I lit myself on fire
burned my life to the ground
and overnight it vanished
without making a sound.

Scurry hurry
Shaking hands shaped by worry
tie the knot of plastic
A bubble home for the hard green cup
where brown and white
mixed lay married.

Wash rush
Dainty legs in dark blue denim
hasn't time to he romantic
A worn out sister played by hope
shuts the door panting.

  It clings to a robust tree
  head hidden under rosy pink    
  protective shield
  edged in yellow

  The fireflies
  
Sticky webs of empty lies packaged in boxes of deception by the wizard that doesn't work
sit dead
like the results they provide,
on the small bedside table

Boxes and boxes of cozy containers
and cards of capsules
47 I counted them
current and extras
They choke my sight
then I am groped by the smooth blue robes worn by the youthful shepherd
posing aside a grey rock looking yonder
into the distance as insta-natural as possible in a pastel painted picture framed in wood against the wall.
  
  Unstable molecules in tiny airtubes,  
  many, breakdown and explode
  like little landmines
  A bioluminescent lit organ assaults a  
  dense night flashing brilliant
  to find a mate
  Six strong neon-green throbbing blinks
  Six slow seconds of unimaginable
  wordless dreamless dark.

  are bright.
  
I turn my head
The whole unsettling mass of reality
is torn apart into vibrant colorful morsels,
then reassembled
as my eyes  
settle
on

Her

"Oh God, if you're here, heal her now
and you'll have me. Show me what those confident tongues so eagerly confess.
Please!"

NOTHING
Another sticky empty square
covered in thick blackstrap molasses
slapped to the face of the fool
who likes sweet things.

BUT

What happened to the omni-this, omni-that CEO of God enterprises?
"Go on Death" is what that means
"Go on Death do your job" is what it does

"It's your time.
It's to test your faith.
Gods plan."
All slogans for the man
who believes and dies.
  Culture creates the fool
  Hope keeps the fool
  Belief kills the fool
Thanks for doing what all those boxes
and all the pictures
on all the walls of the world do

FOOL

Her face,
a gaunt kind of skin-to-bone sight
a bad flavor
like a meal with no taste

Her mouth,
crack-lipped, framed by dry
delivers deadly blows to a heaving chest
that says; "Give me air"
yet lungs say no

Anguish,
is sucked from the pit of my cold stomach
then up through the spirit of a warm heart
I plaster the feeling in the shape of water.
My eyes puddle

I weep

It sticks

Love

Falls

Fluttering as a twinkle
through soft beams of sunlight,
the drop glistens
plops
then dies
on the pink and blue chequered blanket.

All I have to to offer are busky palms
to soothe this battered body
before you are torn apart by what
puts things like us together.

I swallow her frame

Her calf
Bone

Squeeze and move

Her thigh,
my hand wrapps completely
pinching a sausage sized piece of muscle
not big enough to walk
between plump thumb
and meaty middle

Squeeze and move

Her hip bone is angular
It fits flush in my hand
like the hard front peak of a cricket cap
when held above the grid

Squeeze and move

My chunky tentacles massage over
wire-thin barely blue throbless veins
that decorate her meatless paws
and twig-like fingers.

Squeeze and move
  
  It's after midnight
  Thick curds of desperation push
  Again, through a splendid backside
  a special toosh
  slogging a dancing night-fever
  to beat the two-to-four,
  a beam as bright as a green day
  cuts through the black pitch of night
  

I hold her hand
A thin filling between two slices of mine
I look at her eyes and turn away

Have you ever been pulled from the center of  your heart, ripped head first through the narrow crack of your own chest, tossed aside like a skin-sheet onto a concrete glass-covered floor then squashed beneath the majesty of a billion dancing floor-clapping feet attached to a shapeless void shapeshifting as slideshows  between all things gone, here, and still to come, stopping on the body of a small blue boy that sings in ghostly echo;
"Don't turn away from this.
Look till you see me through the eyes of another beause this too
will happen to you
Clap clap clap clap!
I'm coming for you too.

Trapped in a square tunnel made of brick, walls wide enough for one bus no brakes to speed through - no escape,
I accept what will squash me
I Face it
I Stand before it

I stare at her eyes staring back at me
A deep dagger stare
Two parts steel
meshed
until there is only steel
It melts

I simmer the room in soft whisper;
"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."
I hold her hand,
patting the top as I warm the bottom
I smile for her, at me
I smile back, as me
  
  A skilful mimic
  Here I come
  I have light and breath
  I see yours
  I come at night
  Not for genes or sex
  I hunt and gut
  Hawking down I come as death
  
The gaps between her labored breaths become bigger and for a second I drift at the sight reappearing on the sandy dunes of an empty dessert space pushed by a dying wind I can barely feel.

