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Skulls

Tunnel Bones

Midnight's Moon

Numerical Uno

Beyond the Window Pane

Stone Stairs

Toaster Oven

Crying Pie

Thoughts on a Pizza Box

The Man Who Walked Alone

The Dead One

Spilling Me

Fright-Show Tin

All Poetry

Visit My Current Poetry Works

These are My

Personal Best

in order as I saw fit

...



Aboard the Starship Fantasy,
Under the watch of the Fantabulous Monkeysee.
A captain for her, A starship for thee.
Across the sky, the heavens, and free


Skulls

Two Skulls down in the market town,
Five beers short to my lady.
Bleeding fingers all around, Tapping on my brain.

If I stood on top of now, where would I be then?
Even if I scream somehow, I don't have any friends.

The first one it looks to me, missing most its teeth.
It's only a skull, and has no flesh.
But to me it seems to speak.

Clattering chatter, my friend what's the matter.
Don't rattle your little head.
For the candles that burn inside of you eyes,
Will drip wax deep into your head.

The strange words it speaks, scratches and squeaks,
Grinding together its teeth.
It frightens my ears, and annoys my brain,
Screaming to me that I'm far past insane.

Yet lit by the light from inside of its head,
My friend leads me away.
Holding the head I run though these tunnels,
That exist without light of day.

That's the way we live down here,
Actually exist under the town.
A candles light may flicker and bend,
I'm alone, no one's around.

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October 13, 2004
Christopher Scott Munoz


Tunnel Bones

Two faces in the dark, two skulls made of bone.
Clicking and their clacking, in tunnels bore though stone.
Neither skull is wiser, yet I take heed words they say.
Clicking and their clacking in their empty-headed way.
Deep inside ones glowing eyes, A candle shows the way.
Laughing as I follow it, again I'm lead astray.
I can't say for sure, whether it's night or day,
As my time now is measured in wax, No sun to light the way.

Cobble stones, I've reached a chasm. A pit, of howling Shadow.
Peering down the blackness, my skulls begin to babble.
They insist I leap with faith, and encourage that it's fine.
The candle wax is dripping down, seems my skull has grown a spine.
Its eyes show dimly red, as its wax is all but gone.
I hold tightly to its handle, this spine of used up time.
My second skull lays yakking, its clicking clacking rhyme.
It whines high pitched on cobble stones, that it has not a spine.

My skull a torch that flickers on, Its eyes red and unstable.
It begins to weep sparks for tears, insisting that I'm able.
To cross this void of howling black, to put my toes to nothing.
Take a step and wonder on, I can't help but think of falling.
It swears to me this path is right, my skull shouts now angry.
Just take a step into the chasm coward, it's really not so frightening.
My lonely skull upon the floor still inadequate and whining.
I take one look, than throw my torch, send it down the chasm flying.

I light my skull with fresh time, to guide me where I'm going.
I turn back the way I came, hear my fallen torch still falling.
Along the tunnels bore though stone, that exist without light of day.
This search that's never ending, questing for the way.
And that is how we live down here. When all has gone away.
That is how we find our way, in tunnels void of day.

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March 31, 2008
Christopher Scott Munoz


Midnight's Moon

In this land of silent night, calm shadows slipping bye,
Ridding down this road of peaceful sleepless leaves.
The fingers of the trees sharp as monster's claws.
We cross a stone bridge above a river or stream,
And quietly she sings to me without words or melody.
No speech for love, only the weight of her head,
Resting on my shoulder in the fresh nights wind.
Her swaying hair beneath the moonlight, captures her every breath.
I'm holding her very tight; I'm riding under midnight's moon.
I'm praying I don't wake; to leave her is too soon.
Suddenly the rolling waves of a twilight beach,
The oceans vast, and a reflection of heaven's sleep.
As I ride along the soft sand, I'm thinking perfect thoughts,
So clear like the stars tonight, so clear like this sweet dream,
Where I'm holding her very tight, riding under midnight's moon.
Quietly she looks to me, turning her warm eyes.
I catch her gaze as her lips move, speaking quietly.
Such soft words that I can't hear.
But I feel them warm my soul, as I hold her near.
A smile creeps across my cold face, seen under midnight's moon.
And I watch her peaceful eyes gently over ocean waves.
Her hart so clear and full, and once again I pray,
I'm praying I don't wake; to leave her is too soon,
I feel so whole to hold her, under midnight's moon.

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September 17, 2004
Christopher Scott Munoz


Numerical Uno

Looking back, I'm sure our lives went pretty well,
And I'm fairly sure I wasn't always at wits with myself.
I probably left a muddy trail of boot prints in my wake.
Just a little dirty.

