Showing category "Poetry" (Show all posts)

Life LLC

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, January 17, 2016, In : Poetry 

Mother seraphim motioned with okra eyes
to the incoming stigmata storm - husk husk husk
went the beat of drums fit for a beast's awakening
Clouds multiply, surrounding an angelic superhighway
Wrists glean, irises swell, colons creak
odors wreak but the thing that speaks to the whole
is how passing into the next world
still generates a bit of heat, like a cricket's leg

The cold entropy of unknown voids - isolated wingspan
of an unclaimed sweeping omega
allows warmth into a pocket of earth
Comas fr...
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Lower Hanging Feuds

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, December 18, 2015, In : Poetry 
Notoriety doesn't impress
if the regurgitated lines are wrought with streudeled wrinkles

Masculine and feminine universes
- temperaments
could be the end-all reason for the case of exact opposites:
Fire and water
Optimism and pessimism
Heroism and villainy

The big dipper swig
fluids in the Horsehead Nebula's bladder
Pillared clouds, Batwing black gunk
interspersed. Kidney colored time capsules
drifting like red blood cells
in an incomplete sonogram

Who can explain
the burdens of a broken nail
to a s...
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The big fish ate the little fish

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, November 19, 2015, In : Poetry 
Coast to coast across a varicose ocean
Knickerbockers hang off the edge of a steamboat
flirting with the plutocrat green water, soaked.
The man wearing them is a fork tongued badger
reddish in eye, sturdy in stature
A cigar lit; no put-out for his quartermasterly pride
educated in the halls of the Necronomicon
schooled in the choruses of the sirens in the Odyssey
he could drum his fingers in the Atlantic spore
sensing death at his fingertip's jolly probes
overtaking whalesong, fish carcass and ma...
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Crackpot Animalist

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, October 25, 2015, In : Poetry 
In a union of laissez-faire roots
and thunder cut dirt, the Big Cat
wound its head behind a brook
and uncurled its body in the name of non-compliance

A Lexington fur coat resurrected notions
of bleak Cheshire luxury. Periwinkle cigar smoke
- stripes like a Worker Party manifesto
in the columns, cogs, gears of dead winter

Incessant domain - riptide foliage
where forest met the shadows of storage closets
stocked with liberated Mongolian refugees
high hats, and nixed military brass

There's something ...
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God Save Norman Man

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, September 2, 2015, In : Poetry 
Expecting too much of yourself in one day
like a traveling MI5 agent who lost his ID card
and tries to duplicate one in the bathroom
using clip outs of Spice Girls magazines
sequins from American flags drenched in oligarch blood
I think I've stretched far beyond my means
to counteract and launch the countermeasures
By nicking a janitor's card and altering the color codes
National security quotas will be met
Mega camera complex regurgitation
NSA Snoop Dogg display screens and A-Teams

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From the Skin of My Witchy Witch Witch

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, August 27, 2015, In : Poetry 
I wring my hands behind me, casually, the ones tied up
to a deadwood post. Elevated on a makeshift throne
where the villagers intend to murder a gal like me
with a bit of displaced flame and hijacked psyche.
I weigh my options.
1) If I'm successfully roasted in Salem as planned
and I resurrect into the Black Realm, I can start
a DIY pet business raising Cerberus dogs
2) I can be a housekeeper of some sort for an ephemeral being
3) Every town needs a potion-maker, just like every war
needs a pist...
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Lesser Known Photographs

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, May 4, 2015, In : Poetry 
My grandparents lived through the days of the grey Crayon
and had nothing to show for it but their true colors
A seventy-five year old man, no trade, as I knew him
wondering what factory he labored at, soot-filled hands
Farm strangled knees buckled, sitting on a Bronx stoop
in the thicket of the thirties when industry choked
on the fumes it had produced in vain

Economic water sacs burst due to a hailstorm of sock puppets
A poor man's odds of surviving in the fold
determined by the conduct wit...
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Homunculus Hunchback Herodotus (Triple H)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, March 20, 2014, In : Poetry 

World Wresting Fornication (WWF)
“was as real as it gets,” thought the protean authority vessel
watching footage through a third eye sewn shut
The History of the Persuasion Wars projected onto a biometric tablet
as proof that there were once giants who roamed
in the Vinicius tundras and out of the big shotokan temples
Their spines grey, with data filters and humongous overbites
Their pedigrees like that of a Notre Dame Sasquatch,
Golems in the bogeyman sense, known to jump from scaffolds
and land...
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Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, March 20, 2014, In : Poetry 

Pina Colada, he told the bartender    coming right up, swiveled the service automaton       a discard from the droid army in a cereal box looking tuxedo         not going so well at the Dry Cleaners? He asked jokingly       Servicebot swerves around with mixed drink in a glass goblet        “Ha. Ha. Ha. Dry Cleaners at Grid 214-Parker-Avenue-Under-Maintenance. Clothing processors working at 35.4% rate of productivity/capability      does human find the apparel offensive?       He gave it a ...
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Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, March 20, 2014, In : Poetry 

The sky had Farsi slits for clouds
I tried interpreting, and made out ‘Lennox Lewis’
It sufficed to say that my mind was centered on boxing
or Lennox was really up there, scrawled in the wisps
crowned heavyweight king with the predator’s self detonating arm

Arnie’s running through the woods now…
flinging dreadlocks behind his back as he goes
The hunter follows, model of brutality, elated in pursuit
Burlap sacks of flesh hang from canopies by the dozen
butchery on an outer world is host to...
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Walking Trains

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, March 20, 2014, In : Poetry 

Walking trains
is a bit like walking a ubiquitous dog
you hope it won’t defecate in the middle of the street
you know
its lack of drive is why it’s always sleeping at home
out of doggie toys, feline companions
out of the “drive” - the source of true functionality
tugging at your leash is a printer tray, carrying
at least 60 passengers, and tons of manufactured steel
its knuckles drag through the city’s battery grid

If you let go of the leash, it would probably
cruise all the way to Ali Baba a...
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Gunnar's Journal

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, March 19, 2014, In : Poetry 

The corn farmer had a titanium plate in his cheek
so when his daughter Janis kissed him, he felt nothing

his name was Gunnar

a man in his middle forties
who'd been through enough disasters
to name his children after hurricanes

he'd lost most of his land to cyclone floods
the dry cleaners burnt all his funeral suits
the dry cleaners burnt down too
and he refused to put his money
in a blood bank

sore gums were the jolly ranchers of the day
cotton swabs replaced handkerchiefs
kilos of lighter fluid re...
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The Christ-Davidian Mesomorph

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 24, 2014, In : Poetry 

Cyanide alloy stumped the line of chemists
who had come to the space station obituary
for a classify
dead Jihad code didn't belong in the morning oatmeal packets
for God's sakes

Nobody dies in the vacuum called exponentia
when their hand is placed on a bible
and a respectable goatee plods about the edifice
of a chin. This is, essentially, oracle in the mirror stuff

Regularly Constantine, the coffeemaker in
the main galley keeps spurning out Old Earth potions
periwinkle turpenti...
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Gestalt Apartments

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 24, 2014, In : Poetry 

Housing complexes moved to the rhythm of a spider's heart
tricycle trickle down spring soil, full of leaded water tendrils
a many legged, many mania'd persona, of mortar and
brick, drywall blockheaded blueprint - the ritzy wallpaper
you'd find in a second hand metropolitan flat, worn by a
breathing commune of utilitarian buildings without literal
pulse, but the sum is greater than the parts

A stationary Gulliver being stapled down with fishing hooks
and cerebellum harpoons - sheepish men dying...
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The Federal Redistribution of Welts

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, November 1, 2013, In : Poetry 

