Number Eighty-Two

Your heart is twisting some commotion of clouds after all
and all the rain of windowsills
somehow wisps you away
The pittering music calls
The lovemaking, scattering, falls
like winter follows bitter frost.
Pictures of gardens are pictures of us.

and flickering bright in tremors of blood
so solemn you whisper of death
to stumble all over a lover
your body embraces sweet graces and i
imagine the most beautiful of roses.

- Music in Regine, 2008

Number Nine

When I close my eyes there can be flowers
there can be sweet stickiness and
there can be your eyes.
What with empire towers
falling around the ceiling emptiness
soothing wrinkles of skies
did make for these lonely hours
dreaming of the lightness
where your bloodstream lies.

When I collapse fingers to yours
fall in empty ache so dreamingly
and collide with intruding starlight,
the empty crow of lust roars
thick for toes all tingly
cooing some modest might.
Amongst seashores
afternoons ache menagerie
cupping love to bones skintight.

When you close your eyes I imagine flowers
a garden of golds for greens and
there can be your eyes.
Beaming bright rain showers
all crisp clean serene
To reprieve our destiny dies,
To cover light with ours,
To mortify machines
and steal away demise.

-Music in Regine, 2008

Canon for a Jaded Love

There's some breathing hiphop from afar
beating your heart
all broken yet bathing in
what's here now.

You're looking like love
like lust
all longing yet here with
what's here now.

And So smoothly suddenly
like flowering rainstorms you grasp,
all pulsing and free before,
me here now

You're not letting go.
So I grip that grasp.
Like love.
Like lust.

There's a stumbling rose
gracing a neck
all wet with what's real aloft
from what's here now.

Your lips can barely move in ecstasy
like a wounded soldier
all for the prize they carry on
to what's here before them.

And you move across the field the chin the charge the breath
like my lips of the dream you've spent loneliness on
battle cry the canons of your bloodstream
come here now.

You're not letting go
of what cannot be real beyond this night.
Like lust
Like love.

- Music in Regine, 2008

Woolf

For twisted toes I can bleed something beautiful
Trickling to trimming to slimming down the ether before you.
Bright and cold.
Shoulder grasps and comfort confronting now
The crescendo, lament
Vibrato and content
Was water so
to turn toes so terrible a white?

-Music in Regine, 2008

Number 21

The sidewalks made like broken bridges
beaming bright our
Brooklyn’s bodies to balmy baseball boys
And the napalm bomb
cannot hurt us now,
only imagine the imagery to injury
and tear the terror from our tears>.

-Music in Regine, 2008

City Day

I felt the cool sidewalk bliss
The cigarette smoke could envelope me
Into this abyss
And carry off and onto the streets
Sweet so soft september in
breezes so unfitting to our season.
The waves secreted something sacred
to reason
amongst our tattle tale thieves
and me
I’ve past so long ago.

For dreams carry nothing on
their backs
no weight, no wait,
no better day
With corner coroners
and sidewalk cafes
comes ethereal humming and strumming
away.

I felt this past, this has to pass
Hotheaded heat
stuttering choking
to speak
of towers just branching,
embarking toward rain.

-Music in Regine, 2008

Smallness

Open trembling nighttime wounds
to sickly sordid dreams we hold
and the tempest wrecking clashing curses
what hides and swaddles in coats from cold

A dress of blue
flow sweet tempting locks
tempered and swayed
the broken matron did carry forth
the treasured tinker box
what with clasps create
some days gone by
some bittersweet yet
on this cusp of a lie

- Music in Regine, 2008

Ascent

Ascent To French Revolution
Your heart and semen solution
Descending
Amending
Crescending
Sending
A message
Towards your way of,
Don't ever fear
the bobby pin criminals,
dear,
the dogmas to hymnals
or the dirge of divide.

-Music in Regine, 2008

Number Eight

Leaves turning
swishing and swirling
your heart screaming
in beats
in dreams
golden brown
and slowly churning
words to tumble soundless
like coos and poems of
(I'm thinking of you).

The bittersweet taste and yearning
for winter soft and stinging
I'm learning
like old photographs I hang
on tiny trembling twine strings
believing in
you.
and dreaming
semantics silent
still understood and beneath the breezes
trees to turn to leaves
swishing
your heart screaming
"..and I believe in you!s"

Number Eight by ~MusicinRegine

Leaves turning swishing and swirling your heart screaming in beats in dreams golden brown and slowly churning words to tumble soundless like coos and poems of (I'm thinking of you).
The bittersweet taste and yearning for winter soft and stinging I'm learning like old photographs I hang on tiny trembling twine strings believing in you. and dreaming semantics silent still understood and beneath the breezes trees to turn to leaves swishing your heart screaming "..and I believe in you!s"

