i.
Jimi was procrastinating in the bedroom with Lizi; his performance anxiety had become unbearable.
He could tell she was trying to “******” him tonight. She didn’t wear a bra under her ratty t-shirt and
snuggled up against him when she climbed into bed, this was his queue to come after her. Hmmm,
does she think he’s so simple? At least Pavlov’s dog had the respect of his owner. So he lay on his stomach,
pretending he was asleep like he had done so many times before. After what seemed like an eternity, Lizi
sighed with disappointment and rolled over.  When Jimi dared open his eyes he glanced at the clock,  
2:17 am. His stomach felt hard as he choked back tears, there has to be more to life than this…
when could he stop pretending?

ii.
“Shhh it’s ok. You don’t need to talk about it.” He said, pressing her head against his chest.
That angered her. She did need to talk about it, and he was treating her like a child. She glanced
at the clock, he had already overstayed his available time.
“You need to go. It’s past 3.”
He sighed, “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
“No problem. Can’t keep the wife waiting.”
“Please don’t be mad.”
“Hey, it’s my own ****** fault for getting involved with you.”
Jimi didn’t say anything. He never did when things got uncomfortable. Instead, he reached for
his coat and put on his shoes. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning, ok?”
Mango sat silently, staring out the window. No you won’t, she thought, and you’ll get busy
and forget to even ask me, because you don’t ******* really care.
He walked over and kissed her softly. “Bye honey.”
“Bye” she answered, not returning the kiss, or looking at his face. How could he bring up
this ****, and then leave her alone with all of her emotions?

iii.
There was really only one friend from college that Jimi trusted enough to talk about anything
of substance. But even so, he didn’t dare talk about Mango. He’d been telling her that he was
going to move out, but no one in his life knew there were even problems in the marriage. Lizi
didn’t know there were problems in the marriage. This was much bigger and more complicated
than he had imagined, and how long could Mango hold on?  He didn’t mean to **** her around,
but she cried more than she laughed these days….he really missed her laugh. When he and
Mango were together, his feelings for her were powerful, literally full of power. He had fallen in love with
her, more than he had ever loved anyone, or even knew he was capable of loving anyone. But the
pathway to her was terrifying and treacherous, and once on that path, there was no turning back.

iv.
“At this point music doesn’t comfort, poetry doesn’t comfort, my work does not comfort and you
do not comfort.  I don’t remember the last time I felt so empty and out of control of my life.”
The other end of the phone remained silent, every passing second bunching the muscles in her
back and neck as if her whole self was shriveling into a contorted form of a human being. “Jimi,
just face it—you lost me. You thought I’d be a cure for your boredom and dissatisfaction, but
you didn’t expect to fall in love with me. Okay, you love me. So what? So ******* what? You
aren’t going to leave your wife and I’m tired of being treated like your concubine.”
“Don’t give up, please don’t give up. Don’t you love me anymore?”
“Right now, I hate you. If I leave now, maybe the hate will fade and we can be some sort of friends.”
Nothing was heard but the faint sound of breathing for the next ten minutes.
“You know what Jimi? **** this whole **** game that you think is love and ******* too.”
and she hung up.

v.
“I know who you are.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are the woman who has been having an affair with my husband.”
Mango looked up from her register. Large round hazel eyes bore through her, burning with anger
and refusing to cry. An enormous scarlet letter “A” seemed to be melting into her skin. They stood
there, sizing each other up, Mango could feel her lip begin to quiver.
“I can see why he wanted you, you look nothing like me.”
Side by side it was true. One woman refined, statuesque, well bred. The other thrift store coordinated,
pierced lip and pigtails.
Mango tried to think of what to say “I’m sorry. It’s over, I ended it over a year ago.” was all she
could come up with. How do you say I’m sorry for intruding on the bond between a husband and wife?
How do you say I’m sorry for something that can never be undone and has forever seared pain
onto the heart of another woman?
They stared at each other for a full minute, neither willing to break the gaze. Finally, Lizi sighed and
began to walk away.
“Lizi…” She turned back to look at Mango one last time, “He didn’t make me happy either.”

