Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
thirteen days
and I'm feeling unlucky
less than two weeks
I break this self-imposed fast
and I don't know
what I'm feeling
so excited
overly anxious
prematurely proud
it will all go wrong

I've never wanted
a drink
more than I do right now
and every day
that is true
all over again
how will I feel
with three days to go?
with two?
that first sip of whiskey
might make me cry

what if I can't handle it
what if I get depressed again
what if I lose my creativity
what if I can't write anymore
what if I can write
but I don't want to
what if I can write
and I want to
but I don't feel anything when I do
what if I don't feel anything

I only learned
to express myself
when I stopped
only started to write
when I dried up
so now I'm afraid
dipping my toe back
into that
golden Kentucky spring
could take that all away from me
and I don't know
what I'd do without this
how I'd deal without this
who I'd be without this
joy of
turning inward
feeling around
pulling something out
pouring over it
crafting it
shaping it
until it's just right
and then
casting it out
into the universe
to be its own

if I have to choose
I know what I'll choose
but either way
I'll lose
I love
and I won't be
Seeking the Enchanted Wood
beyond the Gate of Dreams
again another night
naked but for my Silver Key
that heavy antique carved
with undecipherable
stolen from the Messenger
of the Faceless One
hung from a chain around my neck
the Key to the Dreaming
a comfortable weight against my chest

I descend those too-familiar
Seventy Steps of Light Slumber
ancient worn stone cold under my bare feet
climbing down through the dusky emptiness of Pre-Dreaming
until they suddenly end
at Nothing at all

Without hesitation
(I've been here so many many times before)
I take the leap
and step off into emptiness
and enter the hidden Cavern of Flame

In the far corner of that inky darkness I can almost see
the shadowed forms
of Nasht
and Kaman-Thah
the Gatekeepers
whose temple this is
those towering black figures
bare-chested with carved, curved beards
and elaborate head-dress
stand stone-still but all-aware
waiting to judge my worthiness
I perform for them
a different routine every night
to demonstrate my power
my understanding
my worthiness to traverse The Dreamlands beyond

as most nights
I begin by conjuring myself a robe
a simple black thawb with cleric's collar
hemmed just below the knee
black linen gi pants
in the Thai style
and comfortable black tabi boots for my feet

Now dressed appropriately
I begin the ritual proper
so They may see
my mastery of The Dream

I rise myself up to float in the center of the cavern
in lotus-posture
and expand out from my center
a dodecahedral lattice-work of blue plasma
until it fills the space
and I float serenely in its center
From each pentagonal face of this construct
I then project white-hot jets of flame
offensive defense
effective ward against
the many horrors that await a Dreamer
But here in this realm of un-real
this is but simple hedge-magick

They require better of me

I reach out
and project myself
to the far end of the cavern
and instantly I am there
And then again
and then again
teleporting myself around the cavern
disappearing and re-appearing at random points
to demonstrate my control of Self
and reality here

They continue to stare down at me
black and stone-faced

I draw my perception down into the center of my form
and push Out
against my flesh
against my skin
until I feel it begin to tear
down my back
and I keep pushing
and Out
until it all comes free in one blood-soaked blur of agony
and I am left standing as
naked muscle sinew bone and nerve
From the scraps of my skin I fashion
a new robe to wear
to show them
my immunity to the horrors I will face beyond

they consent

From the center of the cavern erupts
the Pillar of Flame
floor to ceiling
I step into it
and my flesh-robe self-sacrifice burns away to ash in an instant
the price paid for passage
but I am left unsinged
and after a moment I step free from the flame
with a new skin
and again re-robed, as before
black thawb and gi and tabi
but now also something new
something never experienced before
(every night
something never experienced before)
something not of my own crafting
a blue turban
electric royal blue
adorned with an onyx jewel
I do not understand this gift
or who
or what
might be the giver
but I accept
with gratitude

An open door appears in the cavern wall in front of me
and I step through
and begin my descent
of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber
gleaming black stone staircase
descending into darkness
through an empty night
I know that at the bottom of these stairs lies
the Enchanted Wood
and further beyond the rest of The Dreamlands
Ulthar and Dylath-Leen
Oriab and Celephaïs
Leng and unknown Kadath
and as I descend further and further
and closer to the Dream
I can feel my Self coming apart
as if dissolving into mist
and I try to hold my Self together
and focus on those far-away lands
and their cities of Dreaming
and remember how much I long to see them
how every night I long to see them
and I try
and I try harder
and I take another step
and I am gone

And then I am awake

I will try again tonight
as I try every night
and I will make my way to the Cavern of Flame
and I will perform my tricks for the Gatekeepers
and I will begin my descent of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber
and one night
maybe tonight
I will make it all the way
to the bottom
to the Enchanted Wood
and to the Dream beyond
and I won't ever
have to return
day's almost over
Sun's almost gone
an entire star hidden in the shadow cast by a speck of rock

high on caffeine
while falling asleep
trying to push myself past a mindful minefield of lyrical cynicism

scraping around bottom
goring the core
make a wish upon our shadow star to be a whimsical poet-to-be

flimsy words arise
then fall away
and the head's emptied again from nothing worth remembering

could be better
could be worse
not qualified to judge due to never passing the bar set for myself

eye-ing the time
passing me by
feeling the throb of decay in fingers' muscle memories of home row

finally the night
and darkened peace
stopping to let the words sink in, refresh the mind, and rest the eyes a minute

