Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Sleep tight
Don't be afraid
Tomorrow will come around
As surely as the sun has set
On the day you leave behind
Float into exquisite darkness
And follow the moment
Into eternity
Cognizant and assured
Of a safe return
To all you're leaving behind
Grasping for permanence
Once again slipping through my fingers
Daring me to try again

I'm laying down my poet's pen
Never picking it up again
Words no longer can describe
The thoughts that swirl inside my mind
Best they drag me down alone
Nothing here you need to know
Swinging innuendos
Took one on the chin
Let her get away with it
Won't happen again
Transparent metaphors
Got something to hide
She doesn't want me to know about
Clues will be denied
I can't write anymore
For fear of what she'll say
Even if she flatters me
It's only for a day
I'm nothing next to her bright star
With nothing content to bring
She keeps me looking for meanings
In the most meaningless things
I dragged it in
Made it my business
Stuck my hand in a hole in the ground
With my fist
Grabbed a wasp's nest
Even this I felt
Was a sacrifice worth making
I had no business there
Or did I?
Am I not the one responsible?
For this incredible talent
For this broken shell
This anvil I've forged my will upon
Appreciated, rejected, denied, rightfully placed in the trash bin
I made the choice to peer
Into dark places I once shed light into
Before hated age extinguished
No longer needed
Less still wanted
But there I am
The pain in my right hand is excruciating
What power you possess
To strike back
Seemingly glad to inherit
The misery I have nurtured (like a fool)
This perverse love of darkness
But I swear
I risked dipping into this Pandora's Box
For one reason
One reason alone
Because I love you with all that I Am
I cannot bear to tolerate my reflection
In your life
Because my soul longs to know you
As I once knew you
As I can never know you again
Because my instinct is to protect
from Bipolar Confessional
( http://bipolarconfessional.blogspot.com/ )
© 2010 by James Arthur Casey
I look into the abyss
Slow down the spiral
Stare deep into darkness that shines
Envelopes
Embraces
Caresses
I'm searching for a story
Hoping I'll see a ghost
Wanting to follow
The seldom trod path that would take me
To imagination
I want to see movement
Progression
Something I can remember
Something I can sing about
Something I can write down
Something that makes sense

I'm tired
I'm so tired of trying to twist and fold the moment
I'm sick of being so ******* impressed
So sure that I could do no more
There could be anything more to do

I thought myself a sage
I convinced myself I was a poet
Yet my deepest fear was that someone would understand my poetry

Still
Even now the snow whirls a static blizzard 'neath the glass
What I wouldn't give to infuse form and color
Solidity
To mold the void into living dream
A flock of penguins shivering
Sing to mothers and fathers
Voices quiver, the cold wind moans
A mournful symphony
"Inside we're on fire
You rise up
Inside of all
You sigh"
What is language to a penguin?
The sound they make
Singing and freezing
Breaks my heart
In every way I love
Having my heart broken
**
Signals coming through now
Rough winter all over the world
White
Powder coats everything
Toes numb, frost bitten
I don't care if I'm where
I need to be
Numbness is exquisite
When my heart is on fire
Those flames are all I want
To feel
This song is gasoline
Turn it up
***
Now I am encouraged to go to sleep
To find that nirvana spot
And ride it into dreams
Of penguins
Frostbite and fire
Where logic and reason are illusion
No one speaks the language
And dream time is generous
A lifetime spent in moments
Your eyeballs rolling 'round like
Magnets and marbles
Goodnight my son, Goodnight sweet daughter
Goodnight dear woman
Sleep well knowing
I don't pray to never wake up anymore
Relaxin'
Comin' in for a crash landing
After a week exploring man-made weaknesses in the Ozone layer
It ain't no easy ride
But ya gotta come down, man
Yeah ya gotta go home
Don't ya?
It's like high dollar paste or glue
That binds me belly-down to this bed
Deceptively soft and comfortable
Mother, where are you?
Oh, Father, why don't I care?
I would still recognize your voice
Even if my eyes have forgotten what you look like
Do I expect forgiveness
If so tell me what for
You seemed to always want more
When my best was all I could give
How could I have known
It wasn't enough
Nothing can stop this train
No adequate force
Relaxin'
This is decompression
Sleep come down
Mama...
You wanna know something about my life?
I was born under somewhat unusual circumstances
Ripped from my mother's womb by force
Of necessity
I laid her out and put her down
While I got my bearings
They say I roared like a lion in the jungle
Kicking like a mad *** ridden by my father
Who, I'm told, never wanted kids in the first place
I set my course to curse the time he had left
His seed had sprouted into ****
So I choked those last days good and strong
To crawl back to my mother's tomb
Lay me down to sleep and dream
Of comforting placenta
Until an all too patient God
Brought him back to her
Together again, food for the worms
And it was time for me to leave
That stone was only meant for two
I'm bottoming out again
My ******* atmosphere
Littered with notes, a minor key,
Of a melancholic symphony
An old, familiar enemy
Without the courtesy of knocking
Threatens to break down the door
Only to catch me bathing
In blood-thick self-loathing
Listening to Gorecki
Ringing out the thoughts in my head
In yet another vain attempt at description
But I'm thwarted by words
And my inability to place them in the proper order
To convey the physical sensation
Accompanying hopelessness, despair
None of which would be so bad
If it didn't feel like home
it would seem I've been playing games
with god and air, electricity and dirt
i've stuffed hope deep in my chest
for the sweet assurance they've bourne
surrounding my heart

i've breathed deep the air that floats about me
a swirling bed of fog I called spirit
felt my chest rise, receiving
knowing without knowing
dying was all I had to offer for all of this

then from the other side of the blue sky
a light shone illuminating imagination
i had the skills of a novice alchemist
still enough to capture the mercury drop
of inspiration and tame it with words

that filled my mind and built my soul
from scratch and air and hopes of god
memories and dreams enough
to take with me when I leave
when the games are over

and they only matter
until they're over
In that moment
I forgot
This is all illusion
Everything became too real
So solid to sense and feel
These entrances became a necessity
To touch and taste, to smell, to see
To hear the winds of infinity
That blow from deep inside of me
I felt as if I'd fallen
Back into the dull routine
Back into the same old scene
From out of a peaceful dream
Into another long day
Nightfall seemed so far away
I dream of sleep
Big and deep
Eternity
I follow the mantra
My heart is open to truth
For a moment I forgot
Peace reminded me
I dreamed about you last night
For the first time
In a long, long, lonely, lonely time
Sharing a world you've most likely forgotten
It vanished when I opened up my eyes
It was the same ****** dream
That used to haunt me
Every night when you first said goodbye
Now it makes me feel sad and unforgiven
But I don't know why…

Once I had faith, my faith was strong
That what we had would last
Forever long
It's so hard to believe in something
You can't even see
How can you tell when it's there or
When it's gone?
How could you tell me you'd rather be alone?
Then pack all your bags and walk on out the door
And leave me to pick up the pieces
Of all you left behind
To try to carry on

Now the stars in the sky
Are all we have in common
And the air we breathe
Is the only thing we'll ever share
The memories that remain
Are almost forgotten
They're as far from me
As the stars I see in the sky
I gave up Catholicism for Lent
Indulgences more wisely spent
On peace of mind and charity
Just a tad bit more clarity
Leave it to the stricter mind
In hopes that I might someday find
Compassion for my troubled soul
Grace to lead me to my Home
I saw it eating out a hole in a cold stone wall
Feeding on fragments of nothing at all
It's just a mouse from a hole in my mind
It comes around with the whiskey and the wine

I've done days in the detox dives
Staring at the others, feeling half alive
Still can't believe half the things I see
Still convinced it couldn't happen to me

Black bat flew from out of nowhere
Flapping it's wings
These are a few of my favorite things
It sees the mouse
Color blind in the night
And the blood flows darker in black and white

I've spent nights tapped out in a daze
Sleeping with the others, it's all in a haze
This ain't the way it's supposed to be
Still convinced it couldn't happen to me
initiate

I love you
Not only for what you are
But for what I am
When I'm with you

I love you
Not only for what
You have made of yourself
But for what
You are making of me

I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out
I love you for passing over
All my faults and weak traits
That you can't help but see

