The Crying Men (After T.S Eliot)

I'm a fan of The Hollow Men. I'm also a fan of love. Though I never partake in it. Part 5 is called A Swallow's Song. It is separate. However, 1-4 and part 6-8 are here. And one extra. Enjoy.

The Crying Men

I

(I lost my way when I found you)

 

(More or less)

 

Hues of blooming fuchsia ludicrous altocumulus perfumes illuminating hallucinations

 

Magenta nebulas of tenebrous testament exodus

 

Homunculus of upside-down cake world

 

Morning maidan a maze of Himalayans in my cranium

 

Ambrosia of reborn torrents of agoraphobia’s exordia

 

Molotov andromeda

 

The maze

 

Twisted hands of the clock

 

That bend time and space

 

Into present wrapped gifts of memory

 

Ripped into shreds by demiurge

 

Unorthodox metamorphosis anthropomorphic hydrochloric oracles

 

Ears to the ground

 

I am the open mouthpiece of the puzzle

 

That calls itself life

 

In an aim to feel complete

 

To piece together the idea that braided me and birthed me

 

Into recirculatory aurora borealis

 

The puzzle called life completes me

 

I am the open-mouthpiece of the puzzle

 

Built the heavens from the ground up

 

Abyssal Peripheral syphilis of promiscuous incubus

 

Monolithic hieroglyphics glisten visionaries vicarious marionettes of sunset destinies

 

(Alstroemeria fairy-tales)

 

The infinite magnificence cistern of a blistered (picture’s) chrysalis

 

Polycrystalline willow wisps of ellipsis

 

Ricocheting maze everglades of clay-doll fables

 

I loved you once; the sweetest rose to drown in rain

 

Dug up by the roots

 

Your dangling stem

 

I watched as if an unturned leaf, yet to pale in Fall

 

Perhaps, it was not love at all

 

Perhaps it was but a golden inkblot of sun

 

Tattooed, a birthmark on my sandpaper skin,

 

The wallpaper engulfing

 

Peeling back a factory of Rorschach’s

 

Dunes of juniper

 

Painted faces of latex screams exfoliate over the engine within the silence

 

Fleecy petals of cerebellum

 

Balance malice every pastured hourglass of callouses

 

Envelope the meadows of bellowing stilettos evangelical arpeggio

 

Fighting till death with a hallucinogenic Serengeti

 

Crawling its way out from under my skin like

 

The mouth of a riverbed

 

A tongue bent into spirals of metaphors

 

A labyrinth of kaleidoscopes

 

The eye of a hurricanes’ needle threading its way

 

Stitching itself across the wholly earth

 

Conquering dirt with its grenade of shattered people

 

And broken homes,

 

Bottles of knucklebones holding the swallowed wrath of the past

 

Within their glass castle grasp to see through the smoke and mirrors

 

A looking glass obtuse

 

Of a closed window pointing its finger at God like an effigy’s menagerie

 

Dangling from the shingles in the wind, and

 

I thought of you yesterday;

 

The mossy stump of endless forests of family trees

 

Grown tired of angry spades that don’t give a helping hand

 

Discarded memories sprawled out magazines of paper-clipped hearts

 

In the rough draft of sacrilege

 

Adam’s apple hermaphrodite an elevator shaft throat crying out in blacklight

 

Cerebellum Cinderella belladonna Nirvana nymphonids

 

Swallowing bottomless Autumn winds

 

(Mantras entendre arsonist of cartilage)

 

Symphonic harmonies of a carnival’s arteries

 

Malachite stalactites ballad ballerinas of Valkyries of amnesias mocking aquamarine

 

They put your name in the mud

 

Strangled by its own thorny noose knitting the yarn of your stem

 

Into my blood clot heart like a vein deep-rooted under the willow of my spine

 

Like a garden of Eden, and

 

A crescendo meadows of limbo’s primrose murmuring purgatory,

 

The emerald demiurge of metallurgy’s furnace

 

Blurring the burden of a hurricane’s stained-glass asterisk

 

Catatonic andromedas of onyx monoliths of symbiotic obelisks cauterized on the horizon

 

I suppose you died out when your candlewick

 

Drowned in the waxing and waning of a two-spirited heart

 

