1986 -   
Brass Knuckles Mike arrived into the world today as an evolution from the former, Michael C. Polyard who had found that he had indeed been on the frontlines of a cognitive war... within himself. A living paradox, a contemporary mover and shaker, a pirate chasing booty... BKM is all of them. And now he brings his stories to you.
Brass Knuckles Mike arrived into the world today as an evolution from the former, Michael C. Polyard who had found that he had indeed been on the frontlines of a cognitive war... within himself. A living paradox, a contemporary mover and shaker, a pirate chasing booty... BKM is all of them. And now he brings his stories to you.

These are the ties that bind us
Someday they'll be used
to prosecute and try us
But the scars that we wear
Are pieces we left behind
So that we're permanently there
Frozen in a moment in time

And tattoos speak
of the memories
That we'd rather not leave
But our scars are things best left forgotten
Every mistake kept without permanent marker
The good ideas at the time left as unwritten martyrs
We'd rather leave behind
Its the scars that remind us
That even after all this time
These are the ties that bind us

I left home
And I traveled for years
Lost like a drifter chasing words unwritten
A nagging in the mind like something long lost,
Something left behind
I chased those thoughts
Through every dark corner and each abandoned house
And every empty bar where I might have once hung out
I never quite got to where I thought I was going
But it always seemed to me
I got just where I needed to be

Someday
when age sets in and the memories fade
I'll forget faces, I'll forget names
But when I bear my arms and I see those scars
I'll remember something is missing

And even if I don't remember where the hell I put it
The missing circumstance or the blood that flowed through it
Ill be left with an empty reminisce
Of part of me I left behind
These are the ties that bind.

Just waiting for the shift to end
Heading home when the call came in
They said the night was burning down
In a store all the way on the other side of town

Just give me one more night
Just give me one more try
I can save your life
I know

You couldnt wait until I got home
Had to get a present for our night alone
And with the thought of you in my arms
Dispatch broke through the radio
Calling the fifth alarm

Just give me one more night
Just give me one more try
I know I can save your life
I know

The smoke hung low in the sky
Under the heat of the fire fight
And the sirens screamed out into the night
Telling the world we're on our way,

Hold on, keep breathing
Dont give in this evening
I wont let you leave without saying goodbye
I'm begging you to stay, stay
We're on our way

Trapped in-side
The heat and the smoke
Trying to choke
Barely conscious on the ground
When the roof came crashing down, down

Just give me one more night
Give me one more try
I swear I can save your life
I can save you

Just give me one more night
Just give me one more chance to fight
Cause I swear I can save your life
I just need a little more
A little more
A little more time

I swear I can save your life
I just need a little more time
I can save you

I dont know any cool pickup lines,
I stole them from TV
Hey baby do you have the time?
You just walked away from me

Im not cool or smooth
And I'm not slick
And I need to think of something quick

He didnt write for you, that punk rock love song,
He stole it from the Byrds
He just changed the chords
And never bothered to learn the words

But he's got you hooked
Your pulse
Is racing

You know that hes a traitor
He's a one-track trouble maker
And he's rotten company
But he's got you in his sights
You're going home with him tonight
Another loveless casualty

He keeps you coming back for more but now
Hes into someone new
He changed the locks on both my doors
So I guess that means we're through

But baby dont go,
He isn't home
And I'm waiting

I know that he's a traitor
A world class master debater
So sincere in insincerity
Without hesitation
Standing in ovation to
Your perfect symmetry

All your charms left me disarmed
By your reckless ettiquette
Disregard your apprehension
Lets put this all to bed

We'd take it slow
But we both know
He's waiting

You know that hes a traitor
Silver tounged negotiator
And he's plotting mutiny
You dont know him quite like I do
Once he's had his way, he'll leave you
With a taxi company
And he seems immune to my handy remedy,

Just come inside, he asks persuadingly
But you, you're thinking of me

Just spend the night
We'll work it out
Tomorrow

You know that hes a traitor
He's a one-track trouble maker
And he's rotten company
But he's got you in his sights
You're going home with him tonight
Another loveless casualty
That little bastard part of me

Brass Knuckles Mike
Jan 18      Jan 18

This is not a poem.
This is a rant.

