Light The Match.

I witnessed her science.

A charming feat of eloquent control
A deep-seeded passion that fed my shame.
In an arena of unknowns.

I sat with a head full admiration.

Not trusting the seat beneath me,
The paint seemed mischievously applied
The nails seemed haphazardly placed.

I watched her intently.

With my head full of stars,
My passions filled with anguish,
My body cringed to recognise this defeat.

I walk bemoaning my foolishness

This year is dynamite,
This night is the ignition.
These actions are the volta of my inhibition.


~Time to turn.

Love,

Ivan.

Dead Dreams.

Imagination sent to the gallows
By the force of your tongue
No quiet.
No quiet.

No daylight hour is wasted
Each little minute is consumed
No time.
No time.

The house of your babble
Never seems to sleep
No dreams.
No dreams.

My thoughts stymied
Frozen like bronzed effigies
No growth.
No growth.

Euphoric catharsis set aside
Like tea growing bitter
No drinking.
No drinking.

And love turns to loth
Like afternoon turns to night.
No dawn.
No dawn.



Любов,
Іванченко.

На Все Добре.

She said some things to me I couldn't justify
I go to sleep waiting for her to say goodbye
The sound of her voice makes me want to cringe
Exactly like I'm being thrown into the fringe
From the window of a moving car;
            The rush of wind.
            The hoarfrost isolation.
            All the fucked-up anticipation.
And I walk; disfigured and out of tune
My survival will be a tribute to you.

It's not as big a secret as you think 

Walk the streets wearing Malaysian mink 

I don't regret breaking from your vainglory

Simple sinecure is not an admirable story

I hope you find what it is that you're looking for

All those things you deserve and more

There is a vicious tone living behind her words
Buried deep inside; the objective comes out blurred
A bit of drama for her tell-tale life
This is how she expects to become a wife
Running around with a butcher's knife;
             The shine of your blade
             The imposed devastation
             All the fucked-up anticipation.
I shake my head; no resolve to this ruse
Just another echo of a desperate muse.


~Sorry Old Horse.



Любовий,

Іванченко.

We Are The Sovereign Shadows Growing Long In The Afternoon

Sun bleeding out on the curb tonight

Base thoughts racing through my mind

Evening dies in a maladjusted way

I'm drowning it out in a bottle of beer

A roar of laughter and a broken dish

Abruptly, everyone I love vanishes.

Night grows gelid like a winter pond

A blanket of stillness punctuates the world

The dark of night creeps into my skull

I'm drowning it out in a bottle of beer

And I lie here waiting for sleep to overtake me

But she doesn't want to give me the satisfaction.

I moved downtown to a private prison

With a woman and her dog

She's from the south and she don't take no shit

I'm drowning it out in a bottle of beer

I walk away from you with bitter in my blood

You play me so well; I'm a fucking disgrace.

Sun bleeds thick on the morning curb

Waking pulls me back through that other dimension

Broken-glass lives line the daily commute

I'm drowning it out in a bottle of beer

And I'm drowning it out in a bottle of beer

And I'm drowning it out in a bottle of beer.

~Blood red moon.

Love,

Ivanchenko.

Still Saying Goodbye.

Oh how I loathe you.

Lingering here on my thoughts

You are the smell of cookies

      Set out to cool.

I cannot have you as I once did.

Your smell wafting through this empty house

Is an unfriendly reminder how we now exist;

      Amicably at odds,

But alas, you are a wretched curse of my memory

I repudiate you all the more with each setting sun

      And the

Overgrown shadows of a past lofty and convivial

Now agitate my soul to inexorable upheaval 

We broke definitively to spare ourselves

Yet I cannot help but feel betrayed.

My heart still bleeds for you

      And

My bones still detest you

      And

I sing your praises even still.

Unspeakable torments render my dreams terrifying

You bathe in the heinous silhouette of cruelty

For days on end I am consumed;

      Will your future lovers be as bold?

      Will they be as vile or as deprave?

      Are they fit the task to deceive you?

Perhaps even more so.

What sickens me most is what I know;

I will be out-staged in ambition and in affection.

Your pockets will be lined

With the golden words of zealous love.

      And 

These obsessions are my torment.

What scares me most is

I cannot yet bring myself to love another

      And 

On this point my mind reels;

Could you e'er be replaced?

