metapor Archives - Cristians Café

I don’t know what I want,

Whether it’s surface dwelling alone at the swamp
Or an oak in a marsh, soul-searching proverbial want.
We’re more or less spawns of monsters nobody needs,
You were my star-spangled banner, and I was taking a knee.

Subterranean breeze, vitamin pond, still smell your perfume,
Every once in a blue moon, Dahlia Divin creeps in the room.
Black lagoon creature, months of despondent malaise,
Never under the same moon, but always got in your way.

Every constant is change, every constant in chains,
The sheriff to my merits, conversation warranted pain.
Follow the tunnel light or continue to walk among the shade,
Politics, topic delay, boxer on the ropes.

You taught me to love, but to love to be alone,
A hundred teeth sunk in deep, ’til they’re rusting at the bone.
Propaganda-prone, post-traumatic melodic drama,
Copacetic cathartic static, momentary sedative saga.

Mama said to me never mince words with Misses Karma,
Megabit verbiage, sapient alma in the trenches of mock prison,
Velvet and soft linen, cotton henley makeshift pajama,
Couldn’t figure you out…

Kissed crevasses in your skin, you were indifferent about,
You’re awkwardly distant to things that slipped through my mouth.
Look at you now…
Sinatra’s lovers glance, blood-soaked sinful devout,
The untolds dripping, gun smoke cigarette clouds.

Love grows thinner when the sun strokes negligent doubt,
What comes, goes,
Hum low under floorboards

Or they’ll figure us out.
Self-destruct sequence, count to zero with me,
Feel your feelings metamorph like metaphors in the breeze.

I don’t know what I want, I just know what I need,
Better go home before I’m awoken, and I see you,
Full of momentary passes focused entropy seams,
Beams of light bustling through cracks in the stream.

Pockets of time form like globules; we’d skip stones in ravine,
Everything’s too loud even when the volume’s negative three,
Nothing we do can salvage this irreparable dream.

Qué pena me da, que lo tienes sentir,
Shouted at you to leave as I whispered the please.

I Know What I Need: The Quest for Fulfillment Amidst the Turbulent Rapids of Existence, Where Inner Desires Clash with External Realities

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Oct 12

You can hear the
suburban chime, zirconia vertebrae, pearly white spine.
Glass thrown in stone houses, a regular suburban night,
whirring, rewinding. Chronicled childhood in olive drab paint,
monocle glass.
Wormwood and bottles of Shawshank
dissolute solitude. A wanderer who wallows in the maze
en route, delaying for tomorrow, never promised today.
A virgin diary, Anne Frank, Marie Curie disease, a tincture of rainbow,
even if the distance is blurry to me, he who knows the way to Zihuatenejo.
Furloughed father, demanding you to die when I say so,
26 pesos left in your wallet
lint and mothball, Merryland experiment omelette.
Laundromat arcade quarter exchange
2 o’clock shadow of death and follicle strain.
These boulders were supposed to be gone when I got here,
you shouldered me off, Sunday morning penny loafer with frost,
social commentary Gabriel-Lucifer talk,
metamucil retrograde, Jupiter star.
Bolivian roast, oblivion, and a toast goes to Mars,
you hold my hand, but I don’t even know who you are,
shout at me when indoors, but whisper weak when afar.
I’m so close to eroding, skin growth barely a scar,
in my house, the big wolf, lungs pulse ’til exhaustion.
I read a suicide note from the ghost in my closet,
I don’t know if he knows if this apartment is haunted,
by patriarchal pettiness, reminiscent negligent heart,
maleficent maligned, distant and forgotten insidious offspring,
with ammunition in their lips that keep you off guard.
Feel the metacarpal love letters ’til your fingers fall off,
once you step out the door, you hear the wooden creak in the floor.
Fell asleep at the creek daydreaming before,
every time before bed I hear footsteps coming from deep,
and I hide in my closet, until they delete.
REM hits me while I’m counting my sheep
counting rosary beads for every step wolf takes towards me,
like neighborhood freeze tag, counting to three.
Dysfunctional beings huffing in suburban breeze,
I know that I know nothing is in love when I speak,
into denizens, the medicine cabinet creaks,
when you close it and I haven’t heard it in weeks,
from bourbon to curtains burnt at the seams.
I’m so close to being the opposite of perfect, I scream.
What emerges, a bird sits perched in a tree,
what alerts him is the suburban breeze.

Fötter Day Reverie: Suburban Breeze and Whispered Dreams

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Jun 20

I’m sitting alone at the cosmic stump,
Sipping my soul, and I’m vodka drunk.
Thinking of goals I’ve not yet done,
Fission control, visit me in my head.
Cataclysmic logarithms, picture dreams that are dead.
Bickering silence, word by word, I fell into your haiku,
Only heard what you wanted when I told you I love you.
Nervous, respond. I fell into the lust pool,
Mouth of sin, out of breath,
A spell was cast on my lungs too.
She promised me passion, she promised me endless,
A synonym for forever. All I got was a toxic expansion.
Mantras to mansion, so deceptive it hurt,
Quoted my tantrums, like an excerpt from a book.
Don’t mention the looks. I wonder how you mention me now?
Sat on the couch, watching Netflix. Forget heaven and clouds,
Came from the kitchen with a spoon full of sauce that you fed into my mouth.
Cilantro, “Does the chicken francaise taste good, my love?”
Now I find spooning so distasteful. It sucks.
Double entendre tornado, a marksman from the start,
Haloed your heart, rainbow, and darts at the bar,
Volcano and smog, now I counted a hundred horseshoes,
Barely put into words how much I adore you.
So scared, and it hurts, I’ve come to assortments,
From arid. It’s gravid, it varied, of course.
Marriage, like cherries, best pick to engorge,
Eviction of souls, dependent on the glare you reflected.
You sold me religion, with laissez-faire in effect.
I flare up, I gave up on describing this feeling,
Inscribed when I speak, shine on the shrine I requested,
Dried my lips on your teeth, a psychic connection,
Read the Braille on my tongue without trying to French kiss.
Assignment: Accepted. Binary in sign language,
With tension so hectic, you’d barely bury the knife hatchet.
Fury. Attachment. To the universe that emblazoned,
The jury and gavel, as well as the executioner faceless.
Fell into Jupiter’s orbit, and you didn’t notice,
Consumed in your work. My mutation was forced.
I knew it, of course, I ballooned and transmogrified,
With evolutionary pose, soon to be broken, I
Cocooned. I was born, alas, a new metamorphosis. Rise,
Using the moon’s pull as a force, so isotopic,
The butterfly, psychotropic, new skull and a heart.

I Didn’t Want to Believe It: A Transformational Journey

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Jan 3

Tag: metapor

I Know What I Need: The Quest for Fulfillment Amidst the Turbulent Rapids of Existence, Where Inner Desires Clash with External Realities

Fötter Day Reverie: Suburban Breeze and Whispered Dreams

I Didn’t Want to Believe It: A Transformational Journey