In case you ask.
of constellations that pepper your eyes
In case you ask.
A hush of marmalade ashh reaches;
rooftops swaddled in Steam’s grasp tremble terra-cotta tears
of [salt ‘n vinegar] chips
tumbling, with conviction, to an untimely
They watch, shingles shivering, breathing
life unto New York’s souls.
They, who watch wistfully, subliminally
remind of sea-faring mothers;
She rides, floating, among the feathers of our birds;
fused upon decadence: the street-zel’s crown jewel.
Her legacy, culture if you will, emanates
in the alleys of her relentless rodents;
her mascot knows, sees, feels,
Her breath is the aroma of displaced decadencies,
perhaps this week’s trend, or my bleeding paper that holds
the scales upon which she resides.
“What’s for dinner?” they breathe…
“Home,” she replies.
Shelled and eviscerated they lay
two shriveled avocado skins,
basking in the afterglow of devour.
Bequeathed nectar nourishes,
their job here is done.
Decadence envelopes my every whim as I sit
sun-slashed and shed reality’s
A sharp intake of clarity reveals a truth long forgotten.
Decreed thee, Sir Adirondack:
Only the[e] sea holds the key
to my heart.
With your beady,
With your shaming
Your gift is bountiful,
Thus we hollowly
Serve, your beadiness
With the sweat
Of our unrequited
Perishing an anguished
At the hands
Of our predecessors’
We lay flat,
A despairing song
Echoes in the hollowness
Of our minds
Muffled by the
Of your beady gaze.
Sometimes, the fire growls.
dull grey coats a sleepy spirit.
Live, fill everything and float…
Elated spirits come at a cost unbeknownst to no man it seems.
The weight of the world crushes,
filling spaces with gravel and sand.
A memory vanished?
Why must it be that way!
Bare feet slap concrete in a glassy haste.
Clinking clavicles chime to the tune of a chilling reality.
Life: (n) a prescribed trajectory mindlessly fulfilling its fated assembly line.
Dreams of innovation cloud a dusty reality.
She weeps, for at midnight,
her carriage will sprout
and her mirage will have
Alexandre Farto a.k.a. Vhils (London)
There was once a little boy who had many extraordinary powers.
When he was younger, he could change colors to blend in to his background.
It was a game he used to play.
Blend in to pretend.
“I’m a camouflaged soldier! Nobody can find me here. I’m safe from:
I can look up
at the bottom of my bed
he can’t get me here.”
GD 3.15.14 student teaching
Vineyard Race August 2014
Crusted and dream drunk
rise the eyes to ride
none other than those saffron skies.
Aubergine silks pool at the edge of the world
to serve the drowsy tomorrowers,
blanketing a distant land
in what inevitably will be
one more yin and yang night.
Her angels wake wet and wild
on the cold cobblestones,
facing a reality just dreamt away.
She sits still and vigilant,
with eyes of flame and a brow only one man could ever see.
Saffron skies warn of storm
to land lock the salty miners.
Once more the auberjine veil lifts
to reveal a dirty truth.
So we pray to Allah,
it ‘tis but a dream.
Read and chow on delectable North African food – http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/collection/tagine