lonely telescope

slide my hands
over glass, your
heart beating fast
through your
translucent wrists,
the taste of
raw pulse as
i look for a way
to your heart
like it’s a part
of your breathing
that i can find
if I try, carve my
name on, and
each time that you
go climbing clouds,
and you slip, so
those yellow balloons
tie your fingertips,
fly into the sunset,
you storm in disguise,
let me conquer
that faraway look
in your eyes
while you dream;
lonely telescope,
alone, in that bubble
of soap that you
christened your home,
see world
like ice skating
fireworks, you
leave the
earthly traffic lights
blinking and clueless,
and braid those
pretences like
diamond and dart,
devil you force
the lightning and
thunder apart, like
pretty stained glass,
bitter-savory-sweet,
let you rule all
my soul and this
faltered heartbeat,
paint the world
on my skin, maybe
you’ll let me in,
bind your heartbeats
and eyelids
’til you’re blind
with defeat.

T. E. Pyrus

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the happy

have you ever
loved the moon
and wednesdays
and afternoon
with binding
bland daylight
and footsteps and
bland folks with
good souls that
live gold in
loved land of
canned old –
all fresh blanched
in sentimental
saccharine,
brushed lightly with
light salted
flag-waving reverence
at room temperature,
garnish generously
with harshly picked,
warm negotiation
and sweet peppered
hypocrisy?
every wing that
you could grow
to hypnotize
democracy is
criticized. now
realize that all
the world’s a
happy stage for
happy folks with
happy dreams,
come now, they
burn their pretty
lace, come now
they light their
pretty seams
of wedding gowns,
ornamented pretty
crowns, for the
happy, happy
diamond ring
to callowness,
with love. with
heartbeat, you see,
they don’t care what
you’re thinking of.
come hither, fiery friend,
come you, come hither
fiery foe,
to lands beyond amend,
come you, to dream
beyond the know,
love mediocre lovers
in their mediocre lie,
you fire, burn the sun,
you mortal star, you
burn the sky.

T. E. Pyrus

ruby redress

if I had a
pretty penny for
every pretty heart
i broke, i’d be
a millionaire, a
billionaire in my
white marble prison,
green beryl to deck
the halls beside
the bloody ruby
footprints, bloody
hand prints on the
walls of them
who tried to mend
this icy heart, lay
shattered on the
floor, like glass
that cut through
pretty tales like
fingernails, and
then they were
no more; there’s
a person in my
closet, see a
broken soul behind
each door that
lines the throne room,
bloody trails that
line the floor so
i could watch you
shatter like i
broke and loved
the sinner for my
own, loved the
sin even more like a
drop in the sea,
no, don’t you look
at me, you’ll
have your train
of bloodied lovers
by your candlestick
at tea, with red wine
and old cheese as
they burn with
all your memory,
why don’t you see
that I am fatigued
by this game,
it’s the same
old confusion,
industrial revolution
like charlie chaplin
on replay forever more
in silence; but i’ll
repent, that i
will, and carve all
your names in
blue gold, white
sapphire, then
bring you by
hair and the fire
in your eyes,
reflecting my multitude
of pitch layered
lies, see rain
pouring in,
ragged glass,
bleeding skin, breathing
cherry blood
on the floor;
your ragged wrist
on my whip, ragged
name on my lips
pray, “forgive me,
forgive me no more!”

T. E. Pyrus

diamond you

does the word
isolation mean
that they place you
on an eternal
glacier at dawn?
it’s not windy
but cold; tales
and yarns that
you fold, but there’s
no one around,
they’re all gone,
and you’re quiet
in a wheelchair,
head high, in a
world where you
cannot ask why,
but by grace,
if you do, they’ll
all say, “mary sue!
say thee, that’s
a fine bird in
the sky!”
so you stay
there, your book
upside down,
staying lost ’til
you want to
be found,
you sit with
the back of
your head to
the world,
tired, ‘touch wistful,
o’ the people
of gold,
when you spoke,
they all shrouded
the truths that
you told,
now wait still,
all alone,
not a sound.
then one day
you hear your
heart call, after
forever of
nothing at all,
then your eyes
are warm, glistening,
but nobody’s listening,
melt a hole through
the floor and you fall-
right through ice
and through stone
and through crust,
diamond you,
you shall burn
for you must,
feel your heart
beating loud,
blaze a bright
brilliant cloud,
singing,
ashes to ash;
dust to dust.

T. E. Pyrus

spell-blinding daylight

might i ever claim
that your artful eyes
are like constellations
in the sky,
forgive me, love,
for i would only
spiel the
pretty words in
a bewitched haze,
and then i would
repeal them,
in a moment;
you are binding
and searing and,
but only little,
beyond my fingertips,
not so faraway,
you paint the sky
in a blink
of an eye,
veil the transcended
stars that fall,
slanting like rain,
storming down on
the asphalt like ember,
like lightning
on salt in the sea,
my own molten fire,
when you look at me,
humour me good
as i singe your
still heart with
my fingertips cold,
look you falling apart like
a fever, you glow, like pure-
blinding, spellbinding
daylight, white gold,
artful combustion,
your swansong like
autumn, like warm
wistful sunsets on
your knees, let me
reign all your sorrow,
your fears, your dreams,
let me bind your
tomorrow, your tears
for me, with your
trembling fingertips,
wintry fire, unveil
this awry, this lawless
desire, crave me
like a sunflower
starved in starlight,
crave me, flawless
love, like i
crave you tonight.

T. E. Pyrus

toxic clandestine love

if you ever
care enough to
stick your nose
out of that
pathetic, doleful
journey that you
decided, yet again,
to totter on with
your signature blend
of disappointing
apathy and pride
through the
layer of dust
that rests, tired
of resting, i
hope you mind
my protesting
while the rest
of this deformed
kingdom called
afflicted ignorami
rests in make-believe,
as sanity awaits
in prison and shy
altruism dies in
in a scatterbrained
concentration camp,
shrivelled and damp,
while valour is
hooded in pallor
and head over
heels for lorelei
scepticism:
another notch in
the belt for
stockholm syndrome
who lives in the
stained glass and
never leaves home,
watches sly over
doubtful white candles
all night and swallows
the flames like
crisp death when
daylight, and when
red clockwork rich
and the grey
clockwork poor,
come floundering
over their sins
though the door,
erudite broken
lies crushed on
the floor, their
pet god of
clockwork, breathes
taxes, ignore all
your feeble attempts
to be seen in this
brawl, blasé
adore; now what
would you call
a world where
hierarchy plagues
the salt water,
passion here
destined
lamb for the
slaughter,
and sweat of
the wary reflecting
the moon, trapped
in dewdrops
on cobwebs;
you burn out
too soon,
pretty sea, salted souls
masquerading above,
spy our radical
stupor, fair
frenzy thereof;
thirst us clandestine love,
toxic clandestine love.

T. E. Pyrus