      Or

Should you e'er be replaced?

~Fuck.

огида,

Іванченко

Blockade

Every port overrun and closed
All options now buried and deceased
This fait accompli will torment my future feats
No opportunity for smoothing out this crease
No resolve for this crippling self-defeat

I am quelled from quarreling with this knave
This ascetic presence; awful and deprave
A myopic thief to which I am now the slave
So easily it buries my hope in a shallow grave
So willing and able to take back all it gave

In this example is the reason for my jilt
Hastily dug was the hole of my guilt
So I can be claimed the newly dredged silt
I will have to show you how stoutly I'm built
I will be a force that shall drive you to wilt

At this moment you've instituted a blockade
I will persist and your convictions will fade
You have an air of an overlord in the shade
From within we will not come to your aid
From within our justice will pervade

~Living a lie now.


Любов,

Іванченко

Goodbye In So Many Words.

"I see a sadness in your eye.
something that stretches beyond daily torments,
your eyes have a sadness
more striking than love or loss."

"…I…I just cannot…"
She stumbled over the syllables

"Yes, I know.
I don't think I can either."

She slowly collected herself,
"You're so blasé. You never
seem to care about
what I experience or what
I have to say."
as if picking up pieces
of a broken glass,
she reached for each syllable slowly,
deliberately weaving each word,
"You never let me get
the last word
in on a conversation or argument,
you always
have some sort of self-centered point to make."
as she kept speaking she began to act
more
and
more
like shards of broken glass--minute, direct, painful, and itinerant.
"You're such a fool and an
addict
you won't ever find a cure for your brand of
stupidity.
give it up, your little facade of kindness and endearment,
today you were so sweet
but like all days by the afternoon you grew bitter.
love is too far away from your capacity.
you're remote, spatial,
and constantly in exile.
you never called when you should have called.
you should have called."

"I don't make a habit of it."

"And you're always doing that kind of
self-disclosing bullshit,
like you're not wired to make any sort of
behavioral change
that could possibly make other people happy.
your ambition is all over the place
every week
you have some sort of a new fucking idea
why don't you just pick a path and run on it?
I'm just so sick of
all your shit
You don't ever care about what I
have to say
and when I do say something to you
you're always dumbfounded
like you don't have any sort of advice
but
I can see past your eyes and see
you making judgements
and formulating
Lies
Lies
Lies.
I'm so sick of all your lies
you're just so impulsive.
you would not be a good father to my children"

"Okay. I think I've had enough."

"You're right,
we should go to another bar.
this one is making me sad."

He paid for the meal
and the tab,
grabbed her coat from the rack
slid it over her shoulders,
opened the door
and she led the way.

~the battlefield of the beautiful.


Любов,

Іванченко

Welcome Back My Friend.

You deafen character

Reaching from beyond shadow and morality

Ripping joy from the labours and fruits of man

With the crushing gale of dejection.

You can be sensed not seen

Appearing uninvited and lingering much too long

Like the stench of blood being boiled down

You permeate the walls and pull up the paint.

You have broken strong men

Creeping from corners and darkening night

A stalking ether, seeping beyond skin and bone

Deep like a chill into the soul of man.

You possess the power to mute the world

Falling on worlds silently, briskly, like the cup of a snuffer

Murdering the brilliance of today

And lynching prospects of tomorrow.

Your presence is like a parasite

Feeding on souls and defecating this internal pain

The quotidian feeling of helplessness

A labyrinth of loss and damage

Yes my friend, I know you well.

It has been half a decade

And you've returned.

~ You Weren't Invited. 

любов,
Іванченко.

Headstones Like Teeth.

I oft find myself here
At the edge of this cemetery
Forgot by time; it is an artefact
The overgrown headstones hunch
Like jagged teeth growing skyward
I mimic the stone--silent
Listening for the muted screams
That reverberate through these trees
A sound as old as mystery
These are the sounds of the souls

This is where they rest
The souls of hollow yesterdays
Itching to be heard
In this forest of wrong turns
The inquisitive moonlight
Peers down through the trees
She dances between the branches
As my awareness of this pallor grows
I am overwhelmed by the knowledge
That these lost souls now buried
Have wandered just as I will wander.


 ~Trying to be lover. I think I'll fail.