I did my best and you barely saw me
I did my worst and you disappeared
I noticed your best and worst
You noticed the random in betweens
With unspoken words being your specialty
That deceived me into staying
And I see where I overstayed but comfort drove me in again and again

my sadness feels like
i'm swallowing sea water -
every gulp down my throat is a step closer to
dehydration
sinking to the bottom
no flotation
lacking foundation
my sadness feels like
vomiting frustrations
stagnation -
my sadness feels like stagnation.
sensations of vibrations
surround me but do not reach
my hands
or any part of me for that matter.
I see it -
i know its there
the energy is flowing in the air
a devious glare - i swear
i stare
and stay aware that this
illness
does more than impair - it's unfair , really.
My sadness feels like everything around me is dead -
i know its really in my head but
i look at the evening sky and see not
yellows and reds but
grays instead -
i used to imbed the colors into my
brain but lately its been filled with
tar - seeping into unhealed scars
its making a home here -
till i disappear
its not just me it's "we're" that's here -
its overstayed its welcome.
My sadness feels like a man putting his feet on my
coffee table.
My sadness feels like an empty chest -
one that rots with dust and
human rust it
echoes and howls when opened -
like its terrified of its urge to leave.
My sadness feels like a parasite that *****
until it falls but
it doesn't fall -
only crawls
through the hollow parts of me
and creates substance.
My sadness feels like accepting to drown.

Til when will I snap out of this. I havent been reading or writing poetry like I used to. I'm so mad at myself and of everything bec it feels listless and aimless. I love what I used to do and given the chance I'll pay a leg for it if I could. But that passion seems so far away I only ever dream about sleeping or not really giving a **** and the days pass on like fleeting whispers and I hear nothing, I know of nothing. How did anyone live with this preposterous ******* I'd like to understand how because my days of tolerating it are dwindling down into a deep desire of wanting to see something burn and smell the smoke and hope it possesses my ******* senses. i hate this i hate what has become of my sanity of my body of my feet they all betray me like an idiot ******* out of my ******* hinges I am. I am screaming into a vacuum that nobody goes to the ****** lie I just want everything to be okay because I cant stand another year of blind inferno this is not fair this is terrible it's like dying with your eyes wide open forcing you to swallow all your pain and do not complain you ungrateful coward this is the life you will have give or take shut up there is no point. I am mad and sad and everything in between i wanna rip the ******* edges of those weaker than myself but I cant but I wont idk why but it's for that that I am still on my limits

The best part of my
Day is when I hear your voice


Telling me good bye

He'd just served up a dinger, 450 out...upper deck

His third home run that inning, and  he figured "what the heck"

He knew the hook was coming, first they had to make the call

Then the pitching coach would come out, before he had to give the ball

To the manager, all stoic, spouting rhetoric and then

He'd turn over the game ball, a kind of baseball zen

He'd come to learn this process,

He'd seen more and more this year

The time was getting closer

He'd have to hang 'em up this year

For five straight games he'd got the hook

Never getting to the third

And there was that team suspension

For flashing fans the bird

Frustration, more than anger made him vent and flash the sign

It was captured on the jumbotron, his finger.....8 foot 9

It made all of the sports reels, his finger in the air

But at 46, he thought, well....I really do not care

He was signed.. a bonus baby, out of Henderson N . V

He came up  out of high school in summer sixty three

His fastball, just untouchable...ninety miles per at least

And on opposing batters he would surely have a feast

He knew what he was throwing, was the best in many years

But at eighteen he was still surrounded by lots of big league  fears

In high school he set records, went to State, and led the team

He was the best left handed starter, Henderson had ever seen

He won each game he pitched in, hit for numbers, struck out tons

His team outscored opponents by at least three hundred runs

Scouts were out to watch him, every time he took the mound

And he knew this as he walked out, tossed the rosin on the ground

He chose to bypass college, heading to developmental ball

If he did what he was told, he be in Lakewood  by the fall

He got the call in August, saying "son, you're on your way"

"You'll be on the train this morning and tomorrow you might play"

So, he made his calls, told those he knew he was heading to N.J.

He was gonna set Lakewood  on fire, he was gonna have his day

He sat for weeks when he arrived, erratic was his stuff

"You've got to tame that curve ball kid, it's just not good enough"

His first start in September, he was nervous and concerned

What if I blow this chance and back to Texas, I'm returned

HE started off with two walks, hitting one then fanning three

He was feeling better, just what people came to see

After five innings they pulled him, with ten strike outs to his name

His team was up six nothing, he was gonna win this game

And sure enough the bullpen came on in and shut the door

And before the season ended he was winning three games more

That winter he went home again, and worked on his control

He knew what the coach wanted, he understood his role

Next spring down in  Clearwater he showed he had improved

So when the final cuts came down, up to double A he moved

It didn't take them long to find him burning up the mound

In fifteen starts, a hundred K's,  no one better could be found.

From here he went to Allentown, to AAA he'd go

Next move that he would make from here should put him in the show

He only threw 3 games down here, two big league starters down

He was called on up to the big time, and was starting....out of town

He only pitched an inning,  two thirds to be exact

He got lit up for 6 runs that night, hard to keep it all intact

He finshed out watching more games, than he pitched in but he knew

He'd be in the spring rotation wearing number forty two.

