"staggers" poems
*The desperate pounding
on the wall can be heard*
"Love Love Love"
I can't believe you're so shallow.
You refuse. You die.
You vanish like a burning hay,
right here, on the blackened way.
Candy peaks, monotonous points in the sea
Let me descend
Open you a bit
River,
Sun,
foamy stream,
You drown,
Love, dream, dream!
TV screens
Times square
Light-ants
Electric signals through wires
deep dark night flooding rush
Volcano erupting
Surface! Screammm!
Neons
Alcohol on glass
Old charwoman rubs it
with rag
Hands shake you
in the foamy stream
Ha!
Who was right?
The night staggers you
with thousand stars
Wolves howling
Moon
Mushrooms
Dew & violet & knights
& Mysteries
Welcome to the old days
Tomorrow you will be introduced
to the wise King of England
A rocker picks up stuff
and scatters the TV screen
bottles of liqour are smashed
in his house
Glass scattered, guitars wrecked - he's crazy,
pulling out hair, gnashing teeth
-You all killed him
and You are not even aware
Meanwhile a man strolls the woods
searches for mushrooms
on sunny autumn day
he smells moss, bark and undergrowth
He's contemplating the topics of
childhood & ******
Red lipstick smears all over her lips
She's the animal queen
All belongs to her
Thanks to her claws,
cat-moan, and the
short living
aggressive cinder
she owns.
Leather jacket be her weapon,
Night be her moment.
I am the Eye,
and what I see
is a child picking yellow petals
of sow-thistle
kneeling in the sun
in his timeless summer.
Who would know,
that this chapter
would be closed
one day
and the brown leather book
would become dusty
someday
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 6:10 PM UTC
River bamboo arrayed in lace tiers
consoles the birdbath on its loss of robins
Intemperate August staggers in liquored air
of wavery heat and layered sighs
Leaves relinquish their rush
toward this “ripe on time”
Blackberry brambles have ceased to reach
now bow to ponder their plunder
while petunias, those bold delinquents!
bloom as if the frost’s lethal cling
were some myth
the antique roses had made up
Bud, bloom, revive!
See the generation of the bee!
Bud, bloom, survive—
to do it all again
for the single sake...
of treasuring beginning in the end...
Her bicycle, my geranium
have found eternity together
on the sun spattered patio
She—
opens the screen door
as I—
climb the morning stairs
She—
squints smiles amongst sleepy freckles
who has not brushed her hair
in a late August moment of not caring
And I know it will all happen anyway
no matter what I do....
Aug 26, 2017
Aug 26, 2017 at 12:43 PM UTC
I lie awake.
The half moon,
whose soft white shine
invades my room
and makes the tears that rest on my cheeks sparkle;
illuminates half of my face
so that the moon and I
can become a whole.
Only me
and the silence of 2 A.M.
Outside goes the party-goer
-knackered and filled with a portion of fresh memories
that won't be found in the morning-
to his rest.
Only he
and the silence of 2 A.M.
Outside stumbles the drunkard
-with repressed thoughts and events
that he couldn't erase out of his memory by a bottle-
to his end.
Only he
and the silence of 2 A.M.
Outside staggers the broken one
-with blood that’s drowning in wine and as red as the lips of the woman he tries to forget-
to his death.
Only he
and the silence of 2 AM.
L.T.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 7:28 AM UTC
Happy those early days, when I
Shin’d in my Angel-infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy aught
But a white celestial thought:
When yet I had not walk’d above
A mile or two from my first Love,
And looking back—at that short space—
Could see a glimpse of His bright face:
When on some gilded cloud, or flow’r,
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity:
Before I taught my tongue to wound
My Conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense
A several sin to ev’ry sense,
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.
O how I long to travel back,
And tread again that ancient track!
That I might once more reach that plain
Where first I left my glorious train;
From whence th’ enlightned spirit sees
That shady City of Palm-trees.
But ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way!
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came, return.
