Desolation occupies the streets,
dusty debris greets me
as I kick past a pile of rubble
where my neighbor used to live.
The mailboxes of the mostly abandoned bungalows are overflowing
with FEMA fliers, and contractor business cards.
Hammer wielding men make their way through the ruination.
Trying to feed their families
on the gutted remains of disaster.
Greedily grabbing the copius charity funds,
they diligently restore houses
that will more than likely never be occupied,
They carry with them an air of determination and optimism
that covers over the film of despair that coats everything.
But, determination alone
cannot transform a shell of a house
back into a home.
In the mammoth mansions on the corner
there are signs of restored life.
The rich can afford to ignore devastation,
and rebuild, as if their neighbors haven't all fled.
Aside from an occasional pounding hammer
The streets are silent,
save for the moaning of the wind.
The burned house still stands,
a stoic reminder
that the source of pain may change,
but, beneath the smiles, it always remains.
I cross the bridge,
stopping for a second to stare
at the thin layer of ice that has formed
on the surface of the scummy stream.
A moment later I arrive at the guardrail,
and I marvel at the lack of condom wrappers,
and cigarette cellophane on the floor.
I crest the berm,
now a skeletal remnant of its former stalwart self.
The gray black rocks are exposed beneath the sand,
like the bones of a corpse,
with the skin and meat washed away.
The beach is absolutely deserted,
The wind itself refuses to walk along the shore.
It comes rushing from the landside,
and stops at the sea wall, as if to say,
there is nothing left for me to play with here.
Even the birds have abandoned the beach,
There are no tracks on the sand,
Aside from a set of dog's paws,
paired with the sneaker tracks of the dog's owner.
The sea is calm,
with baby breakers lazily lapping at the waterline.
The sky is a motley mix of frothy white, and pale blue.
Both vibrant and dull,
like the eyes of a Nazi.
The winter sun is hibernating behind the cloud cover,
shedding dull light, that chills the spirit,
steals my smile, and transmogrifies it into a sigh.
I am surprised at how clean the beach is.
Pebbles and boulders are strewn all about,
but, aside from a few pieces of pale plastic
there is nearly no trash to be seen,
and I snicker internally,
for I know where the trash has gone.
Having spotted some of it in the street
on my way to the beach.
Several of the naked trees on the hillside have tilted over,
revealing ruddy reddish roots.
I come to the tilted flag pole,
with it's once buried base
A circular concrete mass,
that I never would have expected existed.
A shredded blue strip of cloth
is all that remains of the state flag of New York,
and it thrashes violently in the wind.
Down at the far end of the beach
the hunk of blacktop jutting from the sand is still visible,
but, today there is no torso laden box beside it.
There is something comforting in its presence.
Something comforting, yet deeply saddening.
I step past the flagpole, and I am instantly assaulted by the wind.
The chill air caresses me cruelly.
Biting my ears, and slapping my cheeks.
There is still standing water at the edge of the road,
and I walk down Kissam in a shivering stupor.
The quaint house where the hens once pecked and warbled
is now just an empty lot,
with the remains of the foundation as the only proof
that people once lived here.
I am shocked to see
that nearly every house at this end of the block is gone.
A lonely inground pool looks severely out of place
without the house that once stood next to it.
A green triceratops statue sitting poolside
smiles at me as I pass,
I can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
In the middle of the block two men operate jackhammers
while another hoists hunks of the street
from a hole with a backhoe.
I can't imagine what they are doing here,
I slip past them without making eye contact.
On the other side of the vehicle
I see that most of the houses at the top of the block are still standing.
Boarded up bungalows, every one unoccupied.
A standup piano with its guts exposed
sits in front of the last house on the left.
A once treasured possession,
destroyed and discarded.
I come to Mill road, and turn left.
Here, things have mostly returned to normal.
Although the Syrian orthodox church
that has slid off its foundation,
still sits askew,
and the trailers and semi's lined up along the road,
remind me that normality is a long way away.