And the moon pulled the pulsating oceans into orbit like body bag

 

Under the blanket of a black canvas’

 

Pandemonium dancing phantasmagorical

 

Pastel’ed pathogens of a backwards lapis lazuli of upside-down tears

 

Bleeding the pallet you

 

You should see me now

 

In the light of a new day, never fighting, always fighting

 

Perhaps

 

I died a long time ago

 

Too

 

Perhaps;

 

I loved you once

(More or less)

 

(When I found you had lost your way)

 

(Back to yesterday)

 

II

 

 

Rollicking Catholicism diabolical comets (commandeering)

 

Falling albatross discombobulated halogens frolicking Andromedas

 

Of star-crossed doppelgängers

 

Pathogens in Lovecraftian baptism

 

Basket-case masquerades of a cardiovascular masterpiece’s apathy

 

 The world gets under my skin like a splinter cell without a battery

 

Against the assault of the war on my tongue

 

Paternal hernias of my epidermis hurricane in the false bliss like a death’s kiss

 

My last wish acrylic umbilical pastels scratching pathogens of gastric Rorschach aftermath

 

The hemorrhage of dredging memories

 

Dragging time along with me

 

An iron chain holding the ball of my steel soul steadfast

 

Caught against my shredded ankle a sprained ukulele

 

Smoking a double-jointed fractured mind off of eldritch aurora borealis

 

Ouroboros metamorphosis of endorphins agoraphobia chlorophyll kaleidoscope metempsychosis 

 

And the madness balaclava unravels sabotaged Avalon

 

Vagabonds of dialogue mindboggling constellations

 

Psychotropic mockingbirds of doppelgängers

 

Brandish anguish candied canvas wasteland strangled mannequins of smothered colours

 

Collage revolving mandalas engulfing sulfur of hollow menageries

 

Comatose rainbows of archangels stained gold

 

By halos of double-helixes bent into dancing cancers of gargantuan amaranthine chrysanthemum

 

Basking in the ashes valleys of lapis lazuli of pastors asterisks cardiovascular Vaseline

 

Star-spangled bangles stalactites valleys of lapis lazuli

 

Calloused chalices of Valhalla’s ballet candelabra choreography legato sonata of fauna’s lolita onomatopoeia

 

Stalagmite poltergeists of opal scythes vocalized

 

Coastline iris of Aphrodite’s’ lilac kaleidoscopes unbridled bibles of agonized libraries

 

Recirculating vertebrae coagulate Pythagorean immortality

 

Labyrinths of vorpal teeth that smile at me

 

Valleys of lapis lazuli ballad Valkyries spanning ceramic calamities

 

Megalomanic stanzas of jagged avalanches

 

Branching amethyst canopies dangle entangled mangled by brambles

 

Galaxies capper with aether lips vociferous eclipse shapeshifting viscera 

 

Semi-omnipotent Lithium flickering prisms of circumcision

 

And I still scream at the smiles on the walls in silence

 

With their picture-frames of God’s will, empty

 

And I still hate to love hating you all in a heart that forgot how to love

 

And has not yet remembered how to die

 

So I still smile at the screams of silence within these (cushioned canvas) walls

(More or less)

 

(When I hear their feet pitter patter over these eggshells, these bodies)

 

 

III

 

 

 

 

 

Penultimate electroconvulsive mantras polish cauliflower mitochondrial gonorrhoea pondering

 

Gondolas semiauto of amalgams pallet of ballerina Valkyries

 

Hourglass pastures of bastardized lives dive within the dim-light (a parasite)

 

In the rapids of time rewinding diamonds of ivory eyes riving rhinestones of spiral asylum

 

Neon lights blinking in and out of existence

 

Dark worlds that are blinded black by shadows among the stars

 

Carve their names in jade serrated craniums made hurricanes of mayhem’s craving

 

Pandering amaranthine Neanderthals, lavender anagrams of little lamb’s

 

That can’t flow with organisms orgasm God’s damnation stuck rotting in their throats

 

Rolling, tiding over under summer sun

 

And a million butterflies intertwine and smother the sunrise with red-wine Gaia

 

Chewing aluminum rejuvenation screwheads of a bioluminescent toolshed’s resonance

 

 Violescent biomimicking equilibrium fixing ourselves a meal, word of mouth, a last supper

