I'd never seen her so beautiful,
the color of life now covering her once ivory complexion.
The heart that once beat is now stagnant and black.
This thing in my hand, locked and loaded;
the shiniest gunmetal I've seen in a while.
Her only solitary life now gushing from her head.

Why did I take her life you ask?
It was those eyes...those godforsaken white, sightless eyes!
They never saw anything I am or ever will be.
All I ever wanted was for her to see!!
I've wanted to gouge them out since the day our two
lives became a single, cohesive one.

But it was those eyes that drove me to this.
Never had she seen my face.
Why is this just now occuring to me?
Yes, of course I loved her.
Mad? Why would you say that?

What is a madman? Me? A madman?
Preposterous!! What is a madman?
Certainly not in comparison to me.
I am the spitting image of true sanity...
Or am I?

I see no wrong doing in my actions.
I was simply doing her a favor...
Though, I probably should've been more humane
with the child she was carrying...

My child! My own flesh and blood!! Gone forever!
But it was for the good of both of them I presume...
There was a good chance my son would've been blind.

...My son!! My baby boy!!! How tragic a day this is!
Well, there wasn't any stipulation to 'Till death do us part'.
There wasn't any specification on how it was to happen.

I look to the gunmetal again.
It is to blame for this tragedy...
I hold the faithful steel grey to the side of my head
and look to my deceased spouse and unborn child.

Finally, I give the gun one final squeeze goodbye...

And my existence
is gunmetal grey
coasting between
raven black
and ghost white.

I am the taste of the oncoming storm on your lips
I am the feeling of icy wind on your fingertips

I am the smell of fire,
I am the sound of lightning breaking the wires.

and your existence is snow white,
calm and cool and completely planned for.

fate took you into account
when things were set in motion

you're the twinkling stars,
you're that knowing exactly where you are
feeling.

you're the steady ferocity of the lynx,
you're the cold, dangerous whisper of "don't move, don't breathe, don't even blink."

I am gunmetal grey,
and you are the endless color,
the spiraling reds and oranges,
and the bottomless blues and greens.

I was unseen by fate,
yet I am intertwined within yours.

Cobalt. Gunmetal. Pastel. Powder. Forget-me-not.
Out of all the blues,
She has the eye color with no name
The eye color that is slowly driving me insane.
Who gave her the right?
To have something so beautiful

I see blue everywhere;
In paintings, photographs—even the air
There are no crayons that can capture it
Not even color codes on computers can match her eyes

Her eyes are the space between the rippling depths of the ocean and the shards of reflected sky
They are the eyes that squint a bit as she smirks because she thinks she's sly

No matter how much I glance to the left during lunch
The color escapes my mind and simply becomes a concept
In my thoughts frustration likes to roam
If it weren't for the non-existent green, her eyes would look like sea foam
But here is no green—
Only hundred year old glaciers, rivers, and stormy skies

I don't even know what blue is anymore
As angering as they are, her eyes are still something I adore
I'm tempted to just ask her what color they are,
But that would mean that I don't pay attention
To do so would be like mistaking a stranger for your dad
Everyone will become apprehensive and think that I have gone mad

Her placid gaze tends to bore through my shell
I feel vulnerable— like she can see my dilapidated soul
But I know that she means no harm;
She is amiable and full of charm

Who knew blue could mean so much
And still be convoluted?
Blue washes the shore with the push and pull of the tides
Blue has managed to stain my thoughts and dye my insides

Gertrude, Stradbrook, River and Roslyn,
off of McMillan, my thoughts froze on Osborne
A drive through the Village on slippery streets
Bought records, drained pints
                        swallowed down summer nights
Back home in Wyoming--think I'll be fine
                         'til some night, filled to gills
                          trip through streets with a stranger
                          and sing "One Great City"
                          through swollen closed throat

And I remember...

Confusion Corner, commuting through cold streets
Watched you drive as the daylight died
I narrow my Focus,
                                     you eased into traffic
The Assiniboine ran and was watched by Riel

January.
Johnson's Terminal.
London Fogs.
Took Yellow Dogs for long walks
and Exchanged now for then. Snapped pictures, again and again.

Snow up to my hips
Spent a night at St. Boniface
We cased a cathedral, your friends seemed to like me.

Lines ran from reserves, over oceans and borders.
Your hair ran down shoulders, brown waves for a blanket.

Winterpeg, Manitscoldout
Portage & Main
Shivering, smiling
at a Tavern Uniting with friends,
'til we took the King's Head...
We took the King's Head.
Long live the king.

January.
Magic Thailand.
Curry soup, curried thoughts thawing,
melting, falling from pickled brains,
                      through lips chapping

I donned my Tuxedo, chopped down Seven Oaks...
Your Catholic heart spoke
     reached out for St. James.
     St. Vital answered behind Fort Garry's walls...