I love you for drawing out
Into the light my beauty
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find

I love you

You are the ONLY one
for me and I love you

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
<>================<>
source code broken
kkkkkkkkkddddddd KKK dieediediediediedie
911911911911911911911911911911911911
the grand inquisitor realizes the jig is up
Philip K **** kicking the ******
hertz hertz hertz hertz hertz
DENIAL
an eternity without you
redeemed by healing blood
walking dead, shoot 'em in the head
yes, I understand
stop holding on
osama is fish food
fire extinguished
tears dried
forgiveness offered and accepted
the birth of

none of your business

"Don't worry about my finding someone else or someone else finding me
Everybody knows our relationship is very serious and that stops people (guys) from approaching me for dates, ect. Even if they did


terminate


I love you
Not only for what you are
But for what I am
When I'm with you

I love you
Not only for what
You have made of yourself
But for what
You are making of me

I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out
I love you for passing over
All my faults and weak traits
That you can't help but see

I love you for drawing out
Into the light my beauty
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find

I love you

You are the ONLY one
for me and I love you

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
<>================<>
source code broken
kkkkkkkkkddddddd KKK dieediediediediedie
911911911911911911911911911911911911
the grand inquisitor realizes the jig is up
Philip K **** kicking the ******
hertz hertz hertz hertz hertz
DENIAL
an eternity without you
redeemed by healing blood
walking dead, shoot 'em in the head
yes, I understand
stop holding on
osama is fish food
fire extinguished
tears dried
forgiveness offered and accepted
the birth of

none of your business

"Don't worry about my finding someone else or someone else finding me
Everybody knows our relationship is very serious and that stops people (guys) from approaching me for dates, ect. Even if they did


terminate




Stolen and offered to Stacie (a message from divinity)
by James Arthur Casey

I love you
Not only for what you are
But for what I am
When I'm with you

I love you
Not only for what
You have made of yourself
But for what
You are making of me

I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out
I love you for passing over
All my faults and weak traits
That you can't help but see

I love you for drawing out
Into the light my beauty
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find

I love you

You are the ONLY one
for me and I love you

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()
<>================<>
source code broken
kkkkkkkkkddddddd KKK dieediediediediedie
911911911911911911911911911911911911
the grand inquisitor realizes the jig is up
Philip K **** kicking the ******
hertz hertz hertz hertz hertz
DENIAL
an eternity without you
redeemed by healing blood
walking dead, shoot 'em in the head
yes, I understand
stop holding on
osama is fish food
fire extinguished
tears dried
forgiveness offered and accepted
the birth of

none of your business

*"Don't worry about my finding someone else or someone else finding me
Everybody knows our relationship is very serious and that stops people (guys) from approaching me for dates, ect. Even if they did


terminate
You never knew your stooges, did you?
Never paid your dues
Never brayed your lone wolf howl
Never even knew which moon to send it to
Sharp of razor not felt
As it cuts meat
Drawing no blood
You should have got to know them
Stooges have a lot to teach
When they wield the blade
To cut meat
The flesh is severed
And the lesson learned
You really should have listened to them
For now the time has come
When the blood becomes vital
The razor selfish, thirsty enough on it's own
All those little pithy ideas that run amok in your brainstormed heart
They do you no good
They cut no meat
The twinkling stars and light bulbs bursting in your imagination
As a new idea is born only to be cast into the furnace
Given up on, no chance
A dud
Third trimester abortion
Tapped it's head just as it poked it's way through the door
No need for another one
Defective products
It only wears you down
******* on the memory of the last one
That proved to be worth a ****
Born 25 years ago, already on it's death bed
But your's
Straight from your soul
Arranged on a plate with a charming garnish of parsley
Soul food from the ghetto
Where hungry mouths don't get fed
You'd think they would devour your gift
As their hunger burns
But rather to learn how to steal
But rather to learn how to fight
Than a single disgusting taste
Of anything you have to offer
From a mind
Soft and cushioned
Spoiled and molding
Too weak to ever understand what it means
To survive
Barely able to get by, this is what it's worth
All it's worth, and no more
Something you might have known
Had you learned something from stooges
How to cut meat
Swans drone and thrash filling every square inch of air in this room of solitary confinement
I've got feelings, need to get 'em out
To fall upon the deafness of every ear in this house, disbelieving
The cacophony soothes me somehow
But I fall asleep listening for phantoms trapped in white noise
Sometimes it's the only way
As the stress of the day won't let up and it stretches all the way into the lonely hours of night that are more accurately referred to as the early morning
That transition is usually lost with sleep and dreams
Unless sleep and dreams are playing hide and seek
The noise of Swans comes as close to anything in giving a sound to the stiffness of my mind and the heavy weight in my heart
The mean streak, can it be forgiven or forgotten?
I have something to blame
But integrity keeps me from pointing fingers
My greatest wish is to either be
Smart enough to grasp the worlds philosophies
Or so dumb they don't mean a freakin' thing to me
I'm tired of existing in the halfway point between the poles
Tired of courting hatefulness
Knowing it's not me
Hosting a wretched spirit with dark thoughts and self loathing
Knowing knowing knowing knowing knowing
My Father Who art in Heaven
Hold my cowardice not against me
Let there be justice in this one thing I ask
As I lay me down to sleep
Let not the morning sunrise stir my soul
Lost in deep unconsciousness I offer one final breath
Take it, Lord, and give me not another inhalation
Set my spirit free while my lanky body hardens 'neath the quilt my grandma made for me
Show me the mystery of all that lies ahead
And let not those I left behind cry that I am dead
May their mourning bring them peace and when it ends much joy
I'm not suggesting you made a mistake
But I just don't belong here
So when I close my eyes tonight
I will squint, hold the lids down hard and tight
And finally pray You'll make it all right
Please let my spirit drift listlessly into the night
In the name of your precious Son
                                                                  Amen
One end of the rope is tied
Snugly 'round my ankle
So tight, so taut the pull

Of the other end of the rope
Secured to heavy stone
Dragged down the mute atmosphere

Of water caressing me
Of pressure surrounding me
Of acceptance, the liquid's deliverance

I wrapped the rope 'round my ankle
Made sure the knot wouldn't slip
Tumbled into gravity's strong embrace

I measured the size of the anchor
Sufficient to carry me down
And the rope long enough to confound me

Out of my hands and into the deep blue sea
Out of time and into eternity
Out of control, depression's destiny
Tonight I ride the cusp of the moment
Deeper, deeper into infinity
I'm only taking a few songs with me
Let the world move on
Clouds dissipate
Here and gone
Gone nowhere
I'm surfing those clouds tonight
To the eternal center
A few songs to guide me
Tell me what I was on the abandoned side of the veil
See it in the light of eternity
I'll learn it's value
When I can appreciate it I'll seek distraction
Jump back in the water
Try not to drown
Creeps up to me like a serpent
Exaggerating, hissing white lies
Subtle black magic weaving
Uncertainty
Makes me read between the lines
For accusations from straight out of nowhere

I'll get over it soon enough
Cut the snake's head off
Find a way to make it right
With only my thoughts for company
If I can keep them in line
If I can stay sane
If I can overcome
Suspicion
Me and Terry
On a dusty road
Were singing songs
About Dusty Rhodes
We got hell to pay
But that's alright
Terry's got a credit card
A hogleg and a light

Terry, don't put out that hogleg
It's the only one we got

Tonight we're sleeping
In a satellite dish
Looking up at the stars
And making a wish
"If I had my way"
Terry spoke to me
"A thousand more hoglegs
Rolled up fat for me"

But Terry, don't put out that hogleg
It's the only one we got

Come on now, Terry
Look at what you did
Stayed home from school all day long
To kick a fat kid
Terry been a bad boy
Terry been a bad boy
Bad boy, bad boy, whatcha gonna do?
Whacha gonna do when they come for you?