Construction equipment is hauling
what is left of the smashed and shredded houses
that were washed from Kissam,
and deposited in the wetlands
several hundred feet away.
I wonder why they have bothered
to clean up the debris,
trampling football field sized sections of the wetlands to do so.
I pass by the VFW post,
and stop in to see what progress has been made.
The bar has been rebuilt, and the walls have been painted
a hideous shade of purple.
I leave as quickly as I came, and continue down Mill.
Past the group home on the corner.
A three wheeled police vehicle sits there,
guarding against looters.
Two cheap Chinese made American flags flap furiously
in front of the abandoned building.
No one is smoking now.
The sunflowers are long gone,
a rich brown mud is all that remains.
I pass tragedy after tragedy as I walk up the block.
Broken windows, and abandoned death sites,
of families that had lived on this block
since before my mother was born.
The people who had defined what Oakwood Beach meant to me
had all left.
Now, only a handful of families tries to live their lives in the shadow of Sandy.
I walk past the ancient willow,
in a few moments I arrive
at the building I once called home.
I stand outside,
reluctant to enter
the moldy and bare interior.
There is nothing inside that I need,
but, there is a canteen of grain alcohol that I want.
I can see it sitting on the front windowsill.
Which is where people leave the few "valuables"
that they had salvaged during the initial cleanup,
but left behind when they moved on.
I open the door, and quickly snatch the canteen,
holding my breath to avoid inhaling spores,
and with the canteen in hand, I shut the door,
and turn my back on the world of my past.
you smug bastard
I think you know how much I love that smile
Next time you do that
I'll dismantle your ivory jaw
I'll kiss it
and break it apart
so it fits
inside my heart
There's a small country store
With an old wooden floor
There's an Old Man inside
With a smile he can't hide
In that same country store
I'll buy some flowers for sure
There for my Angel Face
She's got a smile I can't ignore
As I walk out the door
Of that little country store
With red and yellow roses
They say friend I love you
You can't see
How much you mean to me
But I know I got a life time
In which to show you
Kept inside the greatest treasure cove to never be discovered
Every soul in her path is hers to take
Letting you slip between her bloody fingers isn't her mistake
Eventually your fate will catch you
Tuning her dull cutlass against your spine
Once in a moon, her melody will be in pitch with her steel
Not now though, she has waterlogged dreams to kill
love is a storm at sea
leaving me lost and alone
surrounded by something
I thought would never hurt me
and your cyanide lips
burnt in a way
that I could never resist
addictive wounds, inflicted by you
love is a quest of who can win
your heart first
me or him?
I'm losing, I'm falling behind
love is a game of how many
can you lead victim
to your locked up heart
but open lips
so free willed, so meaningless
each kiss to you
is nothing more
than brushing skin
each kiss to me
is a painful sin
like letting myself in
to Hell's open door
it is like opening the walls of my heart
making myself your willing victim
allowing you to make your way
and tear out all my vital veins
so that I feel nothing
nothing but you
inside of my heart, blood and being
but that's nothing new
your nonchalant ways
are driving me insane with
sadness, happiness and jealousy
the rage and fire of you being
the only thing that occupies
my mind and my heart
and I will tell you just one more thing
I wish I was inside of you too
There are too many things the little girl wants
A doll, a piano, a new dress maybe.
But as she advances into her new state
She learns she could produce life, a runt of her own.
She shields herself from now on.
From the callous outside.
Missing her daddy and her moms chiding.
She's on her own unlike her play room.
This doll is mine. This house is mine. This key is mine. Thought he was mine.
Not a cent in her name, she carries her child to the steps
Of a place new and sweet. Something inside is loving and kind.
And will put shoes on the Childs feet.
There are too many things a little girl wants
Uneventful parties, Protective inlaws.