He met with mixed success at times never coming up real big

For as each year passed his fastball slowed and harder he would dig

His bonus money squandered, three wives gone, investmestments too

He bounced around the league a bit, hitting eight teams in succession

It was enough to do a weak man in, at least there's a concession

He was still up there, the show, on top, it didn't matter where he pitched

As long as he stayed healthy, he wasn't getting ditched

But one day he, on three days rest felt a twinge in his left arm

He pulled himself, and iced it, not doing any harm

But his pitching got erratic, speed was gone and no control

It was then he got the phone call...he was going to the hole

They moved him down to rehab some in AA across the state

He knew with no improvement that this would be his fate

Two years down here and then again, a new kid came along

Sorry, but you're going down...that was a lonely song

Two years and then he moved on back out West just to see

He knew he still had some heat...throwing nearly ninety three

But control...no way at that speed, slow it down...they'd hit him hard

Once he dropped it under eighty...all the batters...they went yard

But still he kicked around some, working nights, coaching some

Then he got the call from Joplin, got to see if he was done

He showed up fit, and did his best but still just couldn't toss

He'd get the speed but no control, the plate it wouldn't cross

The team was just a throw back, small market and little park

But inside he had desire, this place lit in him a spark

There never were too many fans, eight hundred at the most

But when he took the mound there, he could feel his younger ghost

On nights he wasn't pitching, he played first and coached third base

On other nights, he sat around and sold programs round the place

He knew that soon the time would come, he knew his bubble'd burst

He didn't throw as fast to  home as these kids did to first

But now, with the suspension, and him getting pulled five straight

He knew he'd overstayed his welcome, he'd been here far too late

"The ball...Jim, Jim, the ball....was all he heard coach say

He was already in the dugout and he wasn't gonna stay

He packed up and he left the park, left his rooming house as well

He had nowhere to go to, and maybe just as well

But the next year he was out there slinging just like Jim could do"

He was selling peanuts and some ******* jack at a ball parkin Purdue

The game is in his soul you see, it's part of who he is

Like Gherig, Ruth, Diamaggio, like Peewee and The Dizz

He owes his life to baseball. even though he stayed too late

"If he'd just controlled his curveball"...the kid...coulda been great.

I spend too much time searching for home in people
I compare too many of them to the likes of it
I find new ones often and always
And I have made routine in my arrival
I set down my things, make myself comfortable
Find a spot next to the fireplace, directly in the presence of warmth
I curl between blankets and couches
I get to know the surroundings
I notice parts that most tenants would neglect to
Details are my specialty; I note each down with a sense of clarity
I create a photo album in my head for every part I should not remember
But I do, almost effortlessly
All of my senses take notes in permanent ink
I keep track of scent, sound, taste, touch, images
I engrain them into muscle memory
I begin to forget that this place I have settled in,
Isn’t mine to get used to
And when I have overstayed my welcome,
I am asked to go
I pack up, leaving most of me behind in the hurry
Once again I am forced to move and start over
I always do.

I look for home in too many people who’s hearts aren’t available for lease,
Bodies that are merely curtains hiding wreckage
I knock on locked doors hoping for an invitation inside
And the ones that are open are usually not prepared for company
I move in eagerly to creaky floorboards and leaking roofs
I pretend that there is nothing wrong with the structure
And when the house caves in I claim I didn’t know better
I willingly stand under shelter that doesn’t have the strength to hold even itself up
Then complain about the lack of protection when the rain comes
Natural disasters are as unpredictable as I am eager for constancy
But it is no fault but my own when I build upon fault lines
I know the weather forecast and still continue to create
I have become skilled at making something out of nothing
And nothing, I’ve learned, can only stretch for so long.

Is it true?
Does my name
Drift in the wind?
Over the mountains
And across the sea?
Does it fade 
From your mind?
Like a visitor who
Has overstayed
Their time? 
Do the memories
Recede to the back
Of your mind?
Like the sun leaving 
the day behind?