 

Blooming Juniper Kahlua fuchsia’s supernova four-leaf clovers locusts of motions

 

Comatose osmosis smoking melodic omniverses lurking in uncertain verses

 

Pursed lips spitting spare change to a world home to taxing ideals we built from the foundations

 

Waging war on the flip of a coin

 

Put their money where their mouth is

 

And eat away at their savings like it would save them

 

Save time until the day passes into night like a memory of rain

 

Save face until the featureless get featured on the face of the earth

 

To wear another mask we identify as

 

There are many types of monsters in this world

 

Those who smile an upside-down frown

 

Those who are the needle that pops the balloon

 

Holding the uplifting high-rise of thousands of airheads’ dreams

 

Those who are the thread that stitches the fabric of this reality

 

Into a world falling apart at the seams

 

Those who boil over steampunk scalding tongues of burnt pride

 

With glazed over eyes, brain freeze, cold hearts, and ice in their veins

 

But melt like Antarctica when they’re in the hotseat

 

Those who have crossed paths and been led astray

 

Following the order of things

 

Those who have broken down each piece of literature

 

Into serving sizes they could take a bite out of

 

Those who’ve bitten off more than they could chew

 

Those who spat out songs born from their dirty mouths like crushed tobacco

 

Their offkey notes a temporary high for the lowest of the low

 

The dirt on me could bury mountains

 

Could grow daises pushing up pincushion dolls of hollow asphalt acupuncture

 

Could lift the ceramic planets of amaranthine lotus

 

Of hypnosis’ spoken pandemonium

 

The blood in my veins could turn an ashtray into a garden of fireflies

 

Catching smoke

 

My lungs could hold their breath like a moth to the flame made floating butterfly

 

Like a nostalgic memory of a large room in a child’s eyes that held the whole family

 

Like the warmth in a cold soul

 

Maybe I wasn’t made to bury mountains

 

Wasn’t made to bleed burnt cigarettes

 

Cannot hold onto the moment, I’m slipping, my sweaty palms are oceans and

 

If I were to encounter someone like that

 

I would likely be eaten alive hanging by the throat of their slipknot tongue

 

Because, in truth

 

I am this

 

Human monster

(More or less)

 

(The way the hands of god shaped me from the clay of blood and flesh)

IV

 

Alone with myself among crowd of formaldehyde dandelion irises

 

I threw my life away and it clogged the gutter drain

 

In the summer rain of jasmine cataclysms

 

Yet I still wish to end the symphony of my life on a high note

 

So I write poems on my skin in black note ink

 

And etch Nephilim on the face of a clock in 3/4ths time

 

As if I still have time on my hands

 

Holding your outstretched heart

 

An apple red

 

An inkblot teardrop

 

A dying sun

 

A spiral spun

 

Till day is done

 

To hang by rung

 

This thread we strung

 

Till death become

 

The next of young

 

And breath and tongue

 

Blossom holocausts from quiet lungs

 

A choirs’ solitary confinement

 

What’s done is done

 

The paint runs down the pallet

 

The shapeless God’s Vahalla

 

My fingers form the ballet

 

The string that bound our talons

 

The little birds all cloudy

 

The song of hallow melodies

 

A dawn to follow felony

 

The devils form their fellowships

 

The treble torn indelible

 

Remnants left ineligible

 

Pastels unravelling the flowerheads

 

Shallow wounds of planted lead

 

Become me

 

And the animals all lovely

 

Botanical homunculus

 

Annuls of the subdivisions

 

Percussion hustling luscious hushing substance sustenance of rushing lustrous nothingness

 

And each heartbeat ripples and ricochets out of a cardiovascular chamber

 

Like a pebble made skipping stone jumping across a jigsaw puzzle in pieces

 

And I melt into a puddle of dreams

 

And wake up from a long nightmare

 

Myself

 

A lost soul in a lost and found body

(Less or more)

 

(Than)

 

(The way you found me)

VI

 

A broken toy God’s children no longer play with

 

Screaming at the pictures on the walls

 

“I suppose you loved me once”

 

I suppose;

 

They loved me

 

Once

 

Before I stopped listening to their radio static voices

 

Until my parched throat gurgled on a dry tongue

 

