Long Dead You
I’ve experienced your swelled vein grip
On my heart
Loss of breath as I catch a ride on the train
Please remain
Smooth sticky honey for my Queen Bee
Bitter pills melt
And mingle with a memory
Never met you,
But I know your taste
You’ll come to me with colors of obsession
Promising pleasures
Open doors
Floors
Offer comfort for crawling
Clawing
At shadows of an insect empire
Perpetual dawn offered to a liar
Cradle me in the cold arms of the universe
Reach the blackness
Only to find more
Disillusioned boundaries
Of the dark whore
Feeling familiar to a few
Feeling the presence…
Of a long dead you
Liquor Reflection’s Augury
I’m feeling bellicose at the bar.
Bile rising as I reflect on violent acts
in an intrepid, drunken state staring faithlessly
into a liquor reflection’s augury.
I can’t take heed of my pituitary.
My chakras are twisted, folded, flipped
in a kind of cosmic anarchy.
I’m a masticated mass a liberal might look upon with
sympathy.
She held me once, naivety between the sheets.
Winter sparked in midnight’s comforting delusions.
We had to work in the morning, every morning.
The hive needed honey, and we needed money.
Big Brother’s eye passed from wallet to unsated
wallet;
keeping tabs on our limitless greed.
She left before the holidays,
and I got to know the god Lexapro.
He held my hand as we walked through the land
of prostitutes, pimps, and parasites.
My heart skipped cocaine beats
in a hotel named after the the mother of Christ, or
his wife….
I’ll have to qualify that with a gnostic.
I finally fell in slumber filled with benzo-klepto
dreams;
where everything I stole was blue,
a melancholy hue, that always seems to be my theme.
Eventually, I robbed a pharmacy;
thought justified by my hijacked psyche.
Now, I’m in Montana fleeing the law
and feeling bellicose at the bar.
Bile rising as I reflect on violent acts
in an intrepid drunken state….
Sparrows Know
Knowing there is no love here
And being alone
Is a gift
Is a sentence
For the few who’ve broken
The laws of conventional abomination
Pretenders promise reliance
Delivered with coddled hands
Submerged in waters of ulterior motives
Playing codependent games of leeches
Sucking each others’ essence ’till the horizon
Of their lives bleed red with the sparrows’
Swift departure
Only to rise again in the golden East
With alacrity
In need of touch
But some find cold cribs for crying
As mother turns away
And it’s a long road to find
The gift
Never Sleep
A faint sound as skin capitulates to steel
An amber injection to virgin vein
A reaching breath to catch a train
While dream time men hurl boomerangs
At dead inventions conjured to quell our brains
In a dirty room of silence
I dilate my eyes
And draw the blinds….
A dried up river of liberation
Is no hope for a burning bush
I’m perched up on a toilet lid with Huxley
Revisiting Brave New World
And orange kush
While a climbing Krishna
With a home made hookah
Brings two worlds into one
Divorcing reality and surfing
The waves of an exploding sun
Isis in the sky has spoken
An ancient smile as our spell is broken
She whispers, “Never sleep”
Kiss The Particle Eve
Silver and Gold enter the prism
Of mankind’s priorities
Betraying the intended nature
Of our early being
The Helix cracks, shifts
Mutating quantum theory
For Mithra’s purpose-
Revenge
I kiss the particle Eve
Earth scented mother of man
How I love to watch her cry
For our dilapidated ghetto existence
But it’s OK
Adam’s standing in the doorway
With a dollar bill to wipe her eyes
Love was never welcomed
Through the gate
Pure is the green
Emanating from my birth
Invaded by savage fluorescent technology
Cold, sterile floor at the entrance
Cold, sterile floor at the exit
Cold, sterile infinity in the void
Promising a warm smile when we reach the end
The helix cracks , shifts
Mutating quantum theory
Welcoming mankind’s return
Maybe this time
We’ll get it right
BIO: Allen Masterson is originally from St. Louis, MO. He currently lives and performs spoken word poetry in Southern Indiana. He has had work published in Shoots and Vines, the online zine edited by Crystal Folz, and Full of Crow, the online zine edited by Lynn Alexander. He began writing while doing time in the Indiana Prison System for robbing pharmacies. Much of the content of his work is inspired by true events.
good friend….great poet