A sharp salty tang toils the tip of my tongue and brings me back to her.

Her eyes

They have changed

Open

But

Soul

   less

     Soulless

     Desolate

   Like

That dessert

And that place where


*The Fireflies Lose their Light

She was like quantum physics
Entanglement with each other
The collapse of thoughts depending on the best possible  answer
Metaphoric of its position with an arrow
Camouflage like a shadow
With wheels like bone marrow
The demon that brings torment
The wolf in sheep clothing without consent
Lilith in a differnet form that drains men that makes her uniform
The things that makes you brain storm
Victims of her demise, things that makes her rise.
Things that brings you a surpise.
The rose that stays in its soil that requires  water to bloom.
The woman with fangs in the tomb that brings you doom.
The witch with a broom that seeks for a groom.

Love is not a piece of writing
that comes from a heart;
It is not a flowerful verse;
It is a flowerless vase
that holds no decoration,
no rhythmical motion,
no verbose potion;
Love is not a poem.
It does not bear a stanza
full of melodic metaphors
that attract the cores
of one’s eyes and ears,
because love has no rhymes
that make two heartbeats
sound as one.
It is an offbeat
kind of sound
like two metals
clanking with a hard,
earsplitting clang.
Love is not a poem.
It bears no hyperbolic
kind of feelings.
It is a catastrophic
kind of rain.
It bears no onomatopoeia
like a thump-thump–
beat of a heart.
It is just a thunder
with a destructive art.
Love is a storm.
Love is not a poem.
It has no alliteration
in a tiny tinkling tone.
It is not a poetic notion
in a simile or an oxymoron.
It is not a set of written words
which provide a colorful world.
Love is not a poem.
.
.
These were the things
I used to say before…
But then, you happened…
.
.
Love became a poem.
It turned into a free verse –
no patterned rhyme
no regular rhythm.
It just flowed
through a beautiful heartbeat
with an ineffable heartbeat.
Love turned to be the skeleton
of my poetry.
Love became the pedestal
of my words,
creating a series
of lines and stanzas
with touch
of fragrant language.
Love became a poem
because my poetry
turned to be you…
You are
my poem –
my love…
Love
is
a
Poem.

Despite the screaming in my head,
The tears in my eyes
"I'm fine..."
Is what I said
"I'll be there in a few minutes..."
Then I put down the phone
And ran into the street
My suicide
"An accident" they'll say
The perfect plan.

The average person lies four times a day,
The most common lie is
"I'm fine"

I nvisible
'
M arred
F alling
I nsecure
N ever good enough
E mpty

I miss you

I miss you like I miss summer in the winter
Begging for you to come back only to suffocate in your heat

Sometimes it is better to be cold

I miss you like I miss the rain on a hot, dry day
Wishing you would come and bring me soft showers and a cozy day in
But you only bring l me harsh wind and thunder

Sometimes it’s better to be hot

I miss you like I miss being able to sleep at night
Wanting you to wrap me up in your arms and tell me everything is okay
But you never will again

Sometimes it is better to be alone than suffer with the one that hurt you

What came first? The flies or the act of flying? This is going nowhere.

You had teased me about eventually writing about this moment. This moment and every other moment. Cigarette in hand, pink blushing my cheeks “yeah right”. I could never grow tired of this. Feeling so incredibly close to somebody that you know there will never be room for regret. We are not two, we are one and I’m pretty certain I’ve loved you since you were born. Probably longer than that. The sun looked over her shoulder to say hello to us that day. Watched you run around the cement staircase and discuss your orbit around me.

What came first? Forgiveness or sin? This is going nowhere.

I think of you farthest from the boundaries of this existence. Like maybe you’ve always been a day dream. A lost thought. An open-ended question. You in your crinkled smiles and loud poetry hiding behind punk rock. You in your black coffee and sarcastic comments about my own soft words. You in your never-ending paradox. I don’t think we’ve ever apologized to each other. What is there to apologize for? I’m sorry for finally finding you? I’m sorry for becoming the person you would eventually love more than life itself?

What came first? The lovers or the love?

It's okay if this is going nowhere, so long as i end up there with you.

I am built of ashes and bones and guilt-tripped sundaes topped with cherry-loving men,
I am built of fire and stains of tears and blood and cussing standing in a pool of muck I see my feet sink into the floor I cannot move I am not allowed to exist no more.
I am built of dedication and love, I'm growing up, I am made of courage and flattery I am a tangled, troubled mess,
I am built of flowerbeds and boyshort underpants and digital pictures taken as I jump, my hair flying.
I am built of pretty things and sixteen eyes, two spiders curled up in the outskirts of my mind.
I will survive.

