[ .one.hundred.of.one.hundred. ]

i.
storm claps count away, as the tearing begins in the long road, and stepping away, are sensibilities, notions of latitude, their disannulled static, resonating the hum of earth, water, and air, motion that is ceaseless, proof of natural contingence, in its wake, the life it leaves, populating.

ii.
the soaking grass, fields in shadowed greens, tones are ready for our eager bodies, ready to roil and roll about, within its fingered fur. hearsay from the threatening sky, and the smiles worn, are now cut across cheek, bone, and lines, ever aching, for the rebirth and cleansing, that washes, from sky and skein.

iii.
here now, in sparks all semblance, the strange or charmed by proxy, but the wet night calls, wanting to play, the white cracks in the sky, signals to ions, err remittance, drop by drop, in hundreds, and the hundreds turn to thousands, hundreds of thousands, just to match, cellular decay, then growth, near never ending mitosis matching, renewing each life, not found, not lost.

© Bryan McLean July 3, 2009
100/100 end of series

[ .crowded.causalities. ]

nervous anticipation, running through the skin, quivering. the steps down, beat, into the cathartic fray, where hundreds lie, shaking shelter will not steady, as reached and narrowed, into the crowded causalities.

© Bryan McLean July 2, 2009

[ .ready.running.out. ]

and I'm running out, of strokes on canvas, and the lines in my pride, where all you're asking, is something more than I'm ready for, not ready to steady say anything, even when I know its right.

© Bryan McLean July 1, 2009

[ .in.the.dark. ]

in the dark
and disengaged
where its peeling clear
skin holds
raw to tender
holding steady
in the dark
heart marching
in the viscous gloom
pushing changes
where the echo
marks and marrs
our tepid syntax
in the dark
its running out
exhausted, breathy
against swelling sides
that now align
incremental now instrumental
in the dark
hearts marked now
its found out
as the lines leak
seeping to the swallows
and the ended day
in the dark
hungry hands
find our edges
desperately haunting
surfaces hours after
the effect runs through
and its all finding me
in the dark

© Bryan McLean June 30 (edit)

[ .gray.matter. ]

the road, ready black to gray, the rush, the intertwined love, its steady setting pace,
our interconnected hearts.

© Bryan McLean June 29, 2009

[ .into.the.stumbling.night. ]

am in stride, the straighter leg the lower, as each hilly crossing reached, the lamp light dies, one by one, unexpectedly, as if the seething denizens of twilight are ready, tooth and hungry maw, threshold keeping ready. yet no glossy eyes are watching, footfalls are the only companions, as the pitch dark keeps swallowing, and the tread presses onward, into the stumbling night.

© Bryan McLean June 28, 2009

[ .nocti/avis. ]

turning, the clear blue blotted sky, deepening, dust from evergreens drifting, as the day descends early, lowering behind the peaks, setting for hours, as it passes deep into twilight. in the gathering crowds, unaware, wandering at the night side market, lights, cries, streets filled with beats, beasts, and fire, set out for the onlookers, observers, celestial sometimes, bodies cheerily moving, to their own easy evening rhythm, and me here in the night, feathers furled, so terribly out of place.

© Bryan McLean June 27, 2009

[ .the.earth.humming. ]

angry hours, all on black roads, the green against the gray, the darkened lines blotting out the mountainscape, earth mounds cresting, and the ground runs in rivulets, as the clouds break against rock, like the ocean, tears, tearing the shallow valley floors, running heavy with the summer rain.

© Bryan McLean June 26, 2009

[ .capillarity.gone. ]

livid styles
pinpricks all fashioned on sky & skin
where nothing holds back
lips on hearts that work the mound
aching still festers
in your psyche psylli-ble

our echoes etching
epidermis turned pulp red
gone tasteless
gone tongue numb
your haunting presence
eats our every word
ever silent structures
that are not love

and ever arching
are your plots & applauding
clasped palms to psalm valves
the beat goes on
capillaries dying
one by one
gone grounded out
are all eyes gone out?

© Bryan McLean June 25 2009

[ collapse,adorned. ]

we are likely from a future, that wasn't formed, wasn't ready for us, a future coded, adored, adorned with all the illbegottened leads, the lines connecting you to me and me to you, are leaking out, lusting, and the nightsky we ache for, is the starlit void we are returning to.

© Bryan McLean June 24, 2009 91
my birthday . mon anniversaire

[ .sending.out. ]

flustered, just don't understand why people loose interest in me, its all chatter on the radio one day, and no thank-yous-but-no or no good-byes the next. am I out of line, am I too mouthy, too boring, too honest, did I give the wrong impression or say too much. where I've left room to breathe, not felt I've acted too eagerly, just cannot spot why messages don't come back, nor figured out when its too much
to send another lesser letter in bottle.

© Bryan McLean June 23, 2009
090/100

[ .pendulum. ]

an easy mark, clear on my features to face,
and no matter the weight I carry or the gloom I cast,
the light inside burns through.

© Bryan McLean June 22, 2009

[ .your.youth. ]

I see far into the vast, differential future, the age in lines on your cheeks and
brow, the sneer and long conversations, our way of talking will never waiver,
even where our confidence will, even when I know we are here and now, our
youth so limitless, immortality never fading.

© Bryan McLean June 21, 2009

© B McLean June 20, 2009

[ .stardust,numb.near.our.nature. ]

all these cords, minor fought for major, tying down, and heat hath no rhythm, nor it's ache, not in all, the lights' starry distance, ready where we lie, am under all your glaring wonder, where the axis now animate, beleaguered, that nero need rhythm, be I your virtue, be I the wolf in side your bed dress, echoes are that said, the sad marker, under this spark, the pink, the hellenistic bravery, etches to your skin, fascinate our attentives, cracked land rough shot, smirk, grace cannot possess, your startling beauty,
your ever eyeshine, prime my precious, prime.

© Bryan McLean June 19, 2009

[ .lost,underwater,. ]

lost, misplaced, misshapened, un-trusted, unloving, exhausted. this must be what burnout tastes like, bitter in my sore mouth. so why is it that I'm struggling, underwater, with several hundred arms and hands pushing me, holding me down further, their loving embrace, entanglement so quantum, when I know that on the other breaking side of surface, lies the freedom of genius. why am I still fighting the clutching, with hundreds of bodies and faces, all mine, all aching to be free. palms not pushing forward,
yet I have not the grace of giving up nor giving in.

© Bryan McLean June 18, 2009

[ .a.long.fellowship. ]

I am forever in your debt for, all the things you couldn't say or do for me, it's the empty rooms that you have filled, the sun weathered hallways and watched windows, excitement to the jingle of keys on the door, creak of floorboards late at night, the low, murmur purring at my side in the deep dark night.

© Bryan McLean June 17, 2009

[ .lamentation. ]

so out of place
just like you've been
in the echoing night
where our tremors
catch us up
the lines feral
in your hungry wake
as the being
under your skin
fights to tear
in side out

© Bryan McLean June 16

[ .end.to.our.doppelgänger. ]

end song, as the gangrel scratching begins, catchy, it repeats my faces, over and over, and its clear,
its all my doing, my mistakes, as the mirror commands, ego on the all setting eyes.

© B McLean June 15, 2009

[ .the.wolves,unsaved. ]

iii
calling on the night wind, the symbol sly lined, as the ready meek, are wary of our offerings, now, as our cover is sundered, and clearly we are, mark, mask and tooth, the riding gawdz, the mecha gawdz, under their treading pads, swallowing whole, the garish need, of your sweetened core.

© B McLean June 14, 2009