel
As images flash to play her intrusive movie.

Her eyes, that do not stare lovingly, rather
Fixate in a penetrating gaze to see
The payoff of her mouth’s work;
Her lips, that do not invite a
Kiss, rather long to be
Wrapping snugly.

Twirling tongue. Concave cheeks.

Her lips, her luscious lips;
I feel my lips,
bitten.

My mouth exists and longs to bite, frenzied,
Leaving marks on her curvaceous body;
My lost tongue turns restless in its
Desperate want to taste her; hot
Blood surges through my veins
Now my hands ache to feel
Her back arching in them
When I in twofold
Repay
Everything she
Gives me.

Hot blood surges through my veins
As this body aches to be.

A body.
My body. I have
A body.

Yes,

I want to fuck her madly.

Such a strange epiphany. Have I not been
Stripped from every desire then?

I cannot answer for myself, there is no way
To justify this virulent need when
One has a will so rigid.

The life, so austere, on the verge
Of becoming senseless.

How dire it is to know
This tediously maintained self-control
Can be blown right out of the window,
For reasons no other than
Her existing.

Someone ignored
By heart, mind, and soul,
Yet someone my body cannot resist.

How dire it is to know
One can be taken over wholly
At a simple succubic snapping of fingertips,
Like a marionette of meat, will-less,
Driven by the long abolished
Hedonistic instinct.

I cannot give in.

Her dominion is like a demonic possession.

This hunger must remain
Unsatiated.

—
8-12-2019, M.A. Tempels ©

History

I haven’t got a single idea who is here

I need to know

But all these faces blend into one

Blurring into eyes and eyes and eyes

stare into a mirror

at the other girl
staring at the complex and sprawling veins

they lie under her skin like snakes
writhing and pulsing with her life flow

Speculate of their existence

glance down

how odd there is life dripping down the arms

hot, gushing, scalding?
reflexively look back into the mirror
she looks happy
a smile plastered on her face,
teeth, glinting and hard

the hands wander across the face
pry the mouth open
there solid, damp smooth pebble lie
odd

shifting back to the mirror torso moves
she is changing into a peach dress

look around

the smooth glass-like thing moves about in the brain? skull.
perhaps they see
the rest of the thing called body
flesh lines the “body”

a ripped gray and black shirt encase the flesh
the things called legs coated in black cloth

shift

a void, with pricks of light, color, painting some places yet remaining so dark in others

“ponder this” the abyss screams in silence

“I” is false

Como num filme assombrado, me sinto só, mas com forças para prosseguir, nunca desistirei, sei que encontrarei a saída deste labirinto que são meus pensamentos, eles se movem rápido, mas no momento em que te vi, tudo parou. Tornando fácil acesso à saída, é como se tudo girasse entorno de ti agora.

…. Amor-tudo-pode

Frozen daisies
Which shatters with the
Slightest of touches
Leave bits of pieces
Of chilly pedals
On my Persian carpet
Leaving me to
Gather up the straw broom
And
Get to work

With wild flurries
Creating chaos
Outside my
Kitchen window
I twist the cap
Off the bottle of booze
And take a strong hit
As I stare intently
At the snowflakes
Which comes down
Like chess pieces
Thrown in hurricane anarchy
Behind my sheer yellow curtains

Now,
With the thermostat
Sweating it out
On my wall
I raise the numbers anyway
…and wait…
Here with mystery lungs
(Which can be any color
At this point)

Nausea…
Like out at sea
Overtakes me
As I push my window open
To free all of the dust and stems
From the handiwork of my
Witches broom
(Which flies smoothly through the
New York air…with me…
Bundled up and high)

So,
Here I am now
With a silver pipe in my hands
Smoking a green leafy blueberry
As the clouds outside
Become large frozen Cloud Cubes
Which would, no doubt,
Rain cheese squares and crackers

I blow

I blow out the smoke
And soon
I
Am
Toasty,
Happy
And cozy
As the December freeze
Continues on
Outside
But
Here
At my place…
All is good with the world
As the plants in my pot are
All growing so nicely now

The chess board sits alone
On the table
The vase is empty
Except for a tiny amount of
Water
At the bottom

And the Queen
Gives me the finger
From her checkered spot
And I can only laugh
Because the heat is on
And I am ready for this day
To continue on

my old leather jacket smells like solitude
or maybe that’s just the champagne bottle
i snuck out of the house under my arm
and promptly broke in the bushes

there are thin little scars that run the gauntlet of my wrists
and deep bruises beneath my eyes that will not go away
i guess you can recognize how i can’t believe that
someone like you could fall for someone like me.