Drag and Drop to Collect

-Music in Regine, 2007

Delete Deviation

Why are you deleting this deviation?
Please select a reason...Cleaning up deviation submissionsLeaving deviantARTNo longer desiredUpdating with newer revision

To [friends]

Message

Leaves turning swishing and swirling your heart screaming in beats in dreams golden brown and slowly churning words to tumble soundless like coos and poems of (I'm thinking of you).
The bittersweet taste and yearning for winter soft and stinging I'm learning like old photographs I hang on tiny trembling twine strings believing in you. and dreaming semantics silent still understood and beneath the breezes trees to turn to leaves swishing your heart screaming "..and I believe in you!s"

Epitaphs and Epiphanies

It's a thick, ethnic heat.
Concrete jungle
writhing beasts
swollen breasts
through beats of sidestreet hip-hop
torn up dreams scatter
bitter Main
and cradling
the boy you once were.
How you looked to the sky
treading hope and America
under your foot
and grace.
not so soon forgotten
not so written in epitaph.

Those graves were ancient we passed
When you sang me German
still as children of a broken state
our fathers' old frontier
and you would dream and dream
and whisper to me
the terrible secrets under the pavement.

Still so soon
there was you
and I as spectres
in a haunted city
growing up not quite as dead
as the addicts on Hamilton st.
The smell of sewage rising from the pavement cracks
and you wrote to me on bitter paper coffee napkins
I think I'm gay

I think I can't breathe
so just hold me, okay?
Watching the river colored from city lights
we can still cry
and dream and dream and dream
like we were children again.
Your eyes were photographs then
Your hands were from clay.
Just holding on the pavement
clawing what's beneath.

Treading water
I hold you hostage in my heart
before that spirit floats onto Nirvana
and becomes the little boy
I pretend is you,
living in our house now
spreading his toys along the windows you made love to
playing with trucks along the pavement
where beneath
your spirit lays.

-Music in Regine, 2007

Misanthropy

He fell off a third story
Into my arms
and the eyes rushed ove red
screaming water
pavement scraped a warning sign
for with all the dreaming
highway seething arms past homes
running our veins

For all that I'd rather
you just be happy
saying " I'm trying.."
"I'm trying"
and unable to stand

For all the New York skylines
lost in another time
floating cottages
cannot touch

and you are my home
instead

I just want you to be happy.

Not this
feather fallen smashed skull
hummer roadkill
that gave this panic attack

so,
dearest world
bitter in tempo
lovely in song
flowing though
gentle passerby
hold this hand
and save this boy
because I'm not big enough
to cover him

and everyday he and i
fall
just a little

and die
just enough.

Misanthropy by ~MusicinRegine

He fell off a third story Into my arms and the eyes rushed ove red screaming water pavement scraped a warning sign for with all the dreaming highway seething arms past homes
running our veins
For all that I'd rather you just be happy saying " I'm trying.." "I'm trying" and unable to stand
For all the New York skylines lost in another time floating cottages cannot touch
and you are my home
instead
I just want you to be happy.
Not this feather fallen smashed skull hummer roadkil

Drag and Drop to Collect

-Music in Regine, 2007

Delete Deviation

Why are you deleting this deviation?
Please select a reason...Cleaning up deviation submissionsLeaving deviantARTNo longer desiredUpdating with newer revision

To [friends]

Message

He fell off a third story Into my arms and the eyes rushed ove red screaming water pavement scraped a warning sign for with all the dreaming highway seething arms past homes
running our veins
For all that I'd rather you just be happy saying " I'm trying.." "I'm trying" and unable to stand
For all the New York skylines lost in another time floating cottages cannot touch
and you are my home
instead
I just want you to be happy.
Not this feather fallen smashed skull hummer roadkil

Granite Bums

Midnight love
Stumbling the edifice
Of Grand Central’s
Massive halls
For lack of a better bed
The smoke’s surrounding him now
He says
“I’m so high I can’t speak”
and Jesus is coming dear
Jesus is coming.
Hair matted button broke
Sweater vest for schoolboy kisses
Subway musicians
Holding some tempo away
Whilst we sway
Lost in a train terminal
Lost in the lives
We once could save.
I fell asleep to stale fruit
And his arms
Woke to gasping
Grasping the East outside us.
Mingled inside us
Our Dreams death in her depths
But I can still
Breathe your love.

-Music in Regine, 2007

THIRTY-SEVEN

8pm and clouds mist around our mortal dew
electric beams made day our sky
and we prayed
some interval clear.

I saw you
fading lighting night
silent suns
in heartbeat tones

The ground swelled to water
past shadow stained glass
ridden with the orbs of molecules
of our skin's
air tempting love making
hot tea drips from the light
and we held and danced in
illumination
and stooper.

after the sirens marked their flights
we clung from hell
yellow bulbs
amongst 9 to 5s
so silent
together we lay the
crystal drops to thundering seas
amid the breasts of spring
dormant lusts of terrible winters
gliding
falling
to crash.

so see me through

and see me by.