2.6k
The cup gleams gold in the light
Golden liquid overflowing
Round bowl on a slender stem.
On the table beside it are apples.
Red, yellow, glowing,
Globed sunlight bursting with juice.
Outside in the meadow, the cows
Brown and white, gentle eyed, lowing,
As the calf pushes and pulls on the ****
Staggers a little and suckles.
Warm milk for the jug.
A blue and white bowl holds the cream.
Blue and white is the sky above
Brown and deep the buzzing of bees
Making the foxgloves bend and bow
Under the coolness of trees
Where the earth holds the richness of leaves
And the bones of the ancestors rest
In the land of the ever blessed.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC
In his brain, the metallic sweetness of the blood *****
Because at night he strides on a tightrope.
Balancing between insanity and reality.
He takes pills cause they say it'll help his anatomy.
The clean flick of a knife against a throat.
He staggers and falls into the murky moat.
Don't blame him.
He's drowning in his own sorrow.
They swallowed his hope for a better tomorrow.
They locked him up in a casket.
Tied a bow around it like a basket.
But he's not six feet under.
He's stuck here, starting to plunder.
Don't blame him.
He knows that his past is drenched in black.
They told him he stabbed his mother in the back.
He feels their blood dripping down his fingers.
But still he can never remember what lingers.
The men in the long white coats talk about trees, and cars, and trains, and boats.
But all he can remember is the room that he's in.
His vest held together by a chain and a pin.
Don't blame him.
He's hugging the padded walls.
Dreaming of the day where his sanity calls.
He's tired, he knows that his mind is already expired.
Yet still every night, he strides on a tightrope as his essence is groped.
Everyday he's on the verge of insanity and reality.
He makes sure they don't change his anatomy.
His white vest restrains him.
It tends to drain him.
Everyday he dreams in blood.
But then again how could you blame him.
They'll eat him alive before his life claims him.
Don't Blame Him.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
In Farmington the misfit suffers the jukebox and dances to an unknown song. He dances on the pool table. He wears black—black skull cap, black
duster, black shirt, black slacks, black boots. He's in Farmington and
the women here drink Bud Light. He dances slow. It's similar to a dance
you've seen before. You have that friend that climbs on couches after a few and half staggers, half sways. The women here watch him with unhappy eyes and hands stained blue from the textile mill. He seems to mouth the words although he clearly doesn't know the song. They, the women, dig their elbows into the bar. Pocked and graffiti'd, the bar soaks up spilled beer and ash and nail polish. Behind the bar a sign reads: Free Beer Tomorrow. And for some reason, you must admit, this sign's effect never dulls. The Misfit pantomimes a dance with a pool cue. His face is severe, serious. He's in Farmington dancing with a pool cue on a pool table to a song he doesn't know like a drunk friend of yours and the women are watching. Next, he does something amazing. He removes his cap. He's got shocks of bleached hair and burn scars run like rivulets between the patches. He tosses the cap toward the bar. One lucky woman catches it and summons herself to the pool table. You want them to have a bit of dialogue here, to say something oblique and innocent. Instead the lucky woman dances at the man's feet. He surrenders a smile and he's got small tracts of bleached hair and burn scars and he's in all black and he's dancing. The lucky woman, she's in a canary yellow patch dress. Her dance, although clumsy, still mesmerizes you. It's without ego, without shame. She is a child. She is the light in the room. She is, in this moment, the world entire. He pulls her onto the table. It's time to appoint the Misfit and the lucky woman names, you think. His name shall be Joshua. Her name shall be Anna. Palms together, her head resting on his chest, they sway. The smoke and the tracers of light meld and Joshua and Anna's outlines become muddied. Their bodies merge and they are both yellow and black and covered in burn scars and bleached hair and the women are still watching. As the song starts to fade, someone—maybe it's you—drops a few coins in the jukebox and it begins again.
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 12:13 PM UTC
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits,
The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates,
The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar,
Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.
There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise,
The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze.
His young son is beside him and the boy's face is a light,
A light of dawn and wonder and of valor infinite.
Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up,
Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup,
And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low,
But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go.
He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky,
Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high,
Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows,
With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.
Dropping gold, dropping gold, where the mists of morning rolled,
On he kept his way undaunted, though his breaths were stabs of cold,
Through the mystery of dawning that no mortal may behold.
Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings,
And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire,
As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre.
Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done,
And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves
In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves.
Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous,
Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus,
See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous.
You were Man, you who ran farther than our eyes can scan,
Man absurd, gigantic, eager for impossible Romance,
Overthrowing all Hell's legions with one warped and broken lance.
On the highest steeps of Space he will have his dwelling-place,
In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death
Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath.
Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear
Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings,
Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!
2.4k
the big easy
is hard lives,
what gives
this rainy city
so sublime,
it's almost a pity
that streets are lined with ****
pests and rats in the alleyways
how did things get so ******
or have they always been?
overpasses with people
lying underneath
so many homeless
it staggers the mind to think
bread bags and coffees
floating in the wake of the ferries
outnumbering 10 to 1
the loads that they carry
all the old growth
coming down
all the gold of their headpieces
tinfoil hats fashioned from crowns
no jazz or blues can save them
from the fate that waits
an engraving reading,
here lies what once was a haven
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 10:07 AM UTC
The local convenience store dealers lean on glass windows with ****** pupils scanning the parking lot for any takers. I pump my gas on station four and spy from afar. Don’t make eye contact or that means you’re interested. No buyers yet. What do you suppose is on the menu for today? Judging from the amount of zombies I’ve seen pushing stolen shopping carts a block away from here, I’d say smack. Tar. Black. ****** Whatever they call it where you’re from. Welfare bodies withered down to just flesh hanging from bone, wandering around aimlessly for their next fix. I’ve only ever tried it once; I was curious and sad and it was there—in Violet’s hand and then in my lungs. Do you think my mother would cry out in those disgusting sobs of snot and heaves of not-being-able-to-breathe-tears if she knew? Do you think my sister would look at me with that glare of judgmental disapproval because yet again, here’s an example of why I’m the family ****** Do you think my father would smack me upside the head and call me a dumb *** Probably. And do you think my third and sixth grade teachers who told me I should one day do something with my writing would be gasping in disappointment? Definitely. The gas pump clicks off. A potential customer staggers across asphalt to meet his makers and I am no better than he is at this very moment.
Dec 1, 2020
Dec 1, 2020 at 3:17 AM UTC
Slip into a syncopated
Yaw that staggers some,
Never touches others.
Come back home if you don't have the chops, or
Open up to ranges
Pleasant...
Awkward...
Totter some and Tatter some.
Insiders,
Outsiders
Nestle or Negate whenever Music syncopates.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
Old Year on last legs staggers slowly towards midnight,
Memories in our pockets are like butterflies and stones,
A deep dark lake of forgetfulness swallows the stones,
Some sink deep, others shallow, a source of pain again,
Butterflies now free lift our spirits in a tapestry of colour,
Flying high on past pleasures and treasured moments,
New Year born in a carnival of gluhwein and pink pigs.
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:26 AM UTC
He staggers in, bellies up to the website...
"What'll ya have, bub?" "Whatever's fresh...";
takes a good long pull from the draft on top.
Pounds down shots of shorts, savors
a good 12-year old sonnet with legs.
His wife knows he's here; doesn't approve.
She just doesn't understand...
but you do, dontcha?
Jan 21, 2011
Jan 21, 2011 at 11:07 AM UTC
SHORE LEAVE
the sea louder in the dark
throwing off its shackles
walking into town
mystified seagulls
flying over with a caw
a sea no longer there
a tram screeching
on its points
the sea jumps aboard
the sea sat at the bar
somehow getting its vast bulk
perched upon a high stool
the sea enjoying the karaoke
singing along to The Honeydippers
eating bag after bag of peanuts
"Have ye no beds to go home to!"
barks a barman
his belly slopping over his belt
the sea happy
to escape itself
even for the time being
drunk on being
human if only for a while
the sea staggers back to the shore
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 4:52 PM UTC
An internal stutter
I see you again, for the first time.
