hile
im posting all my elite skills poems on here, because i recently told some asshole what i think of him, and don't want the consequences of my reasonable reaction to result in the loss of those writings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Clint Eastwood and the Smoking Pistol Rider
-------------------------------------------
He croaks out dust motes with his speech
and wasp, and cactus, and tumbleweed.
He kicks up spiders when he steps
and sends insects to their deaths.
He cleans pistols before he sleeps
and oils boots, to coax out creaks.
He tramps through saloons to earn his keep
with poker chips, to buy his drinks.
He spears the bargirl with his piece
and leaves her in a drought for weeks.
He coils like gunmetal snake
and poisons those who'd lay his grave
with bullet outspray from his hip
and some timeworn, dry, harsh quip.
He'll bury bodies in the night
and wipe his brow by lantern light
that flickers as the full moon wanes
and casts fickle shadows on the plains.
And when up raises blistering sun,
he'll find his midnight work is done,
he'll gather up his horse and boots
and set a' riding towards the dunes.
Where he leaves a weaving trace
into the dirty western wastes
that test a man of all his mettle
or with god, his debts settle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sohcahtoa
-------------------------------------------
"We build up this world to hate it."
I'd imagine that to be the truth.
The simple fact is;
we can't determine just by looking.
I despise this concrete world,
but I love it just the same.
Every brick and pockmarked street of it.
And if I look at it just a little bit cockeyed,
I can see the grand design behind it all.
And that's enough to justify the prescence
of every heart that occupies it.
This world has more soul
than most of the people who live in it.
But that works, that's the beauty.
Beautiful things work beautifully.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legerdemayn
-------------------------------------------
With a plain of dust beneath my feet
I walked, by thought consumed
and pondered I upon the chance
that I were else than first assumed.
How profound, if it were true
that I were someone else
and what a lie of grandest scope
indeed! To fool oneself!
A masterful deception planned
by noother rogue than he:
the very target of the ruse!
"Oh, the cleverness of me!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Gold a'Shining in Your Hair
-------------------------------------------
Oh pardon me, but have you seen
the much, much better part of me?
I had it when we parted, see,
but now it moves elusively.
The last I saw, it lingered near
the gold a'shining in your hair,
but then it flickered faintly there
and I observed it dissapear.
Observed it there,
it dissapeared.
Before then, it was hiding deep
inside your dreaming while you'd sleep.
And I made notes (and those I'll keep),
to determine wherein he'd creep.
I noticed this when you'd awake,
and retell dreams of wondrous scape,
the likes which ne'er 'fore would skate
within your thoughts (lest I mistake).
Wondrous scape,
lest I mistake?
And if I think much deeper still,
for in my findings, they do tell,
of where this most elusive fell,
and where then he must reside still.
Oh, pardon me, but I've just seen
the much, much better part of me,
it seems that ne'er parted, we;
that he still holds a place you see.
The best of me,
in you I see.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saffron
-------------------------------------------
Well i've spent some nights alone now,
I'm not feeling that much better,
and I swear I've seen that second hand slow down.
My brain is getting stagnant
as it floats behind my eyeballs,
which watch the clocks all melting to the ground.
And I know the days get shorter
as we drift on through the year
like the leaves that leave all those green trees so bare.
But that doesn't mean I live less,
no, I try my very hardest,
'cause I've seen the end and don't want to go there.
Oh' the world makes less rotations
and the air gets that much colder
I've been scraping off the windows of my car.
But it's not like I could see much,
before this winter came,
and i don't expect that I will get that far.
Yea, I don't expect that I will get that far.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Displacing the Sun
-------------------------------------------
Come sit in my window,
window sill,
and let the sun
and your hair become one.
In the spray of light around you
the dust flies crazy
in efforts to displace itself,
dust motes tremble in your wake,
and the aftermath?
it looks like a halo,
or an aura.
It's a sure-fire way
to brighten a day
and the sun is a-shining,
so come to my window,
and sit on my window sill.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I Yearn to be Frozen 'till 2073
-------------------------------------------
The profoundest regret a man can ever hold in the pockmarks of his pockmarked heart is the deep and as-of-yet unavoidable regret of dying without ever seeing
the other side of:
the sun the stars the moon.
Yet if the other side were black
I'd gladly take my regret back
for I have seen the night each night;
the darkness held in day's respite.
I find that I would tire of all,
traverse back down that unlit hall,
and find myself at home once more;
of all that blackness I would bore.