Our hearts, they were neighbourhoods
And the streets were all salt.

Blistered paint on your blue '02 Focus

To the City Center of the continent's middle
Form a Perimeter
Frame a city
Bullseye, center, a Gold gilded Boy
he leans into sky, as they sing, as I hear.
The road North Ended--November, it was.
I think, one year prior, in Robin's Donuts
front doors swayed, on hinges that sighed metallic,
I caught your eyes--organic, unplanned--
               through fog frosting lenses
Caught them, held on
               Held your deep brown
               In my gunmetal blue

Seasons will chase--haste to follow more seasons
White streaks to green
and the Red River runs.
When they score at the ballpark,
"Go Goldeyes!" the cheer sounds
Cheer. Cheer!
The Guess Who still ****,
but the Jets completed their round trip
"Go, Jets, go!" so the cheer goes.
"Cheers!" Cheers like bells.
             Bells
           Pealing
Peeling like your sunburnt back
            Bells
          Ringing
           Striking
Bells singing long
Bells sounding loudly from Grace Bible Church
  baptizing Baltimore as it kisses Osborne

Bells ringing. Round sounds.
Round rings for fingertips touching
Bells
Round sounds that hang on my neck
and sing me to sleep every night--
remind me how badly you wanted those bells
                I denied you.

They sing "Left and Leaving"
             and show me old scars
          they ring and peal and strike
                         and sing
                         unending.

I remember March of 2008
Dropping my toque in the mud-and-slush street
            We took Pembina Highway
              Ate Vietnamese.

I remember...

Confusion Corner,
Commuting through cold streets,
Watching you drive as the daylight died
In your blue '02 Focus
Ease us back into traffic,
The Assiniboine River.
And Louis Riel.

So tell me...

Comment-allez vous, ce soir?
Je ne suis pas comme ci, comme ça.

Moved by his computer frame
Love to love you he loved to move
her body frame he loved to love
That chrome never over to be undone
  Those delicate cake fingers
Those ABC key notes
  musically wired moved by the

Marionette elementary my dear
Watson in  a chrome jar mason
Hard mission with circuits
Radio days
She was so committed and clicked
All towered like the French Provincial

"All Metal" I phone rings to his
commercial I tunes conventional
So moved by her like the sentinel
Fingers frantic through the
yellow pages loving and soothing
But that wasn't so romantic
more silver linings

But Iced latte like fine slender metal
Soft and creamy cake in her love portal
So Sara just smile she was something
In her way was the General Lee
French stewardess Wee Wee
Her chrome metal Oh! Gee

What it did to him drove him
For hours to the address named
The hard drive
Mentally he was melted
he had to stay firm but pacing like the
buzzing beehive
The midday she moved into another
Red carpet Hollywood drive
She was out of her box racing too red
Too much of his chrome wheel heat
Metallic leather moves in her heels

Mighty sweet but some
anger management to beat
The crunch the bunch the
workout being spooked out
Those biceps couldn't take a bad rap
High life joy wife loves the cook-out
So outgoing gift of gab
Jekyll and Hyde lab

That metalworking grime
More networking like the
hard water crime
The marching wooden soldiers
Christmas time got the metal locket
He was ready for her lips
fired out rocket

In the dark the spark more alive into
A gunmetal lovely portal
Moved by the rebel her face had a
dark silvery veil Apple computer
Love mentor crazy love inventor
She was hard as a rock
At the muscle club

So hushed how she moved her
lips he is the
Chrome metal built up
Was her heart moved away
Her hands tightly closed cup
It got caught on the metal chair
Moved like a piece of furniture

Shine on the modern metal lamp
It was blown glass
Like the cartoon
"Lady and the *****"
Genie just appeared
Moved by him her
metal box could tear
The Mozilla stronger then

The silver back Gorilla
Chrome attire good fella
Yahoo singer Miss Diva
Venus-Stella,
Not a child's Crayola
She loved to drink
In his metal cup mountain dew

Moved up by Mothers Day

She needed to bloom
more (May I)
Way too polite
Heavy lifting rain April
fools season
  But he had the
stiff collar June he took
such a hard drive
Moved by her chrome metal you decide?