-Music in Regine, 2007

Breathe

Existential and
It may.
The rapture seeks a sorrow in the hole of storefront toys
Believing in this magic feast of vanilla tears and boys
In dreams of all the trees turned brightly into gold
And into pink and green.
I can swear it to my window’s view
Of dogwood running after May.
Kiss sweet drinking the tempest dews of grass,
Outside songs they shake
And Kids just shake their ass.
Come about the garden range
The temporary landscaped green
Koi and sheen
Breathing dizzy.
And tomorrow just goes on.

Existential and
It’s May
I taste the summer damp heat of June
Cartoons
Cartographers
and I’m humming out your tune.
Lavish in the love of hope and dreams for summer’s past
You just stack books upon your shelf and
Wait
for telephone signals to surpass.
I am here to sound with you
We walk across the morning dew
For crepes and coffee
coconut dreams
And I can breathe
The morning air of what
May.

-Music in Regine, 2007

Moonlight Sonatas

These are the words spilling out before me
All irrational metaphors for the truth I can never have.
A soft quiet pruning to these feathers falling falling down.
I am
The addict.
Vomiting emotional withdrawl.

These are the lovers to leave me.
The hidden romance of my friends.
And symbols unfold and bow down
To tears and laughter and nothings.


There’s a scar upon your
Left shoulder.
Telling you everything’s all right.
There’s a lover by your side now.
My wonderful brother
And there’s a glare from the moonlight
Reflecting in wings about you.
Your car windows dare to outshine you.
And oh.
How I wish everything was alright.

Is there a place past these pedestals
Buildings of brick and gold?
A love we’re trying to find.
A book in another language
A dream from another time.
I want to be something right for myself.
Everyone is paper mache next to you.
Melting in the fire
Screaming truth.

Is there a place past New York?
Not so far to not see you.
But just enough to not find us again?
Some bullshit picket fence paradise
Or another third story tenement hotel?
The mobiles are enough.
Fake nails and boys and birthday balloons.
I’ve had enough of you.

We’re too beautiful for cameras
Too beautiful for lights.

-Music in Regine, 2007

Untitled

Dark
Sweetly shifting in sticky aura of
Our lives.
Because, quite frankly.
I never remembered the waterfront
This daring to be beautiful
At night,
I scooped a shred of soil tossing about dew tendrils of grass.
The liquid made love to foam and we were there as well
Fingers greased in tofu dogs, turning down the acoustic some
Because, quite frankly,
Spring was popping through the clouds
Sweet swells of summer
Dreaming to cry.
And there was no sound to waste
None to waste to the songs of the shore we found.
So we lay back in the pleather
Our fingers flew to feather and I recalled addictions
I remember sinning in caffeine and cheap tacos
Telling you I love you
I want to love you
Making love with love made for show
Because quite frankly.
I love so many more than men
And I breathe deep in sour drives
Covered in lace and dirty wine
Dreaming in a new kind of language
The one where the children go to sleep
And cannot wake but to war
Of books
We cannot carry Keats in our hearts any longer
Because quite frankly,
There’s too many worlds to save
Of the songs we play,
In a Belle and Sebastian kind of way.
I buried the dirt again
I took the time to mark the passing hour
And of all the screaming animals in
Surfer shirts and three piece suits
I only saw through to you.
I Only saw through to you.

Untitled by ~MusicinRegine

Dark
Sweetly shifting in sticky aura of Our lives. Because, quite frankly. I never remembered the waterfront This daring to be beautiful At night, I scooped a shred of soil tossing about dew tendrils of grass. The liquid made love to foam and we were there as well Fingers greased in tofu dogs, turning down the acoustic some Because, quite frankly, Spring was popping through the clouds Sweet swells of summer
Dreaming to cry. And there was no sound to waste None to waste to the songs of the shore we found. So we lay back in the pleather Our f

Drag and Drop to Collect

- Music in Regine, 2007

Delete Deviation

Why are you deleting this deviation?
Please select a reason...Cleaning up deviation submissionsLeaving deviantARTNo longer desiredUpdating with newer revision

To [friends]

Message

Dark
Sweetly shifting in sticky aura of Our lives. Because, quite frankly. I never remembered the waterfront This daring to be beautiful At night, I scooped a shred of soil tossing about dew tendrils of grass. The liquid made love to foam and we were there as well Fingers greased in tofu dogs, turning down the acoustic some Because, quite frankly, Spring was popping through the clouds Sweet swells of summer
Dreaming to cry. And there was no sound to waste None to waste to the songs of the shore we found. So we lay back in the pleather Our f

Dirge

I took carefully the dreams of my brother
removed the lines from textbooks
with stratching fingers,
Stole away with flags and songs and symbols
screaming hate for him

Dumped them in the river of our youth,
that seething slime street to our city.

