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Going Back AgainThe wafting scent of my cigar fills the room,
reminding me of that cheap motel in Chincoteague.
But it was a happy memory.
When you are a child, you clutch the opportunities.
Frisk my scent and shortcomings
For all to see
But fill me with freedom,
watch my metamorphoses
into something ill defined...again.
And I know no end.
And I know no beginning.
And this is my malediction.
Well, one of them.
Vices come and go,
and none have the answers,
but I engage them with fervor.
so it goes.
The ForgettingMedical myth and legend.
I buy it.
What happened to the fire, now coals, burning without the heat?
I remember, and I am weary with the forgetting.
Why did you bring your monster here?
It is grotesque and lurks overhead.
No light to escape, flurry from the flame.
As freedom comes into focus,
I am scared and wanton.
Your voice floats in the hall,
finally finding a resting place in the corners of my mind.
The phone rings, I jump.
Pardon my distraction, I know not what I do.
Well, that's a lie. But I can't help it.
In my mind's eye, I am blind.
Unhappy MarriageMy existence
Unfathomable and wanting
I once saw Spring in your eyes.
The banister has been left cold
No jacket to warm it
Shades of our Winter
I catch the suit
Hanging empty in the closet
As I used to I
I'll take your emotional property
To my grave
We've been reduced to pens & Post-it notes
& hollow phone calls where your voice
was once golden.
Wreck-StenchedWreck-stenched of foul mouth
Freedom of snakes, wrapping around my folly
I seek you, but you are self-worthy
Sitting atop your hills of dust and current
I wait in the stream
I dance from the storm
But I am alone.
What is the purpose of this life spent down?
I need your comfort
But there are other, more important things.
I'm not one of them.
Modern-Day LazarusModern-Day Lazarus
Like a modern-day Lazarus
Needing prophesy for rotting flesh
They need resurrection from living death.
Worshiping false idols was never my thing.
We all have those things
who put the death in us.
And we all lament that we "aren't what we used to be",
even if that just means we'd like to get back to our high school
Who wants to be what we used to be, anyway.
Then we'd never grow.
And as it's been said, "pain is the touchstone to spiritual
so some are very spiritual.
A seat in church is like their holy anchor.
Desperately clinging to the next nugget of hope,
wanting the effects of the God-potion to carry them through
Free them from their beasts of bondage, nurture the bite
Looking for their spiritual ointment, healing wounds.
They think that only god can free the tethered rose.
Coldness licks the furnace
I fall into sky
Remembering the downtrodden myself
as the words cascade down my river.
It's familiar, that silence in the car
drowning out the curves of my failings
Shelter from the heat, following the chill
of my icy stare
and frostbitten hands
What wills you,
What stake has pierced your eyes?
The coming always comes
to rifle through my memory
and remember the distance of a falling rose.
Times of triumph,
Times of worry,
Times of spitting hunger
And I forget to remind myself
of the haunting
And I forget to remember
And I watch as your words
flutter through your fingertips
And I wonder how I got back here.
I see you there,
straining to find
anything in the dead garden.
Where weeping resides,
where fire and flames
lick the surface of my unveiling.
Not too hard to cry,
but yet to stifle the piercing
gaze of time not spent.
Flowing down rivers
of questions never asked
because they were already answered.
You were not my answer,
you were a riddle in a boring game.
Tired and broken, sick with
shelter, dying on the vine.
You wither and slither
around a halo with pure venom
You ruin everything you taste.
Restrain MeRestrain Me
find my core
I will bite
claw and scratch
just to light the match
Back into me
you are the door
friends for a moment
then snap me like a tree
that has fallen inside of me
I am not lying
aren't we all trying to avoid
It doesn't seem real
my head circles
the swarm of bees
forever in blue
it's my skin falling into you
We all flow into the river
we all turn to dust
we all are shattered
needs and endless fright
trying to win with our own might
Look at me
and don't look back
I know who you are
you are a slippery eel
and I know how you lie to feel
go on and take me
I'm just who I am lately.