На моя любов,

Іванченко.

Your Bracelet Says Enough.

We circle one another
Like nurse sharks
In the darkness
Of this night.

A stillness lurks
In the shades
And undertones
Of your lexicon

I feel subtle excoriation
Between the palatalization
Of your syllables
Undesirable apostrophes

You talk in miniature letters
Lower-cased expressions
You aren't laconic
You aren't revolutionary
You are…obsequious

Maybe it is only
The way you talk
Maybe it is only
The way I listen

But I'm not hearing
That you play the Sitar
You won't live up
To many commitments

When I speak
Under these black lights
Against white garments
нерозуміиш.


~Don't get caught on the wrong side.

любов,

іванченко.

Fish.

We parted like a school of fish seeking liberty.
And now we're caught in tidal pools.

One day; some hour.
Luna will do her work to free us.


Love,

Johanssen.

You Were Always Charming.

I remember meeting you.

It was behind the bleachers

At a high school football game

We were young then.

15, Not old enough to know

The torment and pain we would face

It was November. 

The Night's cold stabbed at our collarbones

Vapour composed our temporary breath

Our eyes met in unrealised damnation.

I'd like you to realise that damnation right now

I still smell your smile on my molars.

Tomorrow morning you won't be on my mind.

But you'll be thought of when I sleep tonight

And that's a secret you'll never know

~I keep moving.

Love,

Johanssen.

Call Me Anti

I cannot bring myself to subscribe
To that which you espouse.

I am a choking victim
In a strangler's culture.

Debutants and Dilettantes,
With faces like a crucifix.

I want a promise of a tomorrow
With no accusations of turpitude.

I am the nuance of your nation
You call me anti.

Because I use an evolved vernacular,
Because dissolving delusion is my creed.

Because Kropotkin's refusal is heroic,
Because Schiller and Bakunin must be read.

I am against you.
You are my vapid pursuit.

Twisted Moralist. Ethical Despot.
Listen to your humanity.



~ Gloves off; I read your pamphlet for ammunition.

Peace and Love,

That guy.

Trying To Resolve My Insomnia.

Drunk.
Reading poetry.
Pondering love interests.

And wondering if after I die;
Will I be as gracious a winner
As D.H. Lawrence.

I seem to know a lot
About inexperience
And my own ineptitude
These days.

And
My resolve is a distant glimmer
In the shit I spew to you
For free.

~Frozen Eyes, Sweaty Back; Henry Rollins Won't Take That Flak.

Love,

Johanssen.

Press ON.

Please continue.

I love when you are

Spilling that shit from your face.

It is helping these uneducated clients.

And later tonight,

You can leap into your awful

Cadillac CTS

--An ugly, and poorly engineered

Vehicle--

That I once door dinged.

I loathe your presence

And your advice.

Your wisdom is similar to

A sock puppet

Of misfortune,

Inflated at dawn whose shadow

Blots out the path

Of ants about their daily business.

You impact infants and insects.

You are merely

An Incumbrance

of my life.

Much like that time

I was the only person attacked

By swamp leeches.

You will not rock me

My boat is firmly fixed.

It may seem beached

But like Ahab, it will pursue

The final fugue.

Freedom.

Love,

Johanssen

Gremlins.

An afternoon of solace

The shadows creep

Through the windows

Down the walls

Gremlins with tea kettles

Snicker across the floor

Beneath my bed.

They hold me

here

In my place.

Love,

Johanssen.

Irony

There's a thick fucking line
Dividing Irony and
Stupidity.

There's a difference
Between libidinal expression
And what you posit as a human being.

We are the quotidian miscarriages
A tomorrow dead in its tracks

Maybe we'll make it.

Love,

Libidinal desire on the fjords
of electro-schock and broken antlers
piercing promisees of tomorrow.

Into Nothing We Melt

Beyond your narcoleptic tragedies
I walk.
Like the footprints of a cat
Calculating through the foggy night
These alleyways
Disappear

Into nothing.

And so will you.
So will I.

And there
In the rocking chair
Looking out the bay window
Like Scottie Ferguson
Longing for yesterday
I will find you
Seeking a friendship
Of lost causes and
Broken hearts.

I've broken this.



~Spread your god-damn wings.

Love,

Johansen.