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Gary Jennings


Doraville, GA, US

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Folded Fold Of The Heart


Gary Jennings

Now Clear Cut
and Graded into
reminders of misery,
your thought, picture-perfect,
lingers about
like a honeybee
singing, " Sweet Heart Who Swerved".
Mumbled skips of a life beat chatter through
the thin flesh
of boned air,
while empty wings
of the stung hover
like etched veins
of frost scorched by
thin plumes of smoke
searching for a
tender scent
now long too dead.

Bleeding dreams
of my feilds
you layed beneath
torment my night time sky.
Your movements slow again
against the morning dew,
I still can hear.
Your long,
beautiful hair
falling past your pugged nose,
your purk of lips,
a fast kiss,
and your words received me,
acroos your chest,
protecting my heart
from the attack
of those tiny engines
of manipulation
stapled to my neck.
Sleep dream,
and reach deep through
that thick gue of shattered moments,
so that I may touch once again
just the mere tip
of your soft heart,
storing for keeps
it's secrets of lies,
sealed like the woody lore
of bees in relief of memory
the life beat
linger past
the folded fold
of my announced heart.

Dementia Of The Night


Gary Jennings

The wraith of skin,
Pungent pull of imprisoned reality
Held Captive inside this fleshy goo
And tissuous objects
That wiggle around
In meaningless motion
Like maggots
Swarming in a rotting pool
Of dead meat,
Forced to imagine,
Mirrored vissions,
Of distorted explosions,
Entwined by the seen.
Shadows flickering walls,
With virgin eyes,
Of dead grass,
Growing within
Splinters Of
Bleeding Stones,
That dance
The clouding death
Ferris-wheeled winds...

And I cry,
"Fly dementia of the night".

Pound Of The Heart


Gary Jennings

In Darkness
I walk alone,
Like gray shades of thunder
In conscious silence,
Desolated raindrops
Rythmically bouncing
Off the empty pavement.

Stomp the slosh,
Pound of the heart,
Like a giant alligator
Preying upon
Inferior swamp creatures
Blanketing themselves within
Puddled shadows
Of alley water,
Drowning the pain
From hidden reality.

Angered evil,
The flow of things
Donned by natures fire,
Nimbly rotates about
The night
Like a
Whirligig of spells
Spinning on the end
Of the Magicians wand,
The twisted odor
Of eyes
Blindly flickering
In mental darkness,
Like rattling objects
Heard by dead machines.

Trash Can girl,
Crack your teeth
Between mine this night,
Let me taste
The spoiled mayonnaise
Beneath your toung,
Grab my handful of hate,
Stomp the slosh
And pound the fear
From your heart.

Sightfull Words


Gary Jennings

Inside my head I feel the sightless
Opacity of your presence,
Your phosphened images
Feeding upon an
Absurd thought
Like a blind man
tuching the cringe
Of reality.

Is it wise then
To intice me
With your lure,
A magic less
Then that of
The illusion?

Rippled Patterns,
Mine eyes they sense
Your muted taunting,
A slight distortion
Reflecting froom the
Difference of
My sound sight.

Looking at you
Like this
Must alter you quiet,
If evil should
Ever have such a pose.

Engulf my persona then,
Why don't you,
No more significant
Then I?

For I too
The damp vision
To create
The talents
Of which may
Be destroyed
By a sightfull word.