just resting my eyes
Ugh, utter crap.  Bad combination of "too tired to write" with "nothing worthwhile to say."  If I had any shame I'd be embarrassed to post this.
there's a strange and beautiful light in the building this morning
as i walk down the hall lined with empty offices all dark
on my merry way to my morning coffee
it's dark and storming outside
sweet Summer rain
heavy dark, almost night
and that odd, grey-cast half-light
that is not quite shadow but neither true illumination
filters in through the tinted office windows
into the hall
into my eyes
blending on the way with the white bright from buzzing fluorescents
that draw a dotted line down the halls' ceilings
so that the colors from within and the colors from without
to form a singularly beautiful light that glows in the air
only on days like this
dark rain
morning sky
fluorescent light
off-white walls
and i'm suddenly lost in that ethereal glow
drawn back in time to a memory i had forgotten when i was still young
of the time when i had first learned to love this light
though i didn't know it then
and couldn't have put it to words even so
i was still only learning how to read
and the school day still included a time specifically for "napping"
but i knew that rainy days were different, somehow special
and not only because we would have recess in the gym
but because everything about this strange new world that i was shuttled off to every morning
Looked Different
on these dark rainy days
everything glowed in a strange way
and it wasn't like that when the sun was shining bright through the windows
and most days were sunny
it was only sometimes, only in the once-in-a-while
that the sun would hide behind the darkness
and the wet would come pouring down on us
and the class-room would glow
and i would feel the strangeness of that rare and special light inside of me
my tummy would roll and quiver all day in anticipation of
nothing in particular
my young body would vibrate to match the frequency of the fluorescence humming above me
overwhelmed with exuberant expectation
i couldn't have described it, couldn't have said what it was
i was still only learning to speak
but i knew something was different in my world
i knew it was rare
i knew that it did something to me
i knew that i liked it
and i came to realize that is what the word "beauty" meant
and that is where "love" came from
and though i didn't know it then
couldn't have known it then
now i realize
i've chased that strange and beautiful light
every day since
I dreamt of drinking whiskey
first sip
favorite brand
dry for a year
now wet again
felt the weight of the glass in my hand
heard the ice tink against the sides
as it sloshed around in warm amber glow
held it under my nose and
noseful of vapor burn
so wonderful
so familiar
comforting as a favorite old t-shirt
woodsmoke and caramel and corn
county fair
harvest festival
excited heart racing
time to do it
break the seal
break the spell
I cast on these lips last Witches' Night
ember sparks the tip of my tounge
and fire spreads down
my throat
and out
to my limbs
and through
my whole being
dopamine rush of
and I know this is the single greatest thing
I have ever put in my mouth
and I know I was born to do this
and I wake up
it's stupidly sentimental but
I always feel a little sad when
it comes time to
shut the windows
for the year and
turn on the A/C
or the Heat
and start breathing our
electrically-modulated air

I feel as if I've
only just started to
work my way back out
into the world and
I'm not ready
I'm not ready yet to
go back inside
and breathe my own
rotten recycled breath

the breath of my city is
so much more
so much more delightful
so much more invigorating
so much more intoxicating
so much more
than me
I feel slightly lost and
alone when
this life requires that I
wall myself off from that
World breath
to hibernate through
our hot and cold winds

I'm not ready yet
I'm never ready
I'm still trying to find my way
alone in the bathhouse
i have the pools
hot cold warm herbal
all to myself
lying in the warm pool
water just about body temp
ninety-eight point six
i lay myself down
and let myself drown
a moment
lost in the gentle un-feeling of wet
ninety-eight point six
as it was in the beginning
only to rise again
back to the surface
through the membrane
into the light
into new life
and float
and gone
no sensation
perfectly balanced
only sound the muted

of my slowed heart beating
in my drowned ears
the dull steady rhythm of life
eyes closed
lost in dark nothing
lulled away by the pulse of creation
floating forever free
gone beyond
gone utterly beyond

form and function left behind
anchors in the warm water
tethering me to some distant memory of existence in
ninety-eight point six
letting go
letting it all go
drifting away
Early Spring snowfall
dusts late Winter bloom
crystalline fractals piling gently
all around
to rest upon vibrant petal
and ground
The field now
a riot of pixelated color
struggling to be seen under
blank canvas tarp of
Winter's last throes
Portrait of Nature's perfect balance
Yin meeting Yang
flowing together
each becoming the other
flower melts snow into water flowing into flower
demonstration of Tao
in this limbo-time between the seasons
that is no longer Winter
and not yet Spring
when the Universe gives lessons
to remind us that
there is no such thing as
many dreams last night
          strange and powerful
          and so brightly lit
a luxury hotel in the sky
bioshock performance for the crowd
          at a gangsters' award ceremony
sipping whiskey
          and smoking cigarettes
          in the hotel pool on the rooftop
          with the young ******* billionaire
glass of warmed milk
          waiting for me in my room
          atop a hand-scrawled note
          pleading for mercy
gently lifting the tiny girl from the floor
          where she had fallen
          and laying her down
          on her silk bed
stabbing her with the needle
          to deliver the potion
          that will still her seizures
making passionate
          affectionate love
          with my wife
          for hours
in the living room
          in the bright sunlight
          in front of everyone
and back in the bedroom
          in the soft lamplight
          all by ourselves
          just for us

woke this morning
lifted high from Dreaming
back to earth
to the bright sound
through my window
of the first birdsong
of the New Spring
and a new day
and another Me
spiderweb cracks
of bare black branch
against slab of slate gray sky

blue sun glow
blurry and lost
shrouds the world with ice

bite of cold
winter wind cuts
through flesh naked and scarred

bone white flecks
of fractals fall
to dust the red and raw

crystal'd waters
with gentlest touch
melt into seeping wounds

frost fingers roam
through veins gone cold
seeking the vaults of doom

old heart in hand
black carbon char
powdered ash blown high and free

corpse crow caw
shattering shriek
endless echoes mocking me

night at noon
and no one saw
there's nothing left to be
I swear I didn't mean for this to turn out as goth as it did.  I wasn't this goth when I was actually Goth.  I was just trying to capture the heart of Winter, as I was feeling it just then.

