It's a "getting tattoos for the feeling
Instead of deeper meaning"
kind of reasoning
Digger for personal treason
For an egregious timespan
That left you less leisurely
Shaking hands
With your palms tattooed
Too deep to let the ink wear thin
Skin calloused and questioning
The original intent.
You resent
Your inability to repent
And question
How truly resilient
You were.

C.e.M. 12.7.15

Capture my body and a night of my life and you will have won nothing outside of my perpetually rotting shell.
My mind though-
Win my time
And you will have won everything of my spiritually nuclear substance-
You may keep all you find.

But you must leave when I say it's time.

C.e.M. 12.2.14

There is no beautiful epiphany
just an epitaph of a symphony
that's tastefully distracts
from the lack of substance to
our actions.

Jam packed with opinions
and devoid of meaning
I consider giving in
to believing
high personal treason-

A step towards discrimination
and hatred towards those of
other affiliation.
once my mind may have been swayed
but twice brought my second chance

To change and today swings in
and I stand solid in scientific fact,
no room for a trinity
or Didactic pact
and I consider it the right path

But logic leaves no space for love
and the grey space expands
above us between
what we think we need to hear
and what will truly awaken us

and I am disgusted
With my lack of purpose.

C.e.M. 12.18.15

Face to the sky
Even if the sun is in my eyes
and it's blinding me
so that everything I see is
in moonbeam white
and everyone is just as polite
as I want them to be.

In reality
there is darkness
and it seems it's only me,
who will give as much as I take
thinks promises don't break
knows I am headed to the grave
and (tries to)
make something good of it.

Because driving is just like smoking...
If we walk can we stop?
or at least slow down,
and move in blocks
instead of miles
and across the neighborhood
instead of The States.

The soot in my lungs
never felt so great, anyway.
I think my cue was a while ago.
Excuse me,
I'm coming in late
and these excuses stammered
are layered.

I'm too old to believe prayers
are anything but
a little self recognition and release.
So please, leave me be
while I lay on my face
and cry to the sky
for some semblance of relief.

I'm stoic and solidified
my mind, a block of ice
drifting through glacial tides
of callous contempt
exempt from empathy-
I don't want to relate.

Yet even still, I retaliate.
Home-grown surgery
might do a little good for me
a root canal
for that weird little machine
between my eyebrows
I might espouse humanity
back into my vocabulary.

All in all,
the ups and down will fold neatly
into an interesting
half-page obituary,
the sumination of a
less-than-elegant sequence
of events.

I am ever hesitant to repent
lest I resent my own penitence
for lack of pertinence.



C.e.M. 4.21.15
edited 2.9.17

Part one:
I wake up. Everything's still kinda quiet. Except the highway. I've slept next to a high way since as long a I can remember. Has everyone? How far do you have to be to escape the endless trickle of passengers and their escorts tumbling down the great divide of one way or the other, compressing and condensing the magnitude and grandeur of the space between them? I like it that way. Always wondering who's face has crossed across your conscious space, that has drifted to the back of your brain. How alike are they to the innumerable faces you pass in the midst of all manner of journeys. Yours is as irrelevant to them as theirs is to you and yet for a split second, you both simultaneously glance over at the precise moment and you know, there's gotta be something more than this.

Thump thump
Black velvet Velcro clumps across the lot
Was there anything I forgot?
Cart collector calls out a claim of the weather
And I replied with a cry of fear wondering if
The earth could still hear my sigh
Or if the climate has changed past
The refresh button
And we'd be stuck in a rut
A rotten glutton ******* our giver dry.

unintentionally, I've made habit of waiting
until the highway clears out,
leaving nothing but sandy semis
and gritty grizzled men smoking and steering
Staring dead-eyed through sleepless deadlines
to make my way home alone.

Watching infinite dashes pass through my peripheral, separating me from
passenger-less lanes,
perpetually pondering present pessimism
as pale streaks slur by
enough to white out every word
I spoke and you never heard.

C.e.M
April 15, edit April 19 2016

Rot where you lay, see if I stay to watch
Let your telomeres unwind into a heap of chicken wire
Let your wrinkles carve your unspoken secrets
In all seven layers of your stinking skin,
My love for you has ended.

