Up Behind The Clouds

Up behind the clouds,
me down beneath the ground,
eyes of stilted slits,
finding starry eyed stars,
just to stare down,
just to get even with

My big blind telescope in a world,
that’s a vandal’s braille,
i hear the clinks of glasses,
in my head i hear the wails,
siren songs, singing spelling wrong,
as always, the petty flesh will fail

Potted palm fronds, flitting about in gusts,
for all we’ve done that isn’t wrong,
a song written in dust

Add weight to my shoulders, break back and repeat,
release nothing until depletion, mixing iron into meat,
drink wine with dead soldiers’ clamors, pleading for the ink,
one pen left to write with and so we write until we’re weak

Leave the rest to the weary,
i’ll write so the half of me that thinks,
doesn’t have to think so scary,
for blessed is the one,
the one that surrenders nothing,
except the right to breathe until he decides he’s

done

You’re No Better (probably)

The Victor, a lion resting in my chest,
waiting to breed, to breathe,
waiting to feast on meat.

Bloodborne antonyms, can’t spell no no mo,
I got my little empty trinkets,
early onset, trying to forget,
all the things I remember, from so long ago.

Yes, the platinum in my eyes has dulled,
the dew on the web of the spider,
I sip into a lull, foregone conclusions,
doing things wrong, catching spiritual contusions.

Lord forgive me, all I am is the thinking thoughtless, a human being.

Claws for teeth and bullets for fingers,
gingerly testing for taste,
letting the brew simmer.

This road is long and filled with potholes that break axles,
taxidermies for friends, leaving no doubt,
about who is really the asshole,
unassailable vassal of things other than nice,
break myself off a crucible and go around pretending I’m Christ.

Rats into mice,
huge vicious bubonic rats from cute little, white mice.

I know nothing except the truth of pain,
spare me or sacrifice me, lacerate me,
just make up your fucking mind,
and have at me.

Some Paintings!

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My Manifesto: Near The Entrance Of My Tomb

Solitude is for a writer what rain is to the trees

Inside my tomb, alone, I will write and write and write and write and write and write and write…

Alexander Michael Ziperovich

The mob symphony discordant and quiet,
They want me to sing

…my voice, my breathless cry for you to know what it’s like
inside these hallowed chambers, here there is nothing but everything,
intoned like the first beating of the wings of a baby sparrow…

I’m as bad as they say I am good, passing around splinters instead of firewood,
kindling for light, our solemn nod to the great splinter-less logs,
burning into the sky of the night

Imagine how the stars do whisper amongst themselves, a great tragic laughter, their tears dripping down the face of the night, fireflies hum capturing and holding drops of sobbing stars, until the sun assumes its throne and dries our weeping scars

Alone in solitude naked toting bags of words in the jowls of my cheeks, fingers to papers, release myself from this cell in this prison of my own ill-intentioned creation, self-disdain raping my mind with a wealth of pain salacious, I’ll rip it out and escape and write on all that remains

Soon, I disappear to confront my shackles ripping off their masks finding that beneath those masks of my guards is my face, trapped and hard, seeing beauty blind suffocation, no more, no more, I will take what I shall take and I will rename it and replace it and light it ablaze, there is no more time for me to waste

The stars have shed enough tears on my behalf and I have lived enough fear and all that hell that is left, is to be procured, packaged, and burned at the stake, tip toe back to collect the ashes and gather them in my arms walking backwards so that I might put it all back together into a beautiful tapestry of a man’s last grasp

This man’s last gasp

Once A True Love

Ziperovich

Saltwater, she tasted like everything so I sang and she sang,  we sang to each other like so many saints until we died on the cross, true love shed true blood tis true love as could an artist paint if he had any cruel lust and a canvas with a few bruises, a few cuts

Tainted bed, listen close, the only girl I ever met, poisonous lead, a porcelain face,  enough beauty to break necks, shuttered, dying in a forest with enough God to be seen on the horizon, the sunset disguised as a fool smiling and smiling, dying and dying

I love you, yes I do, I made you grow, I meant to tell you sooner, I meant to slit my wrists in the afternoon before you knew, we all of us here meant to watch the blood sink into the sink like glue, but more like water, so soon we’ll know if it’s no son, no daughter, yes love a slaughter because we all, I mean, I just love(d) you, cauterize the wounds, nevermind, don’t bother it’ll probably cut you