The Federal Redistribution of Welts

Amelia rates the economic crisis misunderstood
There aren't enough ballots to fit inside the manger
yet these presidents are all babies with
toys dangling from a debt ceiling
teething, for a percentage of curdled milk

First, there is incubator maintenance
and deflatable egos monitored on the market forecast screens

Pregnancy rooms currently occupied,
while pharmacists change their name to 'parliaments'
Skin delta forces scale subterranean mountainscapes
of inte...
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The Eagle and the Pluralvidium Bulwark

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, November 1, 2013, In : Poetry 

The Eagle and the Pluralvidium Bulwark

Grand canyons make good headrests
for a winged CEO with his head in the clouds
Beavis and Butthead replay on Google Glass,
listening to the chirpings of a technotronic mockingbird

He glides over gridded fledglings
injecting collateralized debt fetuses into floating orbs
The stock market fluctuates like a nectarine fly's landing patterns
bubbles pop, scavengers hold yard sales
Divine Rule's abstract painting is vandalized by storks
counting flocks - reporting...
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Skullblaka: Head of A Discarded Machine

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, October 2, 2013, In : Poetry 

The Skullblaka stirred up a buzzard’s nest wherever it planted its beak into an azure marsh. Squirrels, toads, termites, boars and honey badgers rallied around the obnoxious posturing of this ancient head — an SUV among primates, but this was no paleolithic Dodge model. Bone density meant unbreakable – something like thermite and solar plexus plastic boasting ‘the might to withstand magma craters, and other praetorian phenomena’ while Model-T’s chugged down the eco-streets like we...
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Power Plant in Asgard

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

Night time is refuge for the energy-reclusive
solar powered firewalkers, physiques complemented
by starlight's Carmichael driven off the edge
of the wrong road at the wrong hour of the dark
this scene, diminished by the tertiary devices of a new sun
knows that many snooze during important eclipses
A full moon is not a bronze coin
cash it in if you’d like (dunesday discount rates apply)
exchange it for the ecstasy of a desert highway ride
full tank of gasoline planet - knuckles full of riv...

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Worker Ant Refusal Committee

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

Remember the days when freedom tasted sweeter than praline cream doused in dandelion musk? Remember when graham crackers actually meant something, and crunchy texture was a loving partner to the honeyed glaze? There are similar sensations when an ant can walk freely about its colony, making no bones towards what best served the queen, and her long list of unattainable demands. “We move too much,” most say, “Can’t stay put for more then a few weeks, it seems” but a change in managem...

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Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

I am bRoadcasting to you, as always, from a chorus of geodes
Which, yOu may not know, are the building blocks for up and coming
Earth program-Litmus testers wanting to take up the mantle of parental wisdom
Knowing your eccEntricities, from a foreign data cloud:
A terabyte warehouse’s equivalent of Lebanon where it rained tetrahedrons
I held an umbrella, cringing at the pattering that must’ve been memorable,
like the time I prank phone called the police at age 5, [got caught]
Or all those...
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Mr. Templesmear, in his Forward Thinking Capsule

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

He careened over a solar system that’s name was
without vowels, without consonants, and without inhabitants
therefore, without religious barriers
hunched over a pew in the meditative chamber of the Spacecrux,
he clasped his hands together and prayed
for terrestrial races with names of which he also did not know
whose creeds, foreign to his own, were supernatural
in the sense that they abided by physical laws, but superseded reason
“This facility no longer offers church services”
came the voi...
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Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

Uzbekistan rain fell
on an ascending conscious-bot
Striking its back, creating blue sparks
lubricating torsion springs and rusty tongs
generator transplants cooled, steaming slightly
with strong, orderly strides
it made its way up the plain
a zone of sideways wind, a chorus of whistles
water streamed down from the clouds
hydrated the green fields and turmeric summits
gently, but in generous amounts
in a mayhem only time rarely ordains
the robot’s steel boots clunked through puddles
choosing to ...
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The Only Hurricane That Can’t Be Categorized

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

In a valley without telephone poles, a reindeer that cannot be hunted is a valuable commodity, the one with antlers poised to the cloud sensors like electrical signals, communicating in lipid Morse code to pony-tailed Inca deities somewhere in Sabotage-land. They don’t pay taxes there either, which takes away from storm recovery funds. Wildlife eradicated by flash floods may appear as an apparition – within several days or less. Take the groundhog ghosts for example, or the corduroy alloy...

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Blue Corn Paradise

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

plastocyanin neck brace
gripped by antigravity
being wheeled through
paddy fields the color
of the pacific

the morning dew
gives off every substance
save flouride, as heat energy
glowing in the hearts
of every aquaphonic farm animal
krill feed on sustainment gels
mushrooms feast on
soiled Gorbachov organs
adherents to landscaping creeds
write aramaic into squid appendages
hoping to establish
communication with
any underwater colonies
capable of "shooting a convo"
with sucking spores ...

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Setting Breakfast, Omnicron Seti

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

on break from studying the Suda...
we toast globefruits to independent countryism
it has the consistency of a tungsten crepe
or an irregular strawberry banana smoothie
Earthside, novelists put too much time into cooking
non de plume exo-odysseys (do it yourself, right?)
ice cream Sundaes scalded by a sugary stellar wind
acai soup bottled, tested in the Cheyennes
ensuring no leakages of mineral meat loaf minestrone

Gourmet style egg scramble eventually comprises
new whitewash Sistene system in ...

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Dow Chemical Resort Menu

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

Agent marmalade rarely quenches thirst
our Advisor of Native Beverages recommends
trying the lemongrass mortar, or the ginger hollow tips
Saigon cinnamon tear gas beads
the chili, lime and basil death powder added for ‘taste’
Cellophane noodles should seldom be bio-toxins
Warning: birth defects may cause a lack of appetite
The rumbling of the low flying planes…
(the drones that replaced them)
The fizzle pop of a barrel being broken open…
(aaaaah, the refreshing scent of aspartame soda)

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"The Killer Czar’s Flight-line Badge"

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

Leather face, Lazerface Lenin-freight
Bulkhead Tunisia pilgrim maker mangles Jango Fett’s head
Psychosomatic spring time…clip of birds that unlearned
How to fly - super weapon Ildemar
Nicaragua nationalist, red badge of curbage to the oil corps
Garbage planet disposals were bad timing
irrevocable relapse resulted in sulfuric barges, binges,
most all of, bargains to keep the country afloat

John Carter of Mars on his Presario
viewing cybernetic hand weavers on a palm pilot
The moon landing ...
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"Pineal Gland Pie"

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

Young lithium generations
treat budding contra-bandoliers like vanilla cake
They march like impala through rustic heartlands
with biometric pacemakers - the voices of toddlers
act as chakras
octopi in deserts shout ‘influenza!’ from the inlands
Madagascar melts,
under pressure, a titanic library overlooks the boilers
Alexandria, but better known as Allegra
is dampened. Her stores of energy are iotas
A playground at recess
features Bridget, omnivore sidekicks, Icarus
They emit prehistori...
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"The Stag and the Ethernet Cable"

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, September 5, 2013, In : Poetry 

A squire’s camp in Senegal consists of warrior scholars
Servants pass through the periphery as they manage duties
small tents seldom erect themselves; partisans sit around fires,
relaying on the geometry of the sun’s orbit subordination,
and Ethiopian rice pudding with a bit of menthol
Nightfall assumes its unequivocally dark form,
providing drapery for a setting comparable to a Bedouin wifi café
camel coffee stands, alchemist tables & stools
A boy measures the googols of sweat beads ...

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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, May 12, 2013, In : Poetry 

Magnetism’s stay-home-Mom infects plexiglass
dancing lucid in lieu of the Lucy Liu’s,
the Jolies, Monroes, the Metallic Monegasques
behind the laboratory window, cyborg marriages ensue
body parts, accessories, “meet other people”

On the billboards, sugar foam accumulates
energizes, wherein strands of readability take form
sifting like cells through hearts and minds,
through exterior and extracurricular obliques
to reach targets of feel good, and stay pleased
Just say please…
The left regio...

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(life’s a turbulent dream where men of peace resort to combat aviation)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, May 8, 2013, In : Poetry 

(life’s a turbulent dream where men of peace resort to combat aviation.)

He wrote his life scripts with rigamortis rage

Few men ever wrote as fast and intensely as he did

He was lord over whatever would become of him


1. Refuse bondage.

2. Try your hand at becoming a kind king.

3. Sympathize with the poor and the unfortunate.

4. Live a meaningful life.

5. Enjoy women.

6. Leave it all in the world. Leave nothing for an afterlife scenario.

7. Be a wo...

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Atlantis Rediscovered on a Staircase

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, May 8, 2013, In : Poetry 

Atlantis Rediscovered on a Staircase

Most military men don’t carry a transponder skip in their step, or stay up late at night training elves for battle scenarios, waking early birds & offering worms for thought to the unguided rebellions and hormonally deficient. It was a rainy spectacle, bordered by English church ruins, the best compact green otto a middleclass paycheck could buy. The maintenance of a good life was on a scheduled cycle, non-negotiable supply distribution. --------à Co...

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Dmitry (Soviet United States)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, April 22, 2013, In : Poetry 

Dmitry had his share of suspicious folk. They were Cold War Carebears who were far from affectionate for a tallish blanched-blonde member of the Sergei family line. Mikhails and Tsarev’s, Aleksanders and Magomedovs were buried in his lineage. He was so scrutinized as such, he tasted Soviet Union grain in his mouth. As the navigator of a plane in an American fleet, the background checks were brutal. He recalled an occasion or two where “Ruskie bastard” was used in a flight formation duri...

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How I Dreamt of a Monolith

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, April 22, 2013, In : Poetry 

How I Dreamt of a Monolith

My head on a pillow transported me to a palace wall guard’s evening patrol post. The air is a stifling Argonaut perfume; the tower is erect as a martian thermometer, introducing wind bridges into a conduit doing its best mimicry for the architecture of the soul. One of the more meticulous avenues in the stages of dream stage alchemy, is opening Tesla’s tubes to the crouching antennas and Andromedan lentils protruding from the top of Mount Babel herself, in cl...

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Where Terrible Things Go To Relax On the Blue Beaches

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, April 18, 2013, In : Poetry 

Die out; don’t impregnate, said the man to machine at the edge of the Rio Grande. Do you mean manufacture? Brown water sprayed against rusted steel, an abstract painting about why mechas should be allowed to sunbathe at the beach too. Salivant Edwards, with his sea alfalfa mustache and crow bar sandals showed off that he could swim through society through a simulated program that would minimize human interaction. Before the breakout of the first thinker’s model, it was unthinkable fo...

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She's Outside In the Dark, Feels like Singing (feat. Isabella Michel)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, April 8, 2013, In : Poetry 

Isabella Michel (check out her website! @

Everybody knows how she dances.
Slender moves like a water brooke
she stretches out across her bed; oh great Mizuchi.
Sometimes she’s so happy
She sifts beneath the sands and rests
like a rock caught in the grooves, polished and smoothed
and twinkling from all surrounding reflections. She is many a mirror.
I heard her calling upstream but like a lazy yogi, she never came to kiss me or soothe me or to waft me down th...

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Voices from the Attic, Attila’s Hut (feat. Definitive Content)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, March 24, 2013, In : Poetry 

Night fabric draped across her bosom like a shawl

her bedside light confiscated ohms
traded them for dusty spool feathers that
quaintly suffocated her sleeping quarters
like a primitive aerosol of ultimate judgment
Father was outside of the tent, somewhere
probably discussing lordships
or trimming the whiskers of God-spiders
his “away on errands” meant perilous quests
and so she accepted his neglect
consciously knowing that her identity,
the daughter of viperous barbarian king
was an out right ...
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If Rumplestilskin was a swirly planet

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, March 24, 2013, In : Poetry 

Silk is non-combustible yet soft
like flames on a Minsk night
on a high tower when winter acts as sheriff

Silk is the undercurrent; star fur
Skin from the island Lesbos read backward
like a terrestrial palindrome, full of comfort
and light milk meringue mixture
The differential in igniting new frontiers

Maybe the universe is worn like a gypsy’s gown
A slender bib stretching into the bibliotheca
each subatomic chord flung to the edge of Osiris
Glassy garment fragments in fields of debris
forged in th...

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The Cove of No Tomorrow

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, March 24, 2013, In : Poetry 

There’s no adjective for darkwaters worth choosing from;
You are rich, yet you live in a barren penthouse
How is it so?

There is no
wealth of knowledge on your cobalt walls
Sea salt was rarely garnished
for your yacht harbors
You are a non organic compound supervisor
bridge keeper to altars
You keep matchsticks to see through paradises’ murky underbelly
Cut diamonds are gashes to the collective forehead
chandeliers reflect broken constants
for token prospects
Room decorations fit for Constantinople...

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We Built Treehouses Out of Ash (feat. Adrian Cheatham)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Saturday, March 9, 2013, In : Poetry 

Building a treehouse out of the ashes
of our friendship
and all the broken limbs I've gathered from going out
and trusting you.
A normal person would use nails
but you've screwed me over so much
I think a Philips head will do just fine
constructing a facade
so you'll know what it's like to build up hope
only to have it destroyed!
Scattered, decom-proposed...
I rescind my opinion of you
as the cinders of this burnt pine glitter during freefall
down the hearth-wire thicket
of th...

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Gathering Wood for Bradbury

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, March 7, 2013, In : Poetry 

Gathering Wood for Bradbury

Fair in height, 451 tall trees with an enormity of loose leaves allowed me to see the world for what it really was. I saw grids, launch pads, bacterial formations. I saw intricate simplicities from the design of daffodils to the correct function of an extraterrestrial larynx. And I watched it all circulate. Bent on challenging and supporting the natural order. Chronicles depicted neo-gothic expenditures, forest treks, diagnostics on the unexplainable creationist...

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Marvelous Martha (doesn't age like other women)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, March 7, 2013, In : Poetry 

Marvelous Martha (doesn't age like other women)

"Seeing is believing"
said the old woman in the department store cashier line

"If it weren’t for this rickety body-dress I’m wearing
You would’ve thought I was twenty-five"

I agree, politely
imagining time relocating its deterioration deposits elsewhere
As “old” and “woman” separate like two cells
under a telescope vastly known as the Glass Eye of Youth
healing those of age
while preserving their 85 years of acquired life’s wisdom
and expe...

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Omega Symbol Cereal

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, March 1, 2013, In : Poetry 

The computer chip was as much an amalgam of El Dorado if I’ve ever seen. Inexplicably linked by the jewels of antiquity and new age morality, the microcosm might’ve almost passed as justification for the macroeconomics of foreign gold reserves. Where the World Bank makes bank off of the World, and pyramid builders, stone masons, men with Byzantine work ethics and a snarling disregard for despotism take to the same praying grounds that welcomed Malcolm X to Giza.

The computer chip was as...

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Abdul, Aldous and Otto Von Bismarck

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, March 1, 2013, In : Poetry 

Two mercenaries walk a road meant for one, dropping seedlings in the name of Sumer-Indian anarchist solutions, retaliation of the plant nursery prevails, depends on water exposure, to fill enough liquid in the chalice to clank goblets with the czarists, the botanists, the travelers whose every step through the mercantile forest remains labored, knowing each pace they take must be reciprocated back to doomsday. We do it differently, like nomads they say, without systems of government, roaming ...
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From Fukuoka Meadows to the Suez Canal

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, March 1, 2013, In : Poetry 

Premarital sectarian reports portray a labor force of Nephilim moving mountain springs for the purpose of the hammer, the sickle, the God equation of Sumer.

