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Connor Nov 2015
You're alone again...
another daylight epiphany, detached, taxed, viewing traffic through the misty window
as the sun inflates and coffee warms
your gentle bones.
I'm in a rainbow hotel with a black cat, singing truisms
down the hallway when nobody is around
(and I can slam the doors OPEN AND CLOSED)
just to make it seem like there's more going on in here than there actually is.
Some would call that insanity, I don't know what I would call it.
You're a stranger again, slowly aligned by one's entire life to a
parking lot blacktop,
faces passing like curtains, and you're blue
I'm blue too.
I require an anthem to get myself up at sunrise,
I require a great staircase limelight triumph signaling the (future) snow-capped mountains
to watch my great decay.
Oh it continues and will never cease...
my matter recollecting into life and then death again.

The whole world is lonely,
ceasing it's communal conversation to heal by
fire flower bloomed
and the whistle of
a kettle hymnal
you're alive and for now everything is all right.
I understand..
I don't understand
.....
you can't expect me to know any better as someone
who's endured the last four years in a storage unit
fenced by archaic wigs
and cockroaches who throw model parties
in the overcast shadow I can't illuminate
as it is all darkness there.
I could listen to cars travel by the locked door
and I could see the faint glow of a headlight when the sun goes down but I lacked the strength to pull that door open or to leave.
The only thing allowing me to escape was companionship,
“Will your own reality”
there's some situations in life that are simply inevitable
such as love
and lacklove
the searing pain in one's gut when they recognize another night in solitary confinement (a punishment of circumstance)
Or an internal circus in witness of the amaranth figure standing by my doorway and it's incandescent approach
and you (I) don't even have to plead.
That black cat likes to hide up in the lobby chandelier purring thoughts
......
To itself?
or to nobody
to the cat it doesn't seem to matter.
I named it Franz
(guess why)

In public, I have found there's always qualities you can appreciate in someone's smile,
they have a way of seeming so distant and yet all part of the same face,
crying without shedding a tear,
whispering for help without saying a word,
ready and willing to try with one another.
But instead it's the songs on a bus or silence.
I decide which
and so do the other passengers.
(subjectivity)
Your voices are beautiful I wish
you could really understand that,
when I wade by in a night
enclosed to a single room
in a single house
on an island in
it's own wet corner of the world,
only music.



Out
                          there                    ­      making
what I CAN of living
            with
                                  myself
­      and
s o m e t i m e s
(if I'm so lucky)