Terry, better not put out that hogleg
It's the only one we got
Judge for yourselves, brothers and sisters
The weight of your words
The worth of your thoughts
Before putting them on paper
If you choose to give them away
They must stand on their own
You must be prepared to be misunderstood
I would let you have it all
Each heartbeat, every breath
In moments like these
When I love myself
In such rare moments as these
You could take it all
Leave me back at square one
With nothing to work with
And nothing to gain
A mountain of a mole hill
I'd want you to soak in this feeling
Let it stain you like dye
Fly it like a flag
Hit the floor drunk with the ecstasy
Bust your head and wind up in the hospital
It's yours for the taking and so much more
If you can only help me know the truth
And ask of me one simple request
"How about not equating death with stopping?"
Please may the fire in my heart that acknowledges truth
Blaze all the brighter in the acceptance of this one
For it is the biggest and best truth one could ever know
The line "How about not equating death with stopping" is by Alanis Morissette from the song "Thank U" taken from her album Supposed Former Infatuation ******. If we could just do that...stop equating death with stopping...can you imagine what we could achieve? How liberating such knowledge is? The eradication of mankind's biggest fear? I'm awestruck.
I live to sleep
I sleep to dream
Sewage holes fill kinny bunk port out of the box Mr. Krull yer big headed Joyce fixation lets the dead dogs in leave the dead frogs to fry read a dull heart and mind
Down for the do little sing song hallelujah chorus let the whole world adore us we are the resurrection and you are the night take old children's programming to extremes and brainwash the yellow things
You asked don't tell so I wish you well and this drug you sling is a dangerous thing of letters and numbers all forced into the machine good girl great guns you'll do what I've done
It's a lie, my foot, there's a false ring to it's nose can you be so cavalier about things you don't know is the the grease going to settle and ruin your good clothes who knows Mr. Whitman, who knows
Words they say cut like blades in another setting where the mice eat men and dry ol' John Steinbeck writes with a pen fall out boy fudge to your granny sue I'm sure she'll agree that'll do, that'll do...bartle doo
Put 'em together yourself, old salt, here, every one on 'ems yerns, twist 'em and turn 'em, pick 'em and burn 'em, take a spoon or a spatula whatever you need to turn all this idiocy into a creed
Cut a few out they shouldn't be here what's wrong with the fool who gave 'em the time of day, there's surely a reason but his girl wouldn't say that evil ghost ***** with no reason to stay
That'll do.
Bartle doo.
Sorry...
When I was a kid
I went through twelve girlfriends a year
And boy did I know how to pick 'en
Buxom beauty's with deep blue eyes
Standing straight and tall to wait on this experienced child
I could make all twelve of them smile
A little money in the bank
Glossy dreams that was our scene
And the man who wasn't smiling was given a personal introduction to the people on the other side of the gate
Sit
The begging God
Holds forth His greedy hands
Palms up
Lifeline unbroken
A vending machine
Without a coin slot
Asks for a dime
Expects a dollar

A greedy deity
Who dances with demons
Listens to gibberish
Suffers fools gladly
Insisting
"This is the Way, the Truth, the Life
This is the way it's done, it's all you must do
This the truth: P.T. Barnum was right
This is the life, unearned and unpaid for
A wise investor's goldmine
A field of dreams for sale, barren
Blood money for more seed
It's yours for the asking"

The begging God
Patron saint of confidence and extortion
Comforts the elderly
Patiently waiting
For
The Big Payoff
For
It's easy to convince them
To expect a windfall
Green Granny Smith apples
On sale
Ten for a dollar
Tiny serpent worms munch tunnels
In nine of them
The gambling deity
Lays odds on whether or not
Their shiny skins will ever be broken
By coffee stained teeth or pearl shiny dentures
He knows they will
For
They are hungry, starving, famished
He also knows they will throw away all ten
When they bite into one bad apple
from Bipolar Confessional
http://bipolarconfessional.blogspot.com
© 2010 by James Arthur Casey
The best time to spit your chicken little poetry
Is during the sad hours between midnight
And four in the morning
When the words get swallowed up in hungry darkness
And those who have ears to hear
Sleep the slumber of infants
Joy so constant we took it for granted
plugging jukeboxes with quarters
loading those noisy machines with B-sides
that only we had ever heard

Van Morrison's "Blue Money" bounced the skip
from station to station in the AM static
we loved that doowit dooey doop, doot door dooey doot, do doot
but the mystic sang of sweet things on the other side

"Saturday Nights Alright For Fighting ", tough ol' Elton John
worth a quarter to hear that song
flip that ***** get your money's worth
two songs there for the price of one

The Stones rocked "Brown Sugar" like slavers in heat
too young I was to understand
why the controversy, so many offended
I rarely chose it, though, cuz I loved "Sway"

"Sweet Hitch Hiker", CCR
sounded more like a razor than a tuned up car
do you remember "Door to Door"?
didn't think you would

"Children's Heritage" over "D.O.A."
"Generation Landslide" over "Hello Hooray"
"For Emily Whenever I May Find Her" over "Bridge Over Troubled Water"
yes, even

B-sides whenever possible
because the A-sides were all on the radio
why feed money to the jukebox for a song you can hear for free?
such are the economics and logic of the 10 year old music aficionado
It still may be the creeper yet
You just can't tell and that's just as well
Cause if you knew you'd lose that bet
Just might be the creeper
I said it just might be the creeper

It just might be the creeper, slow in coming, soft and humming
Hitting ceilings, hurtin' feelings, feeling like you sold your soul to a
Brilliant confusion in an infinite illusion that goes on and on and on and on and on
Yes, my race-baiting people, the creeper this might be

When that creeper finds you he will open up your soul
He will show you where your third eye used to be and give you his own
Yeah that's a mighty fine creeper, Yeah that's a mighty fine creeper
Ya don't even know you're so high
Yeah, ya don't know cuz you're high

Well, baby, is it creeper yet?
Has it made you doubt you mind?
Were you running round in circles till it
Snuck up from behind you did it
Make a sound as if lifted from the ground
It finds it's way straight into the heart of everything you believe
Convinces you, you've been decieved
But don't be afraid of the creeper, darling
He ain't selling you nothing you don't want
Ya shake the hand of the devil
Ya say it's all on the level
So by God it's all on the level
In your mind
But you walked away and left it behind
It's been gone so ******* long
We all know she ain't ever coming home

I get lazy sometimes
In my body and my mind
I know I ain't the only
Complicated schizophrenic in the world
And I ain't the only one who
Loves me some creeper
Yes I loves me some creeper
I'm down with the creeper
Hope he's
Down with me

The hissing fan on my aging laptop
Sounds like a woman being tortured
With varying degrees of severity
It's beginning to sound like music to me

Baby, tonight would be a good night
For you to surprise me
I ain't been surprised in so long

This is the creeper speaking
Y'all have a good night, ya hear?
Prison walls aren't always brick and mortar
Cages not made of wire
Chains and locks not always seen
Will one day be broken
It's that day I'm dyin' for
One day the door will be flung wide open
It's that day I'm dyin' for
I'm breaking out this prison of my mind
It's that day I'm dyin' for
All the things that keep me here
Where love is overshadowed by fear
I'm gonna drop 'em like a hot plate
I'm gonna wake up, my eyes wide open
Bolt headlong into a dream of infinity
Leave behind this stagnating shell
Celebrate emancipation
I'm dyin' for that day

