My hands have betrayed me.
Once the means to write pages,
Now my hands are only dead weight.

My hands won't pick up a pen.
Or even type short,
Choppy sentences.

They dangle at my sides
And find refuge in my hair,
Leaving me bleeding.

Like my hands,
My mouth has declared itself
My enemy.

Once the passageway for words
To explain myself,
My mouth is now as useful as a broken bridge.

With nothing of value to say,
It talks  
And sings anyway.

It opens without my permission
But stays closed whenever I try
To scream meaning.

The inability to illustrate
Or translate my mind
And my soul
Is not an unfamiliar ordeal.

But it's lonely on the outside
And frustrating looking in.
It seems I'll always feel like an alien.

A bleak motive, turning in a black backwards motion.
Fluent in rushing, pursuant in the crushing.
Ebony wood, the serenity compared to the knife.
A stifling recollection, within the house of corrections.
Was it a natural selection, gazing within the angel's reflection?
Garbed in white, and in her conviction.

A change of direction, now...

The resurrection of our mutual affection,
Was it over protection, or was it just mental rejection?
The pain was only an imperfection, built within all our disconnection.
My sense of direction gone within your vertical selection,
left with words- sharp like a needle;
sticking an intravenous injections.

So, should I offer my protection? Moments, within sight of the point of intersection?

No, keep on...
Keep on spreading the **rejection infection.

I had a dream last night
That we, Humans
Evolved without vocal chords
In the near distant future
Due to our advancement in technology

(it will be here before we know it)

Cars already can read our eye focus
Pretty soon they'll drive us home
Social responsibilities fall tragically short
With robots watching our children
While adults go out to play

Our communication skills dwindle
Abilities to talk heart to heart
Eye contact
Conversations over dinner
Are limited to blank boxes
Black text
Our once brilliant colors, faded
I feel this disconnection
Heading back to nature to heal
What I know not how to fix
Besides to spread love, laughter
Especially kindness
With every step

Humanity is at the ****** of connection
Connection is plastered to our bones
It’s on our wrists dinging reminding us to take our steps that will apparently make us one with nature, it’s latched to our arms so while we are so spent attaching ourselves to nature that we don’t have to attach our phones to our hands, it’s our sun rise, it’s our evening prayer, heck it’s the only thing reminding us to wake up in the morning and connect with these people that we can only reach through these dull technological connections. Facebook says we’re here to help you connect! The Bible app dings remindign you, “keep in check!” You’re surrounded by connection, it immerses you and embraces you with its WiFi streamed arms and blue tinted light
But shouldn’t you be embracing the connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to swallow connection? Shouldn’t you be the one to amplify connection?
Humanity is at the ****** of connection but we are disconnected.. Shouldn’t the rate of depression fall not rise with every purchase of an iPhone. We are disconnected
From ourselves from nature from the spiritual realm and from each other because we connect our souls to these arguable objects of connection. Seems like we need an intervention from connection.  Shouldn’t connection flow within our bones and not simply be plastered to it? Connection is around us, but we’re not making the connection

T*hree seventy-five. At my current muscle weight, that’s the amount of force, in pounds, with which my fist smashes into my opponent’s face. Flesh molds against my knuckles, vessels rupture under the impact; I am that unstoppable object, that destruction you can only watch. I am that confused, hurt, angry child. I channel it through my arms, conduct it through my knuckles, watch it spark and jump from fist to cheekbone. This is the therapy I so wantonly crave, so needed. The only place I can vent the full wrath of my frustration upon the world; or…at least, a single member of it….

Jump back three days.

     *Why can’t I see you more? I text her. Because I don’t want a relationship. She says. I don’t need a relationship. I just want to see more of you. I tell her. I’m afraid I’ll invest too much. She says. I don’t understand. Is that a bad thing? Seven years of friendship, two of off-on dates and rendezvous. How could you get more invested? What else can you spill after your hearts in a pool at my feet?
I drank a lot that night.

Jump back four days.

     I’m coming out that way. What are you doing tonight? I always initiate…everything. Always the first question, the first proposal, the first, the first, the first. Am I that threatening? Going out with friends. Homework and going out is all this woman seems to do. Maybe one less night with friends, one more with me wouldn’t hurt? Cool. Celebrating a birthday with friends, we’ll be out and about. Maybe we should meet up? If I’m here, she’s got no reason to refuse me…right? I thought distance was our only problem. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. I don’t want you to see me stupid drunk. What a stupid excuse. I actually want to see you stupid drunk. I will at some point if we keep things up.

     Long story short, a guy she sometimes ***** is going to be wherever it is they’re going, and she doesn’t want to have two guys she’s seeing in the same vicinity. What does that make me? I’m getting frustrated with all this confusion and sideways talking. My group incidentally ends up at the same place they are. I don’t even talk to her face-to-face. I’m such a sporting guy. She goes home...alone, to my relief. I get stupid drunk with friends. But never forget to message her back and act like everything’s cool.

