you stopped caring about yourself around the same time that
she stopped fighting, which is
to say circa 1977, when president
jimmy carter asked you to turn down your heat, wear
a sweater, and you still trusted that things could change
so you wore two and shut your heat
off. she was no longer the beauty you married circa 1960, which is
to say that she let herself go, which is to
say that you'd never loved her more.
now you're dead and she doesn't even
know it, but here i am getting ahead of myself again
and here you are hiding in the ground. i'm asking you to wake
up and you tell me no for the first time. your eyes stay shut.
now you're dead.
you finally gave up on keeping her home circa
2011, and you institutionalized her, and nothing had ever
hurt more. you stayed home alone. you
went to church. you visited her every day, and you prayed,
and nothing ever changed.
you went to the doctor. you died. you got cancer.
those aren't in the right order but you know
the story by
now. you can sort it
you left me and i never even wrote that thank-you card that i thought about
for years, but i promise, i thought about it. i thought about
here she is alone, here she is
trapped in her mind, here she is forgetting
you while you love her, here you are
six feet under, you silly goose. come home, we miss
you. come home, there's kolbas and solina and anything you
want, just come home already.
After work, we visited Uncle S----. I haven't
seen him in years, and he's not doing well.
He's moved in with R-- and L--- after time in
the hospital for chemo and even rehabilitative
care. He's lost a lot of weight. But what's worse
than the cancer ("everywhere", as M----
described it) is how sad he looked when he told
us about his 52nd anniversary. He gave Aunt
L------ a card and she looked at it for a
moment, then handed it back to him without
a word. I can tell it's rough for him, being
away from his wife - physically and emotionally.
They say she doesn't really communicate
with anyone much. I think it's killing both of
i never wrote you a thank-you
note. i wrote you a eulogy three weeks before
you died. i brought cake but you're dead,
i cried for a week but you're dead.
i'm still crying. you're still dead.
i wonder if she remembers you at all.
Its a wild moment
Fight or flight, stay calm or panic
When the tread leaves the pavement
when your followed step by step
the moment the dog jumped over the fence
when the rope that holds you hangs on by a thread
when your reaction can make you alive or dead
some think its crazy, others food for the head
Early morning air, i feel the cold grasp
I work up my blankets, and they pull back
"stuck" all i think in my dreary state
till I"m pulled to my feet, suddenly wide awake
Eyes open wide, back in my bed
thank god Im awake, I thought I was dead
from across the room, that feeling of dread
the door swings on my closet, its starting again
Their be a man
who walks that street,
And every corner turns,
A different place
For each new face,
A new demon-
Yet to spurn..
while he paves his soul,
In blackened, hopeful
He thinks the road still up ahead
Will be no better,
Than he's seen..
To make it thru,
One more twist,
He'll just see
Prophetic hindsight...and all that..:):)
i fell in love, it was beautiful and graceful.
this love brought me alive, filled my being.
i felt elegant, gorgeous, exquisite, wanted.
days passed, blissful, complete, carefree.
one hurtful day, my love fell away from me.
they no longer required me, they crushed me.
burnt me to cinders, like fire on dried firewood.
they left me with nothing, except emptiness.
i was alive without any motive to live.
love killed me from the inside out.
sweet death come unto me
i lick my lips with satisfaction
no longer wanting more
i am done
the path has grown cold
but is colourful in death
the rosy blood spills and splashes
in each and every direction
i have hit a dead end
sweet death come unto me
kiss my lips with the poison of the forever-end
wash over me like a tsunami
pull me under and spin me 'round
we are unstoppable
end this nightmare
There once was a man who said you could beat the world with your words. That you could conquer an army with the knowledge of a greater narrative and move the legions of many with the action of one verb. I want to believe who ever can recreate the frameworks our race. The foundational narrative of our moral ethic, the guidelines mankind has been leaning on for millenniums. I want to know a alternative story, with made up words and no respect for a-priori intuition or tradition but a legend of unabiding experience that is unlike any tangent or discourse known. I want to reinvent another codex.
I saw god as the architect I consoled in the grand tree house, with the grand green house sitting in a quaint english archway. The telescope room was laid with bricks and from it I could see all that made me content. I felt the time changing before my eyes. Whether I was in compromise or not was entirely up to the seasons of zeus.
I am now never afraid of myself, I almost died and I remember it all. I have known fear and still revere the quenching of it's animosity. I am only a swerving flake of inner rind. I am all that is exhausted of my honest dive for humanity. I am me finally, a shell no more! Man is the helplessness of lost spatiality in his own timid surrealism. I have never been satisfied with the explanations no matter how exhaustive! Revisited by the techni-color outlook of the turning millennium craze. The alleviation of all hopes when they turned out a dead end inthemselves, a lost avenue of my childhood.
I guess we all wanted that age-old rampant abuse of youth in ways that were neither aesthetically pleasing or unifying towards our own, best. I was tired of the beautiful sprites I grew up with. I was tired of locking myself in closets at nights and rubbing my face into the it's knotted carpet floor. I'm tired of the songs that advocated joyful frolicking into the drapped daylight. The oddities grow old and the used up phrase are clique now. I lost my mind seeing the years of my language frightened by the sound of my own breath. Grow into yourself. I am done with you anyways. I am done seeing them engulf a titanic drift of colorful intentions; flirting around the grand bonfire of the uncreated experience. I am lost with them. I question more than just our own value and I resign my thoughts on themselves for their own wealth and safety. When you want it said so bad but the forces of those unforeseen, creative hives oscillate and never stop it's steps into the night-legend. Then the world ends and was never in out of tension. I electrify my time and run into the a.m. frantic like a monkey, waving around and jesting my arms. I'm tired of the old music, in with the artifacts who architect the reverberation of my heart.