I'm sure we all just kept going forward,
'Cause direction's not our call.
Rolling by us every day, with no comupins striking faults.
It's silly to try and stop whats coming over the horizon,
In a fog of electric lights, indecision's slightly enlightened.

Its a shame the exchange rate these days,
My soul could pave the perfect street.
But with the going rate for a soul these days,
It wouldn't rent me a pickle.

Sun-shinning on and life's going well.
I look up from my lap, and there's that blissful smell.
I just remember walking.
A trail of red footprints, and walking.

We all just keep going forward,
'Cause direction's not our call.
Our toes all pierced by nails,
Each of us, our steps at fault.

Those nails sure hurt those people's feet,
I've seen them drop em' in the street.
And with the exchange rate these days,
Financially speaking,
They couldn't trade their souls for shoes.

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April 24, 2008
Christopher Scott Munoz


Beyond the Window Pane

There's a person in the window,
I feel Her nails across my face.
Caressed, I sprout a sapling question,
As She ushers in my smirking face.
Someone fucking tell me please,
What is She doing in this place?

Who's this in the window,
Touching me without a trace.
She wants to tell me something.
Her hair's tied back with strings of lace.
Seems she knows something about me,
And there's something about this woman's face.

She's lookin' right on though my eyes,
Pressed red lips against the glass pane.
She wants to know if I,
-Like most of Em,'
Have got myself a name.

I ask her how she got up here,
Says She wore herself a skirt.
I ask her if she took my thoughts,
She says She heard em' first.

Who does this woman think She is.
Hysterical, She laughs.
She says She's got a name like mine.
But what, I'll have to guess.

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June 24, 2008
Christopher Scott Munoz


Stone Stairs

Newborn clouds stroke the sky- As I;
Now I sit on the edge of the world.
If the clock could stop, I'd hold it now, forever now.
Lean on me and speak your mind,
Sit here on the edge, the world behind. We've left the world to never mind.
Where the wind will blow, and chill our toes.
Misty darkness soothes my soul. And now I never wish to go.
We've left the world to never mind,
Though the world isn't your's or mine, as we sit here on the edge of time-
I feel as if I've held my life.

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June 27, 2006
Christopher Scott Munoz


Toaster Oven

It heats up very slowly, but it heats up.
Warming up my food.
I get up very slowly, and turn it on.
Now quietly waitin' for my food.
My toaster oven is awesome!
Would you like to try some-
Of my food?

Sometimes life's got away with you,
Sometimes you're ahead of yourself.
Never forget that tomorrow is wonderful,
With your toaster oven, who feeds you food.

Microwaves may be technical,
Though buying alien products is a shame,
Why not get yourself a toaster oven?
Who's also from the Earth you came.

I lye down very slowly, watch the sun climb up.
The sun climbs up, very slowly.
And I don't smile enough.

Night time rolls by very slowly, again the sun comes up.
The food warms up in my toaster oven,
I can't get enough.

Sometimes your eyes get soar, when you don't cry enough.
Sometimes I'm a rubber band, whose bounce is all seized up.
Save me now from myself guys, seems again I've thrown up.
Save me now would you Toaster Oven, Fill my body up.

The days roll by very slowly, Why must I get up?
I get out of bed very slowly, Cry and curse my luck.
Come on now little Toaster, Fill my body up.
Come on my little Oven, I can't get enough.

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May 16, 2006
Christopher Scott Munoz


Crying Pie

OK buddy, I know this guy. He's this man who I call the crying pie.
He's siting here with his chocolate milk mix. Mixing poor little mocha's, for his poor little antics.
Jumping about up on a wire- never falling down.

And now you see they're all dropping. I'm still going and they're all stopping.
One by one I watch them leave, all to their comfy beds and LCD screens.
And Here I stay but I want this variety of day...
To be a bit more- never ending.

Journey to this town of lights and sounds, that are quite often renewing.
Set camp on a bridge, with flowers and streetlamps, to a fragrant pizza's undoing.
How with that cheesy-warm goodness I'd watch that pizza Parrish.
-With pleasure coursing though this crying pie.
While bellow us the water would tumble and flourish, for an amazing yellow-pink sunrise.

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July 2, 2006
Christopher Scott Munoz


Thoughts on a Pizza Box

So all you people close your eyes.
Hear my words and sympathize.

-WAIT?
Don't forget that without those eyes,
You can't begin to substantialize,
These strange thoughts I'm playing with you.

So if you teach your eyes to hold,
All that scenery within your head.
Choose to leave your dreams in bed.

I'm afraid the only thing to do,
Is to memorize my game with you.
And Plant my scenery in your head.

