Hand

It is placed in a small hand
Small palm
A cup
To be held

(thoughts leave ligature stains)

To be violently kept
And dig deep
Down the red seams
Called fortune
That rise like trees
But uproot themselves
At the wrist

One so pale and daggered
One limp yet meaningful
One’s soul might forget it extends

One sparrow
One stone
One star to find me

(a comets score would burn a smaller space)

The World had turned within a tinier spot
How long could we keep the world turning
Under my thumb

It is placed in a small hand
Small palm
A cup

(the chalice had filled with spray)
Grey matter and lust
The clear pink of a dark red
the moment just before

Brutal
(elementary momentum)
Brutal
The moment just before


..........

He had paused and looked and let out a clear headed scream and his eyes were gashes the color of nickel and stone his heart was stone cold his voice was deep his voice was high pitched uncontrollably so his eyes were thrown wide his head was foggy he only wailed and moaned he wailed he wailed he wailed on a head no longer clear....

So deep and dark was his soul

..
..
..

It is paced in a small hand
Small palm
A cup

And it’s weight in iron
Would sink the worl

Jack White and other Spiritual matters

Prior to yesterday I fasted from Jack White for 8 days. Cause: One screwy morning while making my bed, neatly spreading the head of my ****** Mary blanket newly bought on sale at Walmart, I looked up at the print of Jack White my mother bought me and winked at him and said:  
“Love you Jack, we got this.”
I was Godsmacked. Thrown back violently into a moment where I had stared into a Golden boys centerfold in the pages of Teen Beat, pledged my undying love, straight into his turquoise eyes, and was crushed when he did not swear it back.  
  
I got down on my knees and prayed: “Dear lord, help. I will give up Jack if I need to... but I really, really don’t want to...soooo.”  
His answer: “Chill out Jennifer, just take a break.”
  
I did, and yesterday morning I picked Jack back up in full force. After praying, I played Icky Thump so loud in my headphones I thought my ears would bleed.  
Afterwards I paused.. prayed again, and here is what that prayer revealed:
  
.....  
  
I sat, hands on knees. Alive with both the Holy Spirit, and the sticky feel of White’s signature guitar riffing. I allowed the buzz to settle and awareness lift. I became aware that my experience with the song was every bit as good or perhaps even better than the first time.  
  
This was certainly not true concerning my lifelong wrestling match with drugs and alcohol. No drink or use after, would ever match the Nirvana I reached in my first. Though I would chase that feeling like thunder scared livestock up until a bout a year and a half ago when the 12 steps of AA brought me to a higher power.  
  
This morning, that same higher power was revealing something to me during meditation concerning Rock n Roll, music and art in general.  
  
Somewhere around 4000 years ago a change happened in mankind. The Neolithic revolution. (This coincides with the time biblical scholars date the Genesis story of Adam and Eve)  
During this time, we see man beginning not only to plant and harvest literal fruits, but spiritual fruits as well. A natural or innate need for God manifests, into practice and worship. A knowledge thereof ... In this same transforming  period of growth we find the birth of Art and musical instruments.  
  
One can peruse the Artwork of man created thousands of years ago, and see he had a need and talent to create that was God given not unlike Da Vinci. One could play a flute  made back then with the same tonality of Amazing Grace. ... or Icky Thump.  
  
I came to the conclusion, that my music, is a spiritual matter, even in secular form. That Art is a spiritual matter to me, in whatever form.    
  
....,
  
My spirituality matters to me. More than that, it’s condition determines whether I can call myself sober today. With, or without a drink.  
  
With or without  Jack White?  
Gods answer: with. As long as I know to get down on my knees and ask him to help me reel it in the next time I look at a photo of a “rock God” tell him I love him, and say we got this.

It was monstrous  
Yet I slayed his generous advances
  
How could I have predicted  
Sure footed  
But...  
Both creeping pounding each  
Both snarling sides of face  
  
One sweetly  
  
One harsh and dripping breath whiskey  
Snoot and scowl  
A bronze fist the left  
  
I caught it like straw  
  
The right as if snow had fallen on my lashes  
  
Not that I had wept  
  
And neither did I laugh  
The laughter caught and kept  
  
I saw his eyes each  
I saw belladonna  
And fire  
I saw hate and love  
And the slow death of the Sun  
Into a chill night  
Casting tender mercies
  
Until another morning  
Where pounding crept  
Where my aching came
  
And peace had slept

Silhouette

You breathe through the air. Its jacket fits snugly. Its jacket is pale grey blue, and gripping.

It feels, a Forrest surrounds you. The blackening etch of your nature against cold tile like elephant ivory.

The ink seeps into the spread of age. It is blue dark. The picture blurs.

The only sound has been captured within the trumpet. The brass bulges, and begins to fracture.

What escapes; weeping. A low moan and the gurgle of a man drowning. Slowly.
His toes pointed downwards.

To the bottom like a dart. The silhouette of a body freeing itself of the hangman’s noosed.

Until it fins itself violently to the left, an eruptive detour created with the force of a whales tale. If only its lungs to breathe.

And free yourself of this jacket. Of its sterile color and similar embrace.

She is in the dark.

But in his eyes.....

Blood around her head like a halo.
Eyes, cold marble
Blue and blurry
Streaked
They roll

Turned away from him
His chivalry,
A long thin hand
Outstretched
And shaking

He has had no drink for hours
The days unwind collectively
In his stoop
In his demeanor
In his recollection

She.

Once long haired
And laughter like wings
Then he ..

And moth turned to flame
Charcoaling the tips
Curling future and promise
Red lipped youth
Paling to ashen
Grey

When seeing Red

Had I possessed
An astrologer’s poetic vagueness
Along with a mind bent
Like the ******* of Saints
A slow cautionary peace
Dubious to react
When prodded and poked
By eyes direct
And boasting a manly strength

Had I possessed this
And had not preferred the sound
Of crack a bone whip and snap
The cold breaking sound
Of meaty
And violent reckoning
With those who concerned me
With a complacent idiocy
And question piled upon question
Some fragile corroded brick
So brittle I might blow them down

Had I possessed
Arms gathering awareness
Like gentle summer storms
Pulling up grey and billowing clouds
Only to empty
And replenish
A kind and fruitful way to turn
Would be destruction

My heart then..
she would not hurt so
When my mind wanders through my castle built
Of selfish walls held tight by a mortar worth its weight in only gold
Gold holds no value in the heavens

....
  
These strongholds
like legs
It is like I could not walk without them
As if with all my might
I could not breathe without them

They split my middle
Of love and hate
And on one side I could not win
And with the other
I am unfamiliar

My face in histrionics  
Then bourboned to  
Applesauce  
A soft veiling  
Of *******  
And an insufficient reach
To grip the railing  
A catastrophic climb  
To my depths  
And I pour.....  
  
Another night  
Laced by stars
And swat team tactics  
He had gaslighted my dimensions  
I was scattered  
And covered the ground
Little shiny pebbles  
Poking bare feet ...  
  
That night I tossed and turned  
Under the covers of my smile  
My eyes sunk  
Closed and creases
Nostalgia played the drive in  
And a small girl sat on the bench
At the park across the way
Watching the others swing...  
  
It has been four years since then,  
And I ...  
  
Feel very strongly about that day  
That had fed itself into the night  
In such a primitive  
Primal manner ...  
that I had sworn I might lose my fist in its bite
  
I should still avert my gaze  
From morbid reflection  
And not dwell
(Stand)  
The pebbles so sharp beneath my toes