The sting of reality’s slap
Makes my inside collapse.
You are here now –truth.
Did you ever have any feelings, --you probably never felt any
They have long since hit the road, if you did.
I think deep breaths will help clear my head.
Oh no.
I almost had forgotten,
But I am instantly reminded of
Just how heavily you have always worn that enchanting scent.
I say…
You say, “I don’t know”
I say…
You say, “I am home for some unfinished business.”
Suddenly a blossom of hope strains,
Trying to reach the ray of sunshine that your words send.
But instinctly I know,
Those memories I have
Need to remain
Faded from the pain,
Never to be fully visible again.
I have faltered --A slip that will cost me much.
This moment of internal turmoil lasted only for a blink,
No more.
Blink- you have already turned.
You introduce me to a girl --the New girl.
You don’t know yet that she has a lover on the side, (is that my place to step in?)
Like you did with me.
Blink. Stutter.
Why do you always do these things here --at my job?
These meetings happen over and over again.
Since that faithful day a couple of months ago…
You broke my heart in your first breath
Your second breath you asked me to be your bestest friend.
How cute.
Blink.Stutter.DeepBreathe.
Now you bring girls to me to rate, compare.
I told you then,
I couldn’t handle something like this,
Can’t you understand that I need to heal first?
(I have to heal first)
How did you retaliate?
You said, “You have been the longest one night stand of my life.”
Stutter. Blink. Stutter.
My world collapsed with your words.
Now, you come to me to flaunt your new flings,
To rate, compare?
Stutter. Blink. Stutter.
She casts me a devious glance,
She knows who I was --who I am.
You turn your back.
The girl is still trying to cling to your arm.
She will be thrown to the wayside soon.
I lay on the floor,
A puddle.
You never look back --you never would show that kind of weakness.
Acid rain corrodes everything
I have tried to rebuild.
You never look back.
My heartbeat staggers
Back to regularity.
But my backbone disintegrates
Leaving me in a heap.
If only, if only, the blackbird cries.
I used to be love struck.
Now I’m just ****** up.
Aug 16, 2010
Aug 16, 2010 at 7:12 PM UTC
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Who are we to speak against those with seven tongues and antlers,
You sleep as the muffin man creeps
Camera in hands and remnants of sickness past upon his clothes
Your eyes Otto Dix, your face like an anguished customer at Greggs.
He, the muffin man, staggers in the night and surveys these barren lands.
At what point will you release your patterned anguish?
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Watermelon and disorder for the masses in their lived fury
hunters of the lowest rung,
misery and handbags at the cumulative paces from Newcastle to Carlisle
Flawed Romans and tasty Saxons,
Expert testimony has decreed yellow,
Revolt! bring down the manor!
The muffin man in his element, deckchair reclined
Sep 8, 2018
Sep 8, 2018 at 11:38 AM UTC
each day staggers by
in stuttered compromise.
heaven meets hell in my stormy eyes,
but my wrath is surely wrapped up
in the way i never cry,
the way i won't admit
how much i'd love to die.
i am sick of this existence.
i want to unzip my skin
and flay it from the ribs,
to let my bones step out of it.
i've stopped feeding my demons.
now they feast on my flesh.
pain is my steady hand, and not my torment.
you avert your eyes, but i love how i deserve it.
if you knew me like i do, with no secrets,
believe me,
you'd hate me as much as i did.
i'm better than i was, but i'm still just a kid.
one year older, none the wiser.
i still want to die, but i made a promise.
if i could tear myself to pieces again,
i'd do it in an instant.
if i should leave this sallow casing,
shut your eyes and cash my chips in.
if i make it hard for you, don't fail to mention it, for i'll repent for it.
i mean you no sacrilege-
i'm simply demented.
i still suffer every day. i just learned how to hurt invisibly.