He speaks the language of flowers
Quietly toiling in his garden
Digging, raking and smoothing soil,
Gently coaxing nature to match his vision.
He knows the bees, spiders, beetles, worms and earwigs
Regarding them as friends.
He follows seasons, moon and stars
As others do people
Enthralled at the changes they bring.
He listens as the birds sing
Watching with joy as
Fledgling take wing.

How the heck am I supposed to concentrate or care about work now when almost everything I've been waiting for just happened!?
We confessed some of the things we haven't been brave enough to say and I swear that if it was in person, he would have kissed me.
I could have read his sweet words all night and continued as the sun came up.
I could never sleep again if it meant telling him all of the things I've been thinking and finding out everything I didn't know he thought.
He said, I wish you could come smoke this bedtime joint with me.
I've never wanted something more.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

you said
you were afraid
to lose me
and then you
faced your fears
and left

I used to write
My secrets in the sand,
Knowing they would never stay
Long enough to be told.

I used to just swim,
pulled my hair up and never
Really tasted the salt that foamed
After the crash.

I've ran in the sand,
Sure, but never have I
Ever let it smooth my
Skin into what it could be.

Before today, I've never
Let the current take me
Under and feel what it's like
To always come back to something.

By: Cedric McClester

You know he’s full of stuff
When the evidence ain’t enough
And he’s acting like a cream puff
By not calling Putin’s bluff
If I labeled him a scaredy-cat
Or better yet Putin’s new doormat
Would that raise the thermostat,
And flush out that Norway rat?

When the evidence is irrefutable
To the point that it’s not disputable
His response is always mutable
And comes out as most unsuitable
Then his mouthpiece attempts to frame
An alibi, but we’re hip to her game
She can’t absolve him of the blame
Though she tries to just the same

So you better believe and trust
That she looks ridiculous
When she’s being duplicitous
By trying to fool the rest of us
It’s a sin to stand there and lie
But she gives it a college try
Like the mistress of deny
As if the Ten Commandment don’t apply

They interfered with our election
With a clear cut interjection
Of cybernet deflection
Without protest or objection
Two days before his inauguration
He was told of the Russian’s participation
Much to his own consternation
Yet he still voices reservations





Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2018.  All rights reserved.

...
     "This isn't who you are."

    "You're not the girl I used to know."

   "I don't know who you've become."

He repeats these lines
So much these days
It annoys me more than
A broken record ever could
Ever should
Ever would
Cause I told him
I warned him thoroughly

     "I'm not nice."

    "You won't like the real me."

   "I'm not worth fighting for."

But he didn't listen
He filled my head with empty
Promises that he meant
He filled my heart with hollow
Vows that he could never fulfill

     "How can a person be so cold?"

    "How can a lady be so cruel?"

   "How can you change so fast?"

He looks hurt and
I hurt a little
But I shut down
Cause that's what I always do

     "I'm nefarious, lover."

    "Had my heart broken a few times."

   "Now it's made of stone."

if we split up you'll find your own way out, oh please.
no time to panic and don't cry for a bandit like me
you're moving at a hellish speed
you like a giant blaze
i could almost see you from space
i closed the door after the horse already ran away
there is no more fire
and nothing anymore,
there is no real danger...

so what the hell were you going to do that night?
     what the hell were you going to do that night?
     when i snap out of this i will miss you alright
     what the hell were you going to do that night?

at night it get's so visual
that is when you start to notice
my eyes are burning vigil
when the adrenaline ends
and it all starts to sink in
you thought about calling me
but you called the Hemlock Society
go ahead and talk about the last thing we said
on the phone with a so called friend
who never cared before the end

now you seem further than ever
and i have no doubt of doubling back again
it was all in my head
it was all in my head
with your absence there's no version of last night's events

I’ve never received a flower
Or even a rose
But I’m a guy
So it’s acceptable I suppose
No kisses
Or sweets
No treats
That signifies ones feelings for me
No token of ones love
But I have gotten
Disappointment
Watered with hate
Planted in betrayal
Fertilized with lies
And maintained by fakes
Roses are Red
But my roses are dead
And crumble beneath my feet

life full of meaning
when your name enters my mind.
screen of black lit up with your simple calling,
a token of your thinking of me.
smile spreads across
and stomach becomes uneasy...
i want to shout;
shout it to the world
this gut feeling.
it whispers to me:
"you love him.
you're in love with him.
tell him. tell him and he's yours."
only i can't say anything.
it's simply not my place to.

