Twenty plus mix tapes later and,
not much has changed.
You still don't have the decency
to pull into my drive way, you don't
even pull over.
Every new moon I may receive a distant
removed wave from the window
but, its rare.
So I thought mix tapes might be a good idea.
To give you a taste of how you left me feeling however,
you've never been good at holding things down.
You always think that everything doesn't have to have an
underling mean it but, I always do
so, let me explain some songs on this mix tape.
The first song reminds me of how you always
poked fun at the little I do.
But I never once
let two words slip on
how I felt about your "666" tattoo.
I just don't understand why you suddenly
decided that you're going to worship yourself.
Number two on the mix tape is about something
I'm really not a fan of,
republicans.
And the third song on the mix tape
is about you.
Which is funny since you are a republican;
so I guess song two and three go hand in hand,
unlike ours.
I wish I could of designed the cover with better words besides
"shut up" and "fuck you"
but, unfortunately whenever I think of your name now,
that's all that comes to mind.
The fourth song is about breakfast.
You love breakfast, I've always hated breakfast.
Though you did turn me onto french toast however,
you burned it and whenever I see it now
I,
want to regurgitate.
If you're wondering why the CD say
"72.8%" on it four times, its because
I just keep reminding myself that you,
are made up of 72.8% water.
You are mostly water.
A flat substance;
nothing more.
The last song on this mix tape is messy,
like the way you left me but,
you've never been much at cleaning up.
But
just like the worst lyrics in the worst pop song,
I can't stop singing you.
Resistant breathing, and salt and pepper vision.
Ascetic feelings, and sweltering skin.
It's the feeling like everyones watching
It's the feeling like you are alone.
Scars fading, I need more. I need more.
Shrieking and screeching and squealing and squawking.
Cuffing and clobbering and clouting and clipping.
Suffocating like a bag over my face, like I was being immersed into the cavernous ponds.
Ponds that sit lazily, and frogs that croak loudly.
the hardest surgery is the one you perform on yourself,
no anesthesia but a chuckle of nervous humor
first incision across your heart.
Steady?
Ready?
When you finish (many months later)
you put the scalpel down, wave weakly
to the clapping colleagues hugging each other in disbelief
from the observatory, sterile and eager
you give them a wan grin
and hope they've watched closely
so that now they know how...
how to do this.
At twenty-something, I was taught by Fear
who said nothing matters
and then at twenty-something-else I was taught by Faith
who said anything matters
And she wasn't the Sunday kind of Faith that you find
clasped between your palms, clasped like you're afraid
that if you let go the Faith will just tumble out and break.
No, she was the Faith that was bigger than God and so intimate
that sometimes I was the Faith, sometimes you were the Faith,
and sometimes the Faith was me.
So really, Faith doesn't have a name.
But Faith and Fear, they both breathe, they're each lung
and when I fill one, the other billows, after all
you need two to breathe.
And so then I, feeling bold, learned about Bravery.
I had heard about it in newspapers and history book indexes
and in our local volunteer firefighters.
Wondered if I could buy it.
Wondered how much it goes for.
But I couldn't find Brave until the moment I gave up on it
and said, screw it, I'm so scared but I don't care anymore,
I'll just do it, Brave be damned.
And surely enough, it was hiding beneath the tremors.
So really, Brave was the Siamese twin of I'll Just Do It.
which, by the way, wasn't in the glossary of this or any history book.
Everything changes, you know?
I'm changing, you're changing.
Oh, it tosses me like a bull.
I secretly raise my glass to stasis, my faraway frenemy.
Don't tell the other Sagittarians, they'd exile me surely.
Change, letting go of my old faces
feels too close to dying,
feels too close to leaving you behind.
And I'm not ready to leave you behind.
Oh the West, keep your Mountains.
If only for a little longer.
I've excised my soul again and again
transplanted and sutured
but there's just no time.
Even with these visions from under the knife-
there's just no time to heal
before I'm laid on the table again.
Faith hold me-
Fear teach me
so I can...
Please- stay with me.
I know my head is too
complicated to understand.
I know my heart is too
broken to be taken care of.
I know my insecurities can
get the best of me.
I know you've lost feeling
towards me sadly.
I know I can't live without
your sweet voice.
I know a lot of things but
not as much as I should.
g.k
Could barely get out the door today
Funny, ‘cause I walked away
Amazing how fast you get used to things
How comfortable you get with what the weekend brings
And how fast they end and go away
Left alone to face a new day
Now all left alone with all of this time
Feeling like this will be my last rhyme
Where once there was warm flesh,
Now only cold pillows and dusty blankets
Where there was comfort and company
Bad TV and empty hours
Methodical release and dark sunny days
Punctuated by corporeal storms
Half smiles with the Pyrrhic comfort
The knowledge that this time I did what was best
I stood up, I stand up, I gaze around proudly
And see that I am still an island.