Until then
I find something new
In Mahler's symphonies
Each time I hear them
With each new day
A blessing small or large
A dose of anger and disgust
The satisfaction of knowing
I'm right when I am
Admitting I don't always know
That I'm not always right
Noticing when I find myself
Enjoying
Something I never used to like
Shindig Shaman he do say
Swinging and swaying
Swaying and swinging
Debbil in de prayer closet all **** day
Cursing and moaning
Moaning and cursing
Boss man lookin' for a man of the cloth
Never seen a witch doctor
Never in his life
From the look in Bill Morris' eyes
He's let it in
Deep. Deep, Deep so **** deep
Like a splinter cut off well under de nail
A thorn in his pride turned into something dangerous
Hidin' in de prayer closet, up in dere
Got up in de prayer closet safe and snug
()()()()()()()()()()()()
White collar black crow slipped around the corner
Said, "I heard you had a job for me"
Big Bill Morris lobbed a *** o' spit towards his face
Wiped off what was left of his smile
Turned to meet the shaking Shaman
Who was there to greet the  fakin' man o' God
()()()()()()()()()()()
They turned their attention to the devil in Bill
With Bibles and crosses and charms and powders
They shook it all in da poor boys face
He started coughing and sure enuff
He coughed that demon right on out
Nobody had said a word
He turned around and walked out
Not even speaking to the priest or the Shaman
Who looked at each other expecting
A moral
Or
A punch line
Sensing none they quit each other's company
And returned to their respective homes
The only places they felt comfortable
In their own skin
And though their prayer closets had no demons
Neither had they anything else
And so they felt sorry for Bill Morris
Lonely tonight
And wondered if God dwelled with the other
You wake up at 3:30 in the morning and
You realize there ain't no way you're going back to sleep
No matter how badly you want to
So you climb out of bed
Careful not to wake the person next to you
And you settle into the couch
In the front room
Just you and your dated iPhone 4 to keep you company
A dark ennui begins to settle so
You try to break it
By searching Tumblr for pictures of attractive women with (insert search term: Big Natural *******)
You don't feel like a pervert, though
It's not what you think of as p o r n
No arousal, only appreciation
Woman is indeed God's most beautiful work of art
But it's so **** early in the morning
Melancholy wants to join in, you can just feel it, but it's too **** early
So you turn away from your exhibitionist Tumblr girls
And look straight into the darkness of the room
It's so vacuous it feels like Nothing
But you know there can never be Nothing
So long as the Observer recognizes the lack of matter that makes it appear empty
There IS something here, it is
Consciousness
As long as Consciousness exists in space
There can be no emptiness
Consciousness is One
There is Nothing without it
You wonder if you're turning into a guru
Look down at a Tumblr gal
Grin and think "Maybe"
Consciousness exists, there's no arguing that
But is it something we each have inside us
Or is it something we partake of?
Do we rise in the morning and jack in to the matrix?
Do we shut it down when we fall asleep?
Or does it exert control?
Do we come when we're called and go when we're told?
Is consciousness God?
If so you can consciously commune with God at any moment
Simply by being acutely aware
Of everything around you
Seen, heard, smelled, tasted, touched
The thoughts in your head
Your reactions to stimuli
All part of the filling up of Nothing
A light goes off in your head
You think "that's a cool name for a poem"
So you decide to use it for the poem you've been writing in your iPhone's Note program for the last 30 minutes
God loves the Creative Process
You copy and paste the text from the program into the post field at Hello Poetry
Set the alignment for "right" (since you haven't done that in a long time)
You think, "Well, here goes nothing"
And tap the Submit Poem button
***
You're reading the poem
Hoping there are no grammatical errors or typos
You're telling yourself you won't be too disappointed if no one likes it
Or if people say "that doesn't read like poetry"
Realizing that it doesn't but
What the hell?
You shut down your iPhone
With one last goodbye to Suzy Brickhouse
And cease to exist in it's technological consciousness
I've walked along these muddy banks a thousand times before
And watched the waves wash clean the trees that grow along the shore
I've sat there for hours until the sun had long gone down
.....To see the hanging tree

There it stands, a silhouette against a frozen moon
The wind blows through it's brittle leaves and whistles out a tune
A song I can recall I sang the night I took my true love
.....To the hanging tree

Seasons try to tear it down but it will never die
Sometimes if you listen close you'll hear a young girl cry
Crying for the innocence she sacrificed to me
.....Beneath the hanging tree
When the time comes
For the reconcilliation of the Hermit
I will be there
Sixty-nine guns
And one more, please, makes seventy
...and I've got what I need
7-0 for the Hermit

When the rhymes slow
And yer listeners don't know or care 'bout the Hermit
I shall believe
Sixty-nine suns
...Eleven more makes eighty, see?
...and I've got what I need
8-0 for the Hermit

If the Hermit sees the reconcilliation coming
He'll turn the other way and start to running
They don't call him the Hermit for nothing
And I got a double-ought nine volt battery,
I'm gonna stick it on his tongue

If your mind's numb
And you're as ***-dumb as the Hermit
I'll shed a tear
Ninety nine nuns
...one gave birth and that makes a hundred
Sixty nine to the Hermit
Sunshine to the Hermit
I bless the life of the Hermit
I put the knife to the Hermit
The Law is abolished
Powerless to save
As it ever was
A long lost language etched
Burned into the hard element
Subject to erosion
Replaced by flesh and blood
Speaking the same message
"Mercy, not Sacrifice"

The Word is established
Hated for its Truth
Love your brother
Love yourself
Impossible
Impossible
So few can read between the lines:
TRY

It is in the effort
That we find communion
With each other
The" judging not lest ye be judged"
That fires the engines
Of life in the world
Ruled by the powers of darkness
Yet
Even so, still the world we live in
Usurped
We are prisoners of darkness

Chained in Plato's cave
Loving the absence
The void is all we've known
All there is to love
For love will be love and
Love will have it's way
Love will find something to love
Thy brothers
Thy self
Sure, unobtainable

Love nonetheless, though darkened, restrained
A teaser
Just enough to make you want more
Just enough to make you believe
You need more

Thomas can't see it
Tommy don't know
Tom's a doubter
Tommy's the man
Thomas knows his ****
Tommy's not sure
Tom hates what he cannot know
Tommy knows nothing
Thomas hates himself
Tommy wants the moon
Tom won't be satisfied until he gets the moon
Tommy doesn't know how
Thomas wants to believe
Tommy finds it very hard
Tom won't believe what he cannot see
Tommy wishes
Thomas needs hope
Tommy wishes it away
Tom won't let himself be happy
Tommy knows fear
Thomas fears happiness
Tommy is terrified of Truth
Tom thinks he might know
Tommy won't accept it
Because the Truth is...
Tommy needs
Thomas needs
Tom needs

The Law is abolished
The chains are broken
All that is left to do
Is give up the shadowplay
Overcome the fear of getting shot in the back
TURN AROUND
Stare into the Light
Let it blind you
And find bliss in the hot, white glare

Turn around
It's not all that hard
Just
TRY

The Word is established
To free the captives
To turn their sights from the inside
To show the way of love
That swirls like a sweet smelling fog in the air around them
To teach them how to cast out devils
Their own demons, Legion
To multiply fish and loaves, to turn nothing into something
TO BREAK THEM DOWN

TO BREAK YOU DOWN
To raze the tower of babel that has been raised in your mind
Swirling with ideas and genius
All the while infected with the opinions of others
Held down by meanness and cruelty of those who don't understand
Dragged down by idiots and buffoons you are commanded to love
Crucified by ignorant people who desire to make themselves your enemies
Brothers
For all this you are asked to love them
For all of this you are expected to love yourself
For all of this, can you believe that redemption is glimpsed?
Is this the price you pay?
Is it worth it?

The chains are broken
The darkness is extinguished
Death has been consumed by death
See the cave for what it is
Your heart
And embrace the Light that illuminated it

Is it worth the price?
Your secret place is sacred
But how can you bring in love
If you don't venture outside to find it?
You will forget what love even is
How can you exercise compassion
If you don't find someone to have compassion for?
How can you forgive if there is no one to forgive?
Yourself? How do you even know HOW to forgive
When you won't forgive yourself?

The Law is abolished
Flesh and blood remain
The essence of the Law now
Shining brightly in your secret place
From behind
© 2010 by James Arthur Casey
When the new Messiah comes,
Clothed in the white vestments of an atomic bomb
I could stare into his sad, loving eyes
I could think of all the reasons he should turn away
Yet he stands, stock still as stone
Without ears I didn't need to hear
It was easy enough reading his lips
Without eyes I cannot see the blood drips
Wretched crimson, exceedingly hot and sticky
To the touch
Not momentous everything congealed in an Akashic
Clusterfck
Trump thought he was a lot tougher than his weakness betrayed
But all we can do is walk
Grown men and women bawling like babies losing their brothers and sisters
Yes all we can do is walk
Deeper and deeper into quicksand.
When they sink there's no hope
This is a Trumperf
ck
He gives the command to russel our carcasses
To the slaughterhouse for a most disturbing celebration
Of conservative right-wing superiority

To be continued if at all possible when the new Messiah comes along
Who made the stars to shine?
Who put that sparkle in your eye?
Who gave the singer to the song?
Who slayed the cherubim that kept me out and kept you in?
Who let the outcasts belong?