Last night, I took a twenty dollar bill from my drawer
the last one
marked it with my words
in thick, black ink
grabbed a tack from the desk
and went wandering the alleys and backways and sideways of my town
scanning for the right spot
the right time
And alone on Cumberland, across from Potomac
I found a pristine telephone poll
sprouting tall and straight from the asphalt
like an urban redwood
Took the knife from my belt
the tack from my teeth
and I walked away, heart pounding
hoping no one heard, no one saw
leaving the twenty hanging there like jesus
like a sign
in thick, black ink
"What do you REALLY want?"

I feel like a fraud.
i'm getting depressed
keeping it bottled
the pressure is mounting
i need to write
want to write but
now i need to write
i can feel it
but i can't do it
can't make myself do it
i'm working so hard
so exhausted
feels like i never have the time
or the energy
to sit down
to express
and compose
i write my poems in my head now
staring into the bathroom mirror
in the mornings
as i'm getting ready for work
i dictate them into a phone
it's all i can do
i wrote this very poem that way
just this morning
staring into my sleep-ugly face
because i don't have the time
to take the time
to write
to craft
to sculpt and shape my perception
into anything resembling art
i'm left only the option to
regurgitate words onto page
clean up the mess
and get back to work

but it's more than that
it goes much deeper
i don't like what i'm feeling right now
and i don't want to say it out loud
wish i didn't have to
saying it out loud is how to make it all better
i know that
the care-free grace of the newly-confessed
but there's this wall of fear
between me and salvation
and i don't think i have the strength
to climb it
because it's one thing to confront your demons
i do that every day
it's another to do it
out loud
in public
for all the world to see
dancing naked and crazed in the center of town
covered in your own ***** and ****
while your family gathers around
and stares
and you say, "See, Dad?
I'm doin' just fine.
Just working a few things out."

i have no ending for this poem

it hasn't been written yet
the lunch lady likes me
because I smile at her
every day
and say Hello
and call her by her name
because I took the time to learn her name
because I asked her how to pronounce it correctly
so she likes me
I can tell
by the way she smiles at me
and says Hello
and calls me by my name
she doesn't do any of this for anyone else in line
just me
and I can tell by the way
she gives me extra portions
a little bit extra
a second small ladling
of everything she puts on my plate
more than she gives to anyone else in line
my plate is always heavy when she gives it back to me
this is her way of being nice
the only way she has to say
Thank You for treating Me like a Person
and not a Food Dispenser
and so every day when I get my lunch from her
and she heaps an extra portion out for me
and I take that too-heavy plate from her hands
it makes me feel very happy
in my Heart
but also very sad
in my Stomach
as my pants feel just a little tighter each day
and I know she is giving me too much food
and I can't eat it all
but also knowing
that I would never
want her to stop
try hard as we might
there was no
the scratching
coming from the walls
and there was no
to be had
with the things
crawling on our skin
but we laid there
all we had
each other
and my arm was around you
and your head was on my chest
as you softly slept
and in your dreams
the storm must've turned
the scratching of the things
finding its way through
the tempest inside
and i heard you
start to mewl
and whine
and cry out
from the dark place
down where your dreaming
had taken you
and so i raised my hand
from its home on your hip
and softly
smoothed your hair
away from your troubled
beautiful face
so near to mine
and i cupped your head gently
and i loved you
and you were quiet again and



What am I feeling?
So many things.
How do I pick the one
that is worthy?
How do I decide
which flitter of chemical cascade
to capture
and pin down
and immortalize
on this page?

They are all so ugly
and so beautiful,
each in their own unique way.
Which is wheat?
And which the chaff?

It would seem that
"Ambivalent" and
"Introspective" and
"Pretentious" and
"Self-centered" have
risen to the top today.
In trying to decide
how to define myself
I have defined myself
without choosing.

This is who I have become,
but not
who I choose to be.
the Colors came today
Red Yellow
Orange Brown
taking the Green away
back to where the Colors sleep
to hibernate another year

I've been seeing hints and peeks and signs of
their Arrival
for weeks now
I knew to expect them
but today they were just
suddenly, and all at once
bathed in copper gold light
against a blue slate sky
exploding all around me
surrounding me in the beautiful dying of my world

every time this happens
every year this day comes back around
they take a little bit more of me
drawing the light out of me with their Colors
to join them in their sleep
leaving me lighter and less
but also denser and more
their Beauty a little death
to bring life back into focus
to remind me of all the wonders I'd forgotten
to deliver again that delicious Ache
that weighs heavy in my chest
yet floats me off my feet
as if waking to the memory
of a Love lost in an ***** dream

so I can no longer sleep.
That sound
that instantly unforgettable sound
so alien in this setting
the garden in front of my home
but absolutely unmistakable
like hooks in my ears
pulling me toward it
no resistance
couldn't if I tried
half grunt
half moan
all hot need
Uhh... uhh... uhhhh!
warm Spring day
one of the first of the season
her windows open
she doesn't care
or maybe she likes knowing
her naked lust echoes across the courtyard
for anyone to hear
oh, gods the things she is saying!
screaming out her ******
crying out for his
telling him where she wants it
telling him where to put it
I'm suddenly dizzy
losing my grip on the earth
heart racing too fast
palms beginning to sweat
mouth going dry
pummeled by emotions from every direction at once
lust of the ****** certainly
but also anxiety
          this is wrong
and fear
          what if someone sees me
and shame
and guilt

