A Deca-Dense of Dittering Drivel

1.
The Memory of your scent,
Is a stolen gem,
Glittering, though rent
As it was not given.

The slightest touch,
Also stolen

Takes me to an undiscovered glen,
Where the blossoms I never wanted lie
Save to be picked for someone,
Before I die.

And the apple trees
Litter the ground
With the gifts
I would wish away
Just to know you've been found,
And saw me through the fray.

2.
The girl inside my head
I try to judge her and flee
She lies asleep in bed
I’m stuck, smoking, unfed

Wishing I had the proficiency
With lyrics or words to articulate
Or the will to slam that gate
Any semblance of stability or dignity,

Has been washed away, gone forever.
With a simple, innocent glance or gesture
All oaths, I am willing to sever

Of course, I never asked,
For all my hopes to be dashed
For this illogical infatuation,
With the things she’s said

I didn’t want,
Never asked for,
And can’t be rid of,
This girl inside my head.

3.
‘Tis scary, true
To be adored in full view
The mad and smitten
See only their desire
All else is a midden

Which am I then?
To be charred by this fire

A flame of thought, and a pen
Won’t close this abyssal fissure

Both sides must ignite
To make this cursed inferno a treasure

Oh, you wicked, ignorant sprite
Thief of my dreams and demeanor
Return them, and abandon your magical candor

Or while our candles are still lit
Touch the sparks
Form a blaze against the dismal pit
If only for several silent seconds
The gleam of our union,
With the void, reckons.

4.
If a look could sell anthrax
To a paranoid cokehead
It would take your eyes
To get his nostrils fed.

They’ve always claimed,
“Eyes are windows to the soul.”
But they’re fucking morons
Spewing the same old droll

There’s a soul back there
But it hides behind the radiance
Of a forty megaton blast
Where corpses of human ash perform a motionless dance

Windows aren’t blinding
Or impossible to ignore
Though you liquefy my mortal coil
(Vaporizing my blood in the soil)
Don’t avert your eyes, I must implore

5.
If my brain had a liver,
That worked much the same,
Maybe that sponge could deliver
What willpower can only feign.

This fictional organ ought,
If I imagine it right,
Filter you from thought,
And return my sight.

I’m blind, you see,
Thought my eyes still function,
There’s nothing there but you, for me.

6.
Nerves use pain
To tell my monkey brain
When something will break
Like a baby given a good shake

But when my monkey brain
Wants to talk back
Oh, it sounds much the same,
But the only outlet is a sack.

A crate of undelivered mail
That grows unabated,
Like a tumor in a pail

7.
I want to stick a pole
In your pretty head
It would have to be hollow
For me to get properly fed.

I’d suck your brilliance
And claim it was my own
Then I’d have more than the pittance
Making my words a meaningless foam

8.
Somewhere deep down,
In the marrow,
There’s a tiny crown.
Worn by a fucking peasant
Who pushes a barrow

Dirty and awkward
He avoids his fellows
Who pump relentlessly,
The bellows.

That cough crimson Cheerios
They flow like liquid smoke
Carrying Oh-Too payloads
If they clot, we choke

All the while his fellows
Pump the bellows

Nobody in their town
Ever notices the tiny crown
Because it resides on the head
Of a fucking peasant,
Who might as well be dead.

9.
You’d never know
You’re breathing
Until acrid smoke
Hits your lungs, teething

Like a fucking monster
Got into your pants
Every picnic basket,
Swarms with deadly ants.

The great delusion
Of my generation
Is the same as the last,
A tragedy that defies imagination

Culled by the same,
Malignant forces
All the while believing
There are any real choices.

10.
This ignorant society
Is like a cropped tree
That grows, futile
On the billionth mile

Of median strip

Between bustles of boulevards
Those concrete shards
Where monkey men go,
Frantically, to and fro

But, between the lanes
Mostly when it rains
Roots strive for more
Unless blighted to the core.

In our concrete cage
Necessary roots bend and break
Though it fills me with rage
I cant even comprehend
What, exactly, is at stake.

This message I have sent
To the hairless monkey men
Breeding like rats in a pen:
“On your deaths, you are bent.”