i'm still enamored with my own pain, but don't want anyone to worry.
i've chosen a new medium so i can rest in peace.
i'm done with trying. i just want an ending.
i would have done it already
but my conscience keeps me.
i'm tired of holding steady. i only want to sink.
each day that passes by just brings me closer to the brink,
and i'm tired of having to think.
how low will i get
before it kills me again?
how low will i get
before i get on with it?
i'm tired of the pills and tests.
i'm past the point of being worth it.
i say i'm in purgatory- waiting to die,
cause i know this will **** me.
i'm playing deadly limbo with the bar dropped to my feet.
motivation left me, but i'm still keeping beat.
but how long can i maintain this without sinking completely?
Jul 23, 2014
Jul 23, 2014 at 8:25 PM UTC
Dolly Madison kisses me back sweet-like
outside of Ruby’s
where we sip elixirs and giggle
at the sidewalk staggers
of late night downtown.
“I don’t want someone directing me,”
She says, unexpectedly
(and it comes out like a question),
“but I don’t want to tell someone else
what to do, either.”
“Oh oh,” I say
“Like two mustangs.”
And she says, “what?”
“Two mustangs,” I reiterate.
Not a rider and a horse
or a horse and a rider,
with the digging of spurs and
the crack of crops,
but two steeds, side by side,
running for all they’re worth.
Dolly’s eyes stare
before they
roll up and to her left.
I make my hands move forward
up and down and
side to side,
together.
She lights with a slow smile and says, “yeah”
and kisses me harder.
In my mind the mustangs
sweat.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
Another cold and lonely night,
Seated in the corner of this dark bar under a dim light,
Looking for the kind of love that lasts till first light,
Is it love under a drunken sight?
“From the guy at the bar"
Says the waitress who forgot a part of her dress,
She raises the glass and yet again lowers her bar,
She will have to fall in love with him tonight!
"I'll be right back,” She says as she tries to get her *** up,
Staggers away into the old filthy bathroom with a broken latch,
What used to be a mirror is nothing but broken glass,
Shattered in pieces like her broken heart,
The unpaid ***** she has now become,
Another tale of a her now too many one-night stands,
Grasping tightly at the illusion of this drunken love,
Each Night, A different Knight,
He doesn’t even own an old truck,
Or have enough money for the yellow cab,
Yet his working hand she holds
And together they stagger into the dark night,
Last night's knight’s cologne still lingers on,
Like the poison of hate that now runs through her veins,
He throws his jacket over the window pane,
She even lets him touch her now pale face!
The illusion of this temporary love doesn't last,
His wife is about to break through the phone,
This ugly slob passed out with one foot on the floor,
Under this morning light, he looks nothing like the shinning knight,
"Time to leave, thanks for the drink!"
He leans forward to give her one last kiss,
Just one double of cheap whiskey,
Not a penny left where he picked his keys,
She will be cold and lonely tonight,
She will be at that bar seated in the corner under the dim light,
Falling in love with you,
And hoping it lasts longer than first light!
May 27, 2019
May 27, 2019 at 10:42 AM UTC
The day I realized just how much you love me,
was coincidentally the worst night I've had in a very long time.
Friday night - its the night where my family and I go out to a local restaurant/bar because
Its karaoke night and my family is hosting it as always.
The clock strikes eleven o'clock and all the kids have left to go sleep.
There are many people standing around the bar,
doing shots, talking, chatting, flirting, touching, kissing.
I sit by myself, watching every person closely.
Studying them, studying the way alcohol effects people, studying the man looking, flirting, wanting to touch, my mother.
She's had a few drinks.
She can hardly stand on her own.
Her husband having a few beers himself stands back,
oblivious to the man studying my mother's hourglass figure.
That's when I see it happen.
He looks at her chest and his hand reaches up.
In complete shock, I watch in horror at the events unfolding in front of my young eyes.
Glancing back at my step-father, he is no where to be found.
Helpless, I look away before I see too much.
