New Poetry: Art Galleries

Art Gallery

Art galleries
Are spiritual
The souls of artists
Reaching out of a canvas
Towards the heart of the viewer
Causing the beats to quicken
The pupils to dilate
The eyes to dart-
Mouthwatering
Splendor.

But sometimes
The artist fails
Reaching out of a canvas
Towards the heart of the viewer
But aims for the purse—
A nullified stare
The eyes blink
Dry mouth
Emptiness.

6-9-07
© Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Skin Deep

Skin Deep

My indulgences
Are more then skin deep
Then run like chasms
Throughout my mass
That etch into my heart
Bleeding it raw.

I cling to a teddy bear
Stuffed with barbed wire
Doused in poison.
Daily I thrust my teddy
So the barbs impale my chest
Digging deep, the ridged wire
Fastens itself to my muscles
Causing indefinite paralysis
Until the poison fills my blood.

I am addicted
It laces my capillaries,
Veins, ventricles,
And even heart
When it runs low
I must have more.

I am addicted
To a 90 year
Suicide process.

ⓒ Liams Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

NEW POETRY:

Where I am Weak

In a dusty field
In my mind
I kneel down in slow-mo
The great army
Follows suit in a panning
Slow cascade.
Rows of soldiers on their knees
The wind moves
Dust flies as I arise
The army jumps
And I, at the head of it
Would rather die
Here, a sword through my heart--
Than in the future
Where I am weak.

NEW POETRY

Six Months

Six months
Is some turning point
In any situation:
In relationships
Abstinence
Is much harder.
In sobriety
Staying so
Is a trial
When crystal
Resolves are rung
Rung by
Temptation—
What to do?
Down hill
Loge at high speeds?
It starts
With masturbation
Letting yourself
Go – little by little
Until there is nothing
Just coming down.
The addiction’s grasp
So tight – your forget
What a model man
You’ve become
You succumb?
Sway under the force?
Or stand tall?
Baby sit those
Still young?
Hold their hair—
Help them walk—
Catch them when
They fall – they always do.
But who is there
To catch you?
Crystals catch you
But sometimes
They break.

--

Cuckoo Clock

I feel that too many times
I have been at the doorstep
Of greatness soaked in the tears
Of some forgotten god
Only to be turned away
With haste by my own heals
Wheeling in a 360 like
Motocross break dancing
Down the street I go
Back to where I am no one
Where I blend with furniture and walls
That’s just fine – I’ll bid my time
Living inside a big cuckoo clock
Coming out on the hour
And 360ing back into my door
It’s a big world out there
But this track steers me away
While on the hour every hour
I try to break free.

©Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

New Poem:::Ugly Crows

Ugly Crows

On your knees in preparation of tomorrow
When an empty chasm mind is filled with rot
Rotting people and situations proliferated
By the lack of compassion or acknowledgement
Bleeding off the skin that is so palpable
You could feast upon it and nurture despair
Like a hungry crow picking at garbage in the street
Desperately trying to find something to keep it alive
Finding nothing it weakly flies off on shaky wings
Starving with eyes puffed up, protruding
In a most ugly fashion.

This is what we are:
Ugly crows.

Count Down

Count Down

I think about it sometimes at night
Death I mean, but not suicide
The ultimate escape from here
Slip out after goodbyes
Or maybe none at all
Just away I go
With her heart
If not; me
Just me
Gone.

© Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Morning

Morning.

Empty bottles
Burnt cigarettes
Bile like regret
Stained carpet
So please, don’t forget
Where you stand now
Waist deep in your own
Ejaculation.