With heavy sigh
A single leaf falls
The first I've caught in the act
It slides down my right shoulder
Kissing my skin with parched lips
'Save me,'
It whispers
"No,"
I sing
A single, skittering chipmunk
Bounds across the soggy banks
Of Lake Fred
Unafraid and nearly near enough to touch
But keenly and instinctually aware
Of my innate barbarism
He keeps his distance
"Did you see that?"
I call to him
Pointing to the crumpled leaf beside me
"Summer is dying."
The chipmunk stops
Cranes its neck and twitches its whiskers in consideration
And replies
'Of course it is,
What else would it do?'
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC
We exist within spheres
Bubbles of perception
Roughly circular ripples of both know knowns and known unkowns
And then there
Right at the edge of these spheres
Just outside the very last shred of our understanding of how the world works
Is how the world really works
I've seen it
Only briefly
And not because I'm smarter or more enlightened than anyone else
But rather because I do better drugs than most
And while my short term memory is ******
I have managed to bring back an excerpt of my journal
And it reads:
"This world is a process of conflict
A construct begat by the clashing of two equal and opposite forces
One of the forces
Is called Fate
And the other
Is called Choice
And the sum of existence consists of everything that falls in between
And the really ****** up part
Is that we already know this
But life
Has affixed us with blinders that force us to see
Everything
So much so, in fact
That a sense of 'self'
Is considered hedonism in most circles
But the soul
Does not have a default setting
Pain
Is not an illusion
And despite what you may have been told
There is no compelling evidence to suggest that there isn't another world on the other side of my mirror
The are no empty spaces
Only effects that have yet to be caused
There are no reflections on lake shores
That is merely the image of God
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 10:47 AM UTC
"Richard?"
"Yes, Kasandra?"
"Why can't I feel you?"
"Because we are dead, my dear."
"Oh..."
May 24, 2013
May 24, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
The air has begun to adopt that
damp and coppery hint of decay,
every breath a syrupy drop of autumn.
Each morning
the chorus of birds that greet the rising sun thins,
its members gradually cashing in on their accrued vacation time
and jetting off to winter homes in Florida.
Tourists.
All birds are tourists.
They won't be here to see the snow
turn to viscera under the tread of our lesser travels.
No,
they'll be tanning by gated watering holes,
discussing the downward trend in early worm returns.
Oct 19, 2012
Oct 19, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
Run
Run you wide-eyed idiots
Run while your stride still carries strength
And purpose
Run as far as the roads will allow
Absorb experience
Expel assumptions
Run over broken and uneven surfaces
Adjust your pace as needed
Alter your course as the terrain demands
But retain momentum
Run
Til the sun bleeds crimson on charcoal skies
And the cooling ground tempers your callouses
Run you wide eyes idiots
While your blameless arrogance still empowers you
While you undiscovered mortality keeps you safe from harm
While you still know everything
Run alone
Or in groups
Til your breath fails you
Or your legs fall off
To catch up with your future
Or to escape your past
With pride
Or prejudice
Just run
You'll be a harder target
Jun 23, 2012
Jun 23, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
They tell me to rejoice
For God has crafted us in his own image
I pray that they are wrong
Because sometimes
I **** insects
That I could just as easily have let outside
And I'm kinder and gentler than most of my fellow deities
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 1:54 AM UTC
Today I had a visit from my friend the albatross
Who sang of petty head thieves, sweaty bed-sheets, love and loss
And I scoffed
Because I 'get it'
But that doesn't make it tangible
It's just another hand for starving kids to sink their mandibles
"You animal!"
The albatross replied
"How could you be so cold?"
I told him it's a medical response to getting old
An unfortunate condition I have taught myself to weather
The day I learned to hold my ground
By plucking my own feathers
Jun 5, 2012
Jun 5, 2012 at 5:45 PM UTC
I killed you
I know that now
And I'm ready to take responsibility for my actions
I saw you hit the floor
Through the veil of pistol smoke
And the haze of awkward admissions of guilt
Dead or dying brain cells
Grasping breaths
And silence
I killed you
Because you had become a monster
Not like Frankenstein
But like the arrogant son of a ***** who brought him to life
I killed you
Because it seemed like the most reasonable course of action at the time
I watched your insides boil and burst
With every creaking door hinge
And empty, hollow, cob-webbed emotion
I saw your eyes go dim
As youth blossomed into ungainly structure
And loss
I listened to your blood-caked final words
"Tell them...
I said something prophetic"
I buried you
Wore black and dropped flowers
Sang songs of remembrance
And moved on
I killed you
I know that now
And while I'm not apologizing
I am asking forgiveness
Not from you
Your dead
From myself
May 14, 2012
May 14, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
Today I found a glass bottle
Washed upon the charcoal breakers of Long Beach
Containing a message
Written by a starving man,
Marooned on a treeless island,
Lost in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean
Which read quite simply
"Please,
Save yourself.
I'm finally free."
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 3:48 PM UTC