And jealousy
and sadness
I wish I could have what she has
I wish I could be him
and I know that will never happen
not for me
not anymore
those days are long dead
cold ash in the ground

As her hot screams
soften to moist sighs
and my lust sours into grief
the hooks evaporate
and I turn my back to the strangers' intimate sounds
and crawl home
Prism of bright Sunlight
Through Curtains of Rain
This Is
And Is-Not
I want to write a poem
but I have to write code instead
There can be a kind of poetry in code
especially my code
I'm proud of the elegant design
of my loops and logics
my streamlined systems
My code flows

pulling the User along effortlessly
guiding them gracefully from one end of the black box to the other
and out again
No Errors
My code flows

secret haikus left in comment blocks
for other programmers to find
like digital hieroglyphics on virtual cave walls
test data populated with pantheons and
mystical chants from faraway lands
My code flows

water of ones
in sea of zeroes
pouring through me
from aether to mind to muscle to machine
bit by bit
block by block
stacked upon stack
module into module through function and parameters passed
My code flows

flows through me
until the integer flips
the Boolean switch
change of state
status update
now compiled and crystallized
and then passed on
leaving me
out of my hands
disseminated to The Users
like a prayer to a congregation
I hear the clicking fingers of their choir
singing the song of my code
now flowing through Them
Twice a year
once for Yin
and once for Yang
We pass the Balancing Point
and hover there for just a moment
hanging in the Black
perfectly perpendicular
aligned with Our Star
Day lasts as long as Night
and Night no longer than Day
We pass this point
and balance on this edge
just as We begin to explode with verdant Life
and then again We balance here
at the other side of Our Revolution
just as We begin to grow cold and die
These Equal Nights are the doorways to Our Two Worlds
light and dark
Life and Death
Yin and Yang
back and forth from one extreme to the other
in Our Endless Revolutions
but always passing through the same
points of Perfect Balance
in one door and out the other
We live and die all the while
swaying to this Eternal Rhythm
and it shapes us
molds us into Who We Are
What We Have Become
And so We hold these Equal Nights as Sacred
or Magickal
examples of those brief ineffable moments
of Alignment
and Balance
and Perfection
these Equal Nights guide us to seek those moments
within Ourselves
and without
We feel this rhythm
and We see this balance
return again and again
We see it in Our World
and We feel it within Our Selves
and We strive to achieve that perfection
And so do We accomplish
all Our many
Great Things
I know that the Vernal Equinox was actually yesterday, but I had other things on my mind yesterday.
I'm hiding here
in this space where
I keep brutally exposing myself
I'm not really My self
I wear masks
and pseudonyms
and there's certain things I can't say
won't say
because I'm afraid of who will read them
and what they might learn about me
And sometimes I feel that makes
all of this
I am torn between two
equally important desires
I need to be raw here
I need to be violently open
I need to feel free to express
whatever I am feeling
for no other reason than the simple fact that
I am feeling
But I am also afraid
of the reactions I might get
afraid I might hurt someone
afraid of someone I know
learning something about me
that I don't want them to know
afraid they'll use it to hurt me somehow
I need to be wide open
but can only do it behind the safety of a mask
and even that isn't good enough
I still constantly self-censor
I have pages and pages of writings that no one
but me
has ever seen
will ever see
Even now
as I write this
I can't help but wonder at the reactions
I might get
from people I know
in real life
or people I know
in the wire
or people I've
never met
and that wondering changes me
changes my feelings
makes me second-guess
what I'm going to say
The only way my art can ever be
absolutely true
absolutely honest
absolutely Me
is if no one ever reads it
But what good is Expression
without Witness?
I need to have
an audience of strangers
for each poem
total strangers
that I will never have to see again
Or I should tag my poems on walls around town
in the middle of the night
like my little brother
(oh, gods, what if he reads this??!)

I'm leaving it in
Another pointless, rambling, ugly poem ABOUT writing poetry.  Ugh.  Sorry.  It's the best I could do today, unfortunately.  But at least I wrote something.  Even if it's *****, it's better than not writing at all.
What am I putting here?
Are we recording?
Is this thing on?
Are you on?
Are you on to me?
Can anyone see me?
Hello hello hello
Hey hey hey
What're we doing today?
What's on the menu this evening, sir?
Lust for life
Live to lust
Where did it go?
How old am I?
Do I really want to know?
Why did it happen?
And when did it stop?
Will I ever get it back?
Is it gone for good?
Is there anything left?
Scraps on the table
Crumbs on the floor
No one to play Lover now
The X marks the door
Leave!  Leave, and never return!
But the path is blocked
with accidents
and forgiveness
and everything left unsaid
and we're trapped in here
in the fire
no way out
coughing up the smoke from our hearts as they burn
i'll die for you
i'll die with you
i am going to die with you
i always knew i would
somehow i always knew
and i did it anyways
and i did it again
and again
and i'll do it again
and again
i'll always die for you
i'll always die with you
i'll always be in you
somewhere i always knew
somewhere you never let me go
I will burn there
Ever After
Sometimes I want to write something for some reason (creative desire, self-destructive pressure, guilt, etc.) but don't have anything in particular to say.  On those occasions, what I'll often do, just to prime the pump or get the juices flowing or whatever other appropriate cliché you want to use, is just starting writing out whatever comes across my mind, stream-of-consciousness style.  Sometimes what I end up producing is strikingly profound.  Most of the times it's just nonsense.  But, either way, it works.  In the end, regardless of whether what I've produced turns out to be beautiful or ridiculous, I always have at least the germ of an idea to write about, and the will to do it; that sense of creative "flow" that is so essential.

