Animal's House of Muse

Vibes to Feed the Hasty Soul with the States of All that Matters

Month: September, 2012

But I Didn’t Kill the Albatross…

What weight does the darkness hold
Out on the open sea, amidst possibilities
Absolutely grounding the stars,
Which are essential for navigation?
It’s hard to tell with all these clouds,
And yet I’ve set sail, despite, for
Scheduled plans harbor more than immobility.

My drive makes little sense in the realm of miles per hour,
And so my land-legs must adjust
To running in the wake of depths uncharted
By means of any present index within the realm of the Now.
How quaint brown cow atop my bow-
Just let me sleep. Please just let me sleep.

But begging gets one nowhere,
And my wicked rest must wait.
I’ve got plans beyond the horizon,
And the further I press, the further I get from escape,
Till my means reach an end concerning this purpose
Unyielding to revelations, sprung up like a leak…

Where’s the duct tape? 
Where lies that bucket-
That pail with which to bail?
Where on earth is the flare gun?
And where is my first mate?
God damn it, Fate… 

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Dear Ambellina,

Fear not, for the reinforcements are soon coming.
They’ve heard your plea, digested your message,
And now, as we speak, through the blights, heights, and crevices from which they fly,
Which scream out loud in order to defy the Earth’s best kept secrets,
They encounter deaf ears and heat shields, slightly cracked
To imply a spry place for their own development of our own attack;
Though their wings will dissolve upon meeting the burning friction of opposition,
They shall rip through the roaring rifts, and are swift on their feet, nonetheless…
They’re coming closer, and once closed in amongst ourselves,
We’ll hunker down into the bunker ’till we’ve worked out a plan
-One created of like minds and separate visions,
So that we can carry out our master-peace of fission
Between two poles flattened out in submission
To evil thoughts, plots, and schisms;
May we strike at the source of what matters,
When we’re ready,
As soon as our partners return to the scenes of the crimes…
Hold tight, Ambellina, for the reinforcements are soon coming…
This, I promise,
This promise is Thine.

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Work

My Muse is the many passing moments that lived not up to fulfillment,
And through this strange, abstract digestion my soul can go on limping in crippled, indirect silence;
But ’till this body comes full circle, blood, sweat, and tears will be all I have to build bridges
With alloys of heart and steel, My Beloved, it is You that gives life its saturation
In touching it, I am touched by You

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Out My Backdoor

My little brown brook of brackish water babbles continually, though in doing so it knows it’ll never become purely pure.
It truly knows no shame. And as long as I don’t partake in its polluted in-edibles, I find no shame in letting its running off at the mouth lull me into sweet day dreaming.
Run off little brown brook, run off and past the fence; for it matters not if anyone catches up to your swampland. I’ll always be your friend.

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