546

To fill a Gap
Insert the Thing that caused it—
Block it up
With Other—and ’twill yawn the more—
You cannot solder an Abyss
With Air.

between sunrise
and sunsets

confined bone
and flesh

nests an ocean
that cannot sleep

each drop a
breath escaped

where it pours
in the sorrow

of everything
in mourning

for eyes that
do not speak

I hear it's going to snow tonight,
& untamed words run through my skin,
but I don't think I'll write -

snow may smear to tussled white,
but we're such fools for indoor sins
that if it's going to snow tonight

we'll stay in, turn low the light
until the walls are dim and thin...
I don't think I'll write

or hew you little metered sleights
of hand, more smoke than djinn -
No, if it's going to snow tonight,

sun sluiced away in spite,
sky low and gray and blank as tin,
then I don't think I'll write:

these crawling words are feeling trite
& the bedsheets gather in a grin.  
It's going to snow tonight,
but I don't think I'll write.

Bartender, bartender, tell me a tale
while you sell me a pint of whatever's on sale
-Traditional

Barflies stuck not in amber
but in soft varnish on pine,
steel pole legs scraping the planks:

men bluster in bleary candor
while women lay it on the line.
We at the bar give golden thanks

for this wet and flickering space,
tended by our good mistress
who heals most open wounds...

but not mine. With a tired grace
I slip outside, dissatisfied, listless
under the frozen starless dunes.

Gentlemen.
Ladies.
May I implore you;
where is it?

Where is it.

Where is the meaning
that was promised?

Where is our Great War?

Are we not deserved of
an all-encompassing evil?
Have we not earned the right
to glory, to kinship?

This paltry existence
is riddled with mediocre evils,
made up plights,
self imposed moral ambiguities.
I want more. I want to face more.
I want to watch something bleed.
My mouth waters.

Put me in coach,
put us all in.
We're ready.
The bench has been warmed
for my entire life.
An entire generation,
lost to modern ease
and simplistic complexities,
all just yearning for Hell.
Craving the hundred-yard gaze
granted only to the survivors.
**** your PTSD and fill us with shell shock.
Give us nightmares, memories.
Give us stories that we dare not tell.
Give us our great war.
Give us an ultimate evil to face.

Give us something to ****.
Put me in front of an insurmountable enemy.
Put me beside the righteous, the keen,
put aside the drones and ICBMs
and let us lead a modern blitzkrieg.
I want to be riled by my general
into a primal scream.
I want to watch my brothers die,
I want to weep for something.
Something bigger than me.
I want to be found in pieces
strewn across blood soaked earth.
I want a government *****
knocking on my mother's door
to give her my dog tags.
She would mourn, and grieve,
but she would be ******* proud of me.

Give me that release,
grant us all the relief
from this endless monotony.

how beautiful must you be to reject the Gods?



there is more to a painting
when you know how it ends

every stroke made in haste
and for no one else

where the world is made and
broken down for someone else

words fade perched upon the
pages for someone else;

deep into the forests helm
where an orphanage thrive

rains that fill the oceans
before it is time

devouring the sunset deep
into a submissive grave

where the beasts fall in love with
the wandering mermaid;

how beautiful you must be
to reject the Gods?

the very essence of what
it takes to birth a heart

is captured now in still water
and cascading waves

perhaps one day we could
swim carefree

into the same melancholy
that makes a home inside the
swirling storms

maybe home isn't what keeps
us from the outside:

it is us playing make belief
on the sullen porch

guarded by salt walls and
lashing tongues

the horrid stain on every artist's
discheveled desk,

wrestling with dreams
and thoughts;

how beautiful must you be
to reject the Gods?

@writeweird

i am woe

her endless
desolation

the last refuge
of her memory

of the bitter
days and sweet
summers

of an autumn
that sleeps in
me

and i hear
her silence

reverberate in
the abyss of my
confinement

but there is no
escape

i am nothing
without her

and she is
my dream

Ah vastness of pines, murmur of waves breaking,
slow play of lights, solitary bell,
twilight falling in your eyes, toy doll,
earth-shell, in whom the earth sings!

In you the rivers sing and my soul flees in them
as you desire, and you send it where you will.
Aim my road on your bow of hope
and in a frenzy I will flee my flock of arrows.

On all sides I see your waist of fog,
and your silence hunts down my afflicted hours;
my kisses anchor, and my moist desire nests
in your arms of transparent stone.

Ah your mysterious voice that love tolls and darkens
in the resonant and dying evening!
Thus in the deep hours I have seen, over the fields,
the ears of wheat tolling in the mouth of the wind