I'm a captain trying to work the navigation
Of this worlds generation,
It's a mindfield of pseudo-suicidal thoughts.

It's a pseudonym for sympathy they bought,
Caught up in the friction fiction,
Of morality against carbon fiber addiction.

An impossible love,
And intangible hate,
With freedoms death,
First breath it takes.

And weeps,
Resounding notes the mountains couldn't sing,
Or the sky could keep,
Secrets that give flight to broken wings,
While dignity sleeps,
Freedom sings.

His father was a drinker,
                                                        ­       his father was a drinker.
And for him,
                                                               love was a folding chair.
Life was difficult.
                                                      ­         and time was purchased in packages.
Bruises would wax and wane,
                                                               though his skin stayed clear,
His wrists were like orchids,
                                                               you could peer through it,
thin, fragile, and resilient,
                                                               but see the carbon, not the blood.
His father worked at Lobel’s;
                                                               his father worked at East National.
In those days, gin was cheap,
                                                               but tonic was steep.
(Circa 1894)
                                                               (Circa 1918)

Where to put the corruption -
fluid-filled half-lungs
choked on their coughs;
until fatigue made them
tentative motions
lived on knives' edges
slipped to flesh too often;
medications eased our pain,
tubes ******* up questions
we didn't want answered.
there were no more procedures -
clinical masks hiding fears
under dry medical terms
could finally be abandoned,
traded for tears shared with the window

Death waited to steal in the room
when our backs were turned;
we let lights burn in daylight
and night to scare away demons
even for a mind too tired to read.
every word yet put to page
had been made irrelevant -
she read mountains in distance,
climbed apple trees
at home again in Pennsylvania,
savoring redness of skinned knees;
sat on dusty mesas and prayed
for things no men had seen.

The child, still afraid of darkness,
begged "if only you would eat?"
but she smiled weakly,
as if embarrassed her secret
had been discovered
and asked me to flip the switch
so she might sleep;
son, always the obedient one,
turned off the light before he left.

I

i am so much smaller than you
and i can ever
                            believe...
and you are so much smaller
than you and
i know.

i sit within the winds,
those summer breezes,
some gusty gales, perhaps,
feeling
'the tug
               and toss
of its fabulous force
     rippling
     churning
combing the thinning grey hair on my tired head,
my clothing,
                          so indistinct,
flapping,
                  furling,
floating, --filled with this seen-un-seen presence,
     and i know

a am so small,
and my life so
ludicrous,
like the air
that comes
                      and goes
out of its own control,
but,
                                               i am too small,
and unable
to stop this, its invisible assault.

II


when i am a-float upon
the great lakes, the oceans
the
      rolling
                    rivers
i live
like a tiny slab of flotsam or
     driftwood
sailing
             slowly,
circularly,
(oh-so!) quietly
                                running,
reeling the peeling painted oars of my boat
against
the grainy flashing surface of the waters
                                 rumbling,
                                                                                  rolling
                                                                                       away
this insatiable yearning
to go wherever it takes me to go, but
i know
              i am very small,
and cannot control the eddy's creeping currents-
constant-currents
thus
          submitting
my wayfaring self
to the
unfathomable.

III
__

these trees towering
                                         above me
around me,
the sapling,
the blanketing
                              (in my lifetime)
                                blooming branches
creating
an emotional, outer, physical, inner, spiritual
                              dwindling
like the leaves left shivering beneath the cold winter's frost,
once casually
                falling,
                              dropping,
drying up around my soul
slipping
into silent winter slumber,
to awaken
                     again...
                                    --and then!
(to the dismay of my self-enlightened discovery)
i see
how small
                                            i am
only to return again
from that brownish-moist
soil-bed
                like a seed
beneath
                  the ground
                                        never sprouting,
only fogetting,
the once and always forvever
and ever
the natural
insignificance
                                                                 of being.

with no one to talk to
and
no plan as to where i should go,
i fall into a listless,
waking slumber
and
feel covered up in cold.

Coffee and Tea, I'll take them both,
Light me up another smoke,
Have a piece of Shoo-Fly pie,
Hear the birdies in the sky,
Take my pen in trembling hand,
Compose some poetry, if I can.

it's a
tear-
drop
this time

you
can't have it,
it's
all mine

not
many left,
but you'll
be fine.

tear-
drop
all gone,
now dry...

i may never
see you
or be
with you,
i
will always
love you.

never forget that.

In the erie irony
of a cold, cold world
run by indifference itself
those who care the most
mopping after weak dripping toast
get burned by the absence
of a flame in their room
or a dog to lick their own sores
seek to keep fevers down
under down, under down, under down

i was drinking orange ****** ***** with Kitty
the mushroom cloud destroyer,
my compatriot, my downfall
the sky was purple and the grass was red
and we plotted the end of the world
we fought for dominance i lost
sat on my street corner
stealing kisses from
passersby like a magpie,
plucking the shiny buttons off coats.
  when I became the queen of sheba,
decked to the nines in brass buttons
confiscated corroded combustible
i rode an elephant called shiva the destroyer
and sliced long cuts with a sword into my legs
and the white scars were like hope.
i played backgammon and chess with multiple lovers
and they all lost because i was an impenetrable fortress.
I wore the red crown and stabbed out their hearts with my pointed teeth.
then i sat upon the edge of the world alone,
tore out the cores of a million and four  sunflowers
and watched all of the people riding trains
and walking in the parks holding the hand of someone else
someone who isn’t cold Kitty
as the violet sun began to set
i dreamed of what someone else’s hand
bones skin muscle corpulent sinew warmth
and I slept like an obsidian stone.

On My Face

Got something you want to say, write it on my face,
Want me to know what u did today, write it on my face,
Searching for Jupiter tonite, look out into space,
Hoping to make things seem right, write it on my face

Advancements, promotions, just write it on my face,
Untimely demotions, you can write it on my face,
Directions to your house warming, write it on my face,
Comments you feel harming, dont leave them on my face  

Mouth speaking out of turn, leaving egg on my face,
You wanting me to return, leave it on my face,
Severe pain deep down inside, write it on my face,
Trying very hard, very hard to hide, don't write it on my face

Old friends echoes from the past, write in on my face,
New friends added to the cast, write that on my face,
Dreams wished and never reached, you can see that on my face,
Hearts broken, promises breached, see the tears run down my face

Gomer LePoet...