Others

sweetly           spinning
          
      coinless
                   and
              covered in heartbreak
on
   the
       way
             to
                a
                  shrine
                   ­        to
                              be
                             ­     kissed
                                            by
      ­                                          possibility.
Connor Nov 2015
hey there honeycomb darling how's
things on the sweeter side?
o the loves I would shout from rooftops!
there's a poisonous cackle
emitted through the head
a broken stone
an easing yellow balloon
a dissolving elephant
in my room
hey there candy where's your stick?
where's your advertisement?
where's your trick?
O THE SMILES I WOULD SING
TO THE QUIET
AND THE DEAD
a triumph in my bones
a dream machine
fire violet
supernatural glow
I no longer feel those phantom pains
scratching at my eyes
and lips.
You're the bulb behind the pattern repetition
(CREATING ALL THESE BEAUTIFUL LIGHTS)
flickering
flickering
a music box remedy
for a soul saturated with satires.
November sunset
barren trees passed along
to the next year
and while so much is different
too much is the same.
(????)
I shall take a wonderful suitcase full of
philosophy and throw it to the
rain
and watch the dogs
try to eat it open.
Connor Oct 2015
HURDLING THROUGH THE TRAFFIC NIGHTLIGHT MACROCOSM MY BUS BOPS AND DASHES LANE AND INTERSECTION
BAM GOES THE TENNIS SHOP
THE GRILL
THE SHOPPING CENTER
IT'S ALL LIGHT IT'S ALL ECSTASY
A BOILING CANDLE
RAPAPAPA-
THE WILD JAZZ
BUDDY RICH SWEATING IN MY EARS
UNRESTRAINED FRENZY
NEON BLINKING APARTMENTS WIDE IN THE DARK DISTANT ATMOSPHERE
MOHAWK MAN BOOT COLLISION ON THE COLD FLOOR
SOME LINOLEUM SOMEBODY SHUTS OFF THE LIGHTS TO HIS STALE OFFICE RETURNING TO BED DRAGGED OUT AND BEAT
BEGGING FOR SLEEP IN AN UNWASHED BED
BUZZ AND THRAP THE DRUMS AND CYMBALS SOAK ANY OTHER SOUND INTO THE
949 HYSTERICAL NIGHT
GAS STATIONS
NIGHTCLUBS
MONOLITH
CAR DEALERSHIPS
MOTELS
RADIO TOWERS
BUS DEPOTS
LIQUOR STORES
SUBWAY
UPTOWN
4 6 4 5 0
APT SUITES
DRAIN SERVICES
"STOP REQUESTED"
DISTORTED RATTLE OF THE INNER WIRING AND WHEELS SQUEAL TO A HALT IN FRONT OF EMPTY HIGHWAY CONSTRUCTION
"FOR YOUR SAFETY PLEASE HOLD ON"
UNSPOKEN MONOLOGUE OF WOES IN EACH TIRED SKULL
CASINO
LIBRARY
DRIVE THRU
PHARMACY
VAPOR SHOP
INFLAMED EGO
RAPTURE
MORNING RAZOR WELCOME
POLICE TASER UNWELCOME
I'M PROUDLY RANTING
OF MY SURROUNDINGS
OF THIS MAYHEM MUSIC
THIS GASOLINE VESSEL
HOWLING INTO NOVEMBER
TRANSFIXED AT THE ENTIRETY OF IT ALL
OF THIS
OF THAT
OF THOSE
THE STEADY RACKETING IN MY  BRAIN CONVULSES TRAIN OF THOUGHT PURE FLAMMABLE VERSE
ELECTRIC
"GRANITE & QUARTZ"
THEATRE
THERE IS NO THEATRE
NOT HERE
DON'T BOTHER STAGING SOMETHING AS ELABORATE AS CHAOS ONLY THE WIND BIG BAND CAN BUZZ OUT A TUNE LIKE THE AFTER-HOUR MARCH OF LOOSE HEADS
POLITICAL AFTERMATH ON THE TELEVISION
DRUNKEN SUPERSTITIONS
SIDEWALK FIGHTS
RECKLESS CONSUMPTION
RAMPANT DISORDER
CLASS WEALTH IMBALANCE
CRUELTY
ABANDON
INSOMNIA
PARANOIA
THE SKY HAS SEEN EVERY WAR AND MISHAP OF US
IT SECOND HAND SMOKES EVERY
INDIA PYRE
SMOKESTACK REPETITION
MORNING COMMUTE
AFTERNOON JOYRIDE
FIREWORK
AIRPORT BACCHANAL
THE CLOUDS DO RECALL
DISTANT OLD-WORLD CASUALTIES AND THE NUCLEAR INVENTION
A LOSS OF IDENTITY
I THINK OF ALL THIS
AND THE BUS WINDS DOWN
SCREECH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I'M ALMOST HOME
I'M ALMOST THERE
THE HOME THAT'S NOT MY OWN
NOT YET
IT'S EVERYPLACE
AND NOWHERE AT ALL
IT'S THE UNSEEN AND THEN SEEN
INDIVISIBLE AND TRANSPARENT REALITY
IT'S EVERY DRIVE
AND DREAM
I'M ALMOST THERE NOW I CAN TASTE ANOTHER
CATACLYSM
WHILE MIRACULOUS JAZZSOUNDS AND
TCHAIKOVSKY'S CANNONS
SILHOUETTE A CHANGE
OF PACE
IN THIS MAD PLANET
AND ALL IT'S
HABITUAL
INHABITANTS
FOR BETTER OR WORSE
I WILL CONTINUE MY MEDITATIONS
AND GET BY
TO CATCH THE BUS AGAIN
AND TO SEE INDONESIA AGAIN
AND TO LOVE AGAIN
AND TO DRINK WHISKEY BY A MERCURY BONFIRE IN SOME PASSING YEAR
AND HOLD TO HOPE AGAIN
AND HOLD
AND WRITE MORE POEMS
AND WRITE MORE POEMS IN VIETNAM
AND MORE POEMS IN BENARES
AND MORE POEMS IN SAN FRANCISCO
AND MORE POEMS IN BRITISH COLUMBIA
UNTIL A BEARD KISSES MY HARDSHIPS
AND REMINDING ME I'LL ALWAYS GET PAST WHAT SEEMS TO BE THE WORST OF IT
I'LL WRITE AND WEEP AND SING
AND RACE MY OWN DEATH INEVITABLE
IT WILL BE
*E  X  P  L O  S  I  V  E
X                               V
P                                I
L                           ­     S
O                               O
S                                 L
I                                  P
V                         ­       X
E  X  P  L  O  S  I  V E
Connor Oct 2015
DYNAMO

consciousness tossed
around in the heavenly night,
illuminations and poems in us all
as an asphalt drum bounds
oak to flat
dispersing lamentations to
the brain and barbwire ribcage
clawing at our lungs