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July 8, 2006
Christopher Scott Munoz


The Man Who Walked Alone

Lost on that dark road, I wished I didn't care.
I had to journey home, I wished to walk alone.
Just me, with nobody there.
Just a man who doesn't care.

Than I saw, amidst the poring rain,
As she crept into my eyes, I swore I was insane.
It's her. Alone in the cold.
In the darkness all alone.
She cried, cold tears, so bitter and so clear.

I fell down to my knees, and I begged her please,
"Don't go. Don't leave me all alone."
I'd changed my mind, and I couldn't quite define-
My wish. How I had wished to go,
Though this darkness all alone.

She turned away, and left me to my own,
The tears froze onto my cheeks, now just me,
The man who walks all alone.
Alone on that dark road. Lost in the bitter cold.
I traveled on, walking towards the dawn.

But than, she spoke, to me from behind,
"Hello, I've seen you long ago."
"And I've fallowed all this time."

A crisp white dream, so pleasant and so clean.
I cried, a smile on my face, my tears could not retrace-
The pain. I had felt so long ago.
For this thing I couldn't know.

I held her close to me and warmed my soul,
I said, "You know, I've seen you long ago,"
"Wishing all this time, that you would be mine,"
"I tried, I cared, the questions where unclear."
"You have my love, and with it all my soul."

She smiled and spoke, "now I will not let you go,"
"You're all I want, the man who walked alone."

So I held her in my arms, and time slid away.
I held her and knew, I'd see her in the day.
Not just a dream, a dream to fade away.

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July 11, 2004
Christopher Scott Munoz


The Dead One

Your god gave you a setting sun, He gave you this raining night,
The rain that falls to the pavement, chilling flesh and bone alike.
As the twilight fell to the clouds, the moon quickly withdrew,
Taking drags behind shrouded darkness, a tattered figure steps though.
He twisted his wrinkled smile, summoned you with his hand.
And as you slowly approached him, The thunder burst and clapped.

If you follow your heart, tomorrow's dreams elapse.
A struggling soul clings to the tether; your heart that holds it back.
The tattered man keeps smiling, taping loose bits of ash.
Before his lips embers burn, as he begins to ask:

"And just how do you intend to save,"
"A soul that has already passed?"
"You see, a soul I've already taken."
...Again the thunder claps.

The body lays in the rain, frozen fragments of a soul.
Between the clouds shine its dead eyes, lying just behind your foe.
Climbing down the tether, a ghost, a vengeful soul.
Touching you as it passes, the touch is Icy-cold.

The cigar leaves his fingers, as the man flicks it to the rain,
Exhaling a cloud of silver smoke, that dark smile blooms again.
"And now my dear I will help you, I fear you may catch cold,"
"So I'll be so kind as to release you, from all you've ever known."

The ghost climbs into its body, struggling to quickly stand.
As the tattered man bursts into serpents, flaming from his hands.
The dead one rises from the street, lifting its charred remains,
Silently behind the dark one, who has captured you in his gaze.

-Again the thunder claps, like slow, morbid applause.
The darkness brakes as the lightning flashes.
-The dead one grows new claws.
Stepping to its feet, Scared by melted flesh.
Narrowing waterlogged eyebrows, the dead one seeks revenge.

Sinking razor sharp claws into the back of the demon's head.
You're transfixed in terror, as the serpents ensnare your friend.
A fiery tangle of bodies, tarring each other apart,
A steaming cloud of vapor, drifts in the storming dark.

His fiery serpents extinguished, The dark man fell to his knees,
The dead one returned to its grave, its body convulsed and seized.
Now lifting yourself from the mud, You run to help. But that soul has gone,
Seams to have at last found peace, after you where saved;
By the unlikely help of The Dead One

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July 25, 2006
Christopher Scott Munoz


Spilling Me

At 1st: Touch

It pours like a torrent of scattered nails. Crimson pain running across the cold tiles, rivers of death oozing through the crevasses. Lying wide eyed with an empty stare, visions of memory turning my eyes and as I go I ask myself why I care. Eyes filled with maggots see not the sunrise. While I am dying I lie there only surviving. You should know by now that I'm going. That's when I saw the darkness moving, ripples in the air above me. I knew it wanted me as its lips rolled back and it bore its venomous fangs. A long crack on its skull etched from the back of its head, though its left eye socket to the reminiscence of a nose. This monster comes to me I fear.

It's gorgeous.

Now with only the withered rose stuffed into my left eye do I feel the pain I truly have. The sharpened stem pierces my retina as fresh wine and foaming puss run down my face. Vertebra in my neck twist and pop as its hand touches my neck. Spreading its fingers and compressing my spine. Webbing splinters from its hands run along my bones as they break and snap.