The above is an example of one of these exercises in go-with-the-flow writing.  I'll leave it to you to decide whether it is beautiful and profound, or ridiculous nonsense.
Let me in
Let me inside
I need to get inside of you
It hurts so much out here
Feels too much out here
Outside of you
Inside of myself
All by myself
Everything would be okay again
And I would know my place again
If you would just let me in
Let me inside of you
Let me sleep inside of you
Let me dream inside of you
Let me lose myself
And find myself
And remake myself inside of you
Where everything is warm
And everything is Love
Where all I am is gone
And all we are is one
Where everything began
And all my futures end
Where all that's broken now
Does our motion gently mend
Where we are all we need
And nothing matters more
Where all I have I give to you
And whispered wishes roar
It's not too late
Please seal my fate
My doom in you
Don't hesitate
Just let me in
Invite me in
To live and die
And forever abide
why can't i write?

i'm feeling so much and it hurts too much and i can't think of anything to say about it
i can't think of anything to say
not a single ******* thing and i just want it out out OUT GET THE **** OUT OF ME
just stop just go away and leave me alone
i can't take this it's just too much
i could take it if i could write about it if i could describe it if i could express it but i can't
it's just stuck it's overwhelming it's too big to fit inside my massive body and i feel like i'm going to split open
and i need to get it out but i don't know what it is and i don't know where it is and
i don't know what to say
i don't know how to say it i don't know i don't know i don't know

I hate those words so much.

this is an act of desperation trying to find the pressure-release valve in my mind to find the off button in my chest
each new line like pulling one of my own teeth
just trying to get the words to drain from my fingertips until i'm empty and numb but they won't come
the words won't come
just words about the words but not the words i need just empty useless mute words that laugh in my face
when all i want to do is scream at the top of my lungs GO **** YOURSELF
please just go **** yourself to death and get away from me i hate you so ******* much
still not right still can't write that's not what i need to say just a violent reaction to the words stuck in my throat
oh gods it hurts so ******* much just make it stop just make it stop whatever you want just make it stop
just don't make me say i'm sorry
just don't make me say i'm wrong
just let me keep my pride please just let me keep my pride don't make me humiliate myself just to end the pain

I'm doing this to myself.

you did this to me but i'm doing this to myself because i know how to end it but i won't because

i don't want to
i don't want to pay that price
i'd rather respect myself in agony
than hate myself contentedly
so i'll hate you instead
and torture myself enough
for the both of us
three days in row now
I've seen flowers in the trash
outside of her office
not old flowers
not dead flowers
not cleaning-out-my-valentine's-day-vase flowers
new flowers
blossoming flowers
roses and carnations
all vibrant reds and soft creams and ****** pinks
three days in a row now
each day a new bouquet
blooming from her wastebasket
on the floor outside her office door
adding floral notes to the remains
of her discarded lunch
making her garbage look like
it's gotten dressed up
to go on a date
at the dump
looking like a first-year art student's
commentary on still-life
or on the notion of "romance"
And I wonder
who hurt her
and how
Only half here
eyes held open with
caffeine charms
and sugar spells
thoughts whirl in
a hot delicious haze
All desire
and no purpose
rushing headlong in
a furious attempt to
say absolutely nothing
Catching whispered whiffs of
marijuana smoke
in the conditioned office air
like phantoms remembered from
an old recurring dream
of being naked in public
Casting out
desperately clutching at
shards of pitiful ideas
hoping against hope that
will *****
and gouge the flesh
and spill the vicious viscous crimson
artists' blood of poetry
But finding only
fistfuls of sand
Battered Ego
and Bloated Heart
do not a poet make
What do I need
to say?

What needs
to be said?
They gave us too many fortune cookies
Twenty or more
What are two people
supposed to do
with twenty fortune cookies?
Three of them
Not normal
Not like the others
Not really fortune cookies
at all
One appeared to be
only two-thirds
of a cookie
folded in the wrong place
as if the dough
had fallen
halfway out of the mold
in the machine
at the fortune cookie factory
Another had the folded
paper fortune
sticking out one end
like an impertinent tounge
ready to deliver
a raspberry
a paper bronx cheer
rather than prognostication
And the last
the poor devil
the poor, sad little ****
was simply crushed
and broken
and useless
Not even a cookie anymore
and no fortune inside at all
I took up these three lost charms
these empty, broken spells
and I cast them
into the trash
because that is where
the broken things go
This whole thing came to me in a flash as I stood at my kitchen counter shortly after arriving home from work.  The fruit of the creative exercise I posted earlier.
I spit words

I do not mean to say that
in the street, beat, hip-hop sense
I do not mean that
I spit hot rhymes
I mean