Strategic chokepoints are really opportunities to re-interpret vessel connections, to forcibly constrict a Mesopotamian body of river delta farm folk down seven hundred miles of harsh bred epicenter Nile cleavage, crocodile milk and all. During the Six-Day war, all Middleastern people gathered for a shamanistic, terrestrial style Thanks...

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Scarface Dilemmas for a Righteous Life

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, March 1, 2013, In : Poetry 

The rise and fall of a drug pin is a matter of counting the amount of tungsten on the needle tip. Once the instrument of destruction is on it’s way down, only Newton’s third law stands in the way of certain shotgun pebble smear back blown off the balcony. The watery horticulture on a concrete slab is the perfect resting place for these Puerto Rican demons and their Neo-Cuban tattooed suppositories, clipping newspaper clippings to add to this collage of territorial disputes. Angels on shou...

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A Steaming Cup of Groupspeak Brothel Broth

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, March 1, 2013, In : Poetry 


A savage attraction to spheres.

King Seti’s peculiarities.

Djinn in a hovel.

Vein symphonics, chord quartet.

Smears on the laboratory window.

Why the sand’s draft is so sweepingly potent. Why the potential for oil to adjoin with its half-brother water is the single most threatening aspect in desert survival fare. The 10 Commandments was filmed over beige turpentine soil like this. Greek columns were erected for the same reason. The statutes that make the spheres of infl...

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The Descent of Betty Lou Oliver

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, March 1, 2013, In : Poetry 

The descent of Betty Lou Oliver was like Dominique Strauss-Kahn’s career with the World Bank, only worse, she fell worse, much worse, like a square sack of bricks inside of a weightless rubix cube sent careening down a shaft. Lucifer falling through a trapdoor shares companions with this bold statement of gravity and cable wires and elevator textiles, the light above a blonde cornea, her, the woman in the doorway of a mountain trapped succulent channeling panicked sounds of a dockyard while...
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Islamabad Gamma Rays and the Moss-limb Computer

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, February 28, 2013, In : Poetry 

Let the sunlight of this folklore shine on you. Absorb.

Paint chipped is the hour of the day before prayer commences. I am a Mesopotamian remnant standing where the disfigured moss giants once stood in Damascus square, hands on their scabbards, preparing for a war for freedom. Canine scouts in Egyptian body mosques march Trojan on the way to the land of Troy which is crestfallen at the edge of a nuclear beach. When two streams adjoin sentence flow, the ninth gate of true truth opens, Tu...

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The Girl Who Smiled

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, February 27, 2013, In : Poetry 

You could call her Mexico City the way her photogenic smile lit up the road by the monotonous visitor center strip. She had a diary in her hand and a big smile on her face, turning it off and on like a kitchen appliance, so happily in pursuit of a common sense of joy. I debated asking her what she was smiling about as she was fairly attractive, back against the wall in sitting position - Latina beauty with short hair and a young face. Diary of Anne’s Angst in her finger’s cradle. I wonder...

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Preparing for the Elohim Scuffle

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, February 24, 2013, In : Poetry 

The difference between an average moment and a moment of self spiritualization. When the consignor downs the blue tablet with a glass of well water, doused by the Duke of Wellington’s morning routines. It never successfully enters your mind that you are living in the moment. Time ships coast conflagration stations, authorizing thousands of thinking man’s machines for safe passage through the testicular fortitudes of space and time. A dimensional sperm count is analyzed and stored for...

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Spoken Word: "Leave" (produced by nelson b)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Tuesday, February 19, 2013, In : Poetry

Yours truly on the vocals! Instrumental produced by Nelson Brodhead aka nelson b:


Railroad moniker
Rogue philosopher
Mountain spring mage
This green meadow’s in a brilliant phase

As new beginnings man the car wash, washing away all the woes in a world unconcerned with disappointment spillages. Disjointed willingness steps up to the plate, pours some Guinesses and starts bustin’ a grape, hig...

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Putting the Big Picture on a Leash

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, February 17, 2013, In : Poetry 

"Putting the Big Picture on a Leash"

Who am I
but a man with goals?

Your animosity towards me suspends belief

The catalyst, for oatmeal in a bowl
changed to something gem-metric,
A sequential transference of the old me
for a new Luxury and Commodity Me.
Modernity me.
Mostly mindful me,
clouded by reason droughts.
Dry spells in good decision-making.
Me, the star of my own conduit
taking place in the Gliese constellation
surrounded by flashing red dwarfs,
like police lights, or galactic probes
just wh...

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Gas Mask America (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 
Put your jovial masks on
Be happy on the verge

Put your jovial masks on
Be happy on the verge

It can be as colloquial as you like
A colony revolutionized on oxygen tubes
Sugar crystal mines extracted
The sweetness – is not there.
There is no longer a coated sealant
to cover the mouth of the girl
from Cherynobl
Leaning against the stable her father owns
Blood pressure unstable
Leaning against the stable her father owns
Obliterated by..

Wasteland tempests storm down.
Wear the oxygen mask...

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I'll Scramble the Poem, You Write the Eggs (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

In other words, you create.

Jazz background atmosphere, static tube radio
Without any work, downtown movies swinging clubs
Filled mega large– and then we part our ways.
Happens anyway, choices weighed, left in sofa king mattress
Sipping lemonade. Living pelican bay every day.
Enough of the serenade, let’s go back to the old ways.


Let’s go back, back to the vitruvian turntables
Must, break, few eggs, to. get. to. pulp matter
The oc...

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Frozen Assailant on the Yellow River (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

It oogles me…

How the mast of a city gunnard
can be turned into the focal point of a winterscape
How assassins of Persia use the tundra
as stepping stones, as jagged urinals
Sacharrine fluids dripping from golden trumpets
One man to rectify
The bastardous garrisons and the toxic canteens
It broods in me…

Despite the lack of perspiration and energy
Comes the patchwork maze once again
The scenery vibrant, the watery gloss
The weather warm, yet even then the secret
shuns of the rainwater deltas find ...

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The Jade Taskwatch (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Author’s note: The following information is not to be deciphered. That is, unless you have a sticky layer covering a soft nucleus. We do not expect anyone to comprehend, to process, to even appreciate the mystified nothingness that is presented by us. Yes, it would not be surprising in the least if this work was neglected, disliked, disgraced, disarrayed, despised, ignored, shunned, or ridiculed or any other vulgar action the mind can offer up. For we’re used to this treatment. Now enough...

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The Secrecy of Smuggling Killer Whales Across the Border (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

The conspiracy begins…
Adolescence is the essence to the driver
Across that thin line is freedomized seal carcasses
Into the realm of Vatican wish wash
Wish bone wrapped in elephantine hides of African tribes,
Tinted from M. Carbine fluid exchanges
In the middle of a marketing campaign, it drops
The eye of seaworld in a black and white body form tell all,
Leave it at that

Snug neatly,
I hear a whopping knock
The immigration service hiking on a table with cheese
Cruising the withered blubber for pus, ...

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Bilingual Iguana (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

“Don’t think too deeply, you might prick your finger.” – Jube Jube

My language is hiss, now vanish in mist.

Serpentine cloud formation signal the coming downpour
The next evolutionary Tarzan Darwin
Rat-a-tat tats his way
To the musical concert hall
Death comes once again through the cries of the antelope
Patience, not a word, but a way of life
Later today the German banker hides
Hebrew translation -
Fleeing from the Icelandic Cavalry movement

“That’s a head of hair you’ve got there G...