I will put on my rage face,
And paint the town red,
And "just go crazy, man"
With the company of myself
In the comfort of my own home
Because I can tear my shirt,
Or draw a knife
Or shout shakespear off a balcony
And I openly scream at the shadows
Who answer with silence
I can behave badly
And if I am my only witness
I can sleep at night
Without the peace and solitude that comes from iron bars
And padded cells
I can fight with myself and indulge in the guilty pleasures
That make me feel sullied and stupid
I can argue with a hundred dream girls
And when I sleep,
They are still there in my dreams
There is no loss or losing
I can spend three hundred dollars
Monthly on alcohol
If it saves me three thousand on sanity
I can look in the mirror and see a hundred different faces
Each more honest to its emotion than the last
I can bite my tongue to spite my face and
Laugh that it was my reflection that drove me to do so,
You never know what that son of a bitch will say
When i am not looking
I dont spend the night on the town
Because I no longer need to surround myself with people.
I no longer need to go out to buy a hat
That suits me and makes me look interesting or meaningful
When I sit alone at the bar
I have no one to impress except myself
And myself already knows I am unimpressive.
There is no one to disappoint
And while this seems like a sad tale,
The truth is that it is the free-est I've ever felt.
In the sanctity of a space that is mine
Surrounded only by people I disagree with
My reflections
And shadows
And to be able to write this while wearing underpants.
Bukowski was right
God is dead

The last line is ironic. If you get it.

Sometimes I spit
To let the saliva
Freeze
On my lips

Its stupid cold
A cold of the kind
That effects the synapses
Of the mind

So cold the the very molecules
Experience a slowing of time
That I
Cannot taste

Cold so that the frozen ground
Refuses to accept
The burial shroud

A kind of cold
That dinosaurs
Dreamt of in nightmares

Planetary bodies
Far more distant from ours
Are warmer

And still the saliva

Drips

Moist on my lips

Wet

And dripping

A defiant middle finger
Shouting damn physics
Damn the evidence

Nothing can be as real and limiting as this

Biology at war with
The law of thermodynamics

A molecular battle to exist

And still the cold persists

Jenny plays the diplomat
While Mark gets another round for us
And Graham sits at the bar waiting to sing along in a praise chorus
And Tommy plays guitar and we all gather round to listen
To songs of wide eyes and closed off hearts
But this is just the beginning
And Henry is a classic post modern
Renaissance poet
Who talks of stocks and figures
And something to do with pork belly futures
And Ians dressed to kill looking like an 1830s colonel
Sipping his mint julips and quoting from the radio
Jaimie dances by herself atop the broken wooden benches
Jeff is in his own world pondering the purpose of building fences
And the gang has all assembled here
With the almost famous for a weekend
At the flattest edge of our narrow world
Locked in at the days inn
And any one of us could've left
Instead we passed out on the floor
The night grew too quick to hazy
To read the push sign on the door
Not that it would've mattered
Even if we had a plan to escape
The motivation would only come when
The well ran dry of libations
But here in this little pub
Of characters and long lost loves
Theres only just one thing
Keeping us locked in at the days inn
The nod and the name
That comes with a weekend up in flames
The stories that we tell our children
Of the good old glory days
With fire in our bellies and passion in our hearts
And the urge to break convention
To survive when the glory fades
And here in the lobby of this Days Inn
The pulses in our veins beat in the same percussive time
Over well-drinks, cigarettes, and Sarah's shitty wine
Aristocrats and acrobats, diplomats and thieves
Every single one of them famous this new year's eve
Never looking to the exits for here's where we exist
Locked in at the Days Inn,
Locked in for a weekend
Locked in at the Days Inn
and this is still just the beginning.

Brass Knuckles Mike
Nov 8, 2013      Nov 9, 2013

My home has been invaded.
Not by the usual suspects.
Instead, by the ravenous locusts of judgement.
Of the "I told you so's" and not good enough's.
A territorial plague that infests the very structure of molecules.
Never has a room so full felt so empty.
They digest.
Devouring the fabric of electron bonds
To where the air itself is heavier than water
And my lungs choke,
Desperate for smoke.
The condescending eyes,
The pollution of a space I once called mine.
A space once pristine has now
Festooned itself in patternous greed
Where opinion is paragon before law
And the laws once laid
Leave a cavitated wake
As they lay helpless by the wayside
Waiting for a passer-by
To claim the unclean deed
And draw away what sickens me
The raw and busted hide
Plays brave but cracks to the festering wound
Of unbridled, wild pride.
So strong are those that sit on perceived thrones
That even in another's house
Basic courtesies are considered contrived.
And the sickness soaks
Deep in the bones
Of the worn and weary
We should all hope to press without due regard

 
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