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[ .all.my.propaganda. ]

fists in the air
against your quelling silence
times at fourteen
thats all this is
a walk down
where I left my terror
against your choke
[you're all such fucking chokes]

in your gastopo zootsuit
in our rioteous affair
I'm watching all the hard hands on me
pulling to dragging
moving me up and out against my will
into your bomb scarred cadillac
where its all british glass
black coatings with rainy skies

broken to your orange works
in all your red white and black
its our incessant flags fying at halves
banners without our succor and might
and arm bands that breed only one thing
which is all your dying brands up for sale

where civil hands
are turned right outside your door
and you can't see the poetics in our wars
every land to broken smile
where your cheeks are burning
from our pop culture fuels
that feed the skies
from our loveless-thoughtless fumes

but they're coming down
this one way hallway
its all my propaganda
all my broken works
that they rise against
our voice all sorrow
as are hands bow down

� Bryan McLean June 26 20005

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[ .why.aren't.they.near? ]

[ i ]

where are all the easy wolves?
the ones too quick to shudder
are they in the sleazy urban tops
or on the outskirts riding home?

good heart good natured
panting in the lake day heat
hunting down now or
lolling over the voluptous boys
filthy from their lack of sincerity?

[ ii ]

where are the foxy girls?
those far too shy to flash
their tails and masks our way
smoking and turned purple
from your clandestined candor

a swaggering demeanor
in your after glow
their scent bouquet and borrowed
sweaty from the daily hunt
of rubbing flirt to front

[ iii ]

where are all the wild kai-yote curves?
their strapping loose from chewing
out and free on the hunting green
where wind sets furl their torrent of hair
thick coated from all their lying

teeth too sharp to set you out
etched into all their little giggles
or nudging out some other lunar mystery
they are not down at vicious
not hiding out near seventeenth

still nowhere near my kind of trouble
nor riding me with all their wild
where all their passionate wind
is made from throbbing love
and curvaceous lies

� B McLean 1.July.2005

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[ .lyinghere. ]
( a pohem from laine )

am the king and down baby
every run
every a.m. shining
my hands work out the last ones
laying at me feet
small to frail
my incomprehensible steam
where anger only fills us

burning now to down baby
executables on my marker
holding out for my little ones
just till they come
and we go down again
the never ending run shot
timed out to our percision gasps

but its all selling out baby
this all my shaking time
doubt anyone's here
doubt anyone's hearing this
doubt all my little scrabblings
here my shadow turns out
against the coming
of your twisted face again

� Bryan JG McLean July 10, 2005 10:42am

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[ .life not longing. ]

if for once
you'd just put me down
I hold up circles
in your glaring gaze
for you to choose
one life not longing
a seranade or singularity
in all the cosmos
infinite like your styles against your salted lines
where only hands touch down
at every breath
we count down
we consume
till only our number
is one and the same

� Bryan McLean 7.23.05

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[ .down.again. ] bella camena

just one more down
its hands turned out now
all my sweet sweat cola days
long forgotten in your pallid downe
where nothing makes up for
the lost little wings and missing musae
a gritty smile, hungry against all your odds

but wearing all your blinding feathers now
in all my oils of sienna or sepia
burning from the inside out
where only the burning bird
is a match against you
and every digit we have
working against your palid surface
of anger and gore

composite kings
nestled down with pretty things
all hands out and whirring now
the cadmium sheets set to sail in red
all laid out in your blurring fashions
where there is no more room
for the little ragazze
nor collared girls all grown up
that are dancing in your failing light

but all my workings
just a gear or two behind
tumbled from these spires
work against me and my mile
broken here too near
lined up in the blue shadows
that are ever waiting
for us to be held down again

one more time and down
our working palms to ground now
rubbing through your salty lines
high on your cheekbones
set in staring motions
where one can watch
the seas move in your iris
and your every cruel breath

but love's not for the wanting
nor the needful
all your every ghost like intent
crossing rooms you've longed for
and all your covers or your photographs
you never knew you needed
make you drop it back down

your smoking and your knee-high
always just right
as you walk out
where we are all left
in your splayed doubt
the wake so easy for you
but hard on my harrowings
where its just too late at night to ache
and I think we might make it
one more time and down

� Bryan McLean 7.23.05

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[ our.all.hands.beauty ]