Jump ahead a week.

     More conversations to clear up why I fill only one void in her life lead to more confusion. I’m frothing with it. It’ll be in my mouth soon. Wait…I taste it already.

     “Let’s drink and pick fights,” I say to a couple buds. Two hours out, we’re sloshed and trading licks in a back alley. The guy that had taunted and jostled me in the bar follows us out and picks a fight. Says I’m too drunk. Not worth it. I hide a smile, raise my arms, “Let’s see.”

     Shirts are off. Left hook to my ribs, I pivot an elbow, deflect with forearm. This leaves his side open. I duck his wild right-hand and drive a straight hit into his open spleen. He hits the alley wall. “Still want to take a drunk?” I taunt from my knee. He comes back, still sure of himself. I’ll show you what confidence does to us, my friend. He puts up a boxer’s guard and comes back, more cautious. Friends and enemies cheer and joan around me. I don’t hear a thing. There are thoughts. Dark, confused, smashed together, waiting to be dealt with. I focus on all of it. I focus on his face. I listen to the conversations that leave me more hurt and alone than they should. I lean into a false waltz stance, he doesn’t notice the feet. I notice his. He’s more drunk, on less, than I. Every time you breathe, I hope you think of me. The mass in my mind flows through my arms and legs. I charge and he punches straight where my head should go. I dodge right, grab his wrist, snap in and pull out, stringing him in an invisible flaying bed; my left elbow crosses his solar plexus, throwing him to the ground. Knees pin his arms. The hate, and anger, and confusion, and helplessness dissolve between fist and flesh, arc across the pain in my heart and the bruises and blood flowing freely from a fool....

Never entice a man with a need to portray his problems upon a heedless world.

     His friend steps in and plants a well-thought-out fist against my jaw. The one on the ground is down for the count. My friends don’t step in. They know me. I roll off him before his friend’***** can follow through. Now I have physical pain to channel, too. I grin and my assailant isn’t comforted. This is the release I need. This is my way out. This is what will help. *******, world. ******* girl. **** all of you for your games and your feelings and your mysteries. To hell with why you think you need to hide your heart. Wear it on your ******* sleeves. **** your dishonesty and your insincerity. **** your exes. May you all drowned in your lies and guilt and shame. **** you for assuming I’d ever judge any of you, for not taking my love at face-value, for thinking I had anywhere near the ulterior motives you all harbored. My left hand grabs his left elbow, simultaneously blocking a right jab and flipping his arm out of the way for the full force of my right arm into his ribs. A cacophony of bone and flesh giving way to my wrath meets my ears. He yelps. Never yelp when you’re trying to be strong for a friend. Keep your ****** lips closed, *******. He recovers only slightly before my right meets his face. My arc is perfect: the momentum of muscle as it curves the natural twist of a muscled arm, the darkness of my life gathering on knuckle-tips like obsidian gems glinting in the ***** hallway between worlds of vice and vindication, the cording muscle releasing the pent-up rage of a thousand lives gathered in one body.

     Connection shatters worlds. The horror of life bleeds across his broken window to the world. The reflection of my jeweled nirvana winks across his eyes. See the world I live in, failed rescuer. See the hopeless honor I hold in my *****. Sleep with the knowledge that even when you try, someone will always be there to flash the dark, jaded realities across your eyes…and bring you to my level.

     The other friends won’t budge ‘till I’ve stepped past. They part like the Red Sea for me. My ark is empty until I interact with the world tomorrow.

Brief peace is better than none.

-###-

Don’t write about the dark things they said

Don’t hide from the truth I replied

Well, part of the truth anyway

Which, any which way you look at it has two sides

A sun which hides its shadow

But even the sun must sleep sometimes

Then creeps and slides the oozy woozy darkness

Of drunks and floozies and drug addicts

Thugs and gangsters, hatchet men and fixers

These nefarious predators and scavengers of the night

Shuttered sight eating victims of urban decay

Never sated in their bloodlust and greed

That need that is so deep 

You could feed it without sleep

Forever and never fill it up

This is reality in our **** city

Where effluent flows down footpaths between bars

Climbs out of cars in high heels or collared shirts

“Sorry mate, not in those shoes"

Drunken harlots beckon rapists and sadists

Transfixed in the ever-pressing lusts of the flesh

Without joy or connection

Or even satisfaction, most of the time

Am I right? Ladies, am I right?