I really have a soft spot for winter weather
It’s sweater time
It’s scarf time
It’s cuddle time…or a-little-more-than-cuddling time
And it’s sweaters and scarves indoors time because people seem determined to hide the aftermath of mouths that have overstayed their welcome
In the corners of shoulders and collarbones
Tracing tracheas to chests and lingering just out of reach of lips
And because I’ve been taught to hide these marks, I do
But if I could, I would accessorize with necklaces of purple and blue
Passionate hues that grow from teeth and tongues
Can you paint with all the colors of the
Winding veins that spindle into spirals around blood and bones and vitals
Can you decorate the blank canvas of my neck
With Rorschach tests that I’ll spend the next few days
Analyzing and decoding
Finding new shapes just for fun
And then we’ll start again with stripes and spots and splotches
Remembering that the fireworks we call cliché are interchangeable with capillaries
Bursting under layers of skin
To later be concealed under layers of cloth
And people will blush when the consistency in their color is questioned
And they’ll tug their collars higher
But I’ll always have a love for the fact that these are bruises that come from beauty
That these bodies end up damaged in the most gentle of ways
And please don’t put a negative spin on damage
Because I know of people that will spend all kinds of money for outfits that look like they’ve been through hell and back
Because distress is a style and the aesthetic is stunning
And even though people joke as they will
I’m secretly proud to wear a badge of black and blue
On the corner of my collar claiming
You Were Here
And I’ll pin one to your neckline
Signed and dated
I Was Here
And the blood that we’ve drawn to the insides of each other’s skin
Only mirrors the blush that appears on my face when I smile and think
I really am lucky to have you
And it’s sweater weather outside so these bruises will stay confined
Under the snowy scarves we’re told to keep
But I’ll admire this art as it fades through the week
Tracing over physical proof of nights that fall into the past
And scrutinizing the speed at which they do
Adoring the marks that no one else seems to
Because aftermaths confirm realities
And I could never disdain the colors that tell the world who we are to each other
And how we stay warm in the winter

I want to ruin you
not in the
"Yeah bro I got that girl in my bed and we ****** until she couldn't breathe and yeah I guess it was iight for me"
no
I want to ruin you in the Ernest Hemingway
way
I want your favorite song to be so haunted by our memories that it causes you to call me when the first note is played
I want to be the cloud on your sunshine of a day
when I'm not around
I want to be the guest that's overstayed
the one the housekeeper can't turn away
because they've grown fond of the smiles they greet each other with when they pass in the halls
I want to be the chocolate left on your pillow
The dust that you don't remove from your window
I want to be your favorite thimble
that you when you're sewing up my patchy sweats that I can't bear the throw away because I like the way they cling to my hips
I want to cling to yours lips
I want to be your favorite sweater that you wear to sleep at night
I want to hold your head like a pillow
I want to catch your dreams with thread woven through my fingertips and I'll even tie on some feathers
and you'll say I was create by the ancient cherokee tribe
I want to be the contact that protects those beautiful eyes
I want to kayak down the waterfalls they produce when you find out bad news
Yes
I want to ruin you
But I want you to ruin me, too.

It's not you, It's me.
No - you know what, it IS you.

You can't keep coming around like this.
It was okay at first, but we had our fun,
had a couple snowball fights, and hot coco nights
but you and I both know it's run it's course.
We're over.
In fact, honestly, you overstayed your welcome this time.

What do I mean?
I mean, you're cold, you're bitter, your relentless and pushy.
I couldn't take it anymore.
And when you coming back like this every other week, honestly,
It makes me consider moving.
You're like a stalker.

Oh her? Yeah, that's my new season.
She's nice, warm, and beautiful.
But she's shy,
she's not going to come back out until you leave.
So, you should go.

Look maybe we can try this again
In a year or so - maybe.
Just give me some time.

I don't miss you yet.

Whitecaps coffee-white, a bay frosty.
Sails, 99% white,
Always, gotta be one, black or blue,
Freaking tradition-breaker

White man with white baby,
In a white onesie,
Astride his daddy's tummy,
Dad, he ain't dressed warm enough.

All these observations recorded,
Taxed and paid for, with dandy words
Floating by the nook, overlooking
The whitish sandy beach mapped
As Silver Beach,

Where I pray.

Whither white led?
A summary of twenty writes
In four labored days,
A poetry *****,
To say anything else,
Too little, too more.

Overstayed my welcome,
But a white cleansing accomplished,
With look-backs submitted, got some debts paid,
Bills marked overdue, resolved.

The children unblemished,
To new schools and new troubles,
I can only inky-dinky-rinky worry.

This fall is the season of produce or die.
Of these things I don't joke.
If I get pasteurized, won't be a good thing.

This my style after all.
Simplest, to the point where
Poetry is a luxury,
I can't always afford.

Someone once told me
that butterflies only live for a year
so could you tell the ones you left in my stomach
that they've overstayed their welcome?

