My dreams pauesd for a midnight bite
And I found a dead body
Entangled in my arms
And a strange heart beat
Stuck in my throat
A fast bullet bleed from my soul
And the moon wasn't talking
And the stars weren't singing
And the smoking gun
Would only laugh
But refused to give the name
Of the hand that held
The trigger finger
I flashed my teeth
And bit this nightmare
By its kneck
And ****** out all its blood
And filth and venom
And chocked down the fear
Of knowing the face
Hiding in the dreams
Dancing in the death
And colors of those
Mad cruel eyes
Staring at me
From the bottom
Of the deep dark abyss
Of the frozen dream
And Iifeless body
Haunting the pulse
Of my arms
And I couldn't tell if
The smoke smelled
Of love or suicide
So all I could do
Was open a bottle of tears
And drown in a drop
And load the bullet
And **** the trigger
And ****** myself twice
And change the channel
And flip the switch
And **** it back to sleep
And ignore the moans
Of suicides luxury
And loves misery
It was just a dream
Riding the rails
Of a lost nightmare
On a train that was
Nothing more than
Ghosts and smoke
And whispers
And I slept through
Another forgotten attempt
At love and suicide

.

I don’t recognize my footprints anymore,
flashcubes and Kodak moments
distort my sight, blinding so  
I barely recognize my name,
as if anyone might call
on the gusts of barren life which hit me full force

Lost in a silent thought  
bouncing from shutter to shutter
blistering paint and chipping sorrows
outside the windows, smeared in tears
now resting on dampened sills
reflecting negative images, as I stare

Photographic headlines swing on wire fences
twisted around overexposed dreams,
rusting in the rain, falling piece by tiny piece
until words read like fragmented sentences
in amber speckles on the walk,  
asking me to believe

A three legged cat begs for a mouse,
yet the only thing held in this trap is me,
a rat in poetic clothing
as Tripod claws at my leathered skin
trying to erase the scars, captured in the lens
which mocks me – say cheese

In the Church, I met a woman so old
Bending under the weight of years
I wonder what made her steal my attention
Was it her struggle to hold back her tears?

In spite of her frail stooping figure
She seemed to have an indomitable will
Defeating all infirmities of age, she stood
With a face though sad, yet tranquil and still

Strange enough, she recalled to me
The determined, but decrepit old man beside the pool
Whom Wordsworth had once encountered
Gathering leeches so scarce, but resolute and cool

I watched the woman humbly prostrate
And feebly rise and straighten her aged form
Surrendering herself at the feet of God
Imploring grace for life’s little tasks to perform

In her gnarled hands, she firmly held a prayer book
With the other supporting her frail figure on a staff
And with a sigh of relief, she left the church
As if her afflictions were reduced to half

As the Congregation dispersed in all directions
She feebly walked to her accustomed haunt
At the rear side of the church was a Cemetery unkempt
Where the ancestors slept, devoid of earthly cares and want

Among all the tombstones in marble and granite
Erected in memory of the kindred dead
There was a newly dug up grave
That stood aloof as a heap of mud

I watched the old woman approach this spot
Where she knelt down with a calm demeanor
Her withered hands clasped together in piety
And her eyes closed in silent prayer

With a convulsive motion of her lips
She rose up and once more knelt down
As if searching for a face so dear
Whose memory she could never ever drown

Within that mound, slept her only son
Who died in his prime, a month before
Leaving his widowed mother behind
To brave the shafts stinging, so sore

As Time by seconds and minutes ticked away
The bereaved mother stood up at last
And heavily yet quietly walked away
Leaving the one who was once her own part

                               *                          *

While the wounds of the young are quickly closed and healed
And their ductile affections entwine around new passions
The aged withdraw to the silence and desolation of life
Once when deprived of the love that life no more sanctions!

living a lie
split in two
a secret reality
created by you

course correction
going 90 in fifth
gotta block those thoughts
with a louder exhaust

maximize horsepower
before i lose it all
so much at stake
need a high flow intake

living a lie
split down the middle
need some major upgrades
for the fantasy to continue