whole boys don’t fall for shattered girls
except as a party trick, because we make
a good story to tell at dinner parties
somehow, i cannot believe that i am just a story to you

i took your heart and crushed in beneath my heel
in the all too memorable heady sweat of burgeoning summer
and now i am at your door with tender confession and
the sterile sound of snow falling into reddened palms is behind me
and you still care about me.
                           wicked. if only
                                i had that capacity for forgiveness.

i hold grudges like lovers and hang hatchets like prizes
on the empty walls of the little i have to call home
you hang onto trust in a way that isn’t naive
not innocent; but something that almost feels the same

where is our final destination?
will it be a chance meeting in a coffee shop
abundant with stilted conversation and the
dull remembrance of what might’ve been
because somewhere i placed a piece of myself
in your palm and i will never be able to
take it back.

or perhaps, and this is my hope
that i am not the only one who cannot banish
the thought of us as endgame from my
unfortunate excuse for a mind
and maybe, if you could give me one last chance
shrouded in the light of the afterglow
you and i begin the long-awaited dance.

all peaches
now

she’s got the
look

this cool
woman

shines
so brightly
for me

My Puget Sound
lady of the
night

under the
full moon

she calls
for me

loudly
and the
only way
she
knows

she’s so peaches

she’s got
what I like

and sister,
while I am here
there is a
secret I would
like
to share
with you

I know you
will
not
tell a soul

but
I don’t
have to
write it
down

I don’t have to
say it
out loud

I bet
you already
know what
it is

Hmm
Miss Peaches?

Go ahead
and
wager
your guess

I know
you’ll
pin that tail
right
on my
donkey
the very
first
try

The rare potential of her moonlight
Pulls me tight into her space
Unused to my breathing finding solace
In all the things I know she won’t erase

These days I feel an overwhelming sense of loneliness

It drowns me with water that is breathable

FILLS MY LUNGS CHOKING AND WET

stopping to feel the wet grass on my feet

“ah- solitude” I say

THE TIDE WATER IT SEEPS

DAMP AND COLD DAMP AND COLD

- SLD

keep a love boat 
tie it to your dock 
it’ll bounce up and down but the tides can’t 
take it from you 

//joshua deson

Pattern

I’m the bruise on the skin

The purple and black

The stardust in the eyes that will never come back

The grain of salt

The grain of sand

The grain of life sifting through the porcelain hands

I fear not the future on which I travel

Whether the roads be dirt, concrete or gravel

A path is a path of which we should not worry

It comes and goes as the snow flurry

Ignite it on the flames of the nomad heart

Settle for nothing less than the best til death do me part

Free is the spirit that no shackles can hold

A speck of glitter can become a mansion of gold

you’re my coffee and hazelnut croissant
you’re my dead west neon hotel cinema
you’re my red canyon arch photoscape
you’re my car erupted in flames, burning on a gravel plain

you’re my girl in hoodie, wool cap, tight jeans
you’re my sailor jerry mermaid pinup tattoo
you’re my snow angel and december white light
you’re my shy, agent provocateur, off to a freedom fight

forever a trial to find comfort in her own skin
darling, the door here is open, please… 

come in

you are welcomed by this roof, these walls
surrender your aching body, mind… 

it’s warm within

my dead west neon hotel cinema sailor jerry mermaid pinup girl.

In the Church of Zuck
There will always be
A collection plate
For those who feel
Sinful and wicked
In their hidden thoughts
And offline presence.

Yet in the Church of Zuck
One does not pay
With mere coins or paper,
Instead it is the outrage
And the gall spat unnuanced
That accumulates
In that which bears
No weight;

The collection plate
That passes by daily
To be filled with
The virulent hatred
Of self-righteous hypocrites
Falling over themselves
To keep the stone throwing going
Once the first has been cast
And the victim’s established.

Demonized;
Dehumanized;
Prepped to be
Crucified.

Not much has changed,
Only the shepherd
That will not be held accountable
For their flock’s actions

And as is common
In most houses of judgment,
Those who are least compassionate;
Ego-driven and unempathetic,
Take up the front row seats,
Finger on the trigger,
To buy back their souls
And rewrite their slates,
Making sure
They’re clean and polished
Before pressing enter
To ride the wave
Of morals gone viral
All the way into
Digital
Heaven.

—
6-12-2019, M.A. Tempels ©

November was colder than I’ve felt before
No blanket forts to keep that shrewd draft away
No glasses of wine, and not those 64-bit games we’d play

The draft slipped in when you walked through the door
You grew older, and suddenly I felt lost, on my own
“Priorities,” as though I had none of my own