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The Mozambique Gardens (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Darfur, the land of turban swans
Flight is one in one thousand food rations
Victoria’s got a secret behind her veiled gardenias
Life spent in African slums is equal to that of a day
in the lemon fields, in the plantations
Carrying the dead from the desert plateau to the next
One who has the ability to wield a continental water hose
Distributing machine guns and plantain trees
providing moisture for the garden of Eden
to all the children of Mozambique
Those individuals are the keys to the palm tree do...

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Upon Dampened Sanskrit (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

The element of water is incomprehensible
When merged with wooden carbonate
A new creature is created, and with it the age of genocide
A mouthful, a handful of gold dust
These war veterans wait beyond the glass display
History books are underbelly pterydactyls
Scratching ivory messages onto cave limestone interior
And launch into everything

The ancient scribe sits in the flooded room
Water rises imperceptibly, soon nothing will be left of the ancient civilization
Fresh air! Breathe in the gasp of swee...

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The Eventful Weekend Foundation (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

The apocalypse is untied…
Absolutely nothing will stop me from excessive sleeping hours
It’s time to get up, purify the insides of my high-rise apartment
Places to go, people to terminate

Enterprising entrepreneurs enter the escalator
Destination – anywhere else.
Lay on the tracks of the ghosttown
Listen to operatic sound of the steam engine, askew
The hues mixed in a tangence of absolute inadequacy
Rain washing away the stench of failure
Leaving wisdom and common sense.
Why did I pummel my psyc...

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Ink Demeanor Inc. (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Organisms that live inside of the black liquid conjoin
Nuclear wastelands make up the islands of today
The perfect vacation spot is right up mushroom hill
It’s as unbeneficial as a dead instrument
Lying on the battlefield grass,
Irish cemetary, still

The islet stands as a beacon to lost travellers
Stomached in the wasteland of blue tinged with sunlight
The boiling water producing geysers of sulfurous gas
Ash encrusted cave drawings crudely sketched on walls of gr...

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Flying Bird Bounty (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

What goes on behind the door of the henhouse…

Stalk the prey in the moonlight
It lift it’s head to stare at the night sky
My moment has come. I lunge at it
Fried chicken fuels the world of crime
The colonel sends his army of roosters out for blood
Arctic Terns at our defense, forks and plates at the ready!

If I had wings, I would tailight the sky
Sugarcoat the camera lens
Pluck toucan potatoe skins
The canopy is the upper kingdom
Hunters fry their daily food rations
Mockingbirds peck the frigate ...

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Maelstrom Heilstorm (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Smoke clouds block all light
Life itself has no meaning.
A lethal barrage of missiles, gunshots, and warheads
Destroy all in their path
Nothing left but smoke and ash
Once great fields of grass and trees
Transform to barren wastelands dotted with blitzkrieg craters
This is just a ripple.
A world destroyed and born again every second
So why should this meaningless brawl matter?
In the end, nothing can survive
Nothing can escape it’s grasp..

The feeling is here.
Wasps swarm from their central force of p...

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Free the Black Cherry Prisoners (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

One of jube jube’s purposefully lost episodes.

The time of liberation has come upon us…

Marching in the scorching sun, living off of bread and water.
The green apple dictators rule with iron fists
Thrown into prisons, living like the dogs we are
Everyday our numbers dwindle
We must cross the final bridge to freedom.

When I thought all was lost
I regained anthropologist consciousness
Quadrilateral borders are the only thing that prevents
A card game from becoming solitaire confinement
Taste bud...

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Tennis Aquarium (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

“Ready, set, serve!” yelled the goldfish announcer,
As the school of krill scatter to dodge the incoming tennis ball
Sharks patrol the sea borders
Ready to naturally select any fish that steps out of line
Fish struggle in the game tennis game of life
Whales and walruses delivering power shots
Laughing at all who cower in fear

Black milk is the ritualistic liquid material
One second is all it takes
for Wimbledon to become a chlorine infested bubbletopia
Denim jackets, tennis rackets, and Denise Go...

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Vacation to Hawaii's Offices (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

A man on a roadtrip actin’ like an entrepreneur
Pink lemonade flamingo jargons
Don’t bargain with the devil
Make a deal with the rental chameleon
Worth millions on skyscraper stilts
At a time when pavement melts
And volcanic rock is honeysuckle good ..

The funky music blasts through the office walls
Honolulu hoola hoop igloos resemble ice cream
Periwinkle confinements, wait, I gotta tinklescoops
I lounge outside, aim for a tan
And buy the stainless steel watch
“Let’s go on a road trip to Hawaii...

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The Cellar (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Grandpa used to have a collection of raccoon roadkills
He’d adorn the fireplace with flattened critter carcasses
On special occasions and stash the rest in his secret lair
3-level Victorian houses sweat from the architect’s waterbreak
Builders of our age soaking in the unexposed light of the den
Masticate the lacerated tangerine and sink below the refineries of the cellar
Lift door, and enter dust particle haven.

The sounds of deep breathing gorge the dank room
“Where am I?” said the woman,...

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Beetle Submarine (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

A hard surface is what makes the sea vessel float
The empty ocean is speckled with shards of walking opals
Hoping to better the lives of their up & coming creatures
Delved in the thin black pouch.
Commander Pincer does not think before his actions
He grabs the swordfish and drives it into the enemy mine
Black widow’s underwater eggs

War planes fill the air, bombs are dropped without a care
Underwater, the beetle submarine waits
Biding it’s time, waiting for it’s chance to strike
“Back to work...

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Bomb Shelter Apprentice (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Everything is blown up into bombs..

Third world families huddles in the basement cellar
Await the cavalcade of destruction, whistling
Piercing the night air, blazing fires create shit-stained clouds
Smoke the bong one last time
Jamaican grass transform to molten ash

The brutal attention span covers a mountaineer’s parachute
Torn to the point that a safe landing can’t land well
With the enemy’s trade frontier
There are options, Korean babies, risks..
Enough concrete to go around for everyone

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Japanese Hotdogs (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

What do you call it when a shi-tzu and a bulldog mate?
Dogs roam the streets at night,
Cats scatter in the twilight
But in the end, they sniff each others rear ends
Japanese hotdogs – anything they can get their hands on
That’s what they’re made of,
The Japanese aristocrat lounges in his limousine
Snickering at the fact that he made millions off of
Roadkill found on the streets

Oriental beef slices meat their sticky ends
Yes, they look alike, but are they the same?
Difference and corrup...

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Beaver Currency (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Chomp, stomp the first snail you come across on blackforest road
As the wildfire spreads, money talks and speaks foul words of wisdom
He grins at you as though he has none a worry in the world
Absorbed in his orb of acorns and the hamster nemesis
A new prospect creeps into his wooden habitat
Sending his values rushing down a current of intergalactic loggers
with critters driving a new world order of purpose
Chomp… stop.

What matters the most to a beaver? Trees, dams, and currency
As the beaver fam...

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Graham Crackers (the crumb crumbles) feat. jube jube

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Pick up those crumbs between the lines.
Eat them.
Feel them.
Put them in a Mexican cook’s frying pan and hit yourself over the coal boulder head.
A patchwork of squares that enters the esophagus sarcophagus

We work all our lies for this sadistic slave driver
We dedicate ourselves to make toys so we don’t get fed to the cannibal reindeers
Malnutrition and helplessness reign supreme,
Our only food is graham chrackers. Exit stage write

I just ate two egos this morning,
One with syrup, the other wi...

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The Red Shirt Clan (feat. jube jube)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 

Jube jube’s first poem.

Red Shirt Clan: The red shirt clan does not require explanations..
Blue Shirt Clan: Neither do we.

