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James Matthew Coleman

James Matthew Coleman

Morally Unkempt

I cannot find favor
In loves growth chaperoned
 
I have no detector
No pocket ace
No perfect way
To remember your face
 
I can however
Vividly remember
The way you smelled
And your awful taste

(2014)

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Piaciuto o affrontato da...
Rachel'sButcherShop Cory Garcia
Altre opere di James Matthew Coleman...
Stage Fright (revised/2013)

We are almost there... Of aged Spirit; Of ripe cycles returning home to e… Made from quilted wounds, and soon… A Curtain Calling Us Home.
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Fall

...and now my halo’s gripping To clumps of drying mud So precious His dirt and water I panged for sex with blood Knowing the Law; I broke it
The Business of being Back Handed

A one handed gift giver; full of e… Could take the tender of a trust t… and make millions. Bury this trust in a mound of pers… and call it a wash in a handshake…
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The Very Last Fucking One!

Here comes the beggar! With an Eden to share? My god whats the point!? When the commonality is despair? I know there is a reckoning to com…
 2
Scribe~Ills

Anna Sleaze is diseased. Like Typhoid Mary, and fucked with ease. Always with a “Please!” And a “MORE, MORE!, MORE!!”
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Pleasure thief

Breathe with the streets, the dark… A real life night crawling creep. In the fresh hair, you find me the… and more... planning out my killing floor.
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The Christ Infection

Jesus Fever. Passionate Deceiver Needing faith from a true believer Now the priceless relics are worth… Your face value
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So You Found Me, Reciprocating the Pain

You should worry, Babe; I am coming. I’m on my way; On the Return. That openness you shared with me,
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Prose and Cons[truction]: “An American Dream Under Destruction”

My House; My Castle Crumbling on cue As piece, by piece All comfort; Consumed My halls; My doors
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Before and After

I see you, curbside, sitting in th… Making wishes long lost and age wa… still clinging to a derelict dream Know that you will save it, and cl… Every score, every abuse, every lo…
A Promise

A Clock I draw from, with no surplus of Time. I must reconcile the fact, that until now; I’ve been in full black and white.
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Leaving the Door Unlocked

When I was just a kid No more than thirteen Decidedly I grabbed A nightmares dream With contemporary belief
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Burn

I can burn a page or two, forget a name with the thought of… Ignore the need, the pleas, but this thing I cannot do. I want to bring it to you,
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Waiting on Her Abscess (a conversation had over coffee and toast)

If I can’t be found, it is she who knows where I am; I am her Man. When I’ve gone too far, and have left all love behind;
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early morning notes

Dry is the thread, brittle and frayed. Now the stitching will not hold. Through dusty road and whistling trees, I traveled into the grit rich pitch. It would seem to be for nothing....
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