I placed carefully the dreams of my brother
In a gold-leaf tin on the side of our road,
A flask of hope for the sorrow-heart passerbys.
Advertised
by a sharpied mess of factory and farm
cursing bourgeois
on broken bits of cloth.

Falling into Washington
in the back of a bus.
To fight
To dream
To feel
for the street tattered crossways
where the fallen never change
to sink deep into the Earth clutching
antique clocks and doorknobs
and golden tins
of a perfect world.

I took carefully the dreams of my brother
layed them down by his side for him
to seek and to feel
if frozen fingers could fall free
from cold hearts who forced them here.
those obelisks of freedom formed
stratch their skies
pens for policy
golden papers
that took from me
the only boy I knew
that could find the feeling
to cry.

-Music in Regine, 2007

See Sunk Sunday

This is the death.
Of something beautiful.
Wrapped in love
Our beautiful disease.
They sailed away one winter’s day
After coffee and music and tea.
A lover’s eyes played softly to them.
And love for me, demise.

And why should I let it go.
We’re so soft and warm and beautiful
We hold hands on soft green cars
Amongst the bridges and white gold.
I tried
I tried!
Swear to God, I tried.
He came as lover
In midnight car rides
To ease your flight to a better life.
A leaving of me, you’re bitter sacrifice.

This is the death
Of a little boy
He drowned himself in a well.
He was the affection of him for me
Because of time and her and all that
Shit.
He left me shaking and alone
As my forbidden boys kissed softly about me.
A love for me was my demise.

-Music in Regine, 2007

FOUR

Can you see the love
swelled in the guitarist's eyes
pouring over supple cheeks
on cold January nights?

I've seen that love before
cuddled up in vinyl
as train tracks collided
tumbled in the East
with all the other wilted beams
and dirty flowers.

We are walking through bitter again
shocks of life sting our cheeks
as memories of summer just drift by.
Is this the love left from our dreams?
Swelling in the eyes of hoodlum boys?
Sailing off to northeast highways
bent cracks of tea-filled seas
Amid the great november
Amid our beautiful disease?

Music in Regine, 2007

Hazardous

Alone again
and what else to find
except sour love and
stumbling sex
recurrent memoirs of our living past
as to ourselves our skin must bind

Hazardous again.
in dreams of nuclear symphony
carry on and care for me
wearing sunday's best to pray
for a world spinning not so fast
and a place not so lonely.

We are sleeping again
and we see God,
wrapped in our shrowd of symbols
a catalyst to the cause.
Hope for us!
The colours are melting off
Pray for us! Live for us!
fall again you fucker
with a chest-heaving cough.
Dream for us! Cry for us!
In Saint Louis we sit alone
Stumbling in this darkness
to a siren's distant drone...

-Music in Regine, 2007

Asleep Post Manifest Destiny

America, my dear
Do not fret the forgetten
they make love to the soil
steeped in your nostrils
digging through Earth
forgotten fingernails to finding
your hidden dreams.
Your genocides.

You will sleep well tonight
In the membrane of our latitudes
Blankets of Toxic
Woven Tendrils
Will shield you from the cold
Dead truth.

Asleep Post Manifest Destiny by ~MusicinRegine

America, my dear Do not fret the forgetten they make love to the soil steeped in your nostrils digging through Earth forgotten fingernails to finding your hidden dreams. Your genocides.
You will sleep well tonight In the membrane of our latitudes Blankets of Toxic Woven Tendrils Will shield you from the cold Dead truth.

Drag and Drop to Collect

-Music in Regine, 2006

Delete Deviation

Why are you deleting this deviation?
Please select a reason...Cleaning up deviation submissionsLeaving deviantARTNo longer desiredUpdating with newer revision

To [friends]

Message

America, my dear Do not fret the forgetten they make love to the soil steeped in your nostrils digging through Earth forgotten fingernails to finding your hidden dreams. Your genocides.
You will sleep well tonight In the membrane of our latitudes Blankets of Toxic Woven Tendrils Will shield you from the cold Dead truth.

Elitism is for the Dogs

And so this is how it is.
The world floating in this aesthetic mirage
Midnight car rides with true lovers.
I hope they always have doubts too.
It’s funny to see how my mind works and fits pieces together.
It’s a sequential computer and a well-oiled machine.
And it works together puzzles of
“Me”
And of “you”
So tonight this place is the moon
And we are all astronauts
Floating in this aesthetic mirage
In clean suits, radios attached to home.
Oh I could fly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hand and hand with my mind.
The Idealism falls in the queue
With the comrades and existentionalists
And boys touching breasts and girls tickling spines
Suddenly we’re no better than the rest.
Suddenly we’re no better than the rest.

- MusicinRegine, 2006