  Cosmos two in a half
metal, she was always in the
lab finding new age turn
of the page new turf
War veterans deserve the metals
Oh! Metal Heart take a chill pill
Becoming junkies  leaders and
Quack up Doctors

(Ripley’s believe
it or metal it)
So tickled chrome pink
To forget it her cell I- O-U metal
heart phone
  Here is a link to my song I did

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0p-HADoF1I&t=162s

The  ammunition of
the best silver
That was Terry Tech lee
his brother was Techie
Heavy metal rounds the
sea minerals
To top things off  the
"Metal Generals"

Moved by only chrome
The robot combat type metal
Not a belly wash to be pregnant
What a moving day convent
I need my own outlet

If I only had a brain
Were built like machines
anyway
The pacemakers nothing
feels real
The Brooklyn bridge
Deal or no deal
No grudge to hold onto
Wartime metal moved by
The honorable Veterans
Have a heart, not of cold stone
if I only had a brain
  All-metal wedding  

Taking the City train earthquake moving
Speaking traditionally white
Metal is the future of the website
Well! how much olive oil can
they serve the Tin man wizardly
He crushed my cheeks like
Rotten metal tomatoes

Mr. Clean robot cleaning
up the metal hearts
Someone will throw you off the
Brooklyn, let's play bridge
Should you get a metal bridge?
The Jewish dentist, he has plenty of bridges.
You could find him near the Trump Towers.

Why is it so, Oh why is it so
That the owners of capital
Inevitably grow
To be possessors of everything
Strategically placed,
Solidly, tangibly
Gunmetal faced?

Owners of newspapers
Head of TV,
Masters of radio
Commercial and free.
Dispensers of policy
Spreaders of gloss,
Keep movers informed
Keep fools at a loss.

Like a puppeteer General
Manipulate strings
Of artillery thunder
And stratosphere wings.
Subliminal ownership
Military wise
Guarantees power
And fortifies ties.

Holding the cards
In Congressional spheres
Ensures positive influence
To leadership ears.
Holding sway
In the ship of state
Commands control
Of those who rate.

Power to publish,
Power to spin,
Manipulative power
To politically win.
Power to generate
Mountains of wealth,
Marauding powers
Of infinite stealth.

Solidly, tangibly
Gunmetal faced,
Owners of capital
Strategically placed.
Controllers of influence
Puller of strings,
Powerful Anchors
...Societal Kings.


Marshalg
@theGate
Mangere Bridge
23 March 2009

You
Look beautiful
Right
Before sleep
Laying back, eyes rolled shut
Crushed pills
A contrasting white to the
Bible they lay on
You
Always had
Your
Priorities straight
Beckoning me
Sensing me
From behind your eyelids
Mouthing my name
You
Take me
In
As I feel for
Who you are
Beneath the veil of decency and secrecy
Reminding me
How much I need this
You
Could control
Me
When I'm in you
A puppet takes my place
And when you finish
You put your lips to my temple
And say bang.

Dylan is dead.
no, not Bob, you Philistine,
Dylan Thomas who implored us
to rage against the night;
so are a passel of poets
and penners, but not I

Emily heard her fly buzz,
well before her eyes shut; she
was a wee bit obsessed
with the reaper

Hemingway's also a goner;
guts enough to shove a shotgun
in his mouth--mostly I wonder if
he tasted blue gunmetal like I did,
and who cleaned his brains
off the wall?

nobody had to clean a red dollop
of mine, for the firing pin was askew
and all I got was a click, and a sense of shame,
and impotence more flaccid than
the one which put the barrel
in my mouth

hell, how hard is it
to **** yourself--I guess harder
than I thought, since I never bought
another rifle

so Dylan is dead
Em and Hem too, but you
are reading these lines without
contemplating your own demise
I suspect

after all, it's early spring
and a time of new things
clawing their way into the light
thinking nothing of the terminal
night -- but it's just a sun dip away:
ask Dylan or Hemingway, or even JFK
but I wouldn't bother the Belle
of Amherst

she would make parting
sweeter than sorrow, and she
never tasted the cold lead, or spoke
with fear or dread of the dumb
and the dead

she never murdered
men in black pajamas  
in a forest primeval...

I didn't see their spirits
ascending, in ribbons of light,
only rivers of their red blood
soaking the green ground,
yet today ravenous
for more it seems

why would she rage
against the good night, when
her carriage waited patiently for her,
and immortality, her vessel bound
for a light Dylan and I
will never see

With my womanly looks,
I shall ****.
These child bearing hips always
fuel a thrill.


My blood stained lips and
gunmetal eyes will surely
make a man's ego
plummet,

go downhill.


I am a lover, but no,
I do not transform for you.


Do not complain about the ink on my face,
for I am my own writer,
so please give me my space.

Learn to love me coated or not
because I live for me, but also your embrace.

Liquid shrapnel soothes the earth
Gunmetal flesh decays
The Apocalypse has come

Thunder resonates in the distance
Dragon eyes transcend the pewter sky
The Apocalypse has come

Sword of Odin
Valhalla awaits you
The Apocalypse has come

wanna be her cutman?

you’ll trace every wound, grease
all her vulnerabilities
and the taste of forged metal
will flavour your dreams

she’ll dance with you watching,
a storm over canvas
and she’ll swing for those *******
like a silk-wrapped machine  

wanna be her cutman?

you’ll watch as each cut’s inflicted
then wait your turn to touch
to your hand she’ll ever-be Vaseline slick
or sticky with blood

she’ll hide vibrant colours behind
gunmetal hues but beneath careful fingers
her scars will tell truths- and
they’ll burn fire tattoos into your heart

wanna be her cutman?
you sure?

