there were years i held
unburied but moving in undetected lingers
before i finally caught them in standstill
sore between my fingers

sore is sore and ache is ache
and i held both in silence for silences' sake
till weight made pressure and pressure made bend
I used to call them my Godsend I used to call them my Good Friend
but bend made break and break bent friend
and weight came back to make me sorry again
cause sorry meant take and take meant give
and give meant I forgive but
you didn't forgive

so came the break between real and fake
so came the merge between real and fake

you say you don't have to go there
don't haunt me like this
so good
so good
so good
because i didn't want to remember more than i should!
and if i could just stop myself yes i would, yes i would
i am so so sorry and if i could feel worse i would
and if i could feel better i would

but it's beyond letting, beyond forgetting
and the hand in all these memory choices isn't mine
the closest thing i had to control was time
the closest thing i had to sense was rhyme

here we have to choose where to store
up on surface? deep in core?
and when i keep it there, you'll finally tell me more

so you say forget and
i let it
sink deeper
ugly rivulet
down my back down my
back

come back to sink me too but
i won't let
anything that has to do with me
do with me

you know deeper isn't better you know
the same thought'll still get her

but it'll have gone deeper now
okay! yes! you're in my face! so i'll say this

yes i don't
remember it! yes it's not on the surface for me to look at it!
but i promise you
when i bury it i hear it saying
it'll come to bury me too

i just felt that i've been up brushing against all the words for a very long time
rubbing on the edge, sometimes it's sharp, usually
it's sharp. always
it's sharp.
they're stupid honestly

and i'm trying to lose myself somehow
and i remember wanting to sand away
the fact that i was another chip off the block another
boat off the dock
another piece of lint another stick of chalk
here's a space here's a space where we can talk

and i wanna start this walk
past the doors i hear it knock

(and i'm going to get on a bus and it's not going home)

and i have been wondering, i said
i have been wondering.

what have you been wondering?
at a time like this?

at a time like this?
I've been wondering if this is close enough for it.

who's going to know?
who has to know.

if this is close enough to feel and if this is
close enough to think and
if there's enough air here
to take you between now and then.

is this what I could be doing to survive? is this what i can live
in between. between the unsaid said and the unseen scene

i can live in-between the times, i said. in-between the times / hoping that since it's been spoken / this stupid spell's gone broken

but first we gotta
hold onto the rope
hold onto these cords
cause they're asking me
you wanna live in the spaces of your words?

i said if i could if i COULD
(oh God if I could)

and there's no hope here not with them
so I say a prayer and I say it fast
cause I need this beautiful life to last
and I need this beautiful hand to hold and I need to stop this terror fold and I need to
let this prayer go
into the air
God I'm so tense here hoping someone out there is gonna care
that I'm sending
for sweet beautiful survival yes have it
Sent please
bring me back to the last Good Place i went please
let me wake up the next morning and hear the Jack
and hack and hack he's going to go I know
this I know
hack hack hack he Went
the last Good Time that we spent
hack hack hack he went
at all the pretty wood
in this nice neighborhood

and i promise myself the next time i tell myself
to open up i'm gonna stay closed
and the next time you tell me to feel
the warmth
i'm gonna stay cold

I stand in line with everybody else
She keeps tap tap tapping on cell phone screens
He keeps crying, bored of shopping cart seats
They won't stop coughing, hack hack hack
I feel the jungle start to beat in me
tap tap tap hack hack hack
Louder and louder the wilderness beckons
Run free in me, roar to the sky
tick     tick    tick   tick  tick ticktick
My heart beats so quickly
Her nails scrape across her makeup caked skin
scratch scratch tap tap hack scratch tap
I have thunder inside of me it wants out
I streak across clouded skies filled with lightning
Sweat slicks my palms, my chest rumbles
The jungle recedes
The wilderness quiets
The sky grows dark
And I stand there waiting in line
tap hack scratch
tick tick  tick   tick    tick     tick

What would You do when you can't have someone you want?
Would you
lift a finger and whisk it like a wand
wishing everything would fall in place
the way you'd want it to
in a tick of the clock ,
or,
would you struggle with your brain
between finding a solution
and living inside your head, dreaming of
perfection?

ME

I would get up,
trek to a forest with my trusty machete
and hack away at the thickest bushes I could find.
I'd hack away, hack away,
and ignore the sag from my arms, the stress on my back,
the sweat pouring down my face like water off a cliff,
the unsteady footing caused by wet mud and unsteady, unsure legs.

I would keep hacking until I reach the end of my arduous quest,
where I would come upon a clearing--
A clearing with an aisle made of rose petals
that lead into the center,
surrounded by white chairs and sunflowers.
And Someone would be there,
in a white dress and veil, waiting for me.

