scat t er d s i g n a l s
s pra y in g s p r e a d ing a c r o ss
t h e s k y
l i k e a u t u mn l ea v e s
l i ke ou r l o v e
I was on vacation
and the sky fell in
and the locals screamed
and I took a picture
I was in bed
and my stomach got butterflies
just like you were about to walk in the door
but then I remembered you don't walk through doors
around here any more
I was in a church
and I thought it was a funeral
so I was praying for an anonymous soul
'til I looked up
and saw it was a wedding
and then I realized that the living never die
and tears are just water, and rain from our eyes
to soak through the earth
and propagate, and evaporate
and float up in the sky
She said "Give me a dollar or hundred for gas
And I'll get out of this town
I have sunglasses and a japanese car
I'll drive so long you can't call it far, because the word's too small"
I responded that the world's too small to get away from here
I've tried before, and when you leave the city you just drive and drive
Until you come to another place that looks just like this one
With drugged up girls who are oh so smooth
Whispering me plans about how they want to move
So far away
When the shivers run down your spine, you'll pretend that they're not there
When you're playing a game with this high stakes, you won't tremble a hair
And the grease and the slick and the sewage in the city
It's the blood of the town
With the soda cans and garbage
Used up needles and half eaten food
If we can clean the blood, maybe there'll be peace in the city
If I can scrub your blood off the walls, that will be peace in the city
And there are too many secrets out in the open for my poor tired mind to take
And too many things I don't want to know and too many things I have
I feel like my soul is locked in some sub-sub-basement
Far below where elevators fall and escalators crawl
Give me a thousand dollars and a japanese car and I'll escape from this place
I'll wipe the grime and the dirt from my face
driving;who knows where
cooly invading, the scent of pine
:it's like an olfactory bath: you say
i say that's my line, i say weird stuff like that =
we laugh
and look at the stars
'traditionally the man drives' 'who cares about tradition?'
and i'm okay with that
you shiver and i pull the blanket back on your lap
and
who
cansaywhere
we'll
end
up
not i, perhaps
not i
and I will walk past the beaches where the lonely seagulls cry
and greet the fishermen with a wave and a twitch of the eye
and I will hang my head low, and I will swing my head high
I will sing a bold strong marching tune, I will laugh until I cry
I will wander through through a town that is drenched straight to the bone
I will step into the tin-roofed shack that I call my home
I will start a fire in the stove, and write you a short poem
I will write you a long letter telling you much I love you
Then I'll pull back on my jacket, and start again to roam
And I'll hang my head low, and I'll swing my arms high
I'll drink until I'm sober again, I'll dance until I die
I'll laugh until I'm angry, I'll smile 'til I cry
And love you in the morning, when the birds yell on the shore
And love you in the evening, and when you are no more
he is thirty feet tall with skin like black granite
blocky and huge, 40 tons heavier than i'll ever be
and he says why can you not see that you are mine
you are my child
i say that i am never, will never be his
can't you see i'm not your child?
he is carved out of stone that was quarried in my soul
and he says, why can you not tell that you are indeed mine
you are my child
i own you and hold you
and keep your head bowed down
you will love me like a father
and i cry
why must you try to lie? i am not your child
you are mine, but only of me
you are mine, my child
my burden and my gloom
you cannot use me, when i made you myself
i am you and you are i
when will you see that you, you are mine, you are my child
and he laughs, and i struggle
to accept and control what is real what is here
find the border line between the awful person i am
and the things that i fear
he says take these problems and turn them to wine
break yourself of addiction, surrender entirely
for you are mine
my child
and i know not what to say
but i am not his, he is all mine
he is mine
my child
my cursed, dark, 30 foot child
watching me with eyes of stone
holding me out of my own home
[Author's Comment; "I see my own flaws in their most vivid form as a great stone child that threatens me. The nature of certain addictions and flaws of personality is to grow to a point where they seem to be more powerful than your own personality. As in, you are a mere coating on the addiction, your personality and identity are a garnish. It is a struggle to turn your point of view from being a growth on the dark addiction, to being a real person with worth who has a growth, a tumor growing on you."]
I am a cheating lying bastard
and I feel I am happy with my life
I've made my peace with misery, we sleep together so many nights
I've fallen in love with happiness, she comes over all the others
I have done some awful things, that I hesitate to mention
I have learned to accept what has happened, I have learned to draw a line
The sky is overcast 100%
But I can see the stars
And you are a million miles away
But you've been with me all day
And together we'll sleep in separate beds
And together we'll rest our parted heads
The world will lie, but that's okay
Our truth is present in the silence that's inside of you
Inside of me, inside of you
I promise always to be true
In bright summer days
In cold winter nights so blue
"And I'm pretty sure we need this relaxation
A moment to live without this tension, not at our station
Not counting minutes, not knowing why"
she s l ee p s
sound l yy
in her so f t w a r m b e d
with my leg just-touching her's
i c a nn ot s t i r
i do n o t want 2 wakeher
i do not want to wake her
last night I took a chair and sat out on the porch
and listened very carefully for the messages that the night shouts
they all told me "you aren't free"
I promised them I was, they whispered back, "you can't fool me"
I flashed on the yard light and shook my pale fist
who knew fresh air was so caustic to my ideas
and here is where my problem lies, my view's too wide, my gaze is too far
I can see the path right ahead of me, and around that corner, and over that hill
but the one I see ahead of me isn't the one I'll walk
now I see, now I can't see
and my verbosity falls on muteness, my hearing absorbs silence
the trail of my footprints making lines on inadequate
when can I dismiss the world mocking me in all its beauty and over-fatal majesty?
Gimmie a bottle so I can lose myself
Gimmie a place where my soul I can shelf
stupid awkward wording in that godforsaken line
the smell of the pain in my breath is sweeter than the sugar in all the lemon bars your grandma ever baked
happiness is transitory, depression is the pits
and f**k the world, f**k myself, beat this out, the sound of my living breath
I got a voicemail late about 10 (ten) last night (day)
It was a girl who said her name was Ellen and she was the one to blame
that it had been all her fault and she promised never to react like that again
that I could come home, she wanted me back
and would never make me leave again
This confused my bachelor senses, at least for a minute or two
Until I realized her mistake, and gave a sad smile to whoever was looking in my kitchen window
(probably a bee or fly or insect or something, maybe a bird too)
Caller ID furnished a number, and I'd call 'er but I felt a little shy
she'd made a big, huge embarrassing mistake
and my mother's knowledge of etiquette that formed
a good deal of my inheritance had no words for this certain situation
So I took a walk through a moonlight park
and dissolved into the scenery, and walked on water
watched the pigeons proclaim their idiocy with every innocent movement
And sighed, probably at least 47 times
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
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
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
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
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
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?
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 :(
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