Your myth has lived into the century and I can see your ideas into the lives of all maniacs and the honest young, the deranged youth. We are amidst a heavy tension, i cry again. I want my mother's words three times a day and more on my weak hours. I am content in the alien maze of my music and want only the childhood campers to love me like a king. They gathered around at night, around the campfire. They initiated the song and dance with gaiety rhythm; that was the nights stars collided into bedtime. The same night I was torn by the dreams of an old horrid man who gave me no name and no rest from tear and horror. What evil is an anonymous the Will that censors awareness and knowledge. If it kills
So what then of the tribal pack psyche we all inherit. In days where beauty was up to chance. Our proximity to a woman was determined by breeding patterns and the realm of funds available for travel and food. What now in these days of the internet? When the whole world is at the tops of our finger tips and even more far away is the understanding we gain of our inability to have the cream of the world. We are in a great exaggeration of ourselves, of our will, and of our determined out-come. We have little but the pessimisme of our predecessors to guide our philosophies application. The translation of dream-world is perfectly out of reach for us and always for our posterity. From here on out we are a new age. A new age whose gates are christened by the ungenuine thugs and malevolent brand names of our civilization. We are faking it till the end. I am scared and drilled by horror and filled more with black premonitions. I wish I had eyes to see myself with a more generous charity but I don't and neither do you. What you see is an age of outward anticipation for the soring ribbons of undone realities.
The artist is the one who has seen the broad fleeting wisp of an out-of-world innuendo. It is the ethereal encounter with a cognitive defect that mimic as a supernatural sensation, this is seen by the artist as true humanity and rightfully so as it brings him to tears.
I always forget that we are always on the cusp. That we are simply a few bruised years away from reveling in the stained, sealed golden sunlight of the age that has came. What we do now is entirely crucial to our ability to be in unending sorrow and remorse. We see our people in a clearer way, for what they where struggling with, for what their reverie finally came to look like, ugly or gleefully self created, their vision of the world will always be our continual source of inspiration.
Crime and Punishment
into the bedside cabinet
of the cheap
the greasy sink
you walked out
on the street
the Parisian air
smelling the perfume
of the restaurants
on the side walks
seeing the sights
drinking the wines
and that fish
with eyes still there
putting you off
you tried to get out
of the cheap cafe
but paid for the meal
you couldn’t eat
the fish eye
gazing up at you
and the Left Bank
and you taking in
the sights and lights
and those whores
sitting in windows
to have wrapped
but not take home
or the sexy films
went to see
in those cinemas
you just walked by
or the Eiffel Tower day
right to the top
the view splendid
the sight historical
or those rides
on the Metro
riding the wrong carriages
for the train inspector
pretending to be Aussies
giving it the yak
in your hotel room
the Russian world
of murder and deceit
and being followed
by the detective
onto the Parisian street
from the open window
of your room
gazing at street corners
that French girl
in the cafe
who served you
with bright eyes
black and white dress
and white apron
the fine long legs
and wiggling behind
recalling the old priest
who once said
too much sex
will make you blind.
You were the light when the dark came in
You were the air when I came crashing down
To soften the blow before I hit the ground
And broken bones tell no lies
And broken hearts hide deep inside
To avoid the pain on the outside
You were the rain when the fire came
You were the sound when I couldn't hear my name
To awaken my bones and bring me to life
From the dead where it was oh so quiet
And broken bones tell no lies
And broken hearts hide deep inside
To silence the drumming
To silence the thunder in my veins
I remeber that love is blind
The love I had for you burned me alive
Once upon a time lived a lovely, fair maid
She was young and naïve and believed in the power of love.
So, when the prince came to save her,
She thought he was her soul mate, thought it was fate,
For the slipper had fit like a glove.
But what happens when the slipper no longer fits?
When the sands of time have taken their toll,
When she is a young beauty no more?
Valleys on her face and inches on her waist,
And life has left scars on her soul.
Will her prince still be there to save her?
Is she the one he will want to kiss?
When all is said and done, will he be there fighting?
Or will he give up the ghost, say, “I guess we made the most,
But our time is up, and I’m sorry, Miss.”
How quick he is to forget her sacrifices.
All those years she patiently waited,
Trapped in her own personal tower, her cage,
Never giving up hope when she was alone, but now that she’s grown,
She can’t help but think love is overrated.
How can he break every promise he made her?
He said that there was nothing on Earth could tear them apart.
She was young, what did she know of reality?
Certainly not that forever could end, that it could just be a trend.
So, stupidly, she gave him her heart.
She thought it would be safe with him.
Now it lies in pieces on the forest floor,
How will she put it back together again?
It’s mangled and marred, it’s bruised and it’s scarred
With a grief that rocks her to her very core.
She had had a life before,
Now everything inside her felt dead.
She had been fun, innocent, she did not know pain.
And she had had dreams that he ripped at the seams
All because he didn’t mean what he said.
She can remember, bitterly, what it was to be loved.
She was once the apple of his eye,
He had made her feel like his own Aphrodite.
But now he has gone, chasing after a new, younger fawn
And all her best years have just drifted by.
Once upon a time lived a broken, sad maid,
She was wise and mature and no longer believed in love.
Once, long ago, a prince had saved her.
She thought she had found her soul mate, thought it was fate.
Now it’s just a time she’s reminiscent of.