After you left, I catch myself running my fingers
over the things you touched the most.
I just want to feel the warmth of your fingertips.
I just want to know if the sound of my heartbeat
still sounds like windchimes to you.
—J.N

and floating feels like an understatement now, as water levels drop instead of rise and the clouds are closer than ever. i spend every night wishing on stars that soon we will be standing on those clouds, the moon our next stop. i guess you never really anticipate the heaviness that can be presented to you so suddenly and i am floating on rain clouds back down to earth. somewhere on my journey down a familiar light stops me like an old friend and i stay, hovering above the lake i so often wished to be apart of. the darkness that surrounds me chuckles in time with the pounding in my chest, the kind of alarm that rings only at 3am. those dreams of thunderstorms have overstayed their welcome and i am the one doing the evicting this time.

but this is not the end. suspended by newly sewn strings i see a countdown forming above the glowing city, a reminder that nothing has ever stopped us before. we conquered the funeral and flowers grow from my fading graves. we've climbed hills that feel like
mountains to sit on the moon. we are still roughly 581 days away from the beginning and i have come to accept that maybe the stars were never spelling out "closed" but rather "not open yet". the grey mass that fills the air is the last curtain before the grand opening.

and that glowing city is as clear as ever and for the first time ever the end credits are rolling backwards.

it hasn't even been a day
since I got out of the cave
and I can already see my demons
emerging from their hiding places
hello anxiety,
no I did not miss you
I see you there, razor blade
you can't hide from me
******, you sly devil
how did you get out of your bottle?
Since you all are here,
why don't you take a seat
and I'll brew us a *** of tea
For I have some bad news for you
and some good news for me
You have overstayed your welcome
I am cordially asking you to leave
and to never, ever return.

My face must've grew today
As my mask did not want to fit.
'So nice' they say she is
But they don't really know ****.
They tell you you're one way
But you feel another
Constantly lying
For the benefit of others.
The biggest of smiles
Everyone using teeth for their mirror
What do I want?
It's always unclear.
Those wars we fought,
No one came out alive
But my card read medic
Somehow I chose to survive.
Everyone had half a mouth.
I had  only half of one too
It's hard to pick sides when blinded like that
Or hard when both sides want you.
They only needed a moment though
Her niceness was overstayed.
The others all stared with swords in their sides
Feeling as though they had been betrayed.
How can you be such a pinball?
Such a spineless, cowardice tool?
What makes you think you're  alliances to all?
What the hell are you trying to prove?
I was just wearing that mask I had once.
It was more like a helmet I guess.
I don't have a civil duty to any
I'm just trying to stay abreast.
But no one can trust a man who has no enemies.
For he stands for nothing at all.
I was dead all along in the trenches,
For the mask/helmet I had was too small.
Everyone will tell you your strengths
When it's something which they desire.
It's disgusting at best but I never act up
I know you can't fight fire with fire.
So let all the others wave the white flag
See if they can lay down their weapons.
I'm at war with myself but you all are too
One day again, we'll be friends.

moving between stations
with newfound aesthetic in every window
strangers take seats and lock themselves
in their headphones

tickets are checked in the mundane gloom
of Mondays
beautiful faces stare into the seats before them
exposing their gaze as hushed uncertainty
silent in the prospect of arrival

when overhead lights flicker
darkness is delayed by illuminating smartphones
providing soft-spoken information
of news headlines and Snapchat stories

hands slightly quiver as Penn Station
takes collective precedence
cups of slightly cold coffee
rise with unflinching confidence

pages of poetic conscience
lower their standards
and admit they've overstayed
their welcome
taking shelter in backpacks

strangers disperse into confinements
of populated territory
their energy birthed in the helpless framework
of time clenching its withered fist

you are the echo in places after everyone's sound has gone.

you are the reluctant resonance in air between breaths.

you are the leaving that's overstayed its welcome.

you are the racket in deprivation of company.

you are the uproar after music has ceased.

you are the chord eternally reappearing.

you are reverberations of want, of lack.

you are sweet tinnitus in every hush.

you are every absent reoccurrence.

you are epitomes of entirety.

your gale still lingers.

but you do not.

you do not.

you do.

not.

I’ve overstayed my welcome, I must apologize to you
I’m sure that you have more important, pressing things to do
I thank you though for listening, until my story through
I know that it sounds strange, but these things I say are true
I know that I have placed a certain pain upon your heart
My thoughts of love and loss, I've try to keep the two apart
Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, but I knew that from the start
My galleries of sorrow are such lovely, painful art

I have no explanation why the love I knew is gone
I cannot understand within my mind, the deeds now done
That causes darkness to consume me far into the dawn
Mistakes were made, but I only wish to see the shining sun
I have no hope that what is lost may wander back, you see
To ease this cruel impassioned heart, and finally set me free
I wonder sometimes if these things will ever come to me
To stop the tears, the wasted years, that now have come to be