Red Shirt:

Why do I wear this shirt? What does it mean? I wear this shirt because I want to. It represents power. It’s my way of saying “I’m better than you.” If you mess with me, you mess with the entire red shirt clan. Yeah, I know I’m bad, but the red shirt brings out the worst in me. Scratch that, and backtrack onto my arch enemy.

Blue Shirt:

The blu...

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Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, February 4, 2013, In : Poetry 
exerpt: ramificus / ramifications / ramuscripts

Adorned with horns of Luxor steel,
They move in herds, speaking human tongue
Kings and servants alike must kneel!

Festivities butter-wool, emerald, teal
Infinite sheep graze under the sun
Adorned with horns of Luxor steel

The will of the people - Agamemnon’s wheel
Chanting softened song through heightened lungs
Kings and servants alike must kneel!

Is bullheadedness what they truly feel
as natural fountains replace the city pumps
adorned with horns of ...

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Eco-tistical Denial

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, January 27, 2013, In : Poetry 

I’m not a monk
Don’t call me that
No crossroads

A field is the only threshold I pander
molesting the shrubs and grass with matured leather footwear
I move through cropped neighborhoods without consideration
for the young weeds in bloom or the fully grown grass
I am the footprint of insecticide
a migrating emissary from Quandary Garden pacing outwardly
I’ll cross Asia on foot to Africa if I must
I’ll cross the Red Sea to Mongolian ranges
with a purpose that’s anything but destitute
Rest assur...
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Artificial in semblance...

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, January 18, 2013, In : Poetry 
“Aye, I…
Had a question about…

You are in joyous solitude…
No need for questions…

“Can you please tell your umbrella to stop raining on my clouds?”
Computer! Translate nonsensical human statement.


Today’s memento is for the disintegration of the human spirit
in the sentient universe as it’s come to be learned as,
preferred as…
A solvent, attainable body of neurotransmitters, tender, destined
for Earthspread

brain / brawn / detergent distribution committ...
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Watery Death, and Resurrection of Sunken Ideologies

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, January 18, 2013, In : Poetry 
"watery death, and resurrection, of sunken ideologies"

The day the Lusitania folded into a stygian abyss of
waves by the Old Head of Kinsale, another prominent
ocean liner rose with it’s ancient Kemetic skullcap
above the water; an ark built for spiritual embarking,
the deliberate compartmentalization of common woes in
exchange for an intercoastal sea scroll extraction

The extraction of the mind and it’s empyrean pearl
in the sea; as you see, knowledge, like the brain is a
biodegradable ...

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Blaxwausen of the Bordeaux burroughs

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, December 20, 2012, In : Poetry 

you’ve walked this road before, dear sir
this white picket fence
entangled with barbwire,
a gauntlet of rabbit feet
long locks of fur used as rope
entrails as forest markers as
prairies become hunting grounds
Jarbuuten ancestors, cannon fodder

how must we retaliate against these invaders?

we belong to a secondary race of critters
balls, pale and soft with organs in them,
beating hearts of resilient, abundant hope
tumbleweed tremors; we may hop
and hide, but our courage never stays hidden

this valley is...
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The one that got away

Posted by Erik Moshe on Saturday, September 15, 2012, In : Poetry 

The door closed the door
That the Doors foreclosed
D.B. Cooper closure
Samurai in the field finality
Water from the faucet

Squirms it’s way out from underneath the palm of justice,
it does tend to hide from visionary flashlight systems.

Paper planes dovetail towards a windy forest
as arrest warrants flap in congeniality
'cause illegal mind warfare reaps a steady profit
from the scapegoat kingdom.

The ones that get free are the ones that pay their dues,
the semicolon choir; the last tempta...
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Helga, Olga, and A White Haired Mustang

Posted by Erik Moshe on Wednesday, July 11, 2012, In : Poetry 

"Helga, Olga, and a white haired mustang..."
Collaboration with TheProjector

22,000 Years…

was more than enough time for old age to set in. Grandpa’s menthol colored hands were a map to the vast soapy cardboard cities of imagination, administering scratches in my throat from the sheer laughter. The three wise men… no. He was a wise man, singular. In mystical folklore, there are also three wise old women. They cherish the moments in life with their tea leaf-yellow sea teeth and their...

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The Bullet Train Conductor of Minamitorishima (ft. TheProjector)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, July 1, 2012, In : Poetry 

Nomadic herders of the internet era, collectors of foreign platinum tablets rush onboard the bullet train. A world of ever-faster transcommunication, a trip to every major city, village, and strip club and more proudly endorsed by the conductor, a humble man of 47. Tan lines meet tea leaves in a synchronous pattern of weaved wrinkles, reaching down the throat of Sakamoto. A sip of small sake, boiled not stirred, and the world is left behind yet again. English meets Japanese, meets Chinese in ...
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An offering

Posted by Erik Moshe on Saturday, June 16, 2012, In : Poetry 

Dark nights in Fukushima
leave Morgaki distraught
botany handbook open on her lap
snacking on the apple with lack of worm
homemade, calmly bubbling rice cakes
on a blouse top, formerly soldier-ware

how many years has it been since the great rupturing?
whe sits on a hammock, soundlessly in thought
counts the patters of acid rain on her industrial cradle
so many were sacrificed
in the name of national nucleus foundations
weapons races
left behind in the final push
for oxygen,
impeachments in a basket at f...
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New Orleans

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, April 23, 2012, In : Poetry 

"New Orleans"

get fresh air to share noble deeds
ruptured pipelines

reinforce geographic bonds
with the knuckles of my feet
thermonuclear winters
orange tiles are haunted
wall paper patterns
boast tiger milk graffiti splashes
orangutans in a bathhouse
burn incense, drink pinecone wine
design blueprints for mega cities
caramel scotch at the ready
Architect world keepers
soak in the bourbon of curdling womb
they are heralded
to lands of rising bell bottoms
obnoxiously ...

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Ballerina bowel movements (BBM)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Monday, April 23, 2012, In : Poetry 

Mrs. Miscreant ejaculated brail polish all over the town canvas
promise was the new lie garnish
she'd come from a respected enough family to wear it like perfume

power was in the hands of an armless ventriloquist that evening
she draw water from a wishing well that was rumored to be victim of dilution from immortality factory waste
in a glittery sewer right now it’s all part of the act
Pauline being the strident one of the bunch
always headed in the vertical angle, which could mean vertigo anal

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Gods, Generals and Janitors from General Electric

Posted by Erik Moshe on Saturday, April 14, 2012, In : Poetry 

Gods, Generals and Janitors from General Electric


He whose face is carved in the sycamore halls
Whose name rings true as civil leader and cathedral sweeper
Is the true uniter of manscape
A voice that’s boldfaced in visceral green, holographic lettering
A new times Babylonian text template with coda synthetic paragraph sensors
Getting enough office space to build an empire of Jenga towers
Giving citizens a fresh breath of choleric air
in contrast to the history book smell of old
so that vi...