And thereafter she leaves the child in the care of strangers
And thinks that it won't be a difference
That the baby will end up 'just like me'
Somewhere in the sockets of ours skulls
we ache to be buried in a coffin that leaves us room
to kiss, and when your six foot schoolboy frame is
six feet below the soil, our bones will make love but
our skeletons will not know it as intimate.
We will be found with ink stains inside the
dents in our pelvises or somewhere between our wishbones.
Tell me how you want to go and I will nod calmly and slip
a will beneath your tongue with my lips, then
let the smoke of fires and recurrences
Don’t let funerals scare you,
they are more for the living anyway and
when you feel that the ropes around your wrists
are tightening and the ropes within your wrists
are loosening, we'll count to 3.
I've always wondered how I'd go,
And sharing the toxins seems less
Scary then swallowing them on my own.
There was fresh flowers
on the grave
that Jane showed you
outside the small church
the sun was warm
were just over
the hedge surrounding
you could hear them
munching the grass
and trotting by
unconcerned by death
or the symbols
and Jane said
the tractor fell
on top of him
the other month
at the flowers laid there
bright in the sunlight
a small glass vase
holding a smaller bunch
child picked maybe
they'll have to
move out now
that he's dead
a tied cottage
and you could see
in her features
the tearful eyes
mouth slightly open
broken china pieces
where will they go
the mother and children?
the local council
will house them
she gazed at the grave
and picked up
a small flower
from the nearby grass
and laid it
by the other flowers
God bless him
in His peace
she said softly
over the hedge
a bird called
from the hedgerow
you looked at her
a blue ribbon
in her dark hair
her green top
and black skirt
one of the dangers
she said quietly
she moved away
and you followed
and she held out a hand
and you took it
into the small church
in one of the pews
inside and stared
at the stained glass windows
sunlight pouring in
like liquid gold
the flagstone floor
and pew end
at the front
and her hand
still held yours
life and living
and she and you
in his God's peace
and the cows
munching the grass
and birds calling
the eternal why.
Doors slide open, you walk out in slow motion.
Just another day,
Trying to find a way
To make the pain subside
But you're broken inside
Trying to find a place to hide, but no need.
You're invisible. In your mind, you live life unseen.
Why does it hurt?
Why does it feel as if your shirt's too tight at the collar?
Struggling to breath.
Struggling to leave.
This space inside your heart.
Trying to forget. Undecided. Confused. Lost. Regret?
People fly by, trying to get by
Pushing their way through
Pushing right past you
Right by you
Right through you.
Fighting back to hold those tears
Trying not to show those fears.
Why? How? Does it have to be this way?
Why is there nothing left to say?
These thoughts float around in your mind and
Your life becomes simply... Grey.
Make a left around the corner,
Brush your hair aside,
Now you can't hide
Maybe it's time to start over...
Maybe it's time to let go...
Not everyone is angry
Not everyone is horrible
Not everyone is mean.
While you tried to go unseen, I saw you.
I saw you.
I felt what you were, heard what you thought, tasted what you craved
You're beauty so rare, so unique, so breath-taking, so mind-boggling, so heart-wrenching.
Did you think the world is blind?
Do you think for one second that you can stay out of my mind?! What mind..?
I lost that when I saw you.
And with my mind, my heart went too.
And crazy dreams I started chasing...
How did you expect to go unnoticed, when you're just so damn amazing?
Like black on white.
Like dark on light.
With strength and might you snatched my heart
Without realization of the cost.
Could it be that you're just a part of my imagination
Or is this just my hopes flying too high?
It can't be, not I. This isn't like me.
Why can't I see anyone but you?
You carry on through life
People pushing past you, flying by
And you think you're unnoticed.
Well how can this be?
Because the thing YOU didn't notice
Is that the one going unnoticed
Just so happens to be me.
So much hate surrounds us.
In the home.
Sometimes it even comes from strangers.
But sometimes it comes from inside.
It swallows your being.
Growing like a mold in your mind.
It takes over.
Until one day
You've had enough-