(you’ll wish dead every guy
has her over ropes or on canvas, but  
she’ll be eyeing those guys while
you’re fixing her up)

Gunmetal cold barrel to my head,
the smell of his slow suicidal tendencies
in the form of cigarettes hanging off the edge of
his words.

Cold Gray-ash eyes stare bullet holes into me.
The trigger ready to be pulled,
he's teasing me with a finger caressing...

Cologne sparks sharp scents,
the wind carries his essence,
pure ice scents,
into my veins.

My lungs encase the newfound delicacy
eating up the smell.
Hungry for more of him,
I bite my lip wishing it was his skin.



His aesthetic
Snacking on my soul
And I do not decline.

As they tie the white blindfold
On my eyes They line up the
FIRING Line see if I do not stand brave
**** **** **** cocking of rifles
Are explosions in my ears
Fearless I hold
Your picture in hand and take the
Bullets Crainial Spatail gasps
Lungs collapsing
My last thoughts hinge on your
White ******* as my tounge finds
The gunmetal taste of skin
Your haunting laugh
Screaming in frequencies
Unheard mere mortals
I reach the throne room of the gods
With a knife hidden in my boot

Did you think I would forget?
Your scent still hangs on me
Electrical I squeeze out each last
Drop of Malice upon a silent hotel room
Even though the news on mute taunts me
With polite smiles reminiscent of your taut hello
A year I spend standing in the rain
Trying to wash the scent of you from my skin
Your taste on my lips
Leaving corpses
Hollow in your wake
The Forked Tongue she spills
Poison in my wine each time
I turn towards the candle  light
Until one night I caught her in my Bed
You have no Idea for what you ask
Until at once you understand
I take your hand
Like the moth I rip the wings from your back
You twitch and ****** on waves of pain as
I bring you ever closer to the flame
Your thorax structure spasms of ecstasy
Won't you light me up?
As the beast gives rise
Parting porcelain thighs divine

I find god's stash of
***** tapes in the closet
When I was searching for
A reason not to empty the
Entire clip into my chest
Each bullet carved
With your name in
Perfect Cursive

I break into your house while you are out with your new boyfriend
And I lie on your bed that we used to lie in
I cradle the pistol in my pocket
I keep reaching down to feel
As if I have forgotten it
Flicking the safety
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
Off
On
*****
Ch­ambering the first
Nine millimeter
Hollowpoint  
As I hear your front door open
And you flick
The porch light on
Bathing the moonlit yard
In artificial light
The Roses red
I spent my last $12 dollars on
Wilt on the kitchen counter
While in the hall you kiss his neck and
Unzip his name-brand jeans
Leading him to your bedroom door

Gunmetal Christmas socks pulled
past the calf like go-getter high school
girls "rocking" rainbow ******* below
the belt loops. I never went a day
without seeing short shorts and socks
replacing pant legs with a gap at the knee
to breathe. Downplay X-mas with black
jeans thinning 'bove the knees. I guess
it's payback for all the surly Santas
paid per nervous child lapdance
that got ******* out of $1.50
because I walked away.
For all the St. Nicks breathing pressurized
bourbon on little kids' wishlists.
Thread through a burgundy belt frayed
by the buckle teeth. And I'm sure this is really
burgundy, probably the only burgundy I never
questioned much, unless the manufacturer's
lying to me. Unless it's really a flexible case
for wild circuits and tiny open mics in bars
going on 'round the clock. Not just Tuesdays.
Fiber optics around my waist transmitting
telephone transmissions and cybernetic ****
monitoring my hips and what my **** does.
And my thoughts; they're ******* taking
my thoughts. Precious poetry lines lost
to the scarcity of pens in my car, when I'll
shave next, whether or not I want a burr grinder,
if I'll break glasses at work and have to drink
the glitters like iced tea from the hardwood floor.
Maybe I'll cut my gums. Maybe my tongue'll
become a chandelier butterfly and carry
me to Coudersport or Elmira or Nowhere
to watch pregnant teenagers push flat-tire
shopping carts ******-shaking in the newborn
section. Their babies are spitting up Gerber plans
Mom has never considered. Baby's just a rock rolling
down the birth canal that may someday end up
a boulder in a state park.

What is this pulse I feel?
Stark, ever-present, the tumor with which
life is sustained.

