How about Sand?

The Lord (of the manor, not to imply blasphemy) said Let There Be Light
but the power was out and the lamp didn't turn on
so He (again, implying nothing bad) walked through His dark bedroom
past a lover that may or may not have been his wife
who might or might not have been his long lost 5th cousin
And stumbled into a nightstand bumping his head on a dresser
Trembling, reaching for a switch to illuminate his mistakes
He found it wasn't there in the form he anticipated, left bare by
an Incompetent Electrician, well, not really incompetent, just distracted
Mostly by the imminent birth of his first born (hopefully, for him) son
But partly by his struggle with debt due to a lack of luck
And anyway, maybe he couldn't be blamed for leaving the switch off and the bare wires exposed
Although, to be 100% honest, that doesn't change the fact that His Lordship's body completed the circuit

Which was more than a tad depressing, seeing as he had a tee-time scheduled for only 45 minutes into that strange and mysterious, abstract length of time known among the majority of the population of Earth as The Future.

Unfortunately, this is an obviously fictitious amalgam of poetry and prose, made so obvious by the rather silly fact
That the absence of electric current in The Lord's was established way back in line two.

To be 100% honest for the second time though, this conclusion was brought about by the author resuming work on this poetryose a decent length of time after he left off of it, and without fully reading through the original part.

His Authorship was always a rather silly fellow, and careless in his work.
Well, not completely careless, he fancied himself a tireless admirer of rhythm and rhyme
But also somewhat of a devotee to those Free Verse poets who mercilessly chop and amputate poetry
To stay fresh and new (though coincidentally making themselves stinking with the scent of ink-blood)

But yes, anyway, the most Glorious-ish Author of this semi-Brave attempt at literature (no, dangit, poetry, wait, is that literature? does that count?) thinks himself to be an O-Kay poet
Be that as it may, he probably still has a higher opinion of himself than is prudent
Or perhaps not, considering his long-standing self-esteem and self-mocking issues

Although, really who gives a crap?
/psychobabble = end/


[The Author would like to here insert an announcement; he will in the future be labeling his non-poetry attempts at writing with the label "Prose" due to the fact that "Essay" is not always fulfilling his needs, seeing as his writing has been changed by some of his reading of late, owing an especially large debt to the author of Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, whose name currently escapes *this* author. Ah well. Good sir (I'm pretty sure) I credit you.]

@

spinning
swirling
eyes wide open, world eloping
with my senses,
pulling, pushing, thrusting, breaking
perception, sight and smell and taste hearing
the pressure of the air and the pressure of the water
diving deeper, to the bottom of the pool
pressing on my eardrums, twin dams not yet breaking
blue water light impressions pulling me away
showing me a way
through myself, through who I am
pushing past everything
silence

The time of day is Half-Past Rainy With A Chance Of Hail.

there's a broken king upon his throne
it's cold as death but he knows it's his home
he turns his crown in weathered hands
and lets it fall to the ground
remembering when he saw the sun
when it seemed like The End Of Life had come undone
and happiness would reign forever

while the sterile curtain is drawn
the young husband holds her hand
hoping she will stay by his side
and not lose herself in a foreign land
where the food is odd and possibly diseased
and there are no natives, merely the faithful on bended knee

but the taxicab passes without stopping for me
and the rain trickles down through holes in my umbrella
there's love in the city, but then there's death in the love
from the grey concrete below to a cloudy heaven above
I can see that nobody is interested in electronics at this time and in this weather
the TVs are putting on a private show for the shop manager and themselves

Can anyone tell me that they're not a liar

That they're not a hypocrite

That the world isn't evil

And hearts aren't cold?


I'm sitting here waiting all by myself, waiting to be told

Winter Scene

my father; blowing snow in a snow
storm, sounding the alarm (his bold
loud voice) !keep away from blades!
streetlights explode and dazzle my eyes
cutting chopping killing perception
i tell myself it's okay to cry when your brain is been blown
inside upside down all about
spinning sticking gripping snowflakes on my wet cheeks
stinging numbing sizzling snowflakes

and love is dead in the garden in the ba-
ckyard
the roses i talked to all summer are dead
all plants and weeds lie broken dry
cold wind sheer down my throat
breathing breathe that freezes cuts kills like winter