Don’t let you heart be troubled, for things I now bestow
My thoughts of adoration, my emotions have me feeling low
What I could’ve said or done to save it, I don’t know
Heart cut with a razors edge, too sharp to feel it go
To leave me here inside myself, love gone, once so sublime
I’m left with only memories, and these are quite unkind
Memories lost now... deep within the shallow pond of time
The distance seems far greater, in the deep ocean of my mind

The years that I have spent alone have left me rather weak
But that’s what sorrow does I guess, with heartache at it’s peak
These words that I now say to you, please offer your critique
About the things I don’t want you to know, I will not speak
I appreciate the way that you have been here for me now
Although I understand that I have saddened you somehow
It was not my intention, for my heart to thus endow
Your kindness to be victim of what hearts most disavow

I see your face is wet my friend, I didn’t realize
Perhaps these things I’ve said to you, perhaps it was unwise
To leave this sadness in your heart, rain pouring from the skies
To mix with solemn tears that I have placed there, in your eyes
I’ve overstayed my welcome, and I’m sorry just for this
Though we have things in common, with the love there, that was missed
I hope someday our hearts can heal, to sit and reminisce
About those things once held so dear,
with love and gentle kiss.

Dean Evans
4-25-2014

flames in the treetops
autumn has overstayed
and in the rain swept away,
insurmountable.

the leaves on the streets
slippery still,
and my heartbeat still
and i can't leave you here like this

yet insurmountable
the distance completes the arc
we cannot seem to make the ends meet

green, yellow, in bloom again
spring has returned
and in its warming light
we've been carried home

and with a crash of thunder
summer came pouring in
and i lose you to the floods and the wind

and insurmountable
the seasons constant shift
and i'm left high and dry
to uncoil and twist

black, red, bruised and broken
bury me in the early autumn's leaves
oh, nashua
the morning fog
insurmountable

for all the words we should've said
for all the apologies i never heard
why do we leave it this way
why do we end things at hate,
i don't know

orange, red, turn your clock back again
oh autumn has overstayed her hesitant welcome

and if the sun goes a little sooner each day
and your heart just wants to pour down rain
i say let it rain

FEARLESS (a boxer's story)  

from the precipice-I have stood to claim my right; I am fearless
over the years, fight has taken it's toll, I am a boxer-with cuts to my skin

I got muscles fully breached-still fighting is all I have ever known
I am a closer-I need one more chance to reclaim; not ready to go yet

I am a boxer- just once more-gotta beat the hype-to punish-take no prisoners
letting my punches hit their mark, taken one back to the jaw-leaving it's mark

still I will not be denied-I am one and the same; a gladiator-entering the ring
I am fearless-made peerless-as a diamond- sharp as a blade-just one more time

or has the years taken its toll- have I overstayed my welcome; need one chance to prove
to make a come back; I crave the respect-I deserve as much- I know, warriors don't give up

it's never too late- got fame on my brain-chances delayed-I am ready to climb that ladder
touch those heights-once again feel the heavens- fall down to my knees-I'll get back up

ready to fight- I am fearless- I believe in me- as the applause-rises up- I am calm
letting the voices-refresh like holy water, I hear them call to me-soothing like a salve

take my pain away -ready to fight anew- I will no longer be denied-ready to shake failure
to cement my name-be the greatest- fight for fame- remember my name-for glory given

to fight for salavtion- stake my claim- fight to stay alive- prove my point-leave no doubt  
I am fearless- a boxer's story- fighting for glory and my redemption

By Michael Perry

My night, under opaque wraps, collects my candid questions —
unkept before the walls crept back up on me and
crammed my thorough thoughts
into sufficient suffocation and disallowed my dislocation
from total cerebral closure —
and covers cognative wonders with a dense fence-like stone cure.

The clean-cut cold sheets, tucked beneath the bed springs
spring my curiosity through layer after layer
of teeming tides of blockades and prohibition
but someone sits at the edge of the road, just before crack
drops to cliff and he catches my despair, tangled in the rye, and
before my in-experience allows me to cry,
he hurls my candid questions back my way and continues
my disallowance of detaching myself from purity.

But despite his baseball mitts, he can’t catch my verbal fits
so I scream, “My wants can’t be blocked forever and Holden,
I’m holding onto my life for the sake of avoiding strife with you but
celibacy of the mind can only lead to our true demise.”