Of angry love letters collecting dust in an empty vocabulary

 

Of a library of desk drawers

 

The coiled snake of my tongue hissing

 

The slippery sounds that scale the snow-smothered mountains of my mind

 

I suppose;

 

I learned to love the hate too

 

An old friend’s passing

 

The way it rolled off the slopes of their open mouths

 

The way it climbed over the walls I built

 

To keep out the pain and let in the wrath

 

As I waited to crumble

 

Just to greet me

 

The way it scratched the blackboard itch in my gnarled fingers

 

Until I lost my grip on reality

 

Until I came to grips with letting go of a heart I couldn’t reach

 

My clenched fists

 

Outstretched palms

 

Tangled stems under dirt-caked fingernails

 

Flowers I couldn’t touch

 

My knuckles fresh and blooming

 

Like ivy on the (peeled orange of a) concrete wall

 

The thudding hollow drum of this cardboard box called the world

 

I still plant these hands in flesh

 

And grow roses

 

In the garden of your memory

 

Even if the thought of you has already been lost to the wind

 

I still bleed the dewdrops of a new world

 

Onto your shriveled tongue

 

But I don’t want to taste defeat

 

(I’ve already bitten off more bullets than I could chew)

 

(Staring down the barrel of the light at the end of the tunnel)

 

(I suppose that light knew how to love once)

 

(Before it was left in the dark)

 

Each of us a shadow of what we once were

 

Stretching oaks under a watercolour drowned sky with ink in our uranium veins

 

Must smeared in the pencil lead of our dusty words

 

I know

 

The smudge of sun in the corner of my hazel eyes

 

Is a distant memory

 

Blurred by the clouded thoughts of night

 

Emerald tendrils like a hand of God’s entendre

 

Miles leviathan of an unguided wildfire defiling the horizon

 

That lost their way when they found me

 

Less or more than a dream

VII

 

 

Found my way under the covers of sunset and smoky ocean waves

 

Blooming like a juniper in the grave of every passing day’s blade

 

Coughing clouds out of my overcast cherry blossom lungs

 

Pulling the reins of a hoarse power-hungry drifter drenched

 

The lone wolf among cats and dogs stuffed in sheep’s clothing

 

Howling ballerina’s that dance with death one step at a time

 

I put my foot in the door and trespassed on the stairway to heaven

 

I cranked inner sanctuary up to eleven

 

The bottom of the barrel (a shooting star) on top of the world

 

To bleed red from a heart of gold once in a blue moon

 

(I suppose)

 

(I found God)

 

(More or less)

 

When I lost my way

 

I found my redemption

 

In you

 

In the shell of a man who hated to face the judgement of God without jury

 

In a hearing where spoken word isn’t heard

 

In a cracked pavement court where he was called a basket case

 

See, these bullet casings always leave a shell

 

The point-blank expression on my face the tolling of the bell

 

See me in every magazine

 

See me type my life away on a greasy bloodred page

 

See the world through my noosepaper tumbleweeding to the wind

 

See the tree hang its head in shame

 

See the roots tie the knot and dye their leaves the colour of June

 

See the pitchforks in the mirror of the full moon

 

See me, see me dance like an open flame

 

Devouring all but the ashes of a phoenix with one wing fluttering with the mother tongue of butterflies

 

And my eyes, are an iris in sunrise, a pupil of God looking down on all you low blows

 

All you eyes of the hurricane, tongue twisting the hands of the clock

 

To yesterday

VIII

 

Hues of blooming fuchsia ludicrous altocumulus perfumes illuminating hallucinations

 

Homunculus of upside-down cake world

 

And the ground opens up its heart-

 

Beating wings of oblivion’s windbreaker

 

And I storm out of an empty room

 

And blossom into a beautiful waste of space

 

Crawling its way out from under my skin like

 

The mossy stump of endless forests of family trees

 

In the light of a new day, never fighting, always fighting

 

Against the assault of the war on my tongue

 

Dragging time along with me

 

Labyrinths of vorpal teeth that smile at me

 

Neon lights blinking in and out of existence

 

Their offkey notes a temporary high for the lowest of the low

 

Holding your outstretched heart

 

A lost soul in a lost and found body

 

I suppose

 

I still plant these hands in flesh

 