C.e.M.
April

I had forgotten what it was like to feel wholly wanted. Not just for my influence or my thoughts,
Not for my body parts
Or the way I so easily stopped and started
Things when being close got
Too uncomfortable.
I'm sorry now if I mumble
It's just getting a little harder to be bold,  
To tell you the things I hold
So tightly
And you take lightly,
Listening and nodding there
On the other side of the spotlight
Because tonight? You sit in judgements seat
And I am the one clamoring towards
The microphone to admit
Public defeat because I'm beat and I'm tired
But ******* it I'm still trying

C.e.m. 7.19.15

intrepid tingling rapture

I will protect you with my life
That is to say
I will wrap myself around you
And not let anything
Get to you
I will deflect the shrapnel
of subconscious doubt and
Envelop you from the inside out.
I will coat you
in layers of sweet caresses  
Scratch your back,
Tell you you're impressive.  
I will swat away that which
might deter you
From getting where
You're supposed to.
Even if I'm not close to you
I'll do the most for you.

C.e.M. 9.9.15

Your sleeplessness will follow you into your next failure,
cuddled and coddled in cotton carelessness.
And I will love you like you will love that quilt, for years to come.

and I will leave you
like the last patched fabric
that found another to cuddle under the warmth of her love
but I will love you enough
to pull away from strain of coming undone.


C.e.M.
April

She’s discretely picking herself up
yet again.
her toothbrush is in the front pocket
of her ripping knapsack
her necklace
refastened around her neck.

he’s still holding on to
her vintage
beach rock CD.

someone will always walk away
with something that wasn’t theirs.

the look in her eyes
when she was trying to drive,
was exhausted by the streetlights
and repressed remnants of
secretly sought after destruction.

she and her passenger
were separated
though verbalized indignation
seeped into
timid toleration.

he’s god knows where
touching who know who
it took three whole days
to move on.

She’s not strong
she just knew he was wrong
and lost in a throng
of undesirables

left overs in Styrofoam cases
with their names carved out
are shoved to the back of the fridge
silent and molding
like unspoken words
hanging their mouths.

it’s the mid-afternoon
and he couldn’t be bothered to wake up
before two.

she slipped out of his grasp
and dangled off the porch
in an overcast lavender blue.

back inside
the wood floor gives way
to her moon beam knees
and she loses perception
in the imperfections
of her dreams
and realities.


c.m.
7.15.14

I don't care for the way
My words come tumbling out of my mouth
Before I can even sort them
Into socially acceptable anecdotes.

Misinterpret my intonation-
Come morning you'll taste
The disgrace of sober, sloppy lips
On a tired face
In a place you never liked

Besides when you got high.

Hiding from yourself in your own home
I left before you put pants on-
See I have a job
And you're alone,
wondering obliviously how
You became so.

...
                                                             ­          I search for reasons not to trust
like the maniac, the ******
picking at his skin,
convinced there is something living inside of him
crawling from vessel to vessel,
shattering synapses,
reforming patterns.

                                                      ­      All my personal relationships have failed
they say I expect too much
or I don't stay in touch.
.. . whatever it is,
I'm too much. and not enough.

9.13.2016

Emancipated spirit
Losing pace
This loose flesh hangs
A reminder of
Indiscriminate taste
A tangible limit
To my wastefulness
And haste
And without grace
I tumble from sacred space
Into tainted complacency
And an un- retractable
Fruitless chase.

Like a Phoenix
I will die and replace
That which I lost in poor taste
Laced with predictable catastrophe
Encased in the blasphemy of self
The wealth of life
Now dealt it's wrath
Struck with the intention
Of being felt
Quaking about in my
Synapses
And nerve endings
Time bending becomes threatening,
The clock is an ungracious lender
And the interest of the wasted
moments pending
all too soon be expended
At the turn
Of the seasons
Lost in the maze
Field found its end.
My breath hesitates...



I will do what it takes.
I will not embrace this fate.

C.e.M. 12.22.15

the morning I left my toothbrush
on the windowsill,
the Cleveland sky smelled of laundry.

later still,
after the snow had started
in southern Ohio,

my coworker returned
to verify the body of her father.

a clear, azul dusk fell
cloudless, peaceful and still

through the turmoil in the atmosphere,
the tension of lost things
could no longer fit on a windowsill.

march 13, 2017
c.e.m.

Error:404

Bodies replicating displacement,
twisted growths
Streaming up walls
that separate and segregate
The once spacious and spontaneous.

Brimming past allotted space,
Gridlocked in a postmodern wasteland
Deprived of wonder,
no ability to wander.

Stretching,
aching to escape the odds,
The masses stacked against each other,
wrapped in suffocating saran.

Plastic and detached
We clamor for peace
As they bury the hatchet
Separating bone and flesh
De-spining our fragile backs
In an effort to preserve class.

They tie us up on strings
For an elaborate show,
Distractions make us feel we’re in control.
Puppets and human beings
Become indistinguishable.

A pre-allocated placement
only masked by possession.
This land of the free is weighted
towards the monetary security
of them,
Never us.

So will we,
modern day slaves
of the service industry
placidly toil to please their every need?