Effort

You surround yourself with the words you took off broken bridges and burnt out hearts
Like an artsy emotional blanket to shut out the cold, like a stylish flourescent lamp to ward off the dark
But you're just another poet seeking an air of tragedy
Trying to appear somber with a 'genuine poetic mentality'
You only know what fear is, you do not know of pain
The feel of your fears sliding under your skin
And the myth of sacredness being taken down before your crying eyes

What will the people say when they see you torn asunder?
What will the critics think when you abruptly get pulled under?
Grabbed by the throat and drowning in despair
You lucky boy, you get to experience
Exactly what you've written so wittily about before
And now you realize how it feels, like being bound and gagged in the back seat of your own life
While it shoots right off a cliff
The day to day suffering, without a clear point
Not sharp enough to break through the veil, but thick enough to smother you fully

In practice you fall up with honors and royalties galore
But in the real world test you just fall through an open door
That's built into the floor
Of the house you proudly live in
Of the road you proudly stalk

Glower

She said that this is what comes of wrapping your heart in a halo
and swallowing candle wax for dinner
For using angel robes to towel off
and their harp strings for floss
I swear back, I could not help it
nothing can be forgiven, she informs me solemnly
I didn't think there was anything needed forgiving

But it's too late into the night to be wrapping your heart with a halo
too much fun waiting kept back by that gold band
Both the one on your heart and the one on your hand
"I'm sorry, I
Apologize
Evangelize
Accidentally surprise"
Quiet, boy, you've chained yourself up with halos and gold
Don't say you'll play the game (y
ou'll just do what you're told)

This is a great adventure
i can tell by the condensation on the window
And the halo gripping tighter tells me I'm better than this
i know i am, but i don't see how i can't can

We've been walking and talking and discussing how we've both been processed by this city machine
And I need to get away get back to where i can flex my lungs and suck in the air without feeling like it's suicide
and She knows I'm better than this

Safe Heart

I work at a bank. I wake up every morning, brush my teeth, get dressed, catch a bus, go to work. Every morning, every day. It seems I do nothing but work.

But I have a secret. I know a secret. It has to do with the bank.

Deep in the basement, where the safes are, there is one certain one that I'm sure hasn't been opened in a very long time.

And I know what's inside.

It's a tiny heart.

A teeny tiny heart.

I hear it beating sometimes when I walk past the safe it's in. Sometimes it will be beating quietly, and I'll crane my head and jam my ear up against the safe. Then I hear it beating...whoosh...bloosh...whoosh...bloosh...

Maybe that isn't the sound it makes, but I'm not sure how to explain what it sounds like with onomatopoetic words. If you want a more solid explanation, it sounds like your lover's heart when you're lying on the couch with your head on his chest. That's what it sounds like when it's quiet. When it's loud, it sounds like your own heart does when you suddenly realize you're in trouble, and have to run.

This is a very secure bank; nothing has ever been stolen from it ever. I don't know who is keeping their heart here, but it won't get stolen either. I kind of feel sorry for whoever it belongs to, though. I think they forgot about it; who would lock their heart up in a safe, in the bank where I work, every morning, every afternoon, and some evenings too?

WUIEEC {Writing Under The Influence Of E. E. Cummings}

but the thing is she said its never too late to say goodbye
because you can always go back and you never have to acc-
ept what's going on; just deny deny deny because it's never too late to say good bye
and you can't stop being friends and hanging out just because someone died,, and who
is the cynic is this situation? idon'twanttobe one, i'm a [happy] person
not cynical at all, just frustrated
yes, frustrated is the word
frustrated with everything that's all around me fluttering and breathing and smothering
like the moths in my closet or the mice in my head that remind me everything isn't alright
and i'm sick of catchphrases catching people and bypasses letting people bypass the ugly truth,
that the truth is beautiful. and you just don't know what beauty is
liar liars liar lied to me, they lied to me :(

I never said I was unhappy (youjustheardmemoaninginmysleeplikeabulletsinmybellyandillnevergetitout)

so come on lets break free she
said to me no i said to her She wouldnt listen
she was having too much fun (i said
lets not have fun im too tired for fun and anyways i dont think its that much fun but She) said no wait
stop
listen
can't you hear what the people are saying [all the sounds their making]
that's the beat of life
the love and death the daily strife

and i said i don't like it much lets go live by the sea
but She said she liked the city better because there you never have to sleep

and i said i like sleeping in so i dont have to deal with sin
She said she said she said it was alright (that lovers have different tastes sometimes)
She kisses my tears when i happen to cry but she doesnt know how it makes me want to die} or just not care {about the things i happen t|o

i try to Block It Out but i cant leave Her behind
and im wondering how i can survive On The Other Side