The sky today is remarkably dismal
raindrops along the sidewalks
which I cling to:
not out of reliance --
but out of need.

The world is a bleak gunmetal grey
The Promethean fire of our reluctantly naked sun
cannot even bear to expose itself today.
So, it hides.
It hides like we all do.

What is this pulse I feel?

It hides like an introvert at a party
who escapes himself
into the blare and blur of a horrid
solidarity of bottles and children
and the illegal activities with which
they so complacently cling to.

Hides like a man in a pin-striped suit
who is concealed under white teeth and
leather lounge chairs and contemporary
architecture.

Hidden like child at a shopping mall
whose mother is almost attentive
as the child hides in a clothing rack
and screams:

"You'll never find me!
You'll never find me!"

And the mother realizes that her
child is gone
And the mother finds her child.
And the child never realizes
that he will never escape the eyes
of those whom he doesn't want to see.

The child may want a mask but masks never conceal effectively --
and if they do they're uncomfortable
and press against your face and suffocate your skin.
And it's easier just to let everyone see you
than to be an isolated mask amongst the ranks
of autonomy-hungry deoxyribonucleic acid.

What is this pulse I feel?

The child dies in a car accident several years later.
Oh, well.

And so, I am here --
the world is sullen and steel
as the raindrops fall upon the sidewalk.
It's as if the world is a graveyard
no one dares exit their shelters to
let the cold Truth gently fall upon their faces.

What is this pulse I feel?

The water falling from the Sun's shelter
answers my question:
"You are a raindrop, you fall from the sky
and land, cold, onto these concrete streets.
You may distinguish yourself amongst the other molecules
but you are all Hydrogen and Oxygen.
Your identity is nothing.
You are but an off-key baritone singing in a chorus.
The chorus is an ocean;
the aggregation of all human water molecules.
What's one drop to do?"

This pulse I feel?
It is one of billions, and it is indistinguishable.
I cling to the sidewalk as I step further --
hands in my pockets, stepping further.
Step.

I hear the abyss calling.
It takes the form of falling rain.

His matriarch set off in the brilliant burn
Pre-monsoon summer skies as she flies
Home to Big Blue and strawberry fields, rolling sand dunes
Studded with peaches and cream stalks full corn ears
Past the gunmetal  hulls - Motor City madness
Send that cheap crap back to China
Import ratchet dreams that obsolesce faster than a preteen’s
Boy band crush
We left our polite goodbyes on padded benches in the Sunport
Trekked the cement labyrinthine path back to the car
Sprawled myself out in the backseat
Marinating in my bipolar haze of relief and regret
Two weeks of my soft under parts presented  
Respect for the Alpha who never hacked up a rabbit
At the mere sound of my keening cries
Sate the pack tomorrow I’m off the forest floor
In all my ears back, feral, foaming at the fangs glory
Salient thought abandoned on the crest of a stressed induced migraine
And the whelps yipping for pricey coffee with caramel drizzles

She broke my bleary eyed unfocused reverie
Wrangling two carts corralled by bits of ragged twine in the parking lot
As she ferreted through her peculiar tinsel adorned collection
Scraggly plastic wreaths, sad ghosts of Christmas past
And her grizzled locks wound round a red velveteen door decoration
Muted hues against her transient mantle
I caught myself looking away…
A triad of flies buzzed her presence
The dull thrum of something important forgotten
She shuffled to a center table
Arranging dusky floral skirts and kohl layered clothing
With hands caked with cracked black grit
Fingers studded with grimey chunk costume jewelry
Dug at the lid on a generic bulk bowl of noodle soup
While baristas and capri clad patrons skirted her table
As though they were restless waves
Fleeing before the power of God across the Red sea
And me ******* spun fat from the top of an overpriced iced concoction
Without pittance in my pocket
Caught myself staring…
Waiting….
For someone else to do the Christian thing

Is that how a Freak rolls?
Tongue lolling for the opportunity
When crazy plants itself
In the high backed chair in front of you
And pops open a styro container of “stroke in a cup”
Do you flash that cash wrapped round a tract
Put a hand on her weary back and pray
Do you simply look away
Caught up in awkward indecision
Uncomfortable in your urban bubble
This is latte day at Starbee’s for God’s sake
And she never put a hand out for help
Or spoke a single word
As if a bag of Oprah’s cut leaf tea would
Change her world.
Or yours.
Pride goeth before Christmas wreaths, and shopping carts
And *** metal costume jewels

Under the cool blur of my ceiling fan I glance skyward for answers
Offer a smattering of plaintive prayers
For matriarchs
And mavens with dull velveteen bows in their hair
For my children
For release from the pain at the back of my brain
And the constricting grip of entitlement torqueing my brittle heart
God breathes in moments missed
When we simply look away…
TL Boehm
08/21/2014

Does a human being have razorblade claws or gunmetal teeth
Does a human being have the grizzly bear hide
or the exotic suction cups?
Then what has kept it alive all these millions of years
What protects it from all predators
Even those it cannot see
Those it cannot physically defeat
What lets it defy Nature herself
None, but the mind
And the proper body to wield it
Will we soon get a peek under the dress?

