#asphalt
From the swing;
the playground,
when the mind is clear
as honeyed water,
there,
ever on the road goes,
slithering into the shadows
of the sleeping horizon,
and
when my feet
were big enough to fill
the muddied shoes,
I sauntered,
then walked,
then trudged,
until my toes were nailed
to the asphalt,
until I came upon
where the road has crumbled,
its debris scattered.
And stood this body,
two sizes too big for this tiny soul,
swathed in layers of expectations,
dragging sagging lumps of age around
past this old carnival.
Forsaken years in the rear view mirror
once painted with life,
proud stallions
here, stand still and gray,
golden poles tarnished,
Their hand crafted eyes
wide-open,
staring through the smudged glass mirror at the lives they missed.
while the music box wheezes—
a slowing tune,
a dying sound,
as shadows lengthen
on this fairground.
Deep in my pocket,
my fingers exhume
yesterday’s cold corpses
no longer jingling,
just grating tired,
clutched a handful of
these tokens—forgotten currencies,
now just pieces of obol for the eyes,
obsolete,
for games whose booths have long since shattered.
The Ferris wheel creaks,
half-dismantled,
Its empty seats
Swinging
in the twilight’s breeze,
crying tears
of rusted nuts and bolts,
groans high above my head,
emitting light
a weaker pulse
against the night.
As if they were embers
holding on to their glow,
if for a moment until the breeze snatches their soul out of their ashy bed.
I stand beneath it,
feel the wind brush past
And wonder if I’ll ever climb again,
or if this ride has ended with the spark
of something breaking,
and like with most
it is something I can’t fix.
Oct 18, 2024
Oct 18, 2024 at 10:47 PM UTC
Run, run while you can;
while your toes can spring from the asphalt;
while time is on your side
and the wind is behind you,
and the world is a trail of blur.
The cartilage of your joints,
fresh and oleaginous,
pliable as your young mind,
can take you to your destiny;
can satiate wanderlust,
a bitter aftertaste for a time long gone
of a weary spirit
tenant to a rigid flesh.
Breathe
the scent of life in.
Let your lungs and air,
like lovers who have folded
the distance between them,
savor the embrace
throbbing in their minds at night.
Breathe the scent in,
in time,
they grow stale,
planted in water by the bedside
wilting with apologies
and well wishes
dancing to the music
of beeping machines.
Up the hills if you must;
through mist,
yielding not an inch
to questions
doubt pours on the road.
Against the unwillingness
of your body,
defy,
and when its defiance ripens
in its season,
your spirit shall burden
it a heavy swathe of obstinacy.
So run,
for the loan of time digs deep in the pocket to claim interest,
pay your heart in full,
before foreclosure.
Time inevitably demands its due.
—e.d. maramat | erwinism
Sep 17, 2024
Sep 17, 2024 at 11:35 PM UTC
Lay upon the asphalt of your tender life.
Where is your OK line?
Does it fall straight or
Wander like a rivers ebb?
Does your OK line look away from Native children
forced to give up their language
with a safety pin in their tongue?
Does your OK line conform blindly with false prophets who seek control
making it easy
for you to turn away
from suffering?
My OK line seeks parity,
self-determination,
and soothing
With my voice and images
that will never be silenced in a democracy
but could be sold to the highest bidder in a dictatorship.
Silence kills
and you suffer less
believing you are somehow more disserving.
You are as equal
as the stone stuck in the sole of your shoe.
We all hurt the same.
Remember discomfort
is equal for all.
That's the OK line.
Stone, thorn, blade
and heart.
Bleed, red
but bleed less
in the company
of a battling generation
who votes the OK line
For freedom
of choice
Until our last breath.