Who taught the sage to swim in waters most are drowning in?
Who'll tell the wise man from the clown?
Who made the light that shines that none have seen with open eyes?
Who sees the darkness all around?

Well I'd like to meet the man who shook the hand of the man who knows it all
I would shake the hand of the man who shook the hand of the man who knows it all

Tell me now who made you smile?
Enlighten me for a little while...
Give me your reason for my own
I want to meet the man who understands and gives a ****
There's someone I would like to know

And I'd like to meet the man who shook the hand of the man who knows it all
I would shake the hand of the man who shook the hand of the man who knows it all
© 2010 by James Arthur Casey
That's some weak death metal you're praising
Whatever works for you
Deeper levels of hell to be raising
Got better things to do
You say you want a revolution
It's nothing but a game
Pleased to meet you, mister, get your gun
Hope you guessed my name
You still believe everything you're told
Without a question why
Realize you enjoy being controlled
Accept you love the lie
Weak death metal is all that you've known
From the days of your youth
One day I will show you, when you have grown
Black metal is the truth
Music fails
God turns a blind eye
If only for a moment
Lost to me forever

I asked my friend to fill me in
This season out of time
Out of touch and out of mind
He knew all the clues and the juicy details
Tasked to remember that night
For this moment of truth
Serendipitously placed in this time and space
To remind me of days soon faded away
To shine the bright light of cold reason

With all I believed I never conceived
I was capable of ******
But when my head was pulled from the dream
The static uncertainty shocked me
A mean and relentless electricity
I couldn't fool or convince myself
I was part of this world
Far from the gaze of YWVH's stare

My friend tried to pull me out
To wake me from this violent dream
Eyes wide open, he wondered what I'd seen

I saw him the carrion hungry to feed
Miserable mercury, come to tell me the game had only just begun
A player on a vast stage, told to hunt me down
Bring me back to square one, full circle 'round
After so many  years I'd tried to forget
The paranoia that read others' thoughts and words
As encouragement to me, but all that I heard
Were lies and cruel manipulations designed
To build up my hopes cuz the higher they flew
The harder they fell
It's what they liked to do

So I turned on my friend, neither he or the Lord
Would put me through that again
I would have killed him
I would have broken every bone in his body
I told him as much

The only thing I remembered, until now,
Was the cop right behind me and the cuffs 'round my wrists
That and silently wondering why
And what all had happened when God closed His eye

Silently riding along the state highway
Sitting uncomfortable, metal at my spine
The cop turned on the radio
I didn't think they could do that
Grateful Dead, "Friend of the Devil"
I smiled
It sounded good
the coarseness of his whiskers prickled
rubbed red rash masses burned cheeks
lips past chapped stretching crevices
straining to kiss your goose down smile
wondering what you see behind thin skein lids
closed but to the most brilliant illumination
so sweet so soft two fat bellied worms
caress cracked slugs immobilized through sodium
his voice a dark tunnel a flickering tongue of fire
settles
you absorb the warmth understand every word
reach to stroke the bristly brush bush pulls
down
push in fall up
for the reprieve from light's absence
as the two of you stand naked in the rain
waiting for lightning to strike
The angel stood on bowed knee
Waist deep in the shallows
His right hand cast miracles into waves of water
Threw ripples imbued with magis
Stirred and splashed until healing came upon it
Until the entire pool of Bethesda shimmered like glitter on the wet heat waves of the sun
That's when they all began to jump in
But could not linger long
The moment healing settled in
It's out of the pool, to the Temple song

But you stood still for so long
Watching the wretched washed
Cleansed of their sins
Whole of body, whole of mind
You never knew what that was like
You didn't know what that could be like

You would have stood there until the bubbling waters stilled
Cheated out of your mindful abundance
Had I not an incantation of my own
So I chanted "Pura Deva Honey Madme Plath "
Words of pure nonsense I knew
You'd take them as a cryptic challenge
Meaningless but they sounded right
The sheer repetition hypnotized you
And back, back, walking back slowly
Walking backwards towards the pull that still seemed affluent & fecund
You walked
In silence
Until your foot touched the water and you had to stop to absorb what felt like several hundred volts of lightning streaming up from your Achilles Heel to your Freud-ball skull and immediately you realized
Something big was happening
Lowering your waist the pain was transmuted
As clarity wiped the fog from the window of your perception
The songs that came unbidden
Overflowed your stained glass imagination
Forcing out demons and dumb ideas
Death and delusions and bad desires
Running like demons to the sow
Having asked permission
Your music-stuffed head went underwater
A practical baptism, a lesson in breathing liquid
When you were pulled out you had no use for what lay on the other side of the pool
The grassy meadow where I still stood
When the cancer was removed
I came to find what I always suspected
I'm a huge part of the tumor
Dug in on the other side of the pool
While your fool legs take you fast as you may run
To make an offering to the chief priest
Singing songs of praise and gratefulness

I find my own song to sing
The Angel says my burden
Must stick tight and bleed like leeches
Bad seed buried deep in the abyss of my being
An ugly man, face drawn from grimaces and frowns
Unloveable and beat to the bone
Without a single song of my own
Surely there was fire in that place
Long dragon tongues of flame
Tasting everything in sight
Leaving it burning cinders
Incredible heat wafted from
The prophet
Sweat bullets dripped then burst
Covering his face
Blanketing his broad shoulders
With salt liquid warmth
Every eye in the arena
Trained on him
No, they could not look away
They'd sold their souls
Happy with the bargain
Even if not quite
A fair exchange  
He sang of proving one's devotion
Jethro Tull sings Aretha Franklin
The sweat made it work
And the flying tongues of fire
That set upon the heads of
Everyone in the building
Forced them to speak Hopelandic
So everyone could understand
So no one understood
But the prophet
Who sang songs of desolation
Songs of depression
Songs of dislocation and isolation
Heavy weights to bear
And not a dry eye in the house
Smoke rose through those windows
Firemen never came
Crowley paid lackies to keep the doors
Locked from the outside
So
The prophets demise
Buried in several feet of ash and soot
His last words:
"So Be It"
Hundreds upon hundreds of his
Disciples
Mouths stuffed with debris
The tongues of fire ascended
When the last pulse tapered off into stillness
Suzi Quatro didn't break a sweat
Heavy axe slung laying 'gainst her shin
Bruised but hidden by spandex
Old men and dogs in the audience
Leering, craving different meats
Suzi doesn't notice
Fonzie's still a few years down the road
Suzi's got credentials
Winkler ain't weakened them yet
And with those credentials
She's gonna rock
She's gonna make 'em forget about
The prophet
And all the heavy **** he was always
Layin' on 'em
She said "Watch me play bass guitar"
And whipped out 50 classic bass riffs in a row
The people who had followed her in
Seemed impressed
But not nearly as amazed as they were
By the sight of countless tongues of flame
Descending upon their congregation
The end result being
Remarkably similar to the incident with
Flaming tongues and the prophet
What it all means
Nobody knows
Best not to interrupt good rock and roll shows
He was slowly drowning in air
     He was fading away and he just didn't care
He knew somewhere in his heart
     There had to be something better out there
Just out of reach, forever denied him
     ...or maybe not
          ...or maybe not

I recall we were friends
     He and I raised some hell in the old days
At least I thought we were friends
     He bought me beer and I gave him a ride home
He told me stories how his daddy would break down
    How the old man had laid a burden on him
Something he never could tell anybody
    How the pain brings a serious change
He knew, he said, from a very young age
     He was cursed to be curious, different and strange
Perhaps that's why we got along so well
     Both of us taking solace in each others' personal hell
Each others' highway to hell
     Adjoining rooms in our different hells

There was a moment. There's always a moment.
     He would think of every day for the rest of his life
It would haunt him until the day he chose to die
    Some will say that he didn't even try
Some will say everything he ever said was a lie
...and I sometimes think those people are right
           ...and I won't deny it
                
A scarecrow hanging from a rope in the bedroom
     Moon shines through an open window
Bathes the crow in the gleam of the moonlight's glow
     Swinging back and forth as the spirit breeze blows
Just a scare crow, not so creepy
     But what's it doing in the bedroom?
I gotta know
     I gotta know
The title is from a lyric in the Joy Division song "Isolation" (from the album Closer). Words by Ian Curtis. If you don't know Joy Division you would do yourself a favor to check them out.  This particular lyric came to me immediately after writing the piece and I thought it seemed to somehow fit the content of the poem.
I want to enter into your suffering
Be a part of the controversy
I've felt the wind guide me
Into the fibers of your body
My blunted mind still sharp enough
To recognize the truth
Though I recoil
I feel the pain when you are insulted
I am ashamed when the world lines up
To spit in your face
I want to take that abuse with you
I want to be a martyr for the cause
Together recognizing
The absolute
As one in the journey
To becoming
Returning
Being
The needle falls down on the record, a thump deep in the bass, the speaker cone shakes and the sound ocean floods from my Serwin-Vegas...That alien who stepped out of the saucer in Close Encounters of the Third Kind decides to speak to Dreyfuss, and this is what it sounds like. This is the language of his planet, on the other side of a black hole in the Gamma region.