Cyclical

Sometimes she feels like the cycle will never end
And it's all a misguided attempt that never should have begun
Sometimes she feels like cutting her throat
In her search for a better life

And this is just your favorite song on repeat
It'll fade until you're deaf to the sound
The chords get too familiar and the verses all blend
You can't even tell it's there, when it once was your best friend

I need you so much closer
So much closer
I need you so much, closer
So much, closer
I need you so, much closer
So, much closer
I need you, so much closer
I need my space
So much space
I need, you so much, closer
(Closer)

Epic Romance In A Photobooth

lover it's our last honeymoon night
or maybe the first and i just forgot
but whether or not i'm wrong or i'm right
i have something for you to do for me
duct tape my wrists and do it behind my back
roll me over and press my face into the pillow
make me think you're really gonna do it this time
make me feel like you'll finally set me free

whenever i wake up in a dark room
i wonder if it's heaven, and i look and see you
and think it must be earth
because you're all i'll stay behind for
but i need a hand to stroke my face
some lips to keep me believing there's good in this place
a body pressed against mine to help me forget
all the fairness, free will
this ridiculous shit
i can't breath, you're not smothering me
the only air i'll take in is what you exhale into me

handcuff me to a tree and blindfold my eyes
touch me all over and do it all day
then when the night falls uncover my eyes
and let me see the stars for once
tell me it's the end and cuddle with me while i smile
just drown me in the ocean while the angels sing their song
bury me in the sand and mark it as my home

Let's Get On A Ship And Get Out Of Here

I had a dream late just last night
We were lovers put together and pulled in close and tight
Our bodies fused at the heart, hip and shoulder
A freak of medicine, and a miracle of love
Someone sighing from the apartment above

And then we jumped

And when the police found the note it simply stated that
'there is no love or properpuntuation in this hellhole thatwecallanation'

and it was not reported on your local news
So the smiling faces wouldn't lose their glow
as they briefly murmured the news and said it's such a shame
those filthy hypocrites
I bet they never knew our name

Photo Albums have it right.

Where on earth (or off it) did innocence go? What happened? When did this life appear?

I can remember back before evil and sin tainted every moment of my life. Back when the plants were greener, everyone was friendly, and there was nothing bad in the world. Back before there was politics, and people being cruel and hating people they'd never met in their lives. Before we destroyed each other incessantly and did unimaginable things to innocents. Before there was a world built up around sex, and sex itself was just a concept. When no one swore, and hearts hadn't begun to harden.

What happened to those days? They seem to have disappeared entirely, beyond any chance of returning.

Do you remember them too? Do you remember the tickle of the wet grass on your arms and your cheeks as you lay on the lawn with your best friend in the whole wide world? The running in and out of everyone's house as you pleased; the lemonade and the homemade cookies..? What about summer storms where the sky filled with white clouds, which then turned grey, and then darker, darker, darker until they were black, and finally exploded out, flooding the street and soaking everything. Did you run out and play in the rain? Did you burst out of the house in bare feet and no coat, or did your mother make you dress up in boots, rubber jacket, and then handed you an umbrella as you left the house? Or maybe you just sat in the living room, watching the storm through open windows, deeply drawing in the fresh, wet air. And the 4th of July! All the families in the neighborhood gathering on the one streetcorner, the mothers sitting on lawn chairs with the littlest babies on their laps, and everyone else running around waving sparklers, while the fathers placed a firework safely in the middle of the street, calmly lit it, and then dashed back for cover as fast as they could. Whenever one of the firecrackers that flashed the bright white light and screamed went off, everyone would wince and put their hands over their ears. There were popscicles enough for everyone, and it would go on until the policeman drove through and told us we weren't allowed to light fireworks here. Then one or two of the braver dads would light a few more, and then it was off to bed. And in the fall all the trees were more beautiful than any painting, and there were huge piles of leaves in every yard. And in the winter it snowed a huge amount, and you would run out in blizzards for snowball fights and cave building.

What happened?

When did the world get this much colder, this much more complex? It went from your grandma's house with cookies and milk to your grandma's house where you argue about things with your relatives. Why did this happen? When did growing up mean getting burnt out?

Burn the Books.