Watery ShadowI'm doin' the ole'
Afternoon puff-puff/move the car routine
My new thing
Taking carcinogens in,
Chasing a new habit
And other ways to remove, reflect
Tell myself I'm
Even though I
Destruct at will
At fleeting thought
Reveling in my pain
My weary comfort
A familiar face
A drone, cog in the wheel
Invades my space momentarily
I feel my every day annoyance at the human race escalate
Until the engine,
Awakened from its slumber to move to another dwelling,
Until it's out of sight
My sense of entitlement
Without fences to trap it
My old therapist
Adding that to her list of feelings
Prompted by exposure to me
Thoughts work their way,
Forward and backward
Wherever the pain is
At least now I
Sometimes wish to stop it
I was there,
A heap of flesh
No bones, leaving me
The day she walked out
A watery shadow
and claiming it belonged to me,
Though I had separated it fro
the truth about growing up
1. It's easier when you don't think.
1. It starts early,
on a cloudy day when you recall
the 'childhood memories' of
two summers ago,
that's when you start your backslide into
2. On the bright side
you won't notice this until you're
good and ripe in age,
so maybe it doesn't matter
3. That tightness in your chest?
The feeling that you're not ready
to take on the rest of your life; it
4. It stews in the pit of your stomach
makes you doubt,
but there will be days when you look back
on the mountains you climbed -
the raging rivers you crossed -
and you'll have a sneaking suspicion you were
more prepared than you thought.
5. There's nothing like your own bed.
6. Laundry will never smell right
without mom's sweat and tears.
But you still have to separate lights from darks,
keep the zippers pulled tight
and the buttons unhooked.
7. There is comfort in your parents' presence.
8. Things change
the future gnaws and rips
Stranger's funeralUnder the clouds
Under the rain
Staring at the coffin
At a stranger's funeral
We're all alone
Feeling the storm
But not the pain
For he's but a stranger
And the graves around us
Are just there
Keeping us company
During this empty moment
LullabyHush, my baby,
Be still, don't cry.
Lay with me
A little while.
Close your eyes,
Slow your breath.
Hear your heart
Inside your chest?
Your heart is strong,
It guides you well.
Be sure to listen
To what it tells.
I hear him now,
Outside the room.
It won't be long,
He'll find us soon.
Now close your eyes,
Slow your breath,
And rest your head
Upon my chest.
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
CarolineYou loved the fire
of rogues -
imperfect men who shot up
the endings of the day
and drank down
too much beauty.
And like one of them,
you bellied with rebellion,
felt his tense seed
toil where women
and craved his notoriety.
Poor girl -
his verses won the day
and the call of words
was too fickle a lover
for any constant star.
Don't blame yourself -
are more attractive
and all poets are
Darkest MoonI celebrate my right to live;
To the dismay of some, perhaps
It should be noted
These words I write, however true
Are only portions of the moon
I’ve decide to shine light upon.
But who am I to preach respect?
Who Am I to preach equality?
An advocate for re-personification
Of the female gender
But exhibits cannibalistic characteristics
Within dark spaces.
I am a shadow
Hidden within an Eggshell, painted pink,
Waiting to hatch.
Is the darkness
The night brought upon us.
things to tell you before i leave for collegeto mrs hatcher:
i promise that one day i will write that poem you asked me for
(the only thing you ever asked me for)
and i will finally tell you that you deserve
so much more.
to mr. walker:
i promise that i will not pity you.
i promise that i will not envy you.
i promise that you will always be part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.
i promise to always be grateful.
i promise to be careful.
i promise to be crazy.
i promise that i will remember what it feels like to be needed
and what it feels like to let someone who needs you down.
i promise that i will never resent you for asking for help
and that i will always be there when you do.
i promise that even sixty years from now,
i will not be surprised to find a letter from you in my mailbox.
i promise to always remember what it felt like to be young and crazy with you,
how scared and lonely we were.
i will remember that we both survived it,
and that we'll survive this, too.
You Were Born Missing SomethingYour skin is glazed with crystals of frost
and your heart's valves are close to
freezing shut tight
from being devoid of something
Though I am torrents of hail, whirling storms,
warm tears streaking,and tornadoes of rage
that flow uncontrollably through my veins
and out of my mouth,
every breath near you is warm
because your words are so cold
I am a natural disaster at its finest
with bones twisted in painful angles
and a crooked spine
you were born spineless
Night Flash.Another night flash.
My desire is ineffable.
You are the sound.
It is a distant planet, and I am dizzy from the heat.
Falling underground, seeking a shroud for the remains of my dignity.
I feel your softness, and it sends me alive, to your throne.
Because I know your silence.
I am meek but whole if only for an instant.
Of course I would crumble. But that is me.
Your house of cards, waiting for the inevitable windfall.
You become just a voice, just a farce in the moonlight.
I can't pretend anymore.
Your secrets are safe with me.
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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