A ****** of crows, cold in the snow, muttering low, squeaking and squealing. Love taking on flesh and blood, suffocated by skin, now let's let the service begin. They sing their gut-hungry praises then flitter away.

Signifying nothing.

The priest places the wafer on the infidel's tongue. He lifts the cup to the liar's lips. A subtle glow emitted from a place slightly behind his head. He intones the Mass and tries to empty himself to allow the Holy Spirit to work through him as he ministers in the name of Jesus Christ to his congregation. The Spirit lifts up his voice to the sky and intercedes for my weak soul.

These chants are ancient, as old as the book of Genesis. These are the languages of the Mishraites or the Zareathites or the Eshtaulites. These are the tongues spoken by Zimran, Jokshan, Medan, Midian, Ishbak and Shuah. A language taught to them by their slave ancestors, excommunicated from the clans of Sarah, mother of the promised. A language used by Abraham himself, when he beckoned Isaac to the land of Moriah, making him carry the sacrificial knife soon held to his throat.

The procession moves forward, each recieving the body and blood in turn, enriched and better for recieving it. They walk like slaves submitting to a kind master they love to serve back to their seats in the cathedral, to wait, to get lost in the sacred relics and the sacred art scattered throughout this beautiful sanctuary.

And surely the Lord is in this place, for all that is good is from the Lord and this music is exceptionally good.

The chanting continues, now sung in the language of Baal-Zephon, where the king went after the Israelites, translated: "Wasn't there enough room in Egypt to bury us? Is that why you brought us out here to die in the desert? Why did you bring us out of Egypt, anyway? While we were there didn't we tell you to leave us alone? We had rather be slaves in Egypt than die in this desert!..."

These tone poems, written in the days of the Exodus, have a modern sound to them that is uncanny. Aliens who landed on earth in 897 BC bestowed gifts of prophecy and tongues to the individual members of the head's charge, and they are merely tools at the disposal of the leader of the aliens in their attempts to express themselves to the earthlings. No, there's no way any of us not from their planet could ever understand their language, borrowed as it was from the priests, Zadok and Abiathar in a meeting held on Mount Calvary the last time they landed on earth. The chord progressions are subliminally tainted with commands to relax, encourage a sense of floating, drift off with the thoughts that interest you most.

A looping tribal dance, recorded on site at a Buddhist monastary where the monks would mumble polyphonic OMs and the tourists would catapult their spirits through a needle's eye just to show that it can be done... Are they praying for rain? Or is it a rich harvest they petition the Great Spirit for today, their knees to the ground? The dance turns into an ****, bodies tangled up misplaced pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

They **** the whale, and so we mourn.

They fester hate like a sore that won't go away, so we sing this lamentation. Translation: "The Son wants you...Hear things in the music that aren't there, only in your hammer struck head. Ring the living bell, ring the living bell, shine the living light, shine the living light...

They incite aggression, so we back off.

They treat the blind man with scorn and contempt, so we judge them.

They are good for nothing but fighting your wars, their stone hardened hearts too far gone to notice each life snuffed out under orders from ground patrol. So we pray for conflict. We petition the Lord for strife and dischord. Exterminate these burned-out husks of men before their 4 years are up.

They lay hands upon the genius and lock him in institutions with people who pull steak knives on strangers. They are afraid of him, so they put him away, in sweat-stinking padded cells or wrapped up nice and tight in a straight, mornings woke and hustled to the breakfast line. They extricate his confidence, thought pattern by thought pattern, and curb the flow of his intellect. They leave us to sing a funeral song for the postmodern society on the day when common sense is evenly distributed amongst individuals and Moral Law is accepted as fact by each and all. A dirge for each time you've ever been hurt by someone's words or actions. Our common denominator of heartache and sorrow. Divided about all other things, by necessity united by tears, wailing, howling at the moon, primal scream therapy and insomnia.

And now the church is empty. Angels lingering to usher the Spirit from the echoing halls. Silence and stillness brutal proof of God. Music from the other side of this life. Welcoming songs played at St. Peter's Gate. Stubborn prayers from those passed over, coaxing us through, waiting with scissors at the ready to slice the mortal coil. Believers bellys full of the body and blood of the Lord, digesting it at this very moment, letting the body do it's digestive work, preparing it for re-birth.
Through the gates of a paradox
Past three strands of infinity
I pull up the curtain of night
The face of God by chance to see

To bathe in rivers of moonlight
Enamored of hope's gentle glow
I breathe in fresh lungfuls of sunshine
And slowly forget all I know

When my tired mind is empty
Every memory stripped, every care
When Nothing is all that is left me
I know I'll find you standing there
My head is bowed
Pelted by pellets of invisible rain
That burn life sparks from a smelter
The heat of the sun, quickly vanishing
Realization stabs deep, lightning sharp
Bright, brilliant for only a second
Then gone, gone, gone from it's target
Chosen for it's revelation
I feel the thunder shake my guts
No longer in the distance
The hammer strikes hard
And the flash of metal on steel
Spits electricity, aimed with precision
So I cover my head with my hands
My instinct is to hit the ground
Assume the position
Hide in a cellar womb, conceived in my mind
For just this purpose
I should not have made the promise
Not to venture too far
From fetal security
It's much better in this gelatinous cellar tomb
White washed as it is by all Your lies

Can you feel the wind blowing?
Howling and whining, whistling a dreadful tune
Giving voice to ghosts and spirits, angry at me
Threatening to knock me down, back to the ground
******* down and stone me
With lethal hailstones as the apostle stands back to watch
Threaten to whip me up and whirl me around
Just so much debris caught in the jaws of a hungry tornado
It threatens to toss me off, useless detritus
Into ever growing puddles
But I am a heavy feather
A wet leaf, mired in fresh mud
So I ain't goin' nowhere

If I had the nerve
I would lift up my head from useless prayers
Take a quick look and hope to see
Where it's all coming from
Grey clouds drifting too quickly
Ugly colors on infinite canvas
Confusing melodies drawn upon staves of silence
Sick, *****, murky ether
That delivers nothing but bad tidings
I only want to **** the messenger
The artist, the composer
I know exactly where to find Him
He's in the womb
He's in the tomb
And he's mean to ***** me out of his silent mouth
And he's heartless to leave me alone for these years he's given me
And he's cruel to teach me of the Grand Obsession
That will take me back to Him

I will stop up my ears aganst the raging tempest
Because I do not want to hear
So sure that my denial
Rooted, as it is, in ignorance
Will perform alchemy
If only in the playground of my mind
A minor tweak in the illusion
But I have not the nerve
Nor have I the skills
My magic is too fragile
So my back remains hunched
Eyes still closed
Head in hands, bobbing back and forth
To the beat
Of some heavy rock music I've chosen
To drown out the sound
Of the Hurricane
© 2011 by James Arthur Casey
canto 1
I call her daddy my own. He felt nothing for her when the time had come for him to do something he fell and she felt nothing at all, nothing whatsoever. It is a cruel world, mateys, and the best thing you can do is curse God and die. Hard to ditch the pity act. Ditching is denying and there is much truth to the lie.

canto 2
Their eyes bubble in the open air, they fill to bursting and scrub until they scratch. **** drips. It's a sound that I will never forget. A sight that should be reserved for the dream world...a stench unrivaled.