Another wine to fill the soul’s great hole

Another devastating moment when the sun gets in

To find you weeping in your make up

Black streaks down cheeks of bloodless faces

All because nobody told you what was possible

They simply told you what not to do

Which of course you did anyway

Over and over again with the same results

That part isn’t your fault, it’s society’s

It’s religion and propriety’s

It’s dogma and denial’s

The cultural hangover of the morning after the decades before

The holier-than-thou edicts of our preachers and teachers

And leaders without leadership

We’ve cut the slip

Caught the rip

Been flipped so many times we can hardly tell what is useful anymore

The answers you seek are inside yourself

It’s like Rafiki said: “Look harder"

It’s like Sigmund said: “Unexpressed emotions will never die.

They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.”

Our society reflects repressed attitudes to ***

And brings them forth in uglier ways

Like rapes and splays of legs to the most persistent bidder

Soulless sexuality

Stuffing ya pork sword into a drunken receptacle

Such a spectacle

You might swap names in the morning

It’s *** on a tray like a TV dinner

Forget the word “sinner"

It’s the lack of nutritional content that ills

That kills the real deal for these counterfeit thrills

This isn’t some moral crusade

There’s no need to drink the kool-aid

Throw out the gimmicks

But pay attention to the limericks

Be open, be honest

Be Eros, be Adonis

Be Venus, in furs / **** resplendence

Take lovers my dear

Make love and not fear

Turn empty lust in transcendence

i. the curly, green-haired
leo with the cry-baby tattoo
on her left calf; fish net stockings and
loud guitar playing and
menthol cigarettes. driving through
the park at 9 pm, ***** shots,
the white house with the a-frame roof,
hugs that made your heart feel as warm
as she did

crying as i left my room again to be
intertwined with a girl who did not love me, but i wanted to;
months pass, lonely car rides with
one-sided conversations and
seven years gone,
quiet disconnection
that made you feel as cold
as i did

ii. brown eyes, brown skin,
round glasses and chicago streetlights.
holding each other close on the subway
lakehouse parties in the beginning of spring and
pisces season and tarot readings and
soft kisses on the train.
holding hands at the aquarium,
sweet poetry and calm and
a sense of oneness that made you feel
important

hurt for the third time
a panic, a loss
i held their heart in my hands and
let it fall
harsh
unimportant
i still carry the guilt on my fingertips

iii. short hair. freckled cheeks, i
fell in love with the way the skin
crinkled around her eyes when she smiled.
an apartment, a home built
around our lips touching
wrapped in blankets on the couch,
dense smoke and her hand on my leg while she
drove. chinese food and
waking up against her chest and
laughing so hard
my ribs hurt

crashing. her anger withering away my
heartstrings; pain and
crying alone in the bathtub
moving away
drunk tears on the interstate
punching my thighs
in place of the way her
words made
me hurt

The irony of mankind,
They maketh technology to better their lives
And yet,
Their technology
Is ruining their lives....
The irony...
As tis they couldst use that wired technology for healing
They use it for bombing and killing..
As tis they couldst use it for connecting
The fact is
They've all gone unconnected!!!!!!
Hiding behind some screen,
Forgetting what an old fashioned phone call is.....
Connection, man thought this technological advance wouldst do.
Disconnection is what is hast really brought them......

The irony.....


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

We find multiple ways to disconnect
Where business and technology intersect
We kick one another for cash
When we need equilibrium for our economy
Our morals disintegrate to ash
And we trade away our autonomy
But we don't dare reflect
Instead we disconnect
We turn people into symbols and numbers
So we can more comfortably slumber
After causing heartbreaking pain
Through bureaucratic chains
Because face to face
Our heart will race
And we'll examine our submerged morals
That lie in the depths with the coral
But our reflection is too much to bear
So we cowardly choose not to care
The only way we can feel ecstatic
Is to turn people into demographics

The Internet connects us
But also satisfies lust
And imitates human contact
Which has a negative impact
The feeling leaves us sated
And we don't feel the need to change
Our armor becomes plated
And we shoot arrows from long range
Because we don't like the idea of being one another
We get used to the idea of not seeing one another
We disconnect so we don't have to try
We disconnect so we can slowly die

The ****** disconnection continues
As we find more violent avenues
We utilize fatal instruments
To ****** without the sense
Of physically feeling
The life we're stealing
We stabbed one another with swords
Until the bullets soared
But we still needed more
So we disconnected further
And became satellite searchers
Studying people through actions
Defining them by faction
We don't have any interest in their personality or flaws
All we're concerned with is if they're breaking the law
The law we wrote to tip the scales
The law that makes us too big to fail

A husband leaves his wife
Disconnecting from her life
She's left with a child
To raise in the wild
Until a drone drops a bomb
On the struggling single mom
She's not an investor
So we'll just harvest her worthless life
Who'll be her protector
When she's near someone we don't like?
We **** her from our computer
That's the way we casually mute her

We carefully cultivated a disconnect
To treat one another like insects
This mentality will infect
Until we interject
Once we finally reflect
Love will connect