I think I'm fine with
          kickin' over church pews
desperate to find where my rituals hide.
Ghost stories never taught me nothin' but runnin'
               and hidin'--
          Tonight they'll be exorcised.

By the end of this year,
I hope they won't recognize me;
all free and clear
from old, sour misfires.
Tired of sad sermons I been tellin' myself
so I'll shelve 'em and try to let myself debride.

I think I'm fine with
          forgetting the words
to this tired parable I've spent too much time with.
Ghost stories never teach ya nothin' but runnin'
               and hidin'--
          from yourself and your best lived life.

Blue screen
behind a snowy blur
          Blizzard outside
        cold silence in here.
Forgot
the weight of syllables
          On channel 2,
  I'm disconnected and numb.

               With all the eloquence
               of a bitter, frozen smile,
          Let me draw a map
                          with mismatched memories
               With all the subtlety
             of a fumbled operation.
          Let me trace the tale
                     down unstitched avenues.

This year
I'll try for something like real feeling.
Ghoulish nostalgia's only eating me alive.
And if I could only take my lumps and leave 'em...

...leave 'em far behind,
I might start moving on.
               Onto something
                       current,
               something warmer
                 that's enduring.

Let me try to trace my tale
down these unstitched avenues.

And I'll get back to you.

Some people slip,
When their clay gets out of shape
They accept what they're given
And set it in stone.

But you keep improving;
More water,
A faster or slower pace,
Viewing from different perspectives... etc.

You know there's a possibility
You refuse to give up
And be stuck the same way forever.

l.v.s

Respect is earned and not given
Don't expect an attendance ribbon
No petty compliments, no kind lies
Only truth seen through different eyes

We may be harsh, we don't mince words
We value truth even when it hurts
To plant roses we must break the earth
Challenges let us prove our worth

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

strike a match
watch the flame flicker
hover your hand over it's warmth
bringing it closer and closer to your skin
but never letting it touch

the burn would hurt too much
the hesitation shows
there's still some hope
the flame has not yet scorched your happiness.

Watch the flame die down
throw the match away
you're not an angel on fire today.

It comes in waves, this crippling emotional pain.
Sometimes it fades, then, like the sea, it shows again.
I´ve grown used to it´s rough caress on my emotional stability
Testing it, taking me to the edge, with irrational cruelty.

And then it vanishes, what once was shore is no more
Just miles upon miles of damped sand, and a self unsure,
Torn between the illusion of recovery
And the calling of reality.

One day, without notice a mountain of water closes on me
A tsunami of everything bad, just when I thought I’d escape the sea
I had been fooling myself, I am an island, surrounded by water
All I can hope is for days that are dryer, better.