I held on to the tightest ropes on Himalayan slopes until there was no more, just screaming and good dope and increasing suicidal ideations and us both seeking some way to cope with your violations but there isn’t a way and we found that out quick, both fucked in our heads like freed slaves diving, holding hands, from a slave ship

Hate it or love it, my biblical covenant, a way to adhere to, before I said, NO, FUCK THIS, gave it all up for random sex with cute things, what a way to take the shotgun out and shoot things, make sure they’re dead before you begin to cook things with the hot barrel of the rifle pressed against you as you try to sing new feelings

Always the housekeeper, the loud screamer, always the girl without meaning, the non-believer, just danced around ourselves like we always did, one or two grams of this to make us happy kids, to make Alex’s heart skip, that’s just how we sinned and that’s how you’ll do forever like superglue, who are you but a pretty grim face I fell in love with before I said loyalty is something I can’t fuck with, before I said no, she’s insane, how does this work in my favor, does it, does the pain in the rain snorting caine even belabor the kind of crying eyes that we savor, the kind of dying wine that we favor, the silent, mindless time I saved for her?

There once was a perfect girl in a perfect world giving me tissues to wipe the tears from my worthless pearls and then I found out that humanity ran afoul and she looked upon me with every single perfection laid like sun upon me and I rejected my own torture but I despised my own forfeiture and I just wanted it to be like it was when I had random sex with whores that didn’t eat my coursing blue blood until it exploded into the air like dirty, rotten, lovely, beautiful, make-shift true love coming from oil rigs instead it’s blue blood psychotic stomp stomp on psychotic floors with broken psychotic chores, a poet soaking in a bath until I drown like Jim from the Doors

Let this page catch fire, a common theme I know you’ll admire, you might find this destitute lest you’re of true fire, you’ve mired a sobbing poet into a frothing hoe-get and a slothful more-pig but I admire it all, the way you caught me ecstasy, made me believe it all wasn’t a dream instead the MDMA made us just believe, no matter we looked senseless, we were there in your bed looking at each other breathless in love with our fake mutual serotonergic death wish – let’s kiss

I never died I just multiply with girls that would make you sick and defiant and violent if you looked into their eyes, zero shame, but I’m allowed Saudi princess’ that aren’t insane and aren’t afraid you’re now a past mistress, nothing more, I let you live this and then your death is something poor, in your world it’s shit, I got a new way of seeing me past this, just finished fucking the last chick and I just wanted nothing but to tell you what’s on my mind, for laughs bitch, so it’s really nothing, unless you suddenly figure out emotions and feelings and human beings, which you’re incapable of, so I escaped from your dusty rust to bathe in hugs and taste other tongues soft like Persian rugs not hard, worthless love

These Words I Write Have No Right

Alexander Michael Ziperovich

It’s so crucial to be neutral these days, hesitate before I let myself go bleeding away,
decimate the page with my sordid references embedded inside splintered, decayed
sentences, remove myself from it and say it’s abrupt literary fucking, you can’t
stop my blistery wondering, it’s like the stars are on fire directly in front of me,
you can see them up close, unfurling of a rose, a ghost, caught in an inferno
lost in the woods during a forest fire, going to burn down our funeral pyre
die a mortal, a coward and a liar worth nothing, I just think it’s about
time we had this discussion, my brushes with death a few minor
digressions, the point of this is that the points I like make blood
like blades and they cut deep if they have any grace, they’ll
leave gashes in your mind that you can’t wash off or stitch
you piss off momma bear it’s hard calming a violent bitch,
you’ve lost your innocence, your presumptions intimate,
so infinite, our collections filled with what they gave us,
knowing it won’t save us, we just got spat on charity,
bent down, collected their spittle, the generational
learned with their belligerent fiddles, out of tune
ballads of knowledge and philosophical riddles
that don’t end with a lesson but rather they
begin with the same redundant toy titular
thistles meant to scrape your shins and
break your wind until you can’t run
and painful is sin and your mind is
just a piece of the giant lake of hot
burning oil in the desert with the
limbs of soldiers dead in wars
that we adore for hating the
people under the other
stars, like loving afar,
I love you, it’s hard
words weren’t ever
going to kill, maim
you or stab, hurt
or leave scars
I just wanted
to show you
the way I
collect all
our hell
in
a page like butterflies in clear empty jars

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