PHANTASM

pain,
the behemoth cause for all inspiration
the pressing crucifixion
the shrill cry of harmonica overcast in
this bizarre moonlight
sinking an oceanic shadow
for my memory is high off melancholy
but i keep at it because the morning is beautiful

A PRAYER FOR WARMTH

(in my opinion)
nothing feels stranger than
an empty bedroom
we are each others loneliness

SOLIPSISM
Connor Oct 2015
I'm sure an abstract painter adores
the confusion of their
lovers.
Glass reflections on materials in a bedroom
E M P H A S I Z E
the EGOIST in every
sofa
and
actress
in a television set while it rains out
(creating pockets of water on the balcony)
Where is my foundation for times like these when
feet become LOUD ER in the daytime
and obstacles have grown their teeth?

Perhaps a dump truck full of nicely dressed mannequins
will finally be
ticketed
and my eyes
will see
as soft
as your
hair.

Quarry of bones in an office space
and the FORMAL TIE HAS DESTROYED ITSELF WITH
SOCIETAL EXPECTATIONS AGAIN
(LUCIDITY KEEPS INSANITY DISTRACTED)

Caffeinated Canadian Bohemian
daydream of firs showering adjacent
Manhattan batteries.
Tomorrow's rejections watch
bright and beautiful waves smile with false
inspiration
a n d a n o t h e r
concrete victim is created.

!MADNESS!
(the solar flare of the Neutral)
the ammunition in my coffee
and conversations blinking
LAUGHS          OUT
                           TO
                           THE
                           ABYSS
(gorgeous and hollow lineups in front of
a Vancouver bar 11:30pm)

Pale October energies and the
Dharma Radio
feathering my fantasies as this year reaches it's last quarter
CREATIVITY MEANDERING
NEAR NOTHING
anxiously I roll around on the mattress,
open window, listening in on the intricately staged
oblivion of trees
who've become infatuated
with coffins.

Gastown (as it appeared in my dreams)
has found it's dusk anthem!
Adriano Celantano's
"BUONA SERA SIGNORINA"
what a strange dream that was
the music was vivid to the point of
impossible recognition
and I'm awake and dizzy not from all that
but from love
(it's tilting my axis!)
Always has......

An untraceable eye
lingers in
malevolence to ALL city banks
where the late bop players
stand united and "free"
(Outside, by art on a wall with animals dancing in a hot air balloon, jealous of their own permanent state of painted euphoria)
Restaurants are consumed by silence
upon closing down,
but NOT the Fisgard streetcorner cafe
I frequent!
It's LOUD TRUTH and San Francisco weeps in
the decorated walls.....some far off dream of North Beach
Trieste evening with people who were once ALIVE!!
People that bleached
THE AMERICAN VISION
with sharpened language sleeker than
the polished jaw of Apollo.

Here I am again,
accepting the same sweeping misery
as those before me
(settled tombstones barely seen beneath a wild oak
while cars cry exhaust to beach-view apartments
and Winter's harsh wind drums against the window pane)
sure they were good people, but living plays no favorites.

I'm awake and dizzy!
forlorn with the morning.
Stars surrender to a sun
which often wonders
how we adapt to this asylum.
(Vanity makes me sleepy)

Warm in the delicate crimson light,
I lie in a temporary peace.
I am setting
as all else rises.
Connor Oct 2015
I'm being haunted.
My eyes are aching
my heart is wilting
my legs are giving
my shoulder screams
The weight of my room
increases by the hour
and sleep has stopped helping.

I'm being haunted.
Nobody can divert this dread
with company
Nothing can stop my chest from beating city sounds
Parrots cry reminders in my
dreams.

I'm being haunted.
Days seem more intimidating
Vietnam is an uncertainty
as there's finally something
here at home that I really don't want
to run from like everything else.

I'm being haunted.
Phone calls shriek warnings
before arms swallow me
by firelight.

I'm being haunted
by a poltergeist
capable of rearranging
me inside.

I'm being haunted
by you.
Connor Oct 2015
(spiral of eyes      to a magnesium explosion   flare emerging
children holding matchsticks to the ocean
crackle of a generator popping
phantoms to the Varanasi Ghats where
a series of men hold smoke
to a blackness
and I'm holding my lungs
in front of me
and breathing using an artificial tank
gifted to me by decorated elephants
(who've long since passed away)
a film director captures my decay
and compares me to a romantic
who bled out
and was given a second chance at life
but remained empty of RED
and just EMPTY
soon the rest of this body will give
and clearly the roses remain apathetic of
this ultimatum
I lay for hours
catatonic
allowing the sensation
to finish me
before anything
else
can.










                                                 ­                                                                 ­        )
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