Two ****** loving each  .  .  .
In lieu of gnats and peacocks,
  .  .  .  Pathetic poetasters.

I'm barefoot in 46 degrees and I must remember that my perception of things must not encapsulate how I truly perceive. Soldered commentary  is bleak but is all I've left, all my years have given me and my years have been few.
To be constantly bombarded with the question, "what is it that I really want?" is fervently exhausting and consistently hypocritical and I'm a hack. The conclusion is always that I'm a hack without a win to present or a failure to fall back upon. As a hack, I've left myself with very few plans to alter or hungry mindsets to feed.
After glistening the only thing that remains is to burn out and the thought of extinguishing so prematurely provokes a physical falter and frequent respiratory failure.
Ask your brother if he lingers at times. Ask your sister if sometimes, she means what she says and she should always say no. Ask your friends why you should be anyone's friend and whether or not the chance to swing into hyperbolic criticism ever affects how they make their choices, hoof their steps.
Their answer should always be no and their input should always be invaluable.
Ask yourself if brain power should always be set to alter mind power and ask yourself is alteration is ever even possible. The answer should always be no.
The conclusion to draw should always be his. The choices you make, always expert and ground out by consistent respiratory failure. Ask yourself if you'll always be an animal and when will that stop. Ask yourself if time will determine whether or not this "thing" is worth doing or this "thing" is worth composing. Ask yourself why you're not the young girl who sings soul on the street, whose tremble sets off car alarms and inner requisitioning. The answer will never be the same.

like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore

reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)

bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!

duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields

meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar strip wedged on the white wash dock)

baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift

they’re pouring out of the
woodwork
those pretentious machiavellians
in ailing albino frames
eccentric masked figures
milling about the glow light
like night moths
in a london fog

lunatic gazers
with seeping moles
pinned by frogmen and twine
spider climbers
in hell fire
splitting seams
on the fading
and hideous ink

guards of the perch
stand on hades hand
while monsters and demons
with severed limbs
taunt the condemned
and wanting
souls of the ******

cauldron fire
in blood red sky
silent screams
hack and wheeze
gas lines broken
words unspoken
teetering backwards
in the dark shadows
of a phantom abyss

in the silver of morn, little bird joyful trills
five lines remain blank
the notes won't play on
its breathe lies below the sand
where tranquil bulrushes grow


1.
in the hue of sombre afternoon
    knees drawn up to chest
    memories intent on knocking loud
cold harbour between these sheets
   no blotting out that light -- it has to be faced
there's no silver in the clouds.. so bulbous and so there
only a tie on the path


2.
can you please let me be?
need to be left alone a while
while I clean up the righteous-mess of this dread
           hours to make me presentable before that
which must be lived through

smiles can be pasted on.. by old-habit, so well-mastered
it's an old tale caught in a twist by its own wick'd-tail
perhaps some gale to shake up the roster
and relieve from parallel track.. liberate
surely, they can hear the stylised bass-chords inside me
             leave their odd-resonance
boom.. boom

3.
treble is missing..
your laughter, I can still hear your tinkling-laughter
         even as I see you being lowered slowly, slowly, slowly
s l o w l y
down into the bowels of where we all go to rest one day
you take with you.. the *one clef needed for clarity to live

shut eyes tight against that bright-red insolence
        struggle with the process of accepting the impossible
reliving anguish through swollen eyes in a clip of vision
imposing terror.. grips tummy-muscles and twists
eternally deforming galaxial-dust in my eyes


4.
in the grey of eve.. no hunger, no thirst
    place food in mouth - must
    shove fluids down constricted-throat - must
..baking sun waves at me, setting in gilt-smiles

clean out the navy-attic of my overdrawn-mind
find your blue bubblegum on the counter
and suddenly, my arms are clad in shivers-cold
                       head is spinning
I pick up the morsel, turn it over and unwrap
stare at it, discovering you.. again
tears well but never fall..
         I place the gum inside
         chew and chew and chew....................
it is you.. not lost
place the bubblegum on silver wrapping
'cause the clouds.. they offer no solution

I have to eat, my hunger grew
my sanity is toast


5.
yes, smiles can be pasted on.. by old-habit
        but not this time
why let love be secured so.. then harshness steps in
to wrench away.. leaving such monstrous-gaps?
perhaps it's safe to just.. not love..
close up the heart - pack away in congelator

(weird.. a heart is just a piece of meat)
love-letters and sweet-poems are for the eyeless
hearts for eyes.. render blind-suite
tenderly hack out these.. hack, hack!



the only remnant now.. a hard-ball of gum found stuck
      hid as a half-moon under the pedestal

still.. earth turns again
          birds sing on

your laughter never lost.. completes the score
        the symphony unfolds
as sage doth reveal.. one step at a time :)



S T -  14 Feb 2014

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