canto 3
The Chinese bomber is persistent. One has to wonder why he bothers at all, seeing that his attempts have been futile up until the present moment. It's shoe week, so I guess he has his reasons. But this has gone on for far too long. If there were a way for me to stop him I guess it wouldn't hurt to try.

canto 4
Random parking lots and good God what have they done? I thought it was all over, these thoughts were through, these voices are mad. Usually it's not as upsetting. Your car door gets stuck, you know, it happens all the time. It happens every day, still you never get used to it, do you? You're always stuck inside that ugly mirror.

canto 5 (the "missing canto")

canto 6
I want to tell the world how good you are. Amazing and incredible. **** and *******. Talented and unrestrained. Honey nut Cheerios. You give it but I have a sneaky feeling you would rather be lost in a dream. A banal night vision. Comparably

canto 7
I want to make it better. I want to see you smile. What can I do? You are my own heart ripped from my chest and given wings to fly. Your smile is a lost treasure I would do anything to get it back to give it back to you, I didn't mean to take it away from you. You push me up against a stone wall and you don't even realize you're doing it. That my soul cries and prays for something real, for some kind of explanation or even an excuse would be fine right now. Instead I float. Not the way I like to float. I drift and crash, a dizzying spiral out of control, confused and dumbfounded by the realization that none of it means a ******* thing. What I thought was love turned out to be a jester's game, a joker's trick. You don't need me anymore.

canto 8
I hide myself behind a blanket of stone where you cannot spit fireballs at me without cracking an egg. Cold breeze tickles my news. It's not too chilly in this room. But the fireballs warm things up. "Blanket of stone"...what a stupid expression. Why do you have to be so hateful to me? How many times can a man say I'm Sorry without losing an eyeball?

canto 9
I have no right to feel the way I do. I don't think I can control it, though. This is one of the ****** up idiosyncrasies of my confused existence. Vanish without a trace and look for clues in the alphabet soup.

canto 10
Weariness is like a slug, a giant slug, a parasite infesting my body, hanging on and hanging out. A fire down below that waits for my imagination. My sleep patterns are getting ****** up but I'm not sure if I was sleeping or just dreaming I was awake. Under the impression that it doesn't matter? Well, you are a stone fool for thinking that way. You've never experienced the life-changer. Else you would know. But all I want to know is this: Why am I afraid of sleep?

canto 11
Things get slow. Patience is required, but I don't have any. Why does it have to be that way, o cruel dictator? You get a kick out of this ****, don't you?

canto 12
Spill your guts, maties, it's the only way you'll ever come out of this situation with even a shard of dignity intact. I know it's early and you haven't had time to adjust your eyes and your wrists for this delicate task. Go! Do it now before you lose confidence.

canto 13
We took a holiday and it was so nice. She stood there on that stage without a stitch of clothing on her voluptuous body. Baby, don't you let your hairdresser down

canto 14
Who doesn't love breakfast? Me, actually.

canto 15
I can't help it if I'm changing every day. Ask the question later, maybe my answer will be suitable. I don't think I can help you because I'm not like anyone you've ever known or will ever know or can ever know or would ever want to know and why do you keep wanting to know where I've been? I've been right here. Right where I've always been. Haven't moved a muscle.

canto 16
This is the 16th and I should be proud but the apathy seeps from my very pours. That little ******* was about to take a **** in the corner. When I picked him up to take him to the paper he dropped a couple of turds on the floor beneath me. I guess he couldn't wait.

canto 17
Sometimes things change so much that it's hard to tell if they're for the best or the worst. It is at these times that I enjoy a good evening on the water, enjoying my yacht and eating peanuts from another man's sack. Salted peanuts with pickled eggs and deviled ham with a side order of angel food crack.

canto 18
My wrist hurts and I've lost the will to **** socks.

canto 19
The lawn chair has been placed under extreme scrutiny. It's rocking motion is being scientifically tested and arranged for packaging. The physics of this miracle are in the process of logistical infiltration. You'd be surprised at how useful a rocking lawn chair can be in a world tangled in war. It's a good place to relax. For paranoids, that is.

canto 20
Bird feathers of a different post, it has never made a lick of sense and the promises made were broken. Who was that man in the bird suit? Why was he making all those funny noises? I'll have to investigate. Lawd have mercy I do believe I've **** my pants.

canto 21
Don't come crying to me if you feel misunderstood. I can read right through you and I know that all you're doing is fishing for a compliment. You will not receive one from me, Salty Dog, not because you don't deserve one. You probably do. But not from me. Perhaps you should take up your case with Hoda Kotbe. Who knows but that you might look really, really good on television. Just remember to feed the dog before you leave. He gets hungry. But he doesn't miss you. I don't mean to break your heart, but the rational man within me is very convincing when he tells me you are a real pickle.

canto 22
Those comments are found particularly offensive in light of the situation in the Gulf. You need to regulate your interest in beans. One day you'll fly to the Middle East looking for peace and all you will find are demons like the ones who raised so much hell in "The Exorcist". You don't want that, do you? Settle for Ranch Style and leave the diplomacy to the masters.

canto 23 (the "lost" canto)
I wouldn't wish this on a barrel full of monkeys. They say that time heals all wounds and I suppose it does. No "if"s, "and"s or "but"s. Don't believe me? Listen to 'em snarl. They're hungry for blood and sandwiches. I owe you nothing, so perhaps I'll send you a good time from New York. You gotta love a trapeze artist.

canto 24
I'm trying my best to change the world but the fact remains that the human race does not deserve the kind of tender loving care that I'm well known for. This holiday event will not include high temperatures or the kind of crap the weather people try to sell you.

canto 25
******* Valhalla. This is how it always seems to wind up, isn't it, Pinnochio? Just when you think things are getting better, BAM, ****** up again.

canto 26
You know you've reached a severe point of boredom when you switch to the Daystar Network and find yourself singing along to the bogus faith healers. Pecans on that one, please.

canto 27
Plug away, Sailor. Keep plugging away. When you get there you can say you plugged away with as much vim and vigor as a much larger man. Slough it off, O Great one. Keep sloughing it off. When you get there you can say you sloughed it off with as much skill and empathy as one might expect from a lizard. Or a monster frog.

canto 28 (the "twenty-eighth canto")
Come, look at my incredible collection of dice. Right next to my collection of mice. Next to that bowl of rice. Sugar and spice, everything nice. My head's full of lice. Don't think twice, just break the ice. Pup your puppy dog in the freezer.

canto 29
My toes are cold and so is my nose. I should be concerned with this situation but, strangely, I could care less. There are so many other, more important things to worry about. Like how many frosted flakes are in that box over there. And is there any milk left? And is it the real deal or that phony 2%? 1%? Skim milk is even worse. If it gets down to that point I'll save the money and use tap water. Don't think for a moment that I won't.

canto 30
Colored pencils expect risque answers to tame pencils. Unfortunately the quality of superior eggs is relative to the ice cream that has dripped down your shirt. You're starting to smell bad and I would highly recommend soaking in vinegar for an hour or six.

canto 31
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 32 (the "same as the 31st" canto)
There are times when I wish the planet would implode and **** every living thing into a void. I don't wanna die, but if I'm gonna I want everyone else to come with me. I'm tired of hearing about God's word. But even more so John Hagee's special gift for your love offering of any amount, the super duper Bible verse audio player, with selected passages read by the man himself. You can leave him behind.

canto 33
Yazaa, yazaa, yazaa I told you I was gonna steal that car. You didn't think I had the guts, did you? But look who's laughing now! That guy with the big flower in his pocket must really feel like **** right now, realizing that his awesome vehicle is no longer in his possession. Maybe get an ice cream cone, maybe feel better.

canto 34
Come out of your hidey-hole, scurvy dog. Rat scabies be breathing down your neck and it's cold and old and you'll do as you're told. Pinch back that stray lock of hair, O Queen of Sheba. You shall spend the rest of your days parked on a green chariot overlooking Lake Erie

canto 35
You could have given me a reason for the season. Instead you had nothing to offer but a huge chunk of pepperoni that had mold growing all over it. Admittedly it was delicious but surely you could have come up with something a bit more expressive of the tender emotions I inspired within your fluttering heart.

