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 Aug 2013 Chris Voss
kgl
too late
 Aug 2013 Chris Voss
kgl
you listen but you never hear
sounds reverberate - distorted
around your confused and browbeaten brain
as you try desperately to face the mornings
as you recklessly ignore the pain

you're alive but you never live
your heartbeat is merely a mechanism
clinical and cold you lie like a statue
waiting for time to disintegrate you
as you try to fade away

you talk but you never speak
meaningless echoes of a world inside your head
they'll never understand you
they'll tell you to go on living but
for all intents and purposes


*you're already dead.
uncertainty has gotten the best of us both
we sit in silence speaking a million words
Shadows dance across the floor
as our tongues fumble over the thoughts
were too afraid to speak

don't irrationalize the rational darling
when heart beats tick in reverse
we stumble over endings
while dreaming only to transverse

Follow me down the darkest hallway
we'll come out where the light has crossed
Only time can bring us answers now
as we flee from apparent insanity
and lie shameful in hope of something more

but we can't irrationalize the rational darling
when heart beats tick in reverse
we stumble over endings
while dreaming only to transverse

This counterclockwise love affair
has worn us far too thin
so turn the hand and speak out
because I'm ready to begin
I am spontaneous disaster,
you a reckless abandon,
mysterious majesty
I evade your commandment.

Your eyes sift through my soul
and take control,
of my chaotic mind.
Please slow this rampant wall of time.

Am I delusional,
or is this the usual?
You...

Never know which way to move
just a harlequin heart
trying to get in tune.
Irrelevant are the revelries
that cast themselves upon me often.
Like beaten and weathered souls
we walk amongst the dead, whilst living.
Blackened hearts; unwilling, yet copacetic.
Life has come routine and bland.
The cold, and dampened sound
of another numbing day in and out;
only livened by the thought of you.
A pure and shimmering light
that echoes through the mundane.
Screaming out for me to be the change I dream.
How is it we hear each other; so far off shore?
Come drift into my widened pupils and remind me of who I once was.
Innocent and genuine.
Setting fire to my every fiber, this magnetic masquerade must end.
I feel I am made for something more when I am standing in your warmth.
So would you remind me of who I am, before the sunsets again?
And would you free me from the currents, that have long since been sweeping me out into darkness?
 Apr 2013 Chris Voss
Brock Kawana
When I was born I asked the doctor, how he thought he did?
He recalled,
"Exquisite, it was a perfect delivery."
I rebutted,
"Then why am I still attached to the umbilical chord?"
He snipped me away from the tangling sheathe preventing me from exploration.
I leapt off the crinkling hospital bed paper and onto the goose-bump extracting tile floor.
Playfully bobbing my head as I walked into the world whilst giving the blonde doe-eyed nurse a crumpled note arranging what time I would pick her up for
dinner that night.
--Nurses enjoy being taken care of too.

When I was in preschool my teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up.
I told her, "I want to feel the love of a woman who makes me happy everyday and loves me for being me."
She under cut my desired fate, "That's not a something you can work for."
I whispered in her ear, "I know you have never felt love from another person."
She began to cry.
I told her, "That tears are just water for her soul to grow."
She got married later that spring after the rain had stopped,
--Her soul grew enough to show.

When I was seven years old a neighborhood bully stole my bicycle.
I cried for four minutes.
I was angry for about an hour.
Instead of telling him that my dad could beat up his dad
I began to wear my helmet everywhere I went.
I shouted to the other boys in my class,
"I had an invisible superb-deathly speedy-extraordinary-intergalactic- bike."
Two weeks later that same bully gave me my bike back.
As he relentlessly rubbed his knuckles into the top part of my scalp I thought nothing, but that this is the reason why my Grandpa went bald.
Then he muttered through his wheezing breaths of anger,
"My invisible bicycle was much faster than anything your ***** daddy could have bought you."
--Dad's, they love hypothetical fighting.

When I was eleven years old two airplanes hit two buildings in New York City.
I did not understand.
I asked my teacher, "Why would God make evil people?"
Through her tears she explained to me, "Some people are just born evil."
I shouted under my breath, "People are not born evil...
implementing ideas in the sponge of a youth's mind is what is morally corrupt and evil!"

--Corruption is the first cause of terrorism.

When I was fifteen years old I had my first real serious girlfriend.
I did not understand, again.
I exasperated to my father over drinking our first father-son beer,
"How do I know when I love a woman?"
He nostalgically took a drag of his menthol cigarette and as the smoke made it's way through his nose like fog in a canyon he said to me,
"Whenever you look into her eyes and know that there is nothing you wouldn't do for her, that is love."
Before he could reach down and crack another pilsner I told him,
"Dad I look a little lower than her eyes and that is where... everything I would do to her."
--Hormones are a *****.

When I was twenty-one years old my mom told me I couldn't come back home after I graduated college.
I begged her to give me time. I will make it, I promise.
I shouted in the driveway with all my belongings she had neatly placed for me to pack into my car, "How do I know when I am ready to be on my own?"
She didn't have to say anything for there was a brown envelope on top of my neatly folded clothes; that mysterious folding method all mom's know but I
could never seem to figure out,
"Son, you won't know. You won't know until you are poor, hungry, cold and exhausted everyday from trying to make something of your life. The character
you will build will help you later in life when you have a family of your own. I promise. I am not a tyrant, I care too much to see you widdle away here with me
in obscurity and waste all the dreams I know you have. I love you my baby."

--Mom's, even though they don't cut the umbilical chord...they cut the umbilical chord.
When souls like ours meet;
There's no need to speak.
Locked lips.
Guns loaded.
The air is thick,
and the tension is growing.
Sweaty palms
and a nervous step;
time edges closer to our ascent.

Will you let me in?
Rampant heart; blood's grown thin.

Words pour out of me;
a flood of emotion.
As I grow weak to this notion;
held captive in the depths of your eyes.

Fingers rush to the trigger,
but I am gun-shy.
Spellbound and confound by the strings you are pulling.

Marionette nightmare.
In my sweetest dreams you set me free,
with the softest caress of your lips.
And we all shine on.
            The thorn of love that is invisible to strangers.
            Here comes the husband’s attitude again. Pass with Care.
            Here comes the husband’s paycheck again. Pass with Care.
And here we have the husband’s mistress again. And she passed with care.
Now, we have this baby girl. One more piece for the puzzle-family:
“And you know I ain’t never want no half nothing in my family.
My whole family is half. Everybody got different fathers and mothers.”

Sacrifice, Mama. Ain’t that what it’s all about?
Rose. Rose. The one who is already risen.            

When you banished him from your bed, did he contort his frame
and slug his way toward the door,
continued down the hallway
and down the stairs
to leech away the ghost of that emotion that Tallahassee-big-hipped-girl gave him?

Give your daughter, now, the hungry fatigue that you had to acquire. Pass with care.
And now you stand with this goblet in your arms.
Goblet of light. Golden flower in your heart and in your brain. This baby girl --
            Breather of the goodness in the world.
DISCLAIMER: The character Rose is from August Wilson's play Fences. Rose is a wife who learns that her husband Troy has a child with another woman. Rose reacts by banishing Troy from her bed but taking in the child after the mother dies during childbirth. I quote Rose as well because her voice should be heard just as much as my voice in order to develop her identity.
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