He looks me in the eyes, scared he’d been outdone,
so he tries to run but the cliff leaves him hanging and
I reach for his undemanding hand that swats my offer
with a backwards hat.
But his fear subsides in his recollection of his misinterpretation of
a silly old poem that led him to believe he could catch our innocence.
So wear your hat straight, Holden, ‘cause in the rye,
you’re not the groundskeeper, but keep your ground and
catch yourself before you fall off the cliff and lose yourself
in your selfless tantrums and your disregard for your need for wondering.

Let me break through my caul, ‘cause it’s burning of decay and
I’ve overstayed my welcome in this amniotic gate, devoid of vitality,
and I like my life in my own hands, so I’ll tell you now:
I’m holdin’ on, Holden. Get a grip and hold on, yourself.

Up all night, bleeding the hate from my body in forms formed in my imagined imaginary worlds of discord served up on a page.  For the moment, now I am free from the chains and from all that remains of my ****-hurt plastic love growing pains.

As words, verse, and liquor traverse, seep out of my pores, and my eyes become sore with the filth of **** ******, I write until nothing makes sense, until I am no longer upset, until my mind ceases to fret on past woes, split seams, and broken playground dreams.

It is within this hour, I remember to breathe.  To take a look at my life and to take a look at me and remember to smile, to know that life goes on, we all hurt, but I plan to stick around and stay for awhile.  The pity party packs up it's package of filth and its pained remains. The dark side of me spoke and he shook, and he opened a vein. The dark side of me overstayed his visit, tired and sick and weak from the the fray, he decays. For now, the dark side of me is fired today, and sinks back into the depths of grey from whence he came.

A per diem employee of the heart, the 'dark side of me' part, but when the heavy **** begins to start, and it all falls apart, the snakes come out to play and to ****.  So when your eyes start to leak, and life's feet change its beat and begins to defeat, he'll come back around when my soul is bound, he'll bang out his sounds and you'll keep him around to absorb the hate and the ****, to hide it from the bright side with caution tape and help you remake.

In the end, he's a necessary evil, all pieces in harmony share your loves, your hates, your wishes, your breaks, your woo hoo's and your boo boo's.  All pieces in harmony protect you, keep you sane and keep you tame, keep you in your own shoes to do what you have to, and he'll take the blame.  

This is life, and for now I am alone.  I once loved more than I thought I could, and with such a high, on rainbows I stood.  It was too high, it was too steep, the snakes came in took it away.  I fell so far, I fell so low, I fell until broke, then I fell some more.  Would I do it all over again knowing the same outcome? Without hesitation.  This is all.

Blubber
Sometimes I get tired
Of all the blubber
The grinding of systems
The metal to the rubber

The pushing of points
The singing to the choir
Pickaxe in place of featherc
Look there's a bird upon the wire

Maybe potions going dry
No thank you please
And fingers going all stiff
While here awaits the feast

And vases laying all smashed
Words sitting there all torn
Lets gather the broken scraps
Rearrange them and be reborn

Maybe it's me and only me
Closing an old and tattered page
Maybe I've overstayed my welcome
On an old and creaky stage

Ah the sticks an stones are smiling now
The crows I think they've left
But the cinders upon ash
Still burn bright upon this hearth

Out into the clearing
See it twinkling up ahead
An inkling of some something
Some of us have thought of and said

Merlin's done it agian
Con-Ed's shut down
Tesla's come into power
And White Bear gets his crown
Oh
And
George Carlin is pope
Shakespeare is president
They both know the ropes
And you what ya think?
Wink, wink

The bass was here.

I remember
late nights,
phone pressed against my cheek.
Your whispers lit my soul and I awoke.
I saw myself in your smile,
heard my voice in your heartbeat—

but found the strength on my own.
I needed to believe you.
You liked being needed.

But here I am,
digging up flowers
amidst headstones— I couldn’t let this rest.

But there you are,
a wandering tourist just looking for a home.
And I, a speed bump.
You tripped—
while trying to catch the Sun.

I’m sorry my attractions weren’t worth capturing.
You were too scared to use the camera slung around your neck—
what if you dropped it?
Well, it broke anyway.

I gave you too long to be honest & overstayed my welcome.

The bass was here.

We live in different worlds, but found each other in our past.
You liked Woodrow Wilson,
                                                             I should have known it wouldn’t work out.
I found myself in poetry
                                              

                               you taught me that.
Couldn’t you see I was new at this?

You didn’t want to repeat history—

you never gave me a chance.

Time tables turned— turn tables over time.
You twisted your essence to fit my definition—
                                                               you

                                                               loved
                                                            

                                                                how

                                                                 this

                                                                 felt.
To finally be on the other side.

The bass was here.

Your lies became the music I danced to, alone in my room
I loved how we sounded together.
But I never listened to the lyrics
space,

                                     time,


less.
The bass was here.
I didn’t mean to make you leave.
The base was here.
You
were
here.