I'm all talk this time
this burnt out man
holding down the little trappings
of your three ring
and I seriously need some sleep
need a trip
or need a whole lot more of something else
or something more

the terrible still consumes me inside
as I stand in line and know
that somewhere near and down
I'm just on that list
of one more boy ratio
as you pick and choose
our all hands beauty

Bryan McLean Aug 6 '05

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[ ghosts ]

yet every cold touch laid upon you
reminds you of every shaken tree
every shinning day
against the translucent sky
where we have lost our love so long ago
and cannot easily rearrange the memories
that make up this new language
that we share together
in moans and harmony
every whisper
every breath
Friday 08.12.05 [4:39 am]

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[ every waking word ] K

bye bye bella
too bad this is all so life like
so broken down
and every second
is just one more sound
that all the others dismissed
in their transmissions

splinters of these sounds
all shackled down now
all our memories of crowds & singing
forgotten with the substance
thats still dripping from our pores
too sweet to tell
which memory was best

bang bang bella
every waking word
easy as one and two
walking downtown music now
all horns and hawthorns
hushed now in our every love

how was your night and day?
every street just emptied out
in its long working ways
our still-life still moving
in circles every finger tip
meant to hush and hold
till we all reach out now
and shine just one more time

� Bryan McLean 24.08.05

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[ .its.all.our.endings.glow. ]

still seeing
one light at a time
our hands all worry and down now
don't think I'll ever be
don't think I'll ever see
the end of what was supposed to come

but its no worry
no end
no lesser written sound
that I still hear in my weary head
smoke is all I have
to write this down now

where everyone that reads
these lazy words
I've laid down
down upon our brow

will know for one moment
in the rain at nite
or by the shifting sounds of coming day
that silence is our only peace

� Bryan JG McLean Sept 11.05

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[ .karma.in.your.cabaret. ]

but all your names
are on my inside
written in my lining
its where you've been
always holding on
in echoes and in tales

its all I've seen
on your night and day
its where my midnight
meets up with yours
we've always been this way
just so indescribingly far away

its all your karma in your cabaret
its like I've always been here
waiting in your brightly shinning shadows
in your very echo
in your very night time

but the smoke stacks down
like our memories of dead cigarillos
the heads burnt black
and their lives burnt down
where we sucked them
cleanly to their inevitable ends

and your phone is off
and my radio in full bloom
against the pointless early morning
and I'm awake here in the a.m. light
no matter which way is up
I'm still holding onto
the pictures of you
in my head and hands

my every shaking day
has been moving oh so fast
and I cannot keep up the rumble
in the lot or in the street
where the love we make
is all for fighting in the ring

all just for the burning struggles
where the primal
is so much more satisfying
because its the only time we are real
and only there I feel you
like I've known you all this time
my searing eyes show you that much

but its been strange days
since last we met
but I know you
like you know me
better than I should I think
you all recall me
in my every waking hour
that spills against your beautiful ticking minutes

its under my skin
under my sundered belly
my hungry & terribly cure for you
in towers and blue-black shadows
I once was on watch for
in charge of that mechanism
that we call sorrow

all our laughter
has been shot down here
as we watch the breach
for the signs of the failing day
that we are all hiding from

even if we can only have
just five more minutes
before it takes us all
I just want one more go
at those names
under my skin

� Bryan J. G. McLean Oct 4, 2005

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[ .the.motel.alt. ]

angels are just mechanisms
but you're not watching out
not seeing all the gears at work
inside your hollowed out house

but I'm ten and down here
every night every day
its all our sallow end
even with sam haine rushing on

but nothing turns on nor out here
nothing that holds
my terribly weary intent
my head in your hands
chest pressed down

here I'm shaking on the line
of everything I've ever burned
versus how are you tonight
narrow on the one side
without thanks and hungry

pangs all full inside me
all gone indie
cuz its the next hot thing
coming to cut you
and make you just like them

but someone really should
cut me down now
I've been hung out too long
and all my splendor
might just have finally eeked through

oathens good eye
still all over
all my lovers
that came and left me out here
one more dusty room
I'm still squandered down into

all my impressions are far too tight
up against your side
where all knives should be
but instead
its all my musae's work

lines and stiches now
that narrow tangent
showing that I am
out on that line
one more time

� Bryan McLean Oct 27 2005,
excerpt form Amore*pheous Works
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