canto 36
The prospect of a news reporter calling you a crack head based on information gleamed from your Internet social network profiles is quite terrifying, but when you tie the noose you might as well make sure it was time well spent. It's a shame you shaved your head because the painful truth is that now you bear a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas.

canto 37
Energy. That's what is required. And not just the kind of energy you can get from sugar, caffeine and butter. If it were that easy you could be **** sure that the Catholic Church would be the first in line to canonize it. They have a burning desire to fall off the wagon. "Which wagon?" you may ask. The one with the ice cream, of course. Don't be a fool.

canto 38 (a "short" canto)
If boredom is a sea in which one can easily sink into and drown in, I must be swimming the Atlantic.

canto 39
When the dog barks like that it's a sure bet that he's been neutered in the last few days. It's a sad and sorrowful sound that is only recognized by **** knockers in the deep woods.

canto 40
I could stare at the bars of this prison for the rest of my life. Okay, that's *******.

canto 41
Who was it that once said time is the only reliable concept in the universe? Oh, wait. That was me

canto 42
They tell you to wait. That's what it's all about. Wait, wait, wait, wait until I can almost feel my hair turning gray. The estimated time is currently number 7 the estimated hold time is 4 minutes, thank you for your patience. Well, you're welcome, comrade.

canto 42
I've only to surrender you to the world, lie down and wait for it to crush me.

canto 43
If I can only keep it together...if I can only hold it together this one time, I know the gravy train will come my way. Would it do any good to pray? This isn't the first time that enlightenment and illumination have reared their blessed heads. Would that I could live within them this time.

canto 44
Have I told you lately how much I hate to wait? Thinketh not that the Chair has lost it's financial imbalance, the very thread of chocolate that brought you here. It is still a very important and, some would say, a hot topic regardless of the amount of grime, sweat, blood and V8 juice is spilled on it's ivory shaped pear seat.

canto 45
The shadows turn into cloaks, dark itchy woolen capes that enfold the nothingness beneath them, the nothingness of being. You could have worked a little longer and a little harder on that one, amigo.

canto 46
It's been awhile but my wrist still hurts and I've written the word "moon" on the back of my hand with a Sharpie.

canto 47
I'm movin' this **** to WordPress. No I'm not. **** WordPress. Press WordFuck. Word FuckPress. On and on and on and on and not the least bit clever or entertaining. But I do like steaks.

canto 48
I swear to God I wish I had never taken that first hit of ****. Look what it's done to me. After so many years, I guess I was only fooling myself. Or maybe I was so dumbed down that it didn't seem to matter. But now things have changed. And I can do nothing about it. Dump a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup into a bowl, throw it into the microwave, let 'er go for three minutes, let 'er cool down in the oven for a couple more, stir in a quarter cup of Tabasco sauce, let 'er cool down for a little while longer, mix in a ****-load of Cheez-It reduced fat crackers and then go to ******* town. Go to ******* town, I say, **** the stoner days.
She was a crazy catholic lady
With a crucifix dangling from a chain round her neck
Cheap Jesus pieces in her earlobes and
On her fingers, twisted against her wrist
The symbol of Christ's suffering and death
Molded in less than precious metals
To show allegiance to the cause
To prove membership in the club

I told her I was an alien
From a planet I pointed to
(Which was actually a star but she didn't know any better)
I gave some obviously typical dry science fiction name to the orb from where I came
A red planet,heated year round by hell fire
And the coup de grace
The people from my planet worship Satan and God

She took most of what I had to relate in comparative stride
Until I got to the part about worshipping the debbil
Then she began to moan ang groan about second thoughts
But second thoughts weren't part of my plan

"It's lunch time ,guys. They've got liver and onion on the buffet and it's going to be delicious"

"But O Holy One. We are not carnivores. We are Here to feast on all the bugs that have made themselves comfortable.

O Holy One did yet another double take and saw me bending down seeking out insects.
What she didn't see was Neolithic alone In the grounds area planting gummy bears and gummi worms and other insect  like critters. Insects like you .

When the arbolic lady sits I the grounds shelter she can't help but spot some of those cray college pestle shoot firsrms inside their belly
Just looking for tha pillowcase. ( that's where it was)

Catholic lady stared into that uncanny stew I did, too, and all the aliens with perhaps we shouldn't have been so cocky at first we soo began to respect the wagonmaster

One last gesture for the catholic lady
She sat across the room obviously devising plans of what to do when we got home
Home sweet himi took a magic marker
And drew a huge upside down pentagram acroo the whole of my palms
They didn't look like tats that were inked for fun or for hell
Theft tats. Were reminders of to WHOM you belonged.

I opened my hand, turned around and waved. It at her, a beautifully drawn Baphomet head smack dad center of my so realistic it looked like it might slide off of my skin and back to the loving arms of Boris Karloff.

The gummi bears were delicious
It was hard to pretend I was chomping a nasty X Y or Z, which were made an entirely horrendous smelling concoction for their entry but had almost become disqualified when it was found that she harbored secret  ideas. She's willing to talk about them on the phone.

Now he's here 5:00: o'clock early making soft, simple subliminal suggestions lull in conversation and I don't think anyone is individually off the hook for this nonsensse.

Catholuc girl saw his pentagram palm and almost had heart attack as well,I don't want to di early of hreart disease so I  hope it's some good old marihuana that gets us thru this hellish lost weekend


He didn't want to go stay with his parents but he did anyway dragging corpses behind him and begging the "old boy" to show him again how the **** never goes down. He heel used, martyred, confused

Catholic girl told my whole routine to the doctor. He thought it mildly humorous but felt obligated to be with
Her, she sufferers and her mind really reeled...she thought I ate bugs for dinner, what else was I telling the truth about?    Casting Crowns couldn't stay for our encore. We didn't expect them to,

SET LIST
10- "Mama ToldMe Not to Come" Three Dog night
9.- "The Pusher" - Steppenwolfe
8. - Goodnitr, Wake  Up Stonef" - Blind Society
7. "Madonna and the pope, swinging from arope" - my brother's least favorite band name
6. "1/3 of the Beast" the Beales
5. - Let's make this a short one
4. Dive hound ***** fu ka someone's in the house... I'd daddy, but your gun durum I'm only five and I don't know what thr g be this -
Goodnight I should have betcha can't limnnn

*I feel compelled to point out that this piece was written directly after taking my nightly 10mg dosage of Ambien. I suffer from chronic insomnia and after several years I can attest that it works. I may be addicted but that's better than sleep deprivation, as I see it. If you have taken Ambien, or know someone who takes it, I don't have to tell you that it has strange properties. For instance, I have been known to have complete conversations with people who were not there while Ambien was working and have to beg my wife to tell me what I said because there will be no memory of it whatsoever. It's as if a portion of my subconscious  has been tapped into and what's coming out is stuff I'd never say in my waking moments. Weird things, silly things, funny noises... Lately I've begun typing out poetry on my iPhone before falling asleep. It's a good way to clear my head. This particular poem went on longer than I had planned and apparently I nodded off a couple of times while still in the process of typing. This is why some of the poem seems to make no sense...at least it doesn't on this level, I think there are connections to the subconscious being made. It's the closest thing to "automatic writing" that I've ever experienced personally and no, I didn't remember what I'd written until reading it the next day. *
In stark liquid darkness I drown
Only the voices in my head to convince me
I'm still among the land of the living
One sounds like me
The other sounds like my dad
After his voice turned weak
Only two days into a hospital stay
When a blood clot killed him in the middle of the night
I was not there
I ask if he was asleep when it happened
He avoids the question
I ask if he died in pain and confusion, alone in the darkness
He wants to talk about George Jones
So I talk to him about George Jones
And Waylon Jennings and Merle Haggard
All the country singers I love in part
Because he loved them so
I stand outside and listen to the conversation
He never asks me why I wasn't there
I never tell him
I let him talk and talk and talk some more
Until his voice sounds even more sore
Leukemia had it's prize stolen from right before it's eyes
They'd only  had time to shave his head
He didn't look much like my dad
I ask him how he made it seem easier than it was
He seemed to take my mother's leaving harder
But that was a long time ago, those years
Probably taught him some tricks
He said it was easier
Because I wasn't there
Next page