And grow roses

 

Stretching oaks under a watercolour drowned sky with ink in our uranium veins

 

To yesterday

 

To build another sandcastle

 

Under the waves of tomorrow

 

And when they come

 

The sands of time

 

Will remain ingrained within my rocky shoreline of a mind

 

And my footprints

 

Will disappear

 

And you

 

Will step forward

 

Like so many bare feet before you

 

Crying oceans under florescent nebulas of acrylic waterlilies silvery cerulean as the soul

 

Till the end of your beginnings

 

Change this world

Experiment

 

 

Dismantled mannequin amethysts adrift shapeshifting amaranthine star-spangled dandelions

 

Eclipse the lithium tongue twisters of syphilis

 

Liquid hieroglyphs prickling ellipsis from peripheral visionaries

 

Wildflower hourglass ecclesiastical pastels catheter cardiovascular valves mandala amaryllis

 

Honeyed words inside the hivemind

 

Malleable palettes of Valhalla’s aurora borealis

 

Mapping dilapidated evaporating aspirations

 

Shuffling the lustrous muffled conductor of the derailed maelstrom

 

Blowing in the wind-breakers rhythmic gibberish of scintillating defibrillators

 

Ethereal marigold of hysterical prairies of rosemary aether oasis of faceless glaciers

 

Laced with discombobulated comets

 

Vomited andromedas of Nirvana’s mitochondria

 

Blessing the plethora of opalescent respiratory Expurgatorius

 

Picturesque proliferous photosynthesis of linden trinity

 

The light, the dark, and the purgatory

 

I sip the lemonade of glazed horizons from your starry eyes

 

Star-criss-crossed hearts that hope to die

 

I’m running out of room to run from

 

I don’t have a prayer in the world left for worlds to pray for

 

I don’t have a dream left to sleep on

 

My life a cypher’s own detour

 

I crawl through the crawlspace in my mind

 

I leave this island behind

 

Reasoning rhymes might be my only reason to be alive

 

To talk through the oxygen of gossips’ apocrypha 

 

Aloft from the drip drop of my esophagus

 

Claustrophobic utopia kaleidoscopic operas of nocturne

 

The faucet of a docile hope

 

My life is going down the drain

 

Every droplet is just how I cope

 

Swallow the sun

 

Caught the world in my throat

 

And called my teardrops rain

 

Until the day we meet again

 

Diabolical palpating constellations culminating pollinated andromedas astronomers

 

Daffodils of spit flecked from the mouth of God like glassy molasses castaways

 

I suppose we are what we are

 

This world is still young

 

Learning to walk for the first time

 

On thin ice

 

My breath is hot against the cold brush of the snow smattered breeze

 

My life is a blob of shapelessness within the detail of an embroidered shell with a rusted name

 

I suppose,

 

The husk of this world is a maze of cornfields, but

 

That will never change

 

I know that by now

 

Even the moon bleeds red

On the velvet curtains of the stage

 

Without an encore

 

Sometimes

Author's Note

“There are many types of monsters in this world, monsters who will not show themselves and who cause trouble. Monsters who abduct children, monsters who devour dreams, monsters who suck blood, and monsters who always tell lies. Lying monsters are a real nuisance. They are much more cunning than other monsters. They pose as humans, even though they have no understanding of the human heart. They eat, even though they've never experienced hunger. They study even though the have no interest in academics. They seek friendship even though they do not know how to love. If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by it because, in truth, I am that monster.”

― L Lawliet

Quote from one of the most intelligent and interesting fictional characters I've ever encountered in writing.



I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

Reviews

[Arundass TP]

Wonderful description. Touched my heart.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

Thank so much for your kind words, means that world to me that you enjoyed my work.

[Pete]

monsters take many forms and lying is an abomination. the wording and imagery is amazing. every line is a journey of twists and turns. you have a very vivid imagination and a unique way of weaving depth and feeling through words. mostly i like the way you take us off the beaten path causing us to think and examine ourselves and the world we live in or try to avoid ... :)

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I often ask questions in my poems and let the reader find the answer. I find it far more interesting and intriguing when we think about deep topics, and come to our own conclusions. I'm really glad you liked the poem, always happy to share! :)

[adornoscousin]

Some great lines in here