I spit words

they explode from me
And they are painful

And I cannot control them
It's a stupid song
Hearing it come on the music station in the restaurant
after the thumping House music that preceded it
I laugh
because it's an old song
a stupid song
so familiar song
My eyes close heavy, rebellious
all I can hear is the song
it comes back to me in the wave pattern
vibrating the memory loose
In the back of the old station wagon
Vista Cruiser
with all the other kids and cousins
on our way to Summer camp
windows down Summer wind lovingly whipping us
with salt sand scrub-pine lashes
making fun of the drivers behind us
SCREAMING this song
Top of our lungs
All of ourselves lost in THIS SONG
This stupid song
that I loved so much so long ago
playing overhead in this stupid hipster sandwich shop
with the sudden ocean-salt taste of these tears
being back there in that Summer
flying to Adventure in the Vista Cruiser
Nothing but open road ahead of us
As far as the eye can see
was the day
i turned it all off
all the noise
all the chatter
all the distractions
all the fear and fervent mysticism
all the pain and errant prophecy
all the useless superstitions
and endless contradictions
because i realized
i didn't need it
i didn't even want it
so that's when
i decided
i reached over
and out
and deliberately


and then there was Sky
and Sun
and the Grass-scented Wind
flowing all over my skin
sensuous as a silk gown
and it was then
i felt the Lift
i've been waiting so long
i'd forgotten it
what it was like
that merciful


like in an elevator
that falls too fast
and stops short
in that half-second
when you taste your heartsblood in your mouth
and your mind floats weightless in your skull
and you know the Secret of All Things
in the Lift

as i was then
as i was flying
doing a hundred-and-one through the soft-blue sky
the midsummer wind pulling the tears from my eyes
as i remembered Her face
all over again
for the ten-thousandth time
please let this be
the bottom
and not some lost ledge
abandoned out of sight in the depths
beyond the light
holding me up to
the false hope of
an easy climb back
to the top
to stable grounds
and effortless ability

please let this be
the bottom
the real bottom
I don't think
my bones
could take another
I don't want to admit it
I don't want to
have to
admit it
but I like myself better this way
I wish I didn't
but I do
I laugh more
so much more
both longer
and more often
same with the ***
almost the best it's ever been
and nothing like anything
we've seen or felt or been in years
every ****** a god's kiss goodnight
I know I'm killing myself
but we are all going to die
and what is the point in a long life
if it's a miserable slog the whole way?
I'll take a few years off the end
for a ten-fold increase in joy and pleasure
the rest of the time
any day
all day
all day long
There are a hundred other
little reasons
for hating myself for this
a hundred little setbacks
chipping away at my self-worth
but there could be a thousand and it still
wouldn't matter
they just don't add up
they just can't compare to
the ache in my face from laughing so hard
I can't breathe
the feel of her flesh under my hands
swallowing me
the look on her face when she comes
the tears in her eyes when she can't stop laughing at me
or the idiot smile
splitting my face like a knife wound

I wish I were wrong
but this just feels
too right
when I reminisce about
our Yesterdays
the recollections that stand out
above all the rest
as the most important
the remembrances that call to me
louder than all the others
to retain my attention again
and again
the memories that are painted
in the most vivid colors
to recall my mind's eye
and inexorably
are always of those times
when I've made you


like that
just like that
the laugh I love the most
where it seems to almost
burst out of you
as if you couldn't hold it in
even if you'd wanted to
where your eyes crinkle up
the way they do when you're about
to cry
and your blood rushes to your face
rushes to greet me
and you become my favorite
shade of pink
just like that
you're at your most beautiful

how many times now
have I made you
lose control
this way?
made your body rebel
against your will
made you shake
in uncontrollable
that left you sore
and gasping for breath?

Not nearly enough

for of all the ways
I can please you
pleasure you
for of the whole range of choices
I have at my disposal
to make you shudder
in uncontainable joy
there is not one that returns to me
half as much delight
nor conveys half as much
of my desire
nor expresses half as much
of my love
as does the Gift
of getting to hear you laugh
at me
until you are entirely
For want of Union
What won't we do?
For mate
To conquer Flesh
To possess a Heart
What won't we do?
To climb that Tower
And leap to our Little Deaths
To Hunt
And Pray
And find Shelter in salt
What won't we do?

And Who
are We
to Ask?
The Romantic becomes The Cynic
His Heart becomes The Stone
The Poisonous Fruit
At the Tree of Life's Roots
Chills him to the Bone

The Fool no longer Dances
Seeks no Joy from those he Loved
Their Smiles seem Dour
His Mood gone Sour
He's lost his Light Above

And the ***** Fires sputter
The Flesh turns Soft and Gray
What once was All
Helped bring The Fall
Nothing Rose can Stay

Then Passions aged to Bitters
For Reality means only Tears
The joys of Youth
Mean acrid Truths
At the End of all our Years

But who are We to Argue
And Death comes for Us All
Will you Cry at Night
Or Will you Fight
To find Your Light in Time's Black Pall
i was so afraid
so afraid of
not needing you
so unaware
that i was
loving from fear
so confused
thinking love
demanded need
too oblivious
to see
my desire
pulling you under

as soon as i
gave up
gave in
let go
needing you
i was suddenly


finally free to
see you
hear you
know you
your real you
because you
were finally free
of my weight
of my need

what i needed
what i really needed
after all and everything
is over and done
was to get out of the ******* way
and just be me
and let you be you
so we could meet each other
and fall
for the first time
A Big Daddy knows only one thing:*
Keep Her Safe.
Do what She says,
whatever She says,
and Keep.
Keep Little Sister Safe.
The whole world
the whole big, violent world
is trying to hurt Her
and the only thing She has
the one and only thing She has
in this whole horrible, ******-up world
is Me.
The only thing standing between Her
and all the wretched, psychotic lunacy littering the streets
and all the pain and degradation they want to inflict on Her
is ME.
They want Her.
More than anything
They WANT Her.
But they can't have Her.
They can't even get near Her.
Because first,
they'd have to get through ME.
A hulking,
wall of NO.
And I won't let them have Her.
She's MINE.
And I will Keep Her Safe.
Like cradling a Snowflake
in an Inferno
I will Keep Her Safe.
Because She's MINE.

She's All I Have.

My Little Sister.

And I am Hers.

All She Has In This World.

Her Big Daddy.

And I will Keep Her Safe.

I will Keep Her Safe.

I will Keep Her Safe.
inspired by the Bioshock series, and dedicated to my Little Sister, my forever Valentine
I love seeing the looks
on the faces of the shopkeepers
in the occult store down the block
sudden surprise
or annoyance
immediately morphing into pleasant
shop-keep smiles
I don't look like I belong there
they think I'm a tourist
come to gawk at them
or that I'm gift shopping for a
hippie-witch friend
or relative
They have no idea
until I decide to
open my mouth
and tell them what I need
why I'm there
and they hear me use the words
suddenly realize I'm serious
I know what I'm talking about
I know what I'm doing
and they take a step back
and look me up and down
as if to say

I used to look the obvious occultist
when I was younger
and still learning
passing me on the street
one would've not been at all surprised to learn
that I was a black magickian
one might've even assumed that
to begin with
just by my outfit
But that was a long time ago
Now to all outward appearance
I could be any other computer nerd
But I'm still a cultist
though a different colour now
I learned the value of
not broadcasting myself
my every intimate personality trait
to anyone who happens to pass me on the street
I learned to pass
as a Normal
as a Mundane
(please don't make me say
and now no one notices me
I can go about my daily business
and my sorcerous shenanigans
without attracting unwanted attention
without arousing any suspicions
of satanic blood pacts
or ****** sacrifices made
to blind idiot gods
which makes everything so much more

But sometimes I forget
that the Me people see
isn't really me
until I see the shopkeeper's face
down at The Magick Box
at Bell, Book, and Candle
at Foxcraft's
at The Crystal Cauldron
or whatever it calls itself today
in this particular town
I'm there to buy a component
some specific mineral
or herb
or root
or ritual tool
or color of candle
required for some particular spell
or sigilization
or pathworking
or ceremony
or casting
Magick is now modern
and so when I need the dried petals
of a rare and deadly Black Lotus blossom
to throw a curse on the drug-dealing ****
who moved in across the street
and keeps threatening my neighbors
for the crime of daring to look
in his direction
I don't need to form an expedition to Tibet
to climb the peak of
the only mountain where it grows
no, I'm an American
other people do the hard work
so I can simply pull out a credit card
and laugh silently to myself
at the look on the shopkeeper's face
that says
What on Earth
does he
want with *that??
Meh - too long, too boring, no focus.  Oh, well; it's what I had to give today.
had a minor-league nightmare
last night
thinking I forgot
to pay my taxes
which is so unfair
I did my taxes
almost a month ago
to avoid
exactly this

this morning
I realized
just how much
I truly
It's not OCD
I'm just ****-rententive.

There are two
coffee urns
in my office kitchenette.
Each urn has
a spot to place your mug
beneath the spigot.
Each of these spots has
a circular insert
of gridded plastic
to mark the mug-placement area
and allow spilled coffee to flow through
so this spot
doesn't become
just a puddle of coffee
soaking the bottom of everyone's mugs.
Each of these inserts has
three indentations:
one on each side
at nine and three o'clock
small, arcing parabolas
like reversed parentheses
there to allow someone to
get their fingers into the
coffee mug spot
and under the insert
to remove it
and, presumably
clean it
and then another indentation
more like a groove
or a notch
much smaller, thinner, and deeper
at the top
that fits perfectly with
a matching
small plastic protuberance
jutting from the coffee mug spot
where the insert goes.
In an almost ****** fashion
this protuberance fits into
this last indentation
this notch
this groove
to secure the insert in place.

For some reason
I've never known
perhaps laziness
perhaps inattentiveness
more likely simple
this insert never seems to be
placed into the mug spot
It is always placed sideways
rotated a quarter-turn
so that the larger indentations
on the side
meant as finger holes
are placed top-to-bottom
noon and six
the small plastic protuberance at the top
being swallowed whole
by the too-large indentation
and its mate
the groove
meant to hold the plastic piece
so tightly
is left alone
to one side
and useless.
This has always bothered me.
Bothered me more than I would like to admit.
It's such a simple little thing to get right
it would take almost no effort at all
and yet, day-after-day
I don't know who
whoever is in charge of these things
on doing it wrong.
And I cannot abide it.
So, day-after-day
when I go to get my morning coffee
I fix it
I twist the insert ninety-degrees
and secure it in the correct position.

I have noticed something.
when I go to get my coffee
one of the inserts
will already be
Someone else has seen
what I have seen
and felt the same
had the same response
took the same corrective action.
This feels like winning something.
I don't know what
but it definitely smells like Victory.
And Conspiracy.

