A Liars Reality

Unmasking the mundane. Small moments at a time. All Original Content

Selling Muscle

Soon, I will be cashed out
On a paper slip

Soon, my blistered hands
My aching neck end
Squinted eyes
Will amount to enough zeros
To fill my car
To please my wife
To buy the coffee
To do it all again

Soon, they will measure my life
In bone dust
And cashed checks

Sketch of the day

Sketch of the day

I Am

I was a rhapsody
Black eyed and bleeding
For love and
Anything but alone-ness
Listening to me like I was-
Your favorite song
With chills up your arms
And I sung until my
Throat was dry
When you finally told me
I was a scratched record
And left me quietly humming
To myself like I was-
When you found me

Summer With Her

My life is hot days
Sun burnt and motionless
I am bronzed and rusty
The sweat on the tips
Of my figures
Only makes her
Gold leaf skin
Glisten at my soft
Touch

Figure 7

Figure 7

New haircut

New haircut

Im sorry I keep trying to sketch you into reality. Im sorry I’m a perfectionist. I know I can’t erase those parts of your personality. Im sorry I ever tried.

Im sorry I keep trying to sketch you into reality. Im sorry I’m a perfectionist. I know I can’t erase those parts of your personality. Im sorry I ever tried.

Drawing

Drawing

People will rub off on you
Like wet paint
No matter how clean
You claim to be
You will find
The colors of their lives
Stained to your favorite clothes
Like a canvas
That you can not hide
Any longer than you can
Hold your breath-
And those that are
Purple in the face
Where not painted that way
But wandering
With crooked necks
Eye brow-less
Asking where the art went
Paintings of people
And flowers and rivers
Oceans, cites and sky’s
I will hide in the museums
Of these beautiful minds
With my eyes forever open
My clothes forever dirty

Eli

Eli

Hiking the Oregon mountains

Hiking the Oregon mountains

Nature shot

Nature shot

The Blind Dogs

The clash of dishes and
Conversations that clash

About like a busy Chinese market
With dead chickens hanging from
Wires, threaded through broken ankles

Kitchens cluttered and dirty
Like a scale model junk yard
Flies as seagulls
It mocked them and they complained

What a mess, the scrapes of left over meat
Dry and hard and juiceless
Stuck to the china
And fed to the barking dogs
With blind eyes and strong noses

Still yelling, and cleaning the kitchen
But even on the spotless nights
When the silence would echo off the granite
With all the hatred sweated out of their mouths
With dry lips in the stillness of it all

The blind dogs would bark
At the lingering smell of that bloody meat