#sounding
The Sounding Foam of Primal Things
*(The title and the poem, taken from and inspired by
Carl Sandburg's "Who Am I?")
wind and rain pound the surf.
snow falls on the beach, on the shore.
man-observer cannot tell:
has the earth gone mad, all wet?
do the seas rise, whipped up, filling the heavens,
or does the white rain replenishes the very body,
from whence it came, and now returns?
this matters greatly, yet nothing answers this, his question.
the furious soundings, the green foam churn,
the silence of no response inebriates,
drunk on the tempest's hard wet liquor,
weighed down, sodden with the despair,
solitude, silence, absent answers,
his natural walking companions!
No Stopping signs on almost every corner,
Do Not Pass, Do Not Enter,
One Way, Two Way, No Thru Passage,
but the one sign he seeks,
"Stay On The Path" absent.
Eluded,
dispassionate endings,
the essential quietude among
furious surround-sounds of creative destruction
he ceases to ask, for unanswered, undirected.
Concluded,
either
their is no one listening, or,
there is no one caring, or,
Deluded,
illusion is truth,
he is an illusion.
------------------
Feb 14, 2014
Feb 14, 2014 at 10:57 PM UTC
I can't change.
I can only rearrange
These wayward thoughts
In my brain
To seem
A little less insane.
Playing mind games
In my brain waves,
I'm a slave
To the way I misbehave.
I forgave,
But those memories stay
To haunt me and taunt me
Both night and day.
I think I'm stuck this way.
Bottled rage
Gravity's cage
My daily stage.
I won't engage.
**** this plague
Let it fade.
I drift away.
C.eM. 5.11.14
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
There's something inexplicable
about the way
they make you feel
nothing.
Happiness is fleeting
but
you are your own mistake
you keep repeating.
one of these nights
might turn out right
if you keep your mouth shut
like the door you're always
finding yourself behind
with your back against the wood,
muscles tensing
as you knew they would.
Nose bleeding-
when is the last time you ate?
It took you an hour to get ready but
no one can see all your hard work
in the shade.
"baby, you look great"
is all you wanted to grace you ears
but you've got too much on your plate
and there are only couples here.
They will pay you no mind
and you will begin to feel
you might have been left behind.
you pretend you aren't hungry
because it seems more grungy.
cigarettes will stain your teeth
and smoke will spin circles at your feet
as you sway alone;
always hanging in the wings
you're looking for another drink
another triple shot
and you sink deeper into
the half-assed hope
that this will be a night
you forgot.
Just more meaningless crumbs
of these evening hours
accumulating into an unusable mass
of dried out nights
exaggerate another fight
you had with your mind-
what will you do when they call you out
for being lower than the grout
in the bathroom
baby face like you just came out of the womb
your knife is duller than
your conversation topic
you're a fake-
From a mile away can you be spotted.
Drained of inspiration
plagued by perpetual consternation
what will you sample next
on your way to a falsified elation.
Spending weeks away dragon chasing-
How long will you be on mental vacation?
They're growing impatient.
C.e.M. 12.21.2014
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 1:42 AM UTC
I just want him
To reach out
And hold my hand.
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 4:50 AM UTC