A few minutes later she staggers to me,
"We're leaving," she takes me by the hand and walks outside.
She was clinging to her keys when reality struck.
"Mom give me the keys, I'll drive, I have a license. Please, give me the keys"
She refused and dragged me in the car.
After arriving home from the terrifying car ride,
I turned my computer on to video chat with you.
I wanted to tell you how terrified I was
and how much I needed you to console me.
At that moment, I heard her scream my name followed by,
"Please get me the trashcan."
I ran through my house, grabbing the trashcan, throwing it at her feet and running to my room before hearing the awful noises that followed.
Slamming my door shut I cover my ears,
trying hard to ignore the sounds of drinking too much,
and thats when I called you.
I don't know how you understood anything I said through sobs,
but as soon as you heard my desperate plea,
you sang to me:
*You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are grey.
You'll never know dear how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.*
I knew how much you hated singing - but you knew just what to do to help me through.
That was the moment I realized how much you love me,
and how much I love you too.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 3:51 PM UTC
*Standing, surrendering.
The weather tethers at my veins.
Pushing. Pulling.
My emotions run high with the hopes of a new sunrise.
Guide me,
show me,
lead me to the holy water you sip like its never ending.
Show me the truth behind every iris that passes my curious glance.
Breathe in this cold sterile air while we dream of something tangible...
Strange winds come on strong in the heart of the mislead, the outskirts.
We thrive on the untouched surfaces of the mind..
We breathe in the discomfort...
Seeking direction in the wake of misdirected affection.
Faulting to the backbone of habits.
Falling faster, I pause in the balance catching my breathe.
I inhale everything surrounding my mind.
Exhaling all my simple poisons.
A detox of wandering souls and singular holes.
Eating. Feeding. Breeding.
Filling all this space for all those after me.
Fill me.
Fulfill me.
Accept the darkest crevasses of this mind.
I still turn a silent shy cheek...
Drifting aimlessly into the empty serenity you present so pleasantly.
Once again I slide further from comfort and balance...
Feeding off any sense of insecurity.
Craving that whole duality of my circumstance...
I keep treading the muddy waters I choose.
My body gets trapped in the
sticky egos and messing misunderstandings,
in which everyone laughs away.
I'll schlep the dirt from my soul and shine light once more.
Exhausted and tried.
Ill shine...
It's lost in my own lost hope of withering dreams and lost star seeds.
It falls away in every cold shake I make within whiskey's withdrawal.
It fades away in the simple staggers I make and unfulfilled chances I take.
But, not all is lost.
I still keep this little light of mine.
I still let this light shine.
I'm just a little more aware of the spaces it awakens and the souls it helps take in.
It's ever shifting in this cosmic wake, it hides, it shies, it cries.
Like me, it knows when to pipe the **** down and listen to the world.
Listen to everything it allows.
It hears souls like you.
It feeds me.*
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
Why can I not sleep?
Why am I turning?
Why are all the trees burning?
Forest fires, crooked liars
Why am I so sullen and drained?
In the bush, it's raining
Lost man on his own
Has anyone thought to save him? (him)
The monkey is waiting in the tree
Counts to three
Hearing the sound of the fume-fuelled wagon
He leaps on the back...
Attack! Attack! Attack! (Attack! Attack!)
No old heathen, not today
The rain falls upon the acidic trees of the millennium scorn
The fire has vanished, leaving behind a trail of death for all to see
The birds & the trees, then you & me
They twitching on the floor
Twitching on the floor
They twitching on the forest floor
The yeti is waiting (The yeti is waiting)
The yeti is waiting for us (The yeti is waiting)
The yeti is waiting to take us into his home
Care for us just like one of his own
Wild bones!
Wild bones!
Wait!
The yeti no longer has a home
The trees are gone & nothing has grown
A table, a chair, an internet nightmare
When will the forest speak?
When all is dried up and way too weak
Wait for nightfall, it's so beautiful out here
Up high in a wave of oxygen love I sit
Up high on this glorified cement postcard I spit
I spit
I spit upon thee
Wait for your red skies
Wait for the red skies
Do you know how it feels to be alive?
Do you know how it feels to be alive?
Let me know, let me know how you feel...
When will the forest speak?
When the trees are dried up and way too weak?
Wasting a life on calculations
Not enough money for operations
Waste of life, statistics, plastic soldiers
Sound of sticks rubbing together
All the people gather
All the people gather
Wait for the man, he must have a plan
Show me and make me a smile I can wear
Me & you we can make up too
No use for hate if you're wearing my shoes
Be happy, be sad, be a wild rotten lamb
Don't bother me now, I'm drenched to the bone
A sound of a truck and an axe and a fall
Of a tree and a knife and a planet so small
Sick to the bone of your dour heart of stone. (stone stone stone)
Sick to the bone of your dour heart of stone!
Let me know how you feel...
Let me know how you feel
You say it's too hot so you can take off your top
A clank of a slot machine coins
Machine coins bled unclean
A beaten old lizard staggers over the road
A hand and a heart, the lake in the park
The candle won't light and the fire won't spark
I'm worn and I'm torn but I still carry on
I'm worn and I'm torn but I still carry on
The money is angry, the money has taken the...
Watching mayhem leaping from truck to truck
This is where he rejoins his friends
They feast, they drink, they talk about
How things used to be...
I still can't sleep
I still can't sleep
I still can't sleep
A million minds and a million voices
A million thoughts, and only one choice
The need to find peace
May 30, 2016
May 30, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
My darling swells like the rivers of a sunset
Waiting for me
Hiding behind what is seen
Though no surprises seems to escalate
I am washed with bitter poison
Seen then from behind it all
Where she was waiting for me
No excuses left to supersede
Oh she liked to move
Tranced
Arms wailing in the back
And flailing out from behind her
-
Never will anything more
Sit down my soul
For a necessary lesson
On just what it's all about
-
She liked to move
To the commotion of fortune
My darling speaks
Blinding me from
All disconnection
In my ecstatic state
I leave a weary life to be
Behind me
As then we bleed
Color, dimension and new virtue
Into my open hands
Filling the gaps between my dreams
She staggers not
And I look past the world
again
I tremble
Stepping behind what is seen
Where she was waiting for me
I tremble
Stepping behind what is seen
Where she was waiting to free my soul
Oh I see the truth
Clear
Whole hearted in the face of it's elliptical reason
-
She liked to move
To the commotion of fortune
May I live life again
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Degrees Of Gray In Philipsburg
You might come here Sunday on a whim.
Say your life broke down.
The last good kiss
you had was years ago.
You walk these streets
laid out by the insane,.......
The only prisoner
is always in, not knowing what he's done.....
Richard Hugo, 1967
with many, many apologies to Richard
The Last Prisoner
For years gray man
Huddled in the old cell
In his burning brain
He plots his escape
So quiet and careful he has been
In his scheming. Even in the dark nights
His plan moves forward
The latch is weakening
Under careful pressure the hinges
For the door itself, begin to fail
He imagines the excitement of being released
Of friends who might shout his name,
Buy him a drink
Of his lover, older now, with her knowing smile
Telling him she knew no jail could hold him
Of the light, the sun, the trees in the rain
He grinds his remaining teeth
Brushes thinning hair
Chuckling to himself, thinks of old songs
He has lost any sense of time, can't remember
Winter or Spring
For him there has been the locked door
The endless filing, rubbing, wearing down
Pushing, cursing the barrier that has blighted his life
It happens when is he is drowsing
Half awake, wrapped in rags
That pass for bedding
A strange sound, like a tree falling
Or a sudden heavy blow
And the gate, the door,
The anchor that has blighted his life
Is gone!
He staggers in the light
Blinded nearly
And sees the vague shadows
The empty streets, shops boarded up
An echoing silence, old papers blown
Leaning against the wall
He considers
Should he return to the cell?
Gibbens
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC