Pen to paper...
or ink to tree?
A poetic
inconsistency.
slow it
            d
            o
            w
            n
take your time
avoid excessive
prose and          ...similar sounding couplets

Be real
Speak truth
deep from your gut
but know when to lie
to still make a buck

Know your audience
But write for yourself
and get used to the currency
Praise = Wealth

Always trust the process
But never
under any circumstance
process the trust
you'll never stop worrying
if each line is enough

AND REMEMBER!
There are thousands of words
so read 'em and know 'em

Now stop reading this
and go write a poem!

Dear Amelia,
It's different; everything
I’m so sorry
I can't see you anymore
I’m afraid
I can only see the squalor
My face has changed
with lines of age
And carved with lines of ink
While the cross I wear
Proves me a sinner
A single tear
Convicts me a murderer
But I am safe now behind the razor wire
A lifetime of safety… without parole
Sounds like something I’d trade
For a small red balloon
A syringe and a spoon
Are you eating?
Are you sleeping?
Are you walking yet?
Are you dreaming?
If you close your eyes
You can see me the way I used to be
But if you open them
I become a lachrymose monster
So dearest Amelia
Close your eyes

He shined;
That old pacific man
That old man living in the moon
despite his early indigo mornings
and his lonely nights spent waning
despite his inferior yellowed radiance
and all the craters in his face from the pubescent years
acne scarred and insecure
his fullness an explanation
for the werewolves that bite and maim
Despite all of this
he could not conceal his youthful glow
and every night I watch him wax
through the window in my room
I cannot conceal
my teeth in a smile

ebb and flow
     ebb and flow

             i wonder where
                  this river goes?

                           the ephemeral stream
                                    of a thousand lies

                                        told by tongues
                                                and alibis

                                    ebb and flow
                                ebb and flow

               the motion makes
             this notion go

                  lackluster attempts
                         to keep the boat on
                                            course

            ­                                              as i drown in
                                                              ­   the depths of a liar's
                                                          ­                          remorse

I feel all alone
                                                          ­                                      I’m so lonely
Empty and scared
                                                         ­                         Angry and ashamed
I hate everything about you
                                                            ­                                   I hate myself
Everything
                                                   ­                            Absolutely everything
How can I be close to you?
                                                           ­          I just need to be close to you
Knowing you’ll never change
                                                         ­                      I promise I’m different
We are not friends
                                                        ­                         You’re my best friend
We are nothing
                                                        ­                       You are my everything
And you, are a dark shadow
                                                         ­                 You are my purest dream
I want to leave you
                                                            ­                                 Come with me
I want to find something good
                                                           ­          We can find something good
Away from you
                                                            ­                                           Together
Life with you is so hard
                                                           ­              Life with you makes sense
I pray that
                                                           ­                                          I pray that
Hard things can be good*
                                                           ­                          I don’t destroy you

I saw the flames in her eyes
two small embers that raged
I felt unsure as to the
materials used for her kindling
the line is thin between
passion and loathing
and I did not know
whether I should embrace the heat
or run for water

i’ve been thinking a lot
about your hand in mine
the way that our fingers
and palms intertwine

but i think about death
about loss, about worth
i admit that i fear
to return to the earth

where our bodies dissolve
into roots of a tree
and will grow into trunk
then limb, then leaf

but i've heard from a bird
that death will reverse
and your heart will beat hard
like it did at your birth

so hold on for dear life
with your hand in mine
if death makes us let go
it is only for time



© Mike Mortensen

my life is but a palindrome

it was something i chose, though never wanted
such a delicate line between hallowed and haunted

i woke in the night with an ache in my bones
my marrow was bubbling and burning it seemed
as i tossed and i turned all alone in my sheets

a cage for the ghost that resides in my flesh
down deeper and hidden where no one can find
as i buried the burden i attempted to rest
but a devil sat laughing in the lofts of my mind

an echo of nothing, a possession so wild
with the fevers of hell i was sure to be dammed
but an echo of something, like the voice of a child
whispered the phrase, "you can always go back..."

in the tangible black i lay in my room
while a galaxy glittered, hung high in the dark
i wondered why i trade sunlight for star

so I wrestled with sheets, & with god, & with stone
and the quick fleeting feeling i am never alone

i pray my life, to be a palindrome



© Mike Mortensen

I remember the day we left Southern California,
Dad hurried as fast as he could
While he loaded the moving truck.
Seven hours later
We arrived in a town I couldn't pronounce
To this day I'm not sure if either of us can say it right...

I remember our new house
It arrived several hours after we did on the back of a flatbed truck
I remember the front door swinging open and slamming shut
As the truck rolled over the curb and across the yard
The house was long like a shotgun
And left us bruised

I can remember the time I ran away.
Do you remember what Dad said to me?
"If you don't want to be a part of this family,
You can sleep in the garage!"
That night I wet the bed [sleeping bag]
I remember waking up feeling cold and
Hiding myself so he couldn't see

Can you remember the days when Uncle Al rolled his tobacco
And Aunt Beulah snipped roses in diagonals?
You loved being in their flower boutique
More than I did; You hated the smoke though
But now you can't quit

Do you remember when Chris came home
Covered in blood and tried not to cry?
I do; you were to young
He said they did it because he was 'different'
I remember feeling scared.
If he could bleed like that
Anyone could, especially you

I remember that time we rode our bikes
To go fishing in the pond but never found it
We swam in the river instead and hid in the reeds
I can still smell the lilac flowers that peppered the bank.
I remember thinking how water always runs downhill
But never understood how close we were

I remember when the house burnt down.
I can smell the smoke and feel the heat
You warned me, but I didn't believe you
I just wanted to finish watching TV
I believed you when we stood on the street and watched as
Our long white house burned at one end
Like one of Al's cigarettes

I remember when Dad rebuilt the house
We never saw him
It looked the same on the outside
But the inside was different
Then he got sick
He looked the same on the outside
But his insides were deficient

I remember the back porch
Do you remember when we walked all the way
From the back porch to the highway?
It seemed so far away
We watched the cars as they passed us
I remember wishing so badly that I could go with them
Even if that meant
Leaving you behind

The rain fell like
a widow's veil that day
with storming and darkness
but delicately enough
for the exquisite beauty
of grief to be realized
by those pulled off
to the side of the interstate
photographing Mother Nature's
personal heartbreak

I was one of those
who watched as the sky
poured out it's bleeding black
heart onto the world.
No sun. No joy.
Only misty eyed misery
Concealed by the notion
That we pray for this
For the pain of another
To revitalize ouselves

Pain is life when life is sane
and a rainstorm is no different
The blackest of clouds
brings the most vibrant yellow flower
And the steely gray blanket
that surrounds the earth
is shrugged off by some
as nothing but bad weather
I smile and seem to think I know better
as I continue to *pray for this

“I took a Rorschach test”* she lamented
*“Though I admit, it was accidental
A bouquet of Cherry smears splotched on toilet-paper
Through liquid lines and violent streaks
Miraging shards of an eight month Terra-cotta
I saw a dishwater boy
Sifting dirt in a garden
He hid among the tomato vines, smiling behind strawberry stains
Oddly reminiscent of that picture I stole
from your mother’s house
I turned the paper square in my hands
Another child
A young-eyed girl
drowning in a pair of peacock heels
And a floral patterned muumuu
Involuntarily closing her left eye when a laugh turns to tears
You've always said you love that about me
Raw images framed in a sharpie-circled day
It’s permanence displayed on the kitchen calendar
A mind’s-eye mosaic that shattered when
I felt it around my insides
A searing grip, and gravity wins
The porcelain bowl is filling now
Like a bloodroot squeezed from toe to crown
None of my tears could wash away any of the red
And all the sirens came
But the tiny shoes stayed wrapped in tissue paper
And some mornings, not many but some
Before the bluish tint of pre-morning dawn
When the slivers of my thought wake me
I feel that invisible hand
Squeezing a butterfly inside my stomach"

Gut the mattress and hide all our money, so we can measure our worth by the kink in our spine.