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Notes from the Visions of Ghandi's Palm Reader

Posted by Erik Moshe on Friday, April 13, 2012, In : Poetry 

 July 24, 2009


Slices of layer cake filled with blue gel
served to the incorrigibles
Beethoven huddled
under the warden's flaming cupboard
Absorbing dementia
Vast tangerine cauliflower terrain

The Zambian dirt roads
The azure sands of Europa
Lips cemented firmly by honey lace

Our collective phantom limbs
stored in the archives of the factory shadow
The trapdoor in the opera house of our minds

Incomplete.thought.schemes drizzled onto tar
The windy markets of grandfather's old memories
The gorilla mask v...
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Greetings, Mr. Sandman

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, April 12, 2012, In : Poetry 

Greetings, Mr. Sandman

The Turk fell into the sandpit
the sound was like a bag of rice plopping onto a pregnant belly
Split into quarts, drizzled over the sides
Balsamic in the blood drum, making tea dry & bitter
his vital organs and organic equilibrium
Spilled forth into the Aqaba sea
Which was the only “blue” that eyes could savor for a long stretch
Too much made you thirsty, city-sick
The desert does have a way of burying the deceased in a day’s time
It took his aspirations, yes it did
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shark tank

Posted by Erik Moshe on Saturday, April 7, 2012, In : Poetry 

Wading deeper

You arrive at a plateau frilling with water monks
There are no coral reefs, but floral sheaths
and shields made from shells smithed from Icelandic earlobes
an atlantian artillery causing thirst pangs

At first, pain

then a reassuring sense of wet feet,
submerged until your eyes glaze over in aquamarine enamel
and bubbles come sputtering from your mouth like arachnids from a sinkhole

Sewer workers in a suburb
prying the barbs from the soles of their boots
Taking the lily pads out from under...
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The Acceptance

Posted by Erik Moshe on Saturday, April 7, 2012, In : Poetry 

The Acceptance

hibiscus leaves ruffle the back of my tongue
gunpowder swathed gums just shy of
becoming a charcoal chameleon myself
I see a rose fall from a shimmering grey sky

for days the bandits ravaged the countryside
like an enormous centaur trampling a child
beaten into tenderized submissiveness

built a human cage around the last frontier
told us to abide by the body heat of the desert
so we did

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Queen of the Underworld

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, March 4, 2012, In : Poetry 

tugs at your heart
in a strictly non-affectionate way
consumes the day you thought you could represent
the goddesses of femininity.

Your nails manicured, glass stone gravelets
Bracelet by Tiffany, a mindfull of gadgets
promises by a boy named Steve to be the apple of your i

(he asked for your phone number
but you were too busy texting Aaliyah)
because you were damned, you were
less than a mediocrely dressed vampire, you were
less than impressive after Stewart Town sent you
on an endless errand
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What if Ichabod Crane cried wolf, while the headless horseman adopted a toupee?

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, March 4, 2012, In : Poetry 

What if Ichabod Crane cried wolf, while the headless horseman adopted a toupee?

Skin, pale,

throat churning deer blood

Petrified fur, demeanor of a white wolf
slowly transfigures into Unspeakable Thing

What were once storybook nothings
settle into piles of innocent wool
snow-pressed rows of skulls play chess
watch caps still on their heads
red riding frozen fleece
through tyrannical passages
the tails of their newly anointed ‘souls’
flailing like three little piglets

on a cannibal farm


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rigamortis delta

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

I recognized your swollen encampment
as soon as I removed the cocoon’s blindfold
and recited the rites of the fibrous acorn
my, how your firth has grown
over these taxingly taxable
taxonomy related years

You spent your life hacking through wanderlust,
missed out on the gentle dispositions
- consensual trips for retribution to
various Venetian vineries, solitary strolls on Solaris
disguised as a shoreline vicar because you couldn’t
answer the coming tides of your self doubt;
seeds of doubt which ...
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on desolation row

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

fortitude had it's gouges;
orifices, nicks, nook & cranny-cranberries
charred nickel black from
the iron foundry
where Dubai was laid to waste

the air of an abandoned fort
ran through these nostrils
like two vaulting typhoons
of moondirt

my retreat in the ruptured sun
infested with the claws
of shadowthorne
burnt rubber underboots sloshing
in the muck of recesse's darkest moment

I crawl through the corpse
of Ellis Island;
that assembly of tasmanian savants
and Alkatraz, where daunting features
still haunt th...
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baptising the Albany water

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Cecil's phosphorescent
skin cells
were displayed against
the shower curtains
blotches of gray housecat fur
glued to the slick nylon

A raspberry vinaigrette towel
rested on the counter
absorbing the morsels of
today's steampunk adventures;
which were rather
lilliputian meanderings

She wraps the towel tightly
her clean, gleaming thighs
as it prickles
like a teddy bear's
tart bleached tongue

Pomegranate gumdrops
fall on her sundress
and fizzle, tomato wine locks
of her hair unkem...
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beware the beggar

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

tonight I hear a saxophone
by the Golgotha aquifer

Cold, simmering
wraith of a harlot
blows potassium nitrate
into the passing lungs
of a metropolitan commute

a stench of carpentry
copper wrenches; the scent
of coffee beans shedding their caffeine
cabbage relinquished of it's pigment
Flint, pinewood;
the sweat of Rudyard Kipling
in a glucose pond

Must be the poor lighting
on the park bench that makes him
seem a brutish
cast-iron cheeked fellow

There's no Ponzi scheme!
he assures you
his face is engraved
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A little morbid sci fi

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Protocolossus island
on the underside of an iron probiscus
on the planet Titus

Crow-faced pilgrims crossed a bridge
to hallowed ground, a passage
built into the colonies the next world
that revealed what was concealed
in molten rhubarb palace formations
"Does life dream of life after a dream?"
dark connoisseurs
march soundly down the coven halls
    tectonic knights
of protoplasmic light
in zirconium moon suits
"Is this a medley of space time?"

steeped in virulent heat,
where the minestrone hued cannonade...

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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 


Humanity is a dark species, with light moments,
and generally I don’t like us very much.
You can have this world if you desire it
Just learn group psychology
Oil the tectonic plates semiannually;
Control the financial system, make note of it in concentrated efforts
Beware of banana republics
And the propaganda ruled sectors of fruit companies
What is ripe should stay ripe,
with no worms swimming in the poison apples
that taste… a little bit like caramel

I’m high up on this neutral fl...
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bethlehem steel

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Bethlehem Steel is a lost cause,
a great waste of space
in the grand schematics
of the dripping flesh groves,
in all of their glorious, holographic clarity.
- the coniferous organ trees,
and the plutonic resin that celestial oaks bear.

Columns of alumni astronauts prance float
through an aurora family album,
inanimate faces, suits as brittle
as wafers blown by a banshee’s gale.

Jerusalem’s atmosphere branded
with heat seeking skyscrapers
checkered light penetrating through
thermo genesis in ...
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kenji's journey

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

ape-mollusks emerged
from black basalt
and green earth
awash with the migration
of modern archipelago critters
in Manchester United sweaters
laced up Converses,
trainspotter canteens around necks,
citrus orange goggles
with talking crickets atop the lenses

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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

You should’ve seen how Death was constructed to sap life
You should’ve seen how graceful He strode around God’s tomb
Somewhere in the milky strands of micro fibers
Grouping swarms of dust in his hands, blowing out boreal moths
And swallowing the light of warmth they held in cocoons for so long
Following togetherness coattail’s to an ethereal bay side
She waits with Kashmir drapery
The sun rays of your childhood illuminating
A scene, of bodies of warriors, priests, and river Ganges entitie...
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Terrain of Canaan; Philosopher's Gold

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Terrain of Canaan; Philosopher's Gold

The philosopher stone’s
transmutation into gold
began when
librarians in Ithaca
were the chosen scholars
assigned to the documentation
of Odysseus & company’s adventures;
to harbours of the dead
dockyard lanyards hoisted atop

fastened to
the saddled backs of wiry sea spiders
kept stationary by crustaceous commoners

Making love to the prospect of deep thought
at the bottom of the ocean
in an orgy where its natural to walk away with crabs
long have men of th...

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Lie… steal……… live.

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

'D’Vardec, my dear boy...'