With waves rapidly eroding my shores,
Dents in my harbor from boats that came to dock
And left far too soon
Sun shining on my face to attract new visitors
And I sit and wait,
Trying impossibly to be happy
with just being an island.
Making hay while the sun’s a’shinin’
Stealin’ cake while the others are dinin’
Feeling the pull to peep through the wool
Or was it the sheep through which the lies seep ?
The chaotic bleat that flows beneath the feet
And arises up the spine like cavitations mal- divine.
Emitting up and out a sound hole plucking strings in our throat
Unconscious aural conformation
Till one living sweater-shrub ceases to bleat out of consternation
Something has changed, as things sometimes do.
Something is different, something is new.
Random, spontaneous, serendipitous growth
Unexpected uninvited, unrequited hope
Once begged for freedom from oppressive tyranny of choice
Now beg for shackles through curdled cackles to get back the voice
Till beg no more, upright from all for
Decision passed from hooves to hand
From grazing grass to breeding land
To breed ideas, but not new race
To evolve, revolve, revolt with grace
But still a sheep, not more no less.
Did not run, did not egress
The sheep that ceased to bleat and began to speak.
It's been raining for two days
and the grey skies
mirror myself:
Flat.
Cold.
And empty
except for the endless tears
building and spilling
I don't let my tears fall
I don'tet my greyness show
at all.
I smile
and hide.
And I'm feeling broken down
like there's nothing left
that can save me now
I'm falling so slowly
Sad...
Cold.
Stony.
Tortured to lifelessness.
The Middle Years
No one prepares you for your middle years, they just come and go like a summer sun shower where people in movies have their big kiss. I enter the building finally feeling like I am a big kid. No more elementary school. No more little kindergarten kids running into me in the hallway because I am a big kid now. There are kids from all over town here that I have never seen before and they are big kids now, too. But they seem like real big kids because they know things that I do not. They use swear words and talk about kissing. Are we that big yet? I don’t feel like it. A group of girls think I am a whore but I am not even sure what that is. I hear that word on TV sometimes during the scenes where my big sister makes me cover my eyes. I’m not big enough to watch those things. But it is a word used on women and I am nowhere near a woman yet. I like a boy and they throw that word at me and even though I don’t know the meaning of it, I can still feel the hurt that it brings onto me. They already talk of holding boys hands but I don’t. I think they are misusing the word but they won’t listen to me. I just cry at home because I can not let them know it hurts. My mom says that is what they want, they want me to be upset. Some big kids are like that. Mean. What happens when they become even bigger kids? Will they still be mean? I don’t think I want to find out.
wet streets after the rain
wet thoughts after the lingering
she cavorts in your limbs like a animal unleashed
like a army of fingers seeking to overthrow
like a thought seeking to master
she stumbles on the doorstep
of seeing
hesitates at the verge of meeting the other
half of her own need
leaving herself empty
leaving herself incomplete
leaving the taste on her lips but no meat to the bone
leaving visions of soul formed in stone
unable to move beyond
cold in the sunlight
rain is
the sound
the face in the dark room
the surrender of the primal need to speak
any words that are not capitulation
not redaction of proud sworn oath
she lingers in the mornings bathroom
grazing at the edge of a farmland
places where such dreams are grown
but she dare not partake
she cannot think she would suffice
leaving a soul formed in stone
unable to move beyond
cold in the sunlight
a poignant symbol
an emblem of meaningless loss
(part 3)
rain
and the thoughts
i can break free and spill to the page
like lesser beasts escaping the wood on fire
and i see the time rapidly growing thin
a starving creature
the hours flee
room to room
crying out that doom draws near
rain
and its wet touch chills more than skin
it brings rancid thought to breaking open
and spreading across
the once sweet fruit
and within that moment
rain frees me from feeling
all the things that i drowning in
fills me
slow with blue waters
slows the race
fills me
slower with memory
rain
the thoughts that escape me now
are tempered
by the blade of waters burning touch
rain
glowing on the the seeking bones marrow
growing on the feeding of this hunger
it vaults into the stars
and its quickening heartbeat
forces free more than words emotion begins to follow
like the priests coming to worship at the temple of death
they bring life to face itself in its endings
words new to my eye spill forth
rain
like bright diamonds like tears
rain rain
rain
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