2nd: Now Take

"Please leave me to bleed!" my mind screams onto the bathroom floor as the tub fills with liquid life. The head pressed onto my chest as its hands ran down my face. Teeth drown in blood as fangs sink between my ribs, black tar dripping from its bite into my heart, flowing with my blood, polluting my life. My soul. "Get back!" I shout as my fingers run cold. The sweet taste of wine and cream on my lips, as I bleed. The rose sinks deeper into my sight, each thorn tearing at my eye as I drift along the dark. I know now there is a shark swimming in the fresh blood, wading in the intoxicating tub. Sweet scent of spilled dreams. The blank stare as the face lifts from my breast. Licking my cheek and whispering in my ear without words, without solace. Filled with grace.

It's gorgeous.

3rd: Scream

Inside my soul, I scream to know. Why has it come for me? How can this pry my life from this land so easily? A flood of screams rush into my eye. "Save me," I whimper, flapping my blood soaked touch. The taste of copper seeps between my teeth. Wine and cream, inside I scream. In my fear I am frozen, trapped in this nightmare. My skin runs cold and my fingers burn. Boiling tears behind my eyes. The ridged fingers of this thing spread my lips and gouge my teeth. Grinding them to powder mixing on my tongue. I can taste it. No one hears me. Yet I hear my own screams. Do they leave my mouth? Unsure if the world has gone deaf, or I have become a mute. My impaled eye withers, lust's own red fading black as the petals fall to me. Blown from my face to the pool where they drift a crimson tide. I look to my toes as this thing begins to dig its fingernails into the quick. Blood dripping in spurts polka-dotting the floor. Wax runs the side of the candle. Inching its way towards the cold, resisting the dominant force of its own burden. Blood dripping from under my nails. A slow pelting of the clean perfection of each square. Dripping around the candle, and than touching it, smothering the flame...

It's gorgeous.

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May 5, 2004
Christopher Scott Munoz


Fright-Show Tin

Outside he parked his tuck, this Tall Bald Man ran some Show.
He wore a vibrant outfit, his mustache match his sinister tone.
He said he'd show us all a trick, if we stepped into his canvas tent.
It covered the bead of his truck, Inside I found a couch and friends.

The Tall Bald Man produced a Machine, Like a Christmas cookie tray.
We where advised to stand in single file.
He lined us up and lead the way.
It swallowed us all, down the line.
Like the mouth of a bottomless bag.
He moved towards us with the the tin spread wide,
I soon forgot my place and name.

I felt at home. Now worlds away.
The sun glistened through the ridiculously clean windows.
White furniture sat in the sun, newspapers on the coffee table.
A woman with a vacuum paced around and cleaned.
She tells me its time to get ready.
So I gather myself, and find the things that I need.

I find my shoes. I find my socks. In the closet I fetch my coat,
Through the window on the closet door, I see a rubbery suit.
In the closet I find my face on a suit strung on a hanger.
I take it down and stretch it over my bones,
And seel it with a zipper.

Looking around as I step outside the front door.
Streets of houses and perfect lawns,
I see it drive by and I want to scream,
The Vibrant Man's truck, rolls on down the street.
Inside I remember the thin tin machine.
Who am I now and what is this dream.

I hear a loud sound and an unwinding of gears,
A popping of coils and a racing of wheels.
Like a Jack in the box who's done taking turns.
I feel the Tin scraping, in lurches and whirs.
The tin scraped and slid on its joints,
Unwinding in phases. Scraping my skin.
This has to stop! I must move again!

I look all around in confusion and pain,
I'm sitting someplace, I don't know where I am.
And there's the people all around who'd been in the tin.
Sitting all around with faces of grins.

Something crazy happened and I had stopped the machine.
I looked up and down confused and in pain.
A tumbling of everything, I lay on the floor,
Misshapen, and damaged, I'm half a brick wall.
Half of my body still crammed in the thin tin,
My left eye peripherals strained to take in,
That my left side was bricks and I was a wall,
I couldn't move anything and felt stories tall.

I looked up to the Man, and I gathered my voice,
I don't want to play anymore, I asked in distress.
He unwinded still further, my leg in the tin,
My body was free and it pinched on my skin.
It seemed that my leg was caught in the tin.

The Bald man straitened his mustache and knelt by my side.
The streets in the distance rose up to the skies,
The streets folded down and building collapsed,
A folding accordion into the back of his head.
With it went me, the tin, and my friends.

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August 2, 2008
Christopher Scott Munoz


All Poetry
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