Bring me my moral compass
Lie down on my stomach
Listen for the warm belly buoys
the rise and fall of my digestive system’s
and it's intestinal nodes

Think yourself a man my age;
your composure like Anthony Hopkin’s eye pools
still and surveying the ants
in the civil obedience breeding grounds
paying their taxes to keep criminals
behind bars and minimal behinds scarred -

A society with a soul derived of ‘only’ the good chemicals.

I worked and tilled the clockwork or...
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Antoinette’s Annotated Anecdotes

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 
Antoinette’s Annotated Anecdotes

Saturday nights
full of needless blurbs
her pen moves like a spasmodic compass needle
over composition booklet lying willingly on a grassy pillow;
an ancient Indian forest platform of a bed
complete with assorted streams, ecosystemics,
the basic nature building skills (BNBS)
through post it notes (they’re useful at times)
midnight snack marathons
a parakeet’s affectionate squawk for added warmth

there’s a pitter patter of spider feet
it sounds like they’re sy...
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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

the world is smaller than you know
even at the apex of vastness
we’re critters
swathing and baking
in the croissant hued light
of the subterranean passages

mirage a trois play out
on the silken hulks
erosion gives
brushwork to the pillars
and traditional influence
to the rows of clay walls
encrypted with ridgings
and thin lime pilaster
from Mephistopheles rib cage

while the latter is unquestionably colorful
the hidden depths of Monte Wagner
gave way for the abrupt invention of pyroglyphics -

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“C.O.N.T.R.O.L’s Control Room”

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Glorious mornings do not exist.

The hegemony classifies freewill as a disillusioned misfit…
I don’t contest this hypothesis.
I recognize that there are things
smaller than an amoeba’s most distant cousin’s best friend removed.

Religion is the catheter with which we channel and process liquid vitality.
We’re unable to classify what vitality is,
Because what’s of importance is an opinion.

Even the uncontrollable have tickets to the manikin orchestra.
They clap obediently.
Well, it’s les...
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“What do you see in this Rorschach blot?”

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

“What do you see in this Rorschach blot?”

I see... mercenary illusionists
rehearsing a Tesla light show
inducing flashbacks that intrude like pigeons

I see the Draco constellation
freckled with endless gravitas

I see the chancellor’s son
in coercion with carpetbaggers
on a sandy frontier

I see warlock taxi drivers
with their morning coffee
and squeegee anthems

I see windy city beatniks
demanding larger vents
for creativity’s lungs

I see nativity’s knickerbockers
hanging freely

I see an egg h...
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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Playing parkour
with the souls in the street
the ghost of Musashi coasting
on an azure hydroplane-mirage


Sunbathing sabertooths
hot bean paste cement
guacamole hair gel sorbet

My heart skips like stones
in a valley where bootleg orchards
bloom ransom notes
boast photosynthetic immunity

dry earth tangerine rust sponge
a sky whose black death
is renewed periwinkle

Chupacabras rest, serenading

Hotel Red Pepper is the only monastery for miles.
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“The more the merrily hermetic”

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

He always made strides
with the macabre he wielded
the throat of O’Henry
the good razorblade’s measure
of Otis O’Toole

He was a man who refused the jousting shield
and bet on the outcome of the dueling grounds
- the gauged potential of shrugging atlases
behind the winter warp, and a cloak in shambles
the dagger a non-accessory item

purchased in stores
before grandfather death was merchandised
all without lifting the impulse that lifts a finger
in an absolute mockery of absolute power

He refused t...

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Supply and de man

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Supply and de man

In baroque ettiquette
stewards of their respective trades
sit at royal tables, diamond encrusted
scepters positioned between their knees
Faces, carved out of economics
with an agreeable

eerie grouping of expressions
They are
savage hounds in a ballroom
with Elizabeth masks, hiding pseudo scars
sipping chivalry from unlikely cups
the basic supercapitalist broth

As the dance floor converges
from the left, to the right
As farm animal bonanzas meet
for a cheery waltz through the countrysi...

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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

the league of extrapolated generals
is veering out of control in a vortex
suspended by tent poles
and inflated by germanic juggernauts
like a pavilion in the scorched sky
elected demogogue temple
by the people, the frosty westerners -
destiny's select, broiling in an empire
of shadow men with Ludwigs
and official looking costumes
their throats knotted horsebraids;
horseman of the apocalypse
is to blame for selling it's ponytail
but hell's marketplace is also to blame!

with gunships parked in the parking...

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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 
In the hall of kings
who would've made
far better utility workers
the city grid is a luminescent herd
of dogmatic plankton
roaming the rocky hills of contemplation
by spartan brain bulb infections
coarsing through minotaur valley

Tripoli magma -
like passing bursts of charcoal iguana skin
drab sandpaper, and rainforest green
the midnight blue coats
of lone sentrymen

This is the camoflouge of dying civilization.

What if we were meant to be cloaked men?
Guardians of time's last exotic steppe
the pitch blac...
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All covenants know

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

All covenants know
the rubble in the snow
is a heap of ruined potential

the earth's skin is a pinkish parchment
shedding porcupine spines
somehow, irritated by the daily grind
the jet ski frigatiers
and evolved hi-speed submarine spirits
leaping, atmosphere high rising
mind gliding reciprocals
of your favorite 'Sound of Water' droplet anthem

Be observant
Be on deck
Be Deckard, if you choose to run along the blade
on the edge of an oval beam
with a handful of medleys of life
small balls of dust and gloriou...

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American Gods

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Show your true shaman
Show your polytheistic folklore dreamscape
as sun gods stand there with Aztek wigs
Mayan anagrams burnt into the wet film of their eyes

baby forgers in futile efforts
the modern battlefield a blood stained coffee field
while a headhunter poses, caffeine induced
clenching the severed head of a left wing right wing
center wing never wing posterboy in the afterthought
of a rigged election resent to polls –
but the farm is a pigsty and if they fly, so be it

Industrial awakening is st...
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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 


Keep yourselves alive
as sculptures in this aquamarine waiting room
Join the acromegaly brothers
the blue nosed parole officer
the old man with Beelzebub in his gut
the woman with arthritis in her vagina
Ooh, it hurts.
Sit there, twiddle your thumbs
Watch CNN as the anchor shoves
thumbtacks through your naked cornea
Hey, thanks
flip through a Woman’s Digest
and chuckle to yourself in silent remembrance
of your ex wife’s intestines in the backyard,
housing a mole right about now
a mole ...

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Reinstituting fear begins with...

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Reinstituting fear begins with...

Necrophilia at your doorstep, whether you like it or not. More decrepit morpheuses creep into your methodology - the slumbering catabombs your children’s psyches dwell in. Fear can be cured, but can it be taught? Instilled. Concealed. Revealed. In a bowl of chicken soup for the witch king’s atelier, who jogs by the black forest and wears baphomet slippers when the marble tiles get cold at night. The sunshine all bright in the morning as Madeleine takes the...

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the pilgrimage of toad boy

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

Who can almost hear the imperfections
on the master toad’s battered lymph nodes?
I hear he took some Adderals and felt better instantly

Whose googly eyed drill sergeant guzzling toadspawn
swallowed frag grenades to save lake swans on a daily basis?

Who’s the nomad home renovator
with an onyx lawn mower and a magnum opus on a stick
roastin' brimstone roof shingles for the hell of it?

deviated septum, shit for brains
an unusual fondness for corduroy pants
the town bullies shoved him in the creek wate...
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Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011, In : Poetry 

impaled by barbershop poles
Apollo Creed seethed in the manger
tonguing coffin cheesecake
panting from Byzantine miles accrued by crawling
through urchin blood that was to be extracted
by a hypodermic straw

tower of babel caretakers
were told to coat the monument’s crusty scales in slave saliva
(simple enough request at the behest of the saliva givers)
we salivate like the indecisive monarches we are

splinters in the lampshade
that hold old gold goblets close to mouth

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