[ .in.the.fevered.day. ]

in the summer hunt
blossoming wounds
that are bound about
your fractured sentiments
running hollow and sweaty
down your forearms
in the summer hunt

in the darkening night
where I found a place
for you to rest your lips
the swelling head
now fevered and tired
from the ravaging
claws of the day
your so serene pout
cool against my skull
in the darkening night

© Bryan McLean July 24, 2009
004/100:2

[ .the.night.is.always.young. ]

am, free standing and small, nightstalking neverending, alone under darkened branches, staring back down, the striations etched into pericardium, thundering muscle, those lines matching the crevices on her trunk, and her skyworn thorns, match the crowns spiralling out of my foreskull, shadows pooling, at her feet, at my feet, now distanced from the lamplight cast, or inverted is the black succubus lines, reflecting future intentions, as her branches shift in the breeze.

© Bryan McLean July 12, 2009
003/100:2 for: bedtime for demons

[ .night.demons. ]

slick and wet, the highway lords, swallowing sacrifices, wet blotchy eyes lured into the traps of lamps and traffic lights, old gods still here, nested in the feeding lines of each and every new facet that is growing,
glowing hotter, as the yellow to white lines count by.

© Bryan McLean July 10, 2009
002/100:2

[ .vas.corazón. ]

beating
slowly
quickly
rushing
in my chest
lonely and crowded
small
but its mine.

© Bryan McLean July 8, 2009
series 2 001/100

[ .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