No, indeed
The chosen few will turn back,
Ready to be trampled
by the stampede of society.

Itching within,
beneath skin and muscles
through blood vessels and malleable marrow,
All vibrating in frustration
and we will exclaim
with little more owned than our given names,

We are no longer
willing to play survivor,
fighting against our neighbor
To climb this invisible ladder.

We’re digging through the *******,
elbow deep
and dredging up with two clenched fists
The forgotten sediment of rebellion.

subtle yellow bruises
obtuse and inconducive
to the injury that
left you spoon-fed
by society.


C.e.M. June 4

gravity masters buoyancy

And after a while
Your coughing becomes
Comfortable,
And consistent,
and the soot in your lungs
Becomes just another layer
to keep you warm.
....
It's just another
Thunder storm
Avalanche.





Call me
When you get the chance.


C.e.M. 2.17.15

I'll stuff myself with sweets
and line my bed with pillows
but even in
the impending summer heat
I'm cold
and you're nowhere near me.
my head,
my bed...empty.  
the way it must be
meant to be.

fingers to lips, I press tightly
Eyes close restfully
Inhaling deeply
familiar routine
missing something.

What I breathe
is not dirtied with soot
only frigid air
turned hot steam
near the back of my throat.

I miss the sensation,
Though not the flavor
And this partial craving
Is far easier to stave away
Far easier to keep nostalgia at bay.

1.15.2017

He's got hair that smells like coffee grounds
And his mouth hangs open when he sleeps.
He says last night
There were a few too many rounds-
He's trying harder not to drink.
He's trying for me.

He's cigarettes in bed
After almost ***
I'm just not ready yet.
He doesn't get it.
I don't get it much either.

I'm taking a breather
When I come back
Will he still be a believer?

C.e.M. 8.12.15

I keep remembering flashes of your smile,
all sweltering summer and
sun soaked in ***.

In the night we writhed against hours
that came calling as we tried
desperately to sleep and
the heat of your palms
struck as hammers against
the ashy coal
of my peeling pain.

Even after hours of charring
in the blaze of our undisputed confusion
you still felt icy
and I couldn't agree
to the unspoken regulations
and expectations.

I left you
with a laundry list of reasons
I could not love you
left forever unspoken.

Now twenty-three hours lie between us
and I wish I'd had the guts
to discuss my contempt
for situations I allowed
to escape my control

but consolation will never come,
and I'll always be in the hole.

Blitzed and blinded
by barely escaping lies
that make you feel apart
of things
but have left
you behind.

Why have you shied away
once again?
you've lost any
real intent.

Bottom of the pit
with blood crusted lips
and a head
full of ****.

You're still a kid.
you're still a kid.

C.e.M. April 25, 2015

Why her eyes look just like mint ice cream,
half melted in the heat of an overly engaging conversation
during the middle months out on the back steps.

Why my belly is never full
when my thoughts won't settle
and I'm up too late on an uncomfortably stuffed stomach.

If this was the way it was meant to be
then well
I just can't see myself being too intrigued.

How do I tell the difference between stagnancy and contentedness?
I fear I'll stop from comfort
before I'm finished.
Or perhaps overshoot the whole target.
Who's to say which.

C.e.M.
original write, June 1 with New edits Aug 11

I've come to realize when I say I'm people watching it really means I'm trying to find
My place in line,
Trying to figure out which standards I fit
And what I can commit to
In order to drift with little to no conflict
All the way to the end of it.

This version of my excursion
At times feels counterfeit,
A minute off
I take a day to split the difference
count it up and call it consistency
between the days I existed
and the days I persisted through towards more.


C.e.M.
April 15, 2016

We used to kiss...
Frequently, fervently
I feared at times it was too much

and now after a few months
that feeling in my gut
was enough to predict
our coming undone.

small kindling fires
burnt through all the
small green sappy things
of little meaning and no importance
that were once enough
to calm the tides of loneliness within us

days go by,
we don't touch.

week after week,
I've had enough

of not having enough.

C.e.M.
April 3, 2016

You are not who I thought
I felt it all along

I should never deny my gut
When the feeling
Is so strong.

You are all wrong
Throw me back into the throng

If you have won
Then let it be done.

This is no longer fun.

I love you.


That's not something
I'm accustomed to.

I had a talk with the trees today.
I told them what I wanted
And they replied with
"Go on then,
run away.
Being at the top
Doesn't always mean you can see
All that much clearer".

Indeed they were right
It'll never be quite the same
On the way down.


Cem

There was a time my words
were poison and sap
all in the same breath.
I was vile
but I was gorgeous,
The only vice I had left
was to claw out the insides
Of lesser men
With a rapturous tongue
And a sharp steel pen.