This is the story of my life
but you, unlucky reader
have only found a paragraph
Ripped out from the rest

and the thesis sentence of it is simply stated

I'm just getting what I deserve
Don't give me water to quench the flames
They're just doing their job
And I don't regret any of this
Just what led up it to
No, I don't feel like I'm being robbed
I feel like I gave my possessions directly to the thieves
And I don't have the excuse of not knowing what to believe
I knew damn well the whole f--king time

But now I'm just lying here
With nothing left for me
Don't bother calling a rescue team
They would only be doing what they shouldn't be
Just give up on me, and do your best to forget
I've already lost this race;
I made myself unwelcome in this blessed place

Don't get angry at the judge or jury
For I was not condemned
And I never walked out on any of you
It's just when you've been lost by your own hand
It's hard to stay a friend

Land...?...no...

Now here's the part where I confess
I'm all alone, adrift and lost at sea
I'm nothing but the image of the person I want to be
Superimposed on regrets and a blank black screen
Can somebody grab my head and push me under
Hold me down until the bubbles falter
Keep me down a little longer for good luck

I've lied to everyone about who I am
I've even spewed out shit at myself
For a while there, I almost believed it too
But now I've woken up and realized
I'm really just lost at sea
A hot horizon going on endlessly
It'll be a holiday when I go over the edge
On the map of my life it says 'here be dragons'
I think I know how they get that way

How can anyone else forgive me
When they've already done it once, twice, three times over
Or six or twelve or a hundred
Somebody take a picture of my sinking ship
So the newspapers will be able to say just where he went down
And the obituary can tell everyone why he isn't around

The dust in your eyes is just your ashes in the wind

Let's play hide and seek
chained to the bedpost and drowning in white linen seas
no one will ever find our bodies
or the messages we cast out in bottles
you whisper something quiet and sweet that I can't catch
you're so far on the other side of the bed
I just mouth back that I love you
and you seem satisfied

and they don't care a bit
they don't care a bit

Let's try to find the hider
let's discover what has been covered up
by blankets and lies
darling, pull me closer
fuse us together so we never have to let go
and are closer forever than the tightest hug
Our bodies overlapping and minds interweaving
Our age of innocence just beginning to fall
the busy streets of life just starting to weary us
so young
Run your fingers down my back and wake me up as you put me to sleep
The question occurs if my father ever felt like this
felt this
How many felt this kind of touch before
How many were stroked by their lover early in the morning with the shades down
and how many realized what they were feeling
and how many refused to believe it, and ended up not caring one bit

0000003.

I thought I could make it on my own
But all I could do was head back home
the same old place i'd tried to burn right down
I think maybe I'm a little bit jealous
of people who don't matter any more and memories without me in them
life tarnishes your heart until you can't bring yourself to use it
then it breaks, and you go on for a little while without life
trying to figure out how to make things whole

i think that Maybe over time we can figure out how to do both
Forgive and Forget
or at the very least forgive the deeds we've done to each other
Before we forget who did them

I have to confess, somedays I confess
and spill out my sins to nothing but air
just vomit myself out into a vacuum
They can't forgive you or acknowledge you at all
Just suck you in and make you feel small
grind you down until you feel like you're not really anything at all

I need some more time to figure out how to run out of time and feel good about it
I need to feel good about it
I need it

Coming up with titles for these things is really hard

i have a question for everyone who has an answer
tell me how i can deal with this
tell me how i can hold back my anger
tell me how i can kill the tension
the phone calls and the arguments
the long drives home just to explain

and i have another question when you're done pondering the first
how do i keep myself under control
how do i hold back from making more regrets
how do i prove to myself that i know what's right and who i am
and where we belong
and for just how long

I feel like I have to explain something to you
I'm not really intolerant
And I'm not really an ass
I'm just one confused mess
Who you get to see at his worst and best
And who wants to get home for the holidays
and wants to be all alone
and wants someone to tell him how sick he is so he'll know how to get better

The dew on the grass looked like diamonds in the moonlight, and we both knew they'd never break.

Wake up darling
I think I hear something outside
It's the sound of the stars singing
and the sound of hearts breaking
and love making
And broken streetlights flickering
sometimes the difference between sight and sound escapes me

Babe let's run away to a city undersea
let's go somewhere where we could never be
like on the surface of the moon, or the jungles of Africa
or the top of a mountain where the air is hard to breathe
How about we show them that love is still oft seen
how about we take a picture and develop the photograph of our dream