So why didn’t my mother name me Kevin?
Because sometimes the middle name is really what you want to name your kid
But you think another is more pragmatic
Either because the middle is too wild
Or, in my mother’s case
It was more important to do honor to her recently dead husband
Than to pick the name she had always
Dreamed
Of naming a child

But that’s where I get stuck
Why is my first name his middle name?

I wonder—
Have you ever taken the time to notice,
how Summer's sun can clear gunmetal skies,
or how it refracts off the water
of a somber heaven—
Filling the darkness  behind your eyes?

I wonder—
Have you ever taken the time to notice,
how when Spring's roses begin to  blossom
the wind carries love's scent through the air
or how it effortlessly enraptures—
permeating beauty
from within the pigment of it's petals?

I wonder—
have you ever taken the time to notice,
how the cycle of Autumn's leaves remain parallel
to the frailty of the living
or how the perpetuity of their purpose
is either known of and ignored or understood and accepted?

I wonder—
Have you ever taken the time to notice
how the Winter's deep freeze
blankets and preserves the earth beneath our feet
To walk upon in new years to come,
Or how it brings forth the warmth of family's serenity?

Five nights a week at midnight, he dyes blue.

    Angel, you’re bad news.

    Salvation Army button-downs unbuttoned in a second our hands have introduced kinetic bear hugs, although visually frail and weathered.

    Shoulder length hair and a cuticle away from pure. obsession.

    Of all the heartbeats and hop, skips and jumps; I surrender.

    Adding the lye

    m.

    cm.

    mm.

    Get closer.

    Knock me over in slow motion.

    Tumbling rotary dial “1” click. “2” click, click.

    Rendering the grease

    I’m closing the locker when

    He appears at 11:55 P.M.

    Beat up, an 8 track cassette surviving a barrage of garage sales.

    My dear affection is still a child labor law. Juvenile.

    Staring Aderol Syndrome (S.A.S.).

    Birds nest palms, the delicate benchmark.

    I would give up half of $4.75/hr.

    Warm me up and share $9.50/hr.

    Collecting Grease

    Gunmetal blue, locker “27.”

    I read an article of clothing yesterday, not from these parts.

    At

    Your

    Steel-toe

    Boots.

    Please listen. You know the dialect.

    Coffee brewer, lighter sharer, you are the Aurora Borealis eventful.

    Five nights a week at midnight, I dye blue.

Rain beats down upon
unlit sidewalks
the black world of
whispers unseen

my fingers grip each other
wringing, unsure of themselves
eyes closed against the darkness
finding it only deeper within

it’s as if I have a shotgun in my mouth
and I like the taste of the gunmetal
a pure metallic sharpness
that leaves all else to rot and decay
in the wilderness of my dismay

where do I turn when everything has left?
all directions look the same
when staying here is no different
from shifting there

the only movement is from
the drums resounding inside
pounding the rhythm of truth

someone once told me
that we are all connected
strings tying hearts
careful knots in all of us

at times we feel cut
severed and alone
nothing touches us
no hands held out to save

but beneath the surface
feeling around in the black
we find these strings
infinite in number and strength

unbroken

the sky was looming with gunmetal wisps,
tickle me pinks squeezing among lavenders.
sunny blues and cotton clouds merged among the
charcoal prophecies. darkness kissing light.

i was soaked within seconds, screaming yet
laughing, feeling my bones shake and rattle along the
drips.

i ran through puddles, the sky nothing but sheets of
recollections. my skin limp and drenched, becoming part of
the soggy grass between my toes.

the rain stopped within minutes, the sky changing to
juicy orange.
as i attempted to dry myself with sopping towels, i stared at the sky,
and was reminded of us making love. beauty, beauty, beauty.

