UNPUBLISHED GHOSTS, 1

I. Visited

our silenced protests kept cages of unresolved selves

the past above us lurks, as closeted as we are

the present hangs a cold warning on our tiring minds

tick-tocking a body count of the things

that remain to be done and never will be

phantoms of our entrails

outdone by our own inventions

---shadows of what we can never be.

II. (A )wake

and the paradigm

of contorted truths

created and lived

for the satisfaction

of a false belief

and demigods

worn, this tattered soul

ice-cold in tears

fearful of solitude

mourning in liberation

sealed, gagged, sold

to rest in peace

in this, his human pretense

III. First Angsts

bedeviled as we are, my delusions meet

your own delirious angst and shticks

and aren't they as delicious as those

creature curves that walk on dainty legs

as we down our tequila and pizza

and our own dry, sarcastic wit

and to think we were sober

but seething in our dormant protests

like pimples waiting to be pricked

IV. 3 A.M., Dying

you only build my restlessness

a passionate anamnesis

best left forgotten

even in pain

and fear

V. Hunger Unknown

from it my rushed courage

borrowed words and rented time

and there I, at the corner

chewing myself, nibbling my night

I could eat only so much so I found out

in this sadness that has no name

and bears no face

UNPUBLISHED GHOSTS, 2

VI. Wasting Away

you just ate my poetry

and mashed it together

with the grime of the city

that reduced my room

to dust and dirt

such is now my self-loathe

for the unkempt confessions

already a part of my many lies

as I surrender further

to my accepted reality

my room but me

now clean

VII. Last Minute

stranded emotions compete for space

among the wormed pages in my mind

from the library I left ajar at 3:45 AM

while stumping my own hates, fears

whose nocturnal shadows now claw at me

dragging my livid soul-body in this ---

my dungeon of books unread

and dreams told too late

VIII. Blood

tonight's booze will be the vile vengeance

of unforgotten fights and black-blue spots

that recount each fist in your punching-bag

(I welcomed them once but you gave more)

you smile at me like a saint

with a hard-on as you finish your meal

my clothes completely torn with those eyes

oh, those wicked wonderful eyes

which will slowly dilate and choke your sight

as the poison takes effect; your death, my escape

my scar and crime intact even then

IX. Sweat

I work out

to be an offering

a lean piece of meat to be devoured

and undressed by spectators

my body-fat cleansed

cholesterol burned

toxins flushed

fulfilling my rape as they lick

haagen-dazs

from the looking glass

outside

X. Tears

can you really see through the layers

of my muted emotions and scars

that will never show and will not heal?

will you truly stem the agony

that hides and grows inside of me

even as I profess faith in you?

I am betrayal, silent and real

a camouflage of pained laughters

and smiles that lash my numbness

my treachery is yours to keep

ENVY

Sterling they say of you

Eyes upcast with solid reverence

Braving the scorching sun mocking moon

Bold always in your pursuit

Shackled only by the ground below

Where I stand on watchful apathy

Angry even as the sun bakes my skin

To join your bronze and courage

Only sweaty and real are mine

You had your time

I’m my hero now

TAINTED SALVATION

your nakedness wanders

with half-open reluctance

invading my guilt and pain

I remain in your shadows

hidden with conscious steps

consuming your rape just as well

wanton in my memory

lustful with sweaty hands

that shake now as I pray

You shouldn’t be in this church.

CUM UNDONE

Our bimbo is a walking, moaning Viagra^TM

Who gets us hard until the drug has left its spell

Or till we hear her speak like hell

And we think we have had enough, but no

Creatures banded to our bestial past

We seek the heavens but really prefer crass

Madonna's pyramid boobs, to us, will sell

Over and above the soiled habit of

the saint what’s-her-name again?

Even in our post-Paglia existence

We’ll never fail to ask ourselves

If we have grown a penis lately

Or if it has wilted with our hope

To get at least a two-minute erection

As presidents deliver words

Of ejaculation like phlegm

We will surely hear them again

Bark, barf, bark

Our wives will learn to drink and smoke

To kill the rabid terror, silent as it is

Of tonight’s harried penetration

As babes swim to our imagination

Void as it is

GET OFF MY CASE!

Called Turbulence, I

A searing gap in their umbilical cord

Sustenance wired to consoles and ports

Another disowned crime of unbridled youth

My dimension deprived of humanity

Breastfed by Coke and MTV

Punch dating @meet_me.com

Or texting with emoticons

Safe sex on-screen glorifying

my self-masturbation

As my VR headsets roar

And grieve, live, deceive

Simulating Tekken 3

So media engraved for me

A single mark --

Of rejection?

Profanity perhaps?

Implacable confusion?

Or delusion --

An identity masked

Behind labels custom-made

Among icons self-proclaimed

That encapsulated, branded, sold

Me and my generation X

Them tolerating our malfunction

As hypocrites profess an understanding

Of our deep skepticism

Blatantly reducing it to inanity

Forgetting we are their own

And not just another invention

Or a pain in their butt

For aren’t they our parents after all?

UNREPEATED HISTORY

You have succumbed to filth long enough

owing your memory now to a symmetry

of smog that sticks to my nose

and traffic eagerly reverberating

to be welcomed in days unending

An hour away and you soak me like mad

my sweat borrowing your sewage stench

joining your corrupt and your perverts

my poverty multiplied as I wait endlessly

for the rushed comfort of a 7am ride

my noble dreams of your sanctification

now flushed down your uncovered drains

I now hide skeletons at nightbreak

squeezing salvation from my sins

collected from pre-programmed chores

contemplating fate’s handiwork

as I scrape candles from graves

my favorite dead lighting my way

I have paid you enough homage, dear City

to your walls of war and stones of courage

they were mine once like a bath in the rain

aimlessly pursuing the slipper-sole boats

that clog now your flooded dikes and potholes

my childhood stolen by your crooks

in the sweatshop where I now work

WHY I WON’T VISIT HER AGAIN. EVER.	my lust shriveled with her tits a swollen black-brown protrusion that drew forth not milk or lust but a hanging bert-and-ernie now aging humorless balding while I have yet to penetrate through the alcohol in my mind to forget --- the hard toil on her hands to commit her wrinkles and sores to the cheap red shade above us and to simply ejaculate unmindful of the unshaven crater between her legs - to no avail (an hour after the rent, she became my abortion)

WORLD WIDE WAKE	don't grieve so long, dear england your spice girls have long outshone diana their cheap spontaneity copied as icons replacing royal charms that cost a bidder’s hand for her garments at sotheby’s ah, this lovely frenzy against the paparazzi crowds that cry over a wretched benz limousine the driver, the lover, lost in the body count and while you're at it, holy india think pepsi, madonna, mtv.com of bollywood queens that come and go for you'll never see mother theresa dance around a banana tree display the saint's wake for all to see rest not her soul until the last devout has kissed the hallowed wrinkled feet images, oh yes ! won't they always be portraits that preserve and copy themselves lives and works lost in the memory of idols for they will remember --- only the face, not the soul the tragedy, not the lesson like the movie where tomorrow the next crowd will be

AS THE PLANE DESCENDS	for those hallmarkä moments are but seizures of humanity that touch and go as severe flashes of our exquisite white deception building our belief structure called religion to please our souls even for once