Word is bond, but your words
left me bonded. Blinded.
Like my horoscope— I used to believe in you.

[Hi(s]tory) changed when the planets aligned and she became
i
l
   l
     u
       m
          i
            n
              a
                t
                  e
                    d.
His home.


History still repeats for me.

Distance played a part in this equation—
       you never let yourself get close.

But you got close enough to save me.

The bass was is here.
It just sounds different now.

She told me she loved me today
which can only mean our clock
is ticking.

To most that word marks a beginning
to a new and wonderful existence
full of meaning but to me it's
a single syllable that ushers in
a cascade of doubt, lies and
animosity that slams you into the
ground so hard the Devil thinks
you're knocking on his door.

To me it's the signal that I've
overstayed my welcome and if I want
any chance to spare myself from misery
I should just jump ship and take
my chances with the sharks below.

I'd rather be ripped to shreds by
ravenous beasts than get fooled into
thinking I truly matter to her.

The sound of her sweet sincerity
is drowned out by the echoing sentiments
of her predecessors, forever ringing
in my ears like a constant reminder
that all you have in this world
is your ***** and your word and
she has neither.

But the joke's on her this time.

I've found my way out.

Because I love her too.

You have overstayed your welcome,
Oh entity of past lives not lived.
Your stench of decay still lingers
And seeps from my fingers.

Abandon me old skin,
You have become nothing but the skeleton of past sins
Haunting me when I am most vulnerable.
I’ve befriended an enemy and
In turn, I have become intolerable.

Yes, I have been the oppressor.
I’ve whispered, I’ve swayed, I’ve lusted, I’ve preyed,
And although I have one foot out of the door,
Old friends whisper to me,
“Come on, how much can it really hurt
If you did it once more?”

on any given night i am the forgotten daughter
i sit at the dinner table, where the food has been pushed away from me
conversations starting and stopping in between food being shoveled in
please pass the vegetables, answered with a loud sarcastic response
i have become unwelcome in my home, i can feel the hatred shoving me to the door

i wonder if i was ever welcome here, if this was ever my home
everything that resembles me has dwindled away, never to be seen again
if there was another place for me to dwell, i'd be there
instead i sit alone in this cold room, listening to the clatter, the slams, and the yells.

when i bring someone into this house they always feel only half welcomed
they briefly feel the pain of my everyday life
as time has passed i have realized i have no rights in this place i occupy
i have trouble even calling it home anymore
there is no other place for me to turn to
no safe haven where i will be warm and fed
the only release i have is sitting inside my car

people see it as strange, the girl that sits in parking lots reading
the girl that doesn't want to go home
i have long lived through inquires about my location
asking what parking lot i am in today
strange that all my belongs are inside this room that isn't mine
yet i only feel at home inside my car

i returned today, to dinner made and a table set
my mother set a place for me which she hasn't done in a long time
i helped her with dinner as soon as my shoes were off
we sat at the table, my father, mother and i
there were no words spoken to me aside from one brief remark about the mashed potatoes
my father, he sat reaching over my plate to grab whatever was in front of me
there is no communication between us
the tension is thick, this angry man can't even look his daughter in the eye
when words finally hit the still air, i thought briefly, the three of us would converse.
maybe a question about my day, maybe a remark about the letter from a college
instead, the words that spilled from my fathers mouth were only about male family members,
thousands of miles away.

i am the forgotten daughter and i'm sitting right next to you

i have overstayed my welcome, and that's clear to me now

I want to believe all I'm hearing from you
I'm tired of hearing things that just aren't true.
I need to feel passion and love in my life
happiness seldom reaches where pain cuts like a knife.
Left to my own imagination I have become quite jaded
too many words that would have been better left off unstated.
My mind playing tricks again I see only what I want to
overstayed my welcome my tears were the first clue.
How can I move on and love you the way you love me
when I can't stop punishing myself or stop being angry.
I am on a fast track the Devil's Highway
Nothing left now for me but, to pray.

I've discovered the spy,
The army will attack in my sleep.
I don't know how much longer,
I can stay awake.

They always said "it's more afraid of you then you are of it."
My last gasp of breath all I could do was yell "*******!"

Yikes!
This is the worst feeling ever.
I feel like,
They're crawling all over me,
I've been violated!

So you die a slow and painful death.
Thrown to the ground, burned at the tip.
Of a sharpened pin held to flame,
Until it glowed and was ****** inside of your body.

Buried at sea, into a bottomless hole.
Never to wake, soon to be forgotten.

Your a parasite. That's all you are.
And your host thinks you've overstayed your welcome