And it makes me happy.
Happier than I'd like to admit.
itch scratch itch
in my arm above the bicep
where my wedding ring is tattooed under my skin
find an overly large protrusion
never noticed
shouldn't be there
where'd it come from
push pull pinch the flesh
work it out
no pain
pleasant release of pressure as the skin
yellow-white tube
jutting now from the wound
and then it moves
in my flesh
turns black eyes to mine
pleading innocence
to be left alone
to continue consuming me
where it's dark and warm

it Loves me
i know
because it lives inside
my wedding ring
Another year, but what a year!
And all that you've done, so amazing my dear!
A new career
        and new prospects
        a new outlook on life
Two new husbands you've lived through
        and held strong through the strife
That I thank all the gods that you are my wife
So I could witness, in joy, your Becoming this year

So thus goes a year that you'll want to remember
All the way through to your last December
A year where you've grown
And made life your own
And fanned flames from your glowing ember

As the wealth and the riches of this year are now yours
Then what glory for you has the next year in store?
I'll say it
        I'll scream it
        louder and LOUDER
Being yours this year
        I've never been prouder
But of one thing I'm certain:  I've never Loved you more
2013-07-17 - A silly little poem for my wife, on her birthday.
I know - not a poem.  Again, my apologies, but I just need to get these out of me.  Thank you for your indulgence, and your patience.

(UPDATE, 6.12.14 - text removed; for full text, follow link)
I gave Her a star
my Valentine
my Forever Valentine
designation K.I.C.-
now bears Her name
a Kepler star
a binary star
two stars
locked Together
each attracted to
and repelled by
the other's force
of Gravity
Two immense
Nuclear Explosions
so gigantic
so astronomically enormous
that their own weight
holds them in place
and keeps them from growing
any larger
Chaos poised
in perfect Balance
these two fireballs
right now
are spinning around each other
in the cold vacuum of deep
extrastellar space
each throwing off enough Heat
and Light
to brighten and warm
a dozen worlds
they spin around each other
locked together
through the void
They have been dancing for
a billion years
and they will keep dancing
for a billion more
They will still be dancing
and burning
lighting the dark
long after Our World
has turned to dust
and blown away
and there is no one left
to remember them

But for now
we call them by Her names

And it's not enough
it will never be enough
there's so much more I could do
so much more I must do

But for now
I call them by Her names
so we can look up at night
and see ourselves there
on fire in the void
dancing forever

And so I call them by Her names
my Valentine
my Forever Valentine
morning commute

hot sun, cool breeze
on the highway
beating down, blowing along

pair of raccoons
on the side of the road

clearly from the same pack
mating for life

laying down
in the same position
facing the same direction
mirror images
drying in the sun



or lovers?

in the dirt
on the side of the road
The first

first thing

ever did

Appalachian Alchemists
Weaving Gold from farmer's grist
Whiskey Stills
and Copper Pills
Magick Wyrm cools vapor mists

Shine down from a Whiskey Moon
Silver Gift and Nature's Boon
Corn Cob Wands
and Thumper Pots
Mountain Spells from Summers' June

Lightning flash in jar of White
Burning Soul, distilled delight
Mountain Streams
yield Moonshine Beams
Corn-fed Wizards, dark of night

Wisdom cast in Silver hues
Blessing born of Mountain Dews
Love's Desire
from Smoke and Fire
Ancient kin-folk's hidden brews

Inspiration Distillate
Poet's Draught, inebriate
Charcoal Casks
and Secret Flasks
Of this Spirit, Celebrate
The first stanza popped into my head as I was trying to fall asleep last night, and it's been on my mind ever since for some reason, despite my best efforts to forget it.  The rest of the poem built from there.  I'm actually sober right now, but I guess I miss whiskey more than I realized.
make your Gift
to The Queen of the May
let the blood run brilliant hot

a boiling Gift
of life-made-death
to bring Light for a New Year to come

sharpen your blade
and polish the stone
for The Queen and Her Kingdom of Sun

let the fires burn bright
three stories high
heat Her throne in the heavens above

drink of Her wine
down to your bones
let the Wild come into you freely

dance naked your Joy
come loud to the stars
Her pleasure move through you completely

drown in the flesh
of lovers all 'round
get lost in Abandon's display

and bathe in the blood
of a Life now re-born
All Hail The Queen of the May
In the cold November night
She had given us a fright
So we ran arm-in-arm away
Running towards forgotten days
And the sorrow of that
    woe-begotten light

We had told her what we'd done
And she'd said I'm not her son
Then we'd bolted out the door
Left your bootprints on the floor
And were gone before she'd
    leveled out the gun

The shots rang high and loud
And I swear that we were proud
To have made the Beast so ******
To be the Devils atop her list
Of all the evil Hell hath spat
    on this gray shroud
Into the Night we ran and played
For we had met our Judgement Day
Burned it down with light and love
Killed the monster, came the dove
And forever on we knew
    we'd have our say

There's no one could tell us "No"
If our Way wound to or fro
Our life at last was ours to live
And Death our gift to give
So we'd return for her at sign
    of year's first snow

And return for her we did
Deep in the cellar where she'd hid
Her thrusting cross and sobbing loud
"In Jesus' name I cast you out!"
For all the good that useless
    trinket never did

She wept and screamed and prayed
Hoping she'd at last be saved
From this night that wouldn't end
And her faith that wouldn't bend
And these children with their teeth
    like razor blades

We ripped and tore and fed
While she cried and shat and bled
Until her flesh began to cool
Her life now just a crimson pool
Puddled under her like Satan's
    marriage bed

We left her there on that stone floor
Behind us closed and locked the door
Our mother's blood across your face
Looked to me a veil of lace
In all our endless life I've never
    loved you more
Just noticed this is actually my 100th poem.  It didn't start out as a vampire story, but just sorta ended up that way.  'Tis the season, and all, I guess.  Hope someone enjoys it half as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Next page