Unraveling
Unwinding
The glue falls from the binding
The crimson threads
flow from my head
My wrists, my hands, there is no denying
The inevitable,
The insane
This very inhumane game
Why, I make no sense anymore
Why, I feel no life anymore
Why, I see no light anymore
Why, the voices
Why, the voices,
Why, the voices in my head
They scream
FOREVERMORE
Twisting and writhing,
The tearing of the binding
The pages flutter to the ground
The moths they flutter all around
I think I have gone quite insane
I think that I can touch my brain
Well, why are they running away?
"Hello and goodbye!" is all I want to say!
Gunmetal glinting in the moonlight                                                        ­                                                          
A bang and a flash to light up the night
Oh, my eyes, why can't I see?
Oh, my ears, I cannot seem
To hear the sounds of tormented laughter
The background music that fills my brain
I cannot see the eerie shadows
that shiver and linger and stretch their fingers
To touch me, to grab me, to ****** me away
No! Don't let them take me away!
No! I cannot go today!
No! There is too much for me still to say!
And as I sit and as I wonder
What it would be like wander
Up and down the streets of town
With my thoughts pouring from my mouth
And my ears taped to my knees?
See, I am not making any sense!
I am bibbling, babbling, good and gone and gabbling
I wish to see,
I wish for sight
I wish to not be sick tonight
I wish to be free from the shivering shadows
and whispering screams
I wish to stretch my lips in a smile
that is not insane
It is not insane                                                           ­                                                                 ­                        
I wish to leave this padded cell
I wish to find a place that's home
White picket fence
A cat and a dog
No gunmetal glinting
No flash and bang
No unraveling threads
being pulled from my brain
I wish I may
Yes, I wish for light
I wish to have some sanity tonight
Tonight.

It's **** obscene, these best-laid plans
     of mice, of boys, of knuckleballers--
     world-weary one-trick cowards
     plotting courses into safety,
     taking wrong turns on the way

Now I...? I was never good with signs
     green and white--bad with directions.

I'm the walking ghost of a better me
And the guy I used to be and me,
                                      we don't speak.
                      Estranged.
             Roll through each day
             horizon's far from home.

Night blacks out gunmetal grey,
grey-brown slush fills city streets
and asphalt colored X's fill
our blue and coffee eyes
Fade out                          Fall back.
               blizzards come
          Ride out the margins
static clouds fill white-out skies
Skies we grasp for
                           skies we shy from.

lofty climb, now plummet earthward
                       So
         these muddy footprints
         trace out the path I took.

            "What a twist!"
                 Yeah.
                  ****.

When gunmetal streets begin to fade into jazz
My soul walks cool, unafraid into jazz

There are dissonant holes in the sky tonight
The world seems at once to cascade into jazz

The old district buzzing with ambition’s jam
Each dancer's alchemy turns suede into jazz

And the city lights stiff with rigor mortis
Revived into blues, then swayed into jazz

Windows begin flooding unassuming streets
First timid, the passersby wade into jazz

Some to their ankles, unconvinced of the rhyme
Others shun inhibition and parade into jazz

Their excitement displaced by a mellow groove
Miles Davis lilts above, casting shade into jazz

Dreaming in Black

Tonight I am am dreaming
But it's not a dream it's real.
I am black in America.

I drink wine in dark places
I kiss a black woman.
******* her lips
I want to get it on with her.
Even though she looks like
Every woman I have ever had.

I don't have time to spare.
I am black in America.
Death hides behind every door.
The color gunmetal blue
Explodes like fire.

This minute may be my last.
I know I am hunted
Black and hunted.
In the inner city schoolroom.
Baby black faces
look into my eyes.
They ask about
rough hewn slave boats.
Of peaceful villages
by the sea in the African sun.
Of freedom and equal rights.
Of black heroes.

I try to keep them alive
To pass on in future folklaw.
But I know they are unsure
If they exist in this moment.

I drink wine in dark places
I kiss a black woman
******* her lips
I just want to get it on with her.

My blood is in rage
It's hot and boiling.
Their bloodhounds can smell me.
I inow
I will be safe
If I do what they want.
If I don't slip up.
Make a mistake and
then the gunmetal will shine.
In seedy bar lights.
And it's flash will
have the sharp kiss
of oblivion.

I awaken from the dream.
In a panic.
But it's changed me.
It will not go away.
In my heart
I am still
Black in America

Those first careful drops on an evening bluster,
Unknown to their perspectives of fate.
The front-lines of battle-worn soldiers muster;
The harbingers of ever-shall-be can't wait.

A gunmetal mist blocks the sun's vain parleys -
Such negotiation a defeat in disguise.
The drums of war crackle in periphery stays:
The battleground ripens - the war compromise.

Do drops such as these know their purpose in falling?
Do they fall, truth obscured, at the whim of the eve?
If they knew they were pages to forces appalling,
Would they drop so steady, or perhaps stop to grieve?

But none of those questions hold much rhyme or lustre
To those first careless drops on an evening bluster.

on gunmetal my heart beats,
the smoke is winter,
waves rippling across my cold body.
they've kept the coffin alone,
parched on a wooden block.
ropes tie down my ribcage,
my eyes are shredded in holocaust.
all i can do is move my lips,
to raise the coffin,
to end the numb,
and numb the ending.
my companion is nearby,
we collide on empty streets.
where fainter clouds whisper
to our souls.
do not hold back,
because i won't.