Jun 11, 2024
Jun 11, 2024 at 9:47 AM UTC
Asphalt, steaming screams swear words
The offensive smell of pavement post downpour
I think I’d like life better if it rhymed
The chatter and clatter mad hatters me
Sleepless and hopeless with Romans
And their online roads and aqueducts
They slither and snake but there is no more wild in the west
Automated scarecrows with AR-15’s stand guard
O’er amber waves of grain
Eyes open for outlaws and injuns
Cattle ranching of the future
Feeding the world one cubic meter of methane at a time
Dec 5, 2021
Dec 5, 2021 at 4:53 PM UTC
Metro’s wastrel streets,
Littered with points, blackened foil;
Excremental prey.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 7:23 PM UTC
I carry this mask to hide behind
And cache away my flaws
But know me, know me
Is my cry
I make myself this camouflage
Though please do not be fooled
See past my guise
See me, see me
Is my cry
Peirce through my shield into my heart
There you'll see I'm torn apart
I play like asphalt
But there's music in my heart
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 7:42 PM UTC
The house was big,
Too big for a divorced family of four.
It had sickly, pale yellow siding
With cracking paint and a long archway
That led to a round, asphalt-covered
Backyard.
Most days the trees
That rolled out into the little valley
Alongside it were barren and spiny,
And you could see through them, all
The way to the quiet road that cut
Through the growing houses
Below.
If you were lucky, you would have seen
A few kids shooting airsoft guns,
Running through the fallen leaves,
Leaping atop all the muddy mounds of dirt
Next to the creek, but they
Have lost contact
Recently.
If you were to climb up the little green hill
That rose just next to the mouth
Of the house’s driveway,
Cresting along the edge of the cul-de-sac,
You would see a greenhouse,
Brown, with splotches of dirt
On the windows.
If you opened its flimsy door,
Which was usually locked,
You would see all the uncut tomato plants,
All the sage and spices,
And you would probably wonder
Why they were not harvested
Yet.
But the people who owned it
Usually bought their groceries
Rather than grew them.
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 4:29 PM UTC
Like a squiggle in your eye; blink,
and
I'm
gone
because I am all lipstick smudges left under carefully-pressed lapels, or Sharpied innuendos scrawled on bathroom walls in dingy bars.
A souvenir from one ephemeral moment, a fleeting tryst of dispassion (from my side at least); before I am scrubbed bare and raw.
DON'T YOU TOUCH ME, for I am so tender.
Thrown into the wash;
you can clean me, but the stain remains.
The scent of sugar, sweat and shame.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
---
streets twinkle
with the cars
the sky is granite
asphalt stars
trees die with their
stunted height
buildings grow
with urban blight
pine box slabs
of window's pain
glassy panels
city's stain
gritty mouths
feed dogs that bark
moist streets where
the world is parked
gravel streetlights
lend the night
darkened sidewalks
blackest light
soulsurvivor
rewrite (c) 5/12/2015
written 2014
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 2:59 AM UTC
Faded Glory
Sweatshirt clenches my
teary salt seas.
Mascara on cotton
like drizzle upon Asphalt.
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Three months passed with the clock’s clack;
Let’s take a moment and look straight back.
You’re a great guy and I really do love you;
So, right now, here’s the tale of us two.
It was so long ago, in that crazy game;
That I first saw you, and you I’d claim.
I couldn’t stop staring in those eyes of soil;
Right then and there did my heart boil.
Then we first met in that glittering mall;
I was taken aback - I was naught but thrall.
But then at night’s apex you plant a kiss -
Believe me now; it was nothing but bliss!
Only a few weeks ago, you took my flower;
Then you let it bloom in wondrous power.
Now, look at me - an insatiable lover!
You were the one, the one to discover.
Of course, there were bumps and cracks;
And in my mind they’re still fresh tracks.
But that simply doesn’t matter to me;
Because, it’s still us and we.
In closing, our great love, it still shines;
Still so sweet and pure like fine wines.
Even then, it’s still a brightening dawn;
One that has only just begun.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 3:29 PM UTC
Woke up in a dream under asphalt trees
soaked in the sap of the sweltering city
wearing these old rat rags
and sneering at the concrete
Greyscale mindset stitched into my sleeve
This town'll fuckin' **** ya
and drop a coin on your grave
dig your way up to the daylight
and hang on to your *****
Waking up
Snapping out.
It's not so easy, is it?
Waking up and snapping out...
The barge is afloat on the sidewalk streams
Burns in the summer, ******* doused in Spring
the bums puke in corners
children ***** in the alleys
Sinking hulks. "Abandon ship!" on the galleys
These waves'll ******* **** ya
and pull you down in the deep
this dream ain't worth waking for
But we can't get to sleep.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC