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Bad Luck Mar 24
Squirming, uncomfortably
Beneath the weight of aspirations . . .

I am Atlas, to the world,
Of all-too-lofty expectations.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Bad Luck Mar 24
I guess some things will just never change.
                                 The world lives a lie,
                                 And there's no one to blame.

                                But who am I?
                                Not someone unfettered --
                                I'm just like the rest . . .
                                Simply good, never better.


Good. Better. Best.
It's the natural progression.


Yet, I'll never be best,
              And that's become my obsession.
I'll climb and climb,
              Until I reach the clifftops.
But I'm well-overdue to fall,
              To be pinned down by a boulder.
              Or lose my footing on the rocks.


If I do make it all the way,
              You can bet I won't be subtle.
I'll stick my flag in the ground,
And, looking down, I'll shout:


                   " See! It's all of you that I've done it without!
                      You told me that I would fall,
                      And well, look here, I did it!
                      I hope you look long, and can't ever forget it!"



I was never the best . . .
****, I've still not gotten better.
But, that old hag called "Fear,"
You'll look back and regret her.


So I'll watch as you climb,
And then ask me for aid.
And it is at that moment, I hope you realize
The monster that you've made.

I'll retract my hand and begin my response:
                       " Well, I would . . .
                          But you've taught me I can't be better.
                          So forget the rest . . .
                           . . . And I'm good.
"
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Bad Luck Nov 2019
It's the same familiar road,
Dark and slightly paved,
Toward which my soul drifts at nighttime,
Pulled by nearly broken chains.
Sleepwalking to find some danger
Where, among the chaos, it can feel
A little less like a stranger;
Around the blind side of a curve.

While I sleep, it finds a way
To - despite my slumber - travel.
Laying down, and replaying how
Life and death, seemed to briefly
                    Stop their battle . . .
And rest so soundly,
Sprawled out, side-by-side,
Strewn 'cross the roadway's gravel.

           - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Each morning I awake
And to the same spot I've returned,
Laying next to my soul, in wait,
For a lucky car to make its turn.
I stand up, and spark a cigarette
-- click --
Just to watch the orange light burn.

        I inhale the noxious gases,
        As a car skids, and passes.
        I start back home with a shrug,
        And flick the ashes to the masses,
        Burn some bibles, and break some glasses.
        And as the rain soaks to my skin,
        It corrodes the memory like acid.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Bad Luck Nov 2019
The overture sounds a muffled thud,
       And scraping flesh against macadam.
Un-rosined bows screech across nerves,
                     Dividing molecules to atoms.
Each neuron fires off, splicing into three
The soul from the body,
          and something indescribably between.

Catching fire, he ascends -
            "This is what it truly means to be!"
Each piece, each side
Breaking away in-finitely
To somehow become more whole
Through division, and in balance.
                  Like a reunion, of holy trinity,
                       Caught ablaze in fissile symphony.

                   -  -  -

And like a cork popped from Prosecco,
Rewound, and played reversed,
       He careens with a whining pitch
       And
                 f
                    a
                  ­     l
                          l
                            s

   ­                           From orbit,
                                  Back to earth.

Glimpsing God
Only to be clawed back
To the pains and pleasures of Samsara,
        To taste the bitterness of my own blood,
        Transposed
        From the ecstasy of Nirvana.

This is how I came to know the realm,
     In which our feeble bodies lurch.
'Ere I was born as a phoenix
                       from the ashes.
      In the rear cabin of a hearse.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Bad Luck Aug 2019
A net sum of years,
            and romanticized numerals,
Built up by birthdays,
            to be torn apart by funerals.

Frayed ends of friendships,
            pulled until they popped.
A holy mess
            in the wake of a difference,
Between what said
            and what was thought.
In A Wakeful Contradiction, Now Available on Amazon in Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Bad Luck Jun 2019
My tides move in waves
Of reactive oscillation.
Bound to your momentum
By threads of gravitation.

Gravity, like rainfall . . .
I, never yours,
And you, never mine.

Each day I etch a tally,
And try to act surprised
That another day
Has come and gone
In which the sun forgot to shine.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Bad Luck Feb 2019
I've lived the kind of pain they write about;
In the tales of heroes,
                       who came and went without
Salvation or celebration; and,
      instead, became close friends of doubt.

When luck leaves your side,
And there's no one left watching . . .
               There is no martyrdom.
No heaven to fall from. No damnation.
                Just nothing.
                Nothing and no one
.

But I won't let myself succumb
To the temptation
             of self-righteous certainty,
             false justifications, or
             egotistical self-mutilation -
Just to bleed on those who lay
             Below my lowly elevation.

                     Not like you.
                     I am not made like you.

No longer, will I distort my own view
To lie to the few, who stand with me in the fire.

               It's true.

               I am a worthless *******,
               and even I can hardly stand it
               when I speak about myself.
But this time . . .
It's about more than me.
And, for once, I'm going to spend well the wealth,
That I was given and didn't earn,
On those who showed me how to learn
               And to never become like you.

Yes -
I am judgmental and self-loathing.
I am selfish and I am wrong.
I am naive, and strung out and strung along.

                                But I
                                  am not made
                                             like you.

                                             I am strong.
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