I’m a little addicted
to your hand in mine
my body leaning against yours
and the soft smile you have
while staring into my eyes

I’m a little addicted
to being close to you
the sweet smell of your perfume
and the way you nudge me
when you want attention

I’m a little addicted
to holding you in my arms
your body so close to mine
and tracing words on your skin
“i love you so much”

I’m a little addicted
to you

The first time
you said you loved
me, it was as if
I had been pulled aboard
a life raft after being
lost at sea. But
I see now that this
raft is littered with
holes and
we are sinking, but
you are convinced
that your love is a
teacup to scoop out
the water pooling around
my ankles and you will save
us, but the teacup has a crack
down one side and
do you see where I
am going with this?
A tablespoon of water
will never put out
a forest fire; I am burning
through acres.

hi i just want to remind you to keep going
you'll get out of your winter soon
spring will come

i hope you'll find strength and warmth within these words
if not, i hope you'll find it elsewhere

just strive and thrive for a little bit longer
it'll get warmer eventually

she gave me her nudes
she was bare
and naked
and so out
and open
and i willingly
accepted it
because it wasnt the nudes
that showed her body
the physical aspects
that made her beautiful
it was the words
she didnt choose
and the spontaneity
that left her
either from her lips
or her fingers
or ink

she was as bare
as her nudes
and i accepted
her for her.

You miss a meal,
Then it turns to two,
A day passes,
And no one notices you.

Craving nutrition,
There goes a week,
Those many hours,
Longing for something to eat.

Using the same excuse,
"I'm not hungry, I just ate,"
The numbers keep dropping,
Was sixty-three, now fifty-eight.

You can't go back,
People are noticing you,
They say you should eat, and you say,
"You have something better to do."

It's harder than you think,
Just leave me alone!
Stop telling me to eat and drink!
If I need you, I can find my phone.

I have to remind myself
that it won’t last forever
but I can’t change the fact
that it’ll be here no better

Hiding in between
somewhere inside me
Waiting for the time
when it might be the ending
Where will I be?

Am I still stuck at the beginning?
Still on the first page of my story?
Still don’t mean something to anybody?
Like how I’m still here disappointing.

—n.y

My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.

I’ve been drinking last night
I am not proud
It didn’t end up well

But
After such a long time
I felt like I belong
Somewhere
I could talk
And I did
I kissed, I laughed
And today I don’t remeber much

I’ve asked myself many times
Why do I do this?
Drink until I can’t control myself
For such a long time
I haven’t known the answer

But I know it now

Well, it is easy
To lose yourself to alcohol
To forget everything
Especially who you are
To become someone else
And I like it

I like to be that loud girl
Who does what she wants
Who doesn’t care about opinions
Who kisses whoever she likes
I do like that

I LOVE being wild
´Cause that’s the exact opposite of my true self
That’s why I drink

I am here in the hazy light of a new dawn
writing to you.
You and I here alone
is like floating in a soft piano nocturne.
Gliding over the keys with natural finesse
is a taste of heaven.

Here in this muted light
with you in mind
a privilege no less
than being in the majestic presence
of loving and friendly royalty.

Writing to you
from the inner reaches of my heart
is a journey
more precious
than the emerald landscape
I can see
to the far horizon
of this new day.

The freshness of this moment
basking in our love
is a tiny sprout
greeting blessed light
thrilled with the sticky twining
of its new life.

It is good being here
alive with you.

Written 7-19-18

Poems on a Mirror

~for Glenn Currier~

you don’t know me
I don’t know you;
poems on a mirror I ken
truly well

poems on the mirror saved, and then,
comme the seasoning of leave-falling,
poems dropping and drained...the post-it glue loosened by
the daily heat of watery tears,
making a space for
this one, for you...

there are poems and they arrive with fresh arrogance,
each an arrow demanding your all as a target regardless  
of what the shooter really thinks or wants, other than
obedient acknowledgment and their self-loving flattery

but some render where no rendering should be allowed

those are the ones affixed - ones you chose to join the chosen,
slapped onto mirrors - so many that they almost
cover complete your image from presentation

almost only because these poems are yours, you,
they’re the truly accurate reflection even if not your words,
indeed especially because they’re not yours

but they start your day as a poem should
and in doing so,
become you

What a Hall of Fame, to be a poem on Glenn’s Hall of Mirrors

go pick the plums...

the rain poured down
pours and now
the rain is watering
watered mine
plant
what means
me

the rain poured down
the sun did not shine
but it was all
in an interesting light
everything was around
in the brown light
but from a distance
shone at home
small blue
lights
like lightning
or rain
when love
knocks at the door

the rain poured down
and red colors flew
and the red colors fell
the rain poured down
and numbers people
pronounced
there were windows
many glasses
and thoughts
eternal
and not punched
immortal

19.07.18

He cannot lie,
neither can he die.
For he's not a man.