The scent of her perfume wafting through the halls
His eyes frantically search for a glimpse of her beauty
Both their hands cold to the touch
Unable to hear for the distance between them

She glides through corridors, a spectre in the shadows
Her green eyes shining like a brilliant gem on dark fabric
The sound of her heels a gavel pounding on a marble floor
Gunmetal gray dress fluttering with butterfly wings

His mind unravels, strings of consciousness out the door
Her ugliness was overwhelming; he couldn't have her
Chasing endlessly after a shimmering butterfly through a labyrinth
Wham! He falls flat on his face.

A ghost in the night, she hovers through the paths of his mind
Gems on black cloth, her emerald eyes dance in front of him
Forever out of reach, forever too swift to catch
Left to rot in the hot glare of her brilliance

Watching the April northerly
Blow the Spring away to sea from Galloway
Towards Ireland
The lee of the **** for shelter
Low sun warming your face

Massive frequent clouds, megalithic
Dull below to towering snow-white heaven
Their wind-driven gunmetal shadows rush out to sea
The bay, at distance, a breastplate of pewter
Beaten across with countless, tiny hammerings

With animal purpose a shape moves slowly,
Breaking the horizon heading for Man
The breeze, coltish, struggling to be gone
Headstrong with promise and challenge
A fine day for such a crossing!

It is so surreal how vivid i see, the past playing out in my memories.
swinging away, a smile and a quick simple kiss.
these are the memories that my heart does miss.
Black and pink, the suave and the silk, lips locked in love, leaving behind stains the color of milk.
the pain and the ache, of missing a voice, separation of hearts, by another's cruel choice.
only to later surface a strength that lay hidden within, to persevere through the peril, oh, our beautiful, innocent sin.
my lover, my lady, my best friend, my baby..call it crazy but these are the memories that my heart misses most.
Second chances, are second chances ever a plausible reality.
i can see the providence, but i doubt
oh God can it be.
i dont feel up to par, or deserving,  or perhaps its not that but that my heart feels fear at the yearning
i still remember the burning
and the butterflys, i help deep within, i still long for the love.
memories of our innocent beautiful sin.
oh we meet again, my old companions, if i may.. my friend.
namely so, you are my memories.
contemplating second chances, for the future, to have what we had back
oh my sweetest of regrets, how i look back on your embrace
as i sit here missing you, as some soldier off at war
i can still here the gunmetal clash, as you slammed and walked out that door.
such a beautiful bloom our embrace was that warm spring.
now the pitter patter of teardrop showers metronomes as you sing in my dreams
are these my memories of second chances...or my second chance for memories

A streak of sunlight slips through gunmetal clouds,
laced with shrapnel and lined in steel core.
The ray touches you. You burst into brilliant flames.
I won't play your games.
I won't play your games.

You love to tease, it's no surprise.
Bold red lipstick and dark green eyes.

On second thought, I fancy a round.
I go down. You go down.
Face to face, your lips taste like blood.
Your lips are drenched in blood.

They tremble when you look at me,
as if you have something to say.
I pull you closer, run fingers through your hair,
let you save your words for a better day.

Pretty girl.  Smart girl.
Lovely little collection of dirt-smudged
books with dog-eared corners, that girl.
Quilted comforter girl.
Non-drinking, church-going promiscuous girl.

Strange girl.  Senseless girl.
Dreaming, preening in the graying bathroom mirrors girl.
Taping pencil tips during testing kind of girl.
Uses skin when there’s no eraser kind of girl.
Smooth fingers rubbed to gunmetal kind of girl.

Smart girl.  College girl.
Uncommitted, TV-watching girl.
Reads the books before the movies type of girl.
Smoke-eyed girl.  Diamond-kind-of-like
without-the-shining girl.

Nimble fingered girl.
Pretty girl.  Promiscuous girl.
Lead-wedged-deep-in-the-head girl.
Nobody knows Jane Doe.
Orphan ***** Jane Doe.
Pavin’ her way Jane Doe, they say.
Doe-eyes tinted red
like crushed grapes in a wine glass.

The city sings it's siren song
Gunmetal and lonesome blue
Glittering lights beckon the step
But the glass between my life and the streets gives courage to my coward soul on the 22nd floor
Cheap champagne as a last meal
A cigarette would be nice
but this is a non smoking room
A moment in time passes
With a decision made in haste
My last words
Written on the asphalt with my body as the ink

As the sun crawls over me
the first daydream ensues.
The bore of time replaced
by the temptress of my wandering mind.

When the sun falls flat
across imagination's temple
my pen will ensure it's infamy
by unleashing the fury
of our language.

By the time
the god of sun
must spread the day afar,
I will press gunmetal to my head
and pull the trigger
on another tomorrow.

May the likes of another world put a smile on my face.