This side is bright, that much I know
and the distance is far to go
and all to see a mirror of eve here?
Then my regret would be to leave here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Whiteboard Says I Hate You
-------------------------------------------
This is the red-day,
where passion holds tight,
never lets go,
never even loosens it's grip.
Red is always followed by black,
as blood always pours from holes
and eventually
those holes must
run dry.
Red is a day of wounds:
some in the name of love,
some for forgetting that name.
And red is always followed by black,
for the heart is but a hole
that has yet to run dry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why is the Puget Sound so Quiet?
-------------------------------------------
Everything is very much more
beautiful in my mind,
it's like a book looking good when you read the title and the description inside,
only once you start reading it
you pull a: "wow this is rubbish".
I speak decrescendo,
and I know it's hard to notice
because it's over such a long measure,
but I assure you it is so.
I listened to Bright Eyes today,
and realized this is purity.
Or something like it,
and I'd liked to live pure
for a little while
and see how that treats me.
Bums live pure, it's all:
gotta live, gotta eat, gotta stay warm.
Makes you feel tarnished eh?
I feel like green copper.
And there's dynamite
behind my malachite eyes,
but not a one of you sees it,
even as close as you've got.
I could spin in circles,
dizzy it up,
spew,
and hit your sister,
and you'd chalk it up as
another day in the life.
You'd never talk to me of course,
but we know you,
deep down,
would understand.
If i took the time to speak the reason to you.
Reason like a razor blade,
who's only purpose is to cut things.
I'm charming, and I know it.
They call me Mr. Charisma.
Everyone.
except for Mr. One Purpose Razor Blade.
You can't use it for much else,
a conducting material maybe,
decoration i suppose,
okay so maybe it does have various uses.
But here we stick to the mainstream.
And ingenuity and integrity
are not the mainstream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There are Ghosts in the Pavement
-------------------------------------------
In the headlights
the steam rising from
the freshly soaked asphalt
looked like ghosts escaping the earth.
Like roaches that run when light speaks.
It was unnerving,
and had I been driving
I would have crashed
from my exclusive attention,
watching this exhalation
of souls transpire.
Potholes shimmering
with the first rainfall
of the season
seemed as graves,
and I expected to see
somber sallow faces in each
as we rumbled over them.
The white glow of
halogen against
dead wet skin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Replacing Roses on the Casket
-------------------------------------------
"Are you Cold?" I inquired. She nodded.
I offered her a swatch of flesh, for that was all I had.
A piece of me.
In exchange she offered me a smile, and I took it.
It lasted through the sunrise,
we lasted through the sunrise.
The day was spent nursing my wound in the hammock out back. In the sunlight.
I knew she'd passed when the empty patch
began to bleed again, my blood thinned out.
I found some comfort in blaming the orderly for it all. I laid the smile next to the swatch on her casket as they returned her to the earth.
I walked home in the pleasant spring breeze with my face black and gauze on my arm.
I lay in the hammock with a tear in my eye.
It lasted through the sunset.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shades of Gray
-------------------------------------------
shades of gray, shadows of real colors.
and all the little gray people long to be like those objects that cast them aside on walls and ceilings and floors whenever the light is on them.
but a shadow is as intangible as you can get, and we shadows can't manipulate our lives to become those colors we idolize.
ignorant to our state... we are doomed to always aspire to be something we can't,
and forget how important
a simple shadow can be.
shades of gray make up the universe that holds the colorful world. the world who's inhabitants we envy so much.
yet what we wouldn't give to usurp that position and be that which casts the shadows,
as opposed to the shadows themselves.
at least we have something to work towards.
red
blue
yellow
red
blue
green
orange
purple
yellow
orange
purple
green
white
gray
black
black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Broken Back Blues
-------------------------------------------
Listening to old tunes you tossed my way,
from discs with my name and your heart on them.
Marked with ink that long ago stopped reeking;
some of the discs won't play for me any longer.
I'm sitting back in my chair near the desk with your name carved in it.
I play the guitar.
I try to break away from the same two songs that aren't quite long or good enough to be songs.
They remind me of you.
I picked this up for you.
and...
30+ poems with your name between the lines.
One wall, one desk, six cds, one heart.
That last I gave myself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afflicted Apperception Assembly
-------------------------------------------
Can you feel the echoes pass between us?
Like walls encase a canyon, we are distanced.
And I feel that breeze constantly remind me
that you are far too far to ever comfort me.
And I need that distance to close.
I cant stand the thought of you so far out,
I have to glance up skyward to see you now.
And it seems so far away, I'd walk days and days
and days, and never feel your embrace.
Can you close this distance darling?
Can you bring yourself to me?
My feet seem rooted in concrete,
I need someone to save me.
I feel hours pass like decades in a freezer,
the sun just pours with time, a humid heater
and I know that all this waiting while I sweat
is so damn far from being over yet.
And I need that distance to close.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Undercarriage
-------------------------------------------
The river under the earth
pours from a crevice in the rock
and washes across the undercarriage
of this vast pine tree land.
With downpour in the spring and autumn
it grows and toils to burden the world
with another jagged eroded hole
in her heart of stone
that will fill with crystal
when the hot red blood
that flows through her
flows through her
and sends the river
scattering particles
into the sky
through crevices in the rock.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perchance to Dream Anyone?
-------------------------------------------
The cascade mountains weigh heavy on my thoughts of late.
I contemplate the rain.
Theatres and coffee shops come to me in semi-lucid daydreams, places I used to go.
I regard the pine trees as lost friends, left behind and forced away from.
But the most well missed, I've noticed, is nothing of where I was raised.
Nothing of the land or cities.
Yet still, I long for her above all else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seafoam, Bottle One of One
-------------------------------------------
Dear bottle opener,
I'm tired of being caught up in this "memoria".
Swiftly jumping at the chance to batter myself.
The only light that summer brings is cast
upon images of the "eros" that peirced my heart.
And there are shadows thrown,
while glare on the filmy strips of purgatory burns,
(blissfully), my retinae.
i yearn for you above:
freedom,
lightshine,
blue skies,
shore side,
concrete,
sidewalks,
park benches,
heartbeat.
because with you there is no memory of:
roadside tree,
melted asphalt trail,
bike wheels spinning,
sweat pools,
clip pedals,
messenger bag,
lake side,
high deck,
sweet flowers,
mother's smiles,
future glimpses,
grave mistakes,
heartache,
repair,
rebirth,
reassurance,
reality,
relief.
Hence the need for your return.
A letter on the wind,
a rose in the grass,
a kiss in the shade,
and one response.
Respond post haste.
With most sincere affection,
The boy on the beach.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We Deliquesce
-------------------------------------------
Oh, this dust does settle on our aging flesh
and lightens our sun-darkened, liver-spotted complexions more than any drape or paint or fear of death could ever do.
The trembling in our troubled hearts does shake loose bones from their moorings and send teeth a-rattling and a-clanking in our speech parched mouths.
But that is the future and there is only fear in such foresight, only hesitation and anticipation and failure in such meanderings of the mind.
The day is now, and we must embrace it and seek to fill it with all that fills our nightly dreams, we must make this day glow from now 'til the dust coats our wrinkled shells.
Because when we are old and tired and have no more tomorrows to seek out and fill, and no more nightly dreams with which to fill them...
We tremble,
we pale,
we weep,
and ultimately,
we deliquesce.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sweet Southwestern Earth
-------------------------------------------
Rain falls on the parched southwest
as she tries to remain
as hard and dry and stubborn
as she has always been.
And if she has her way
she'll not accept a drop.
She'll keep her plains and
deserts dry and hot.
Well the skies keep getting darker
as does sweet southwestern earth
Yet she doesn't see the merit,
or what good ol' change is worth.
So she'll keep her head held high-up
as her hair is watered down.
And never accept change is coming
to her sweet southwestern ground.
But that's all she needs.
Oh oh why can't she see?
She just needs that change to come,
just needs a change to come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Am I Just Real Estate?
-------------------------------------------
Water, electricity
both flow 'round inside of me
filling my spine with a
shudder and jolt each
time I am lonely or
lost in some agony
held in a trance by
some midsummer's tragedy
laid out in front of me,
held out for me to see and inspect
and gauge value of property.
It's the loneliest mess
that the market will ever see
and it will all sell for
dimebags and haypennies.
A witful remark earns you
points with the women,
who just won't go near you,
so: "good luck, go get 'em!"
A challenge I issue from
the seat of my vehicle
as I am moving at
the speed of a miracle.
It comes to a standstill,
the line I've been waiting in,
I'm used to the waste of time,
starved, I am getting thin.
I feel my bones push through
the skin that covers them:
Trying to free
the spirit held under them.
A spitter, a fighter,
and child unhindered,
lies deep in my core
like a lion or murderer
with fear in it's heart as
it's prison is realized
the strongest of killers
reminded of his small size
and placed in a cage
imagined or materialized.
And this is the ending
finality catches all
and leaves no survivors
just knowledge, subliminal.
And in the end,
desperation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ocean Spray and Nicotine
-------------------------------------------
I find that when I breathe deep
it's ocean spray or nicotine.
Aye, one corrupts the other cleans;
I am composed of these two things.
Rain clouds cause me to debate
if being worldly's worth the weight.
~My roots yearn for this good day's drench
but if I starve them, else is quenched.
My vines and veins would all constrain:
clench tight in attempt to refrain
from facing night as Sol recedes
from ocean spray and nicotine.
Our sun finds when he breathes deep
it's ocean spray and nicotine.
One burns deep, another cleans;
but both are found inside of me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The King of Pagerland
-------------------------------------------
Ron Durgess, King of Pagerland:
salesman extraordinaire,
six foot two,
built like a tree trunk,
with sweat rolling down his spine like sap,
and shame in his furrowed brow.
He tied the thirteen loop tie
and dropped like a fading star towards the ground.
Spasms,
and the creaking of manila under stress.
When they cut him down they read the note,
And buried him, King of the Pager, under a humble blue stone head.
1984
Long live the king.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poets Are Softspoken Gods of Creation
-------------------------------------------
The quasi-science of my thought process
convolutes the understood into
misunderstanding of oneself(myself)
until I am reduced, in this confusion
to a blithering rant(acious) bag of flesh.
"Rantacious".
Like a sunburst, the birthing of a star,
or the collapsing of a universe:
A word created sends a near cataclysmic reverberation of change through the universe.
Millions weep and die at the making
of such a thing.
For this, poets are gods:
somber gods of the unity's most sacred, archaic, and powerful of things.
Words: which level cities, destroy worlds, their civilizations, and their people.
Even if spoken softly.
Even if never spoke at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your Lungs are Water Containers
-------------------------------------------
"Is this the drop off?" i asked her.
....
there was no response,
she was gone,
i knew as much,
and i knew nothing
would choke an answer from the darkness.
i contemplated wildly what might become
of me if i went looking,
but realized the effort was futile...
i filtered the sand between my toes and knew one step more meant i would become intimate with the black abyss below.
plate movements below the rumbling crust of this earth had made this place long before the sand i stood in had been born.
i was ready.
i lifted one foot from the fluid sand
below the water,
i saw my pale knee flash up above the
blind point in the water,
and when it came down again,
a step ahead,
a final step,
i tumbled forward.
my last thought was:
"please let me wash ashore
in some distant place".
and then blue oblivion engulfed me.
there was cold beneath the
eerily calm salt water.
cold and blue,
then black and salt stinging my eyes.
i phased out.
the dreams lasted a lifetime,
then my brain realized it was short of oxygen, it tried to panic,
but the thick cloud of pleasant illusions kept it stifled, silent, and i passed without so much as a rush of adrenalin.
and that was that.
my body washed up on some distant shore.
and sand stuck to the skin until it
decayed like any other
sea-creature on the beach would.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SOGV2 (Light Travels in Waves)
-------------------------------------------
shades of gray,
shadows of real colors.
and all the little gray people
long to be like those objects that cast them aside,
cast them abroad haphazardly,
unknowing, not a care for our comfort:
they cast us on a whim:
on walls and ceilings and floors, whenever the light is on them.
but a shadow is as intangible as you can get,
and we shadows can't manipulate our lives,
can't become those colors we idolize.
we are ignorant of our true state...
we are doomed to always aspire to be something we can't,
and forget how important a simple shadow can be.
shades of gray make up the universe
that holds the colorful world,
the world who's inhabitants we envy so much.
our intagible existance holds them steady.
but they take our shaded forms for granted.
oh, what we wouldn't give to usurp that position,
to be that which casts the shadows
as opposed to the shadows themselves.
at least we have something to work towards.
we work to break down the spectrum.
white
orange
purple
yellow
red
blue
green
gray
black
black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Capyche (OfASpectrumSpecific)
-------------------------------------------
Wondering what connection to home I have;
stranded in this bleakly kaleidoscopic place.
Berated by another teal torrent from the skies,
whilst jagged bolts of electricity pierce nigrescent clouds.
It's drowning day on the chartreuse fields,
and the dead, remnants of a carmine war,
are washed away: sallow face and all.
The leaves of violaceous shrubs are rended,
and only the most stubborn of the ochre trunked,
fruit-bearing trees stay strongly rooted in the loamy mahagony soil.
I'm in wonder at this place:
this viridian skinned planet.
Yet find it homely compared to my own:
a sapphire sphere.
And though my spirit is weighted by loneliness:
I know no matter where I go, my heart is always Red.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Servings Per Container: 16
-------------------------------------------
They drank all the chocolate milk.
It was creamy and smooth and sweet,
made to be devoured straight from the carton.
Though I had ten times my share
I'm still infuriated,
because they drank the bottom drops
and I wanted them.
It was delicious milk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Drive Home
-------------------------------------------
i wore a feather in my hat,
you wore a flower in your hair.
and i guess you didn't know,
but i know i didn't care.
and the nightlife has betrayed us,
and your flower blew away,
and the only thing that's stable
is my feather, which will stay.
but through the rolled down window,
i feel the frigid wind picking up,
and i'm feeling mighty cold now,
even with this steaming cup.
and i'm slowly sipping coffee,
while you're slowly nodding off,
and i feel the feather work loose
every time i have to cough.
and i think i'm getting sick now,
i'm getting sick of you,
maybe from the heartache,
or maybe from the view.
but i know it's rolling downhill,
and it's quickly gaining speed,
and i'm looking between every line
for a message i can read.
you are stone cold on the outside,
and this betrayal's gotten old,
i'm taking you for silver,
but once thought that you were gold.
and i'm spitting out my teeth now,
jarred loose from metaphoric blow,
and of all the things i'm wishing,
i just wish that you would go.
we've been stuck for forever
and the snow keeps falling down
and i haven't seen a sign of life;
we are miles out of town.
and the last place i can stand to be
the worst spot to spend the night
is: the passenger seat of this car,
with you next to me all night
and the flower fallen from your hair
has started to decay.
and the snowfall has diminished
and it's more now like a spray.
and the scent is getting stronger,
and my eyes are swelling shut,
and i'm starting to feel uneasy
there's a squirming in my gut.
so let's get the hell out of here
this night's gone on for days.
i cannot wait to end it
i can't wait to part our ways.
'cause the tension's getting stronger
and my feelings can't hold tight.
and if there is no resolution,
there is bound to be a fight.
so fight for resolution,
or find a better way.
but either way, just open up,
and say what you said you'd say.
or the night will never conclude,
and then i'll fall apart,
it's just part of my character
to have an end to what i start.
and the ball is in your field now,
and it's been there for a while,
so stop your stalling soon,
and don't you dare start with denial.
'cause it's stalling that you're doing,
you've been doing it all along
and i kinda feel like i'm the only one
who thinks that it is wrong.
so speak your mind or close your mouth,
i've had it, yes i'm through.
i'm sick of all these day dreams
with the star role played by you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dress(TheCosmosAsOurWardrobe)
-------------------------------------------
I love it when you wear your moonshadow dress;
it brings out the worst in me.
I loosen my sunbeam tie when you come near.
Black velvet shadows on your curves, cast by moonlight.
You said:
"I love you in your smooth starshine suit"
But baby,
you're wearing your meteor dancing shoes,
while trying to run me out.
Goodness knows you're a graceful dancer:
Pirouetting along the Milky Way in that aurora-silk dancer's skirt.
Despite this pleasant, star-spattered view, I'm getting homesick:
your supernova eyes have been distracting me for lightyears now.
So run me out and chase my stardust footprints;
I can hide on the bright side of the moon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cinnamarillion Rose
-------------------------------------------
The moon sets high
in the light blue sky,
a rose-tint sets down below.
And cinnabar fringes
highlight black-tree hinges
that connect to the world that we know.
The sun floats adjacent
to the morning-moon's placement,
(it's as tranquil as it is bright).
And over the mountains
hang dark colors, like fountains
as remnants, spilt over from night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5am
-------------------------------------------
5am,
and nothing is on but the static sunrise.
it almost feels like sandpaper,
and the birds chirp like a dusty alarm clock...
aggravated blue sky
and silhoutte tree-tops.
a nighttime trip,
and the daylight's coming up quick
and i can see the city lighting up,
its christmas time on a summer morning,
and nothing is on but a static sunrise
and that dusty alarm clock sound...
it's 5am
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Good Riddance and Goodbye
-------------------------------------------
I hate the way you're going,
but I guess you've got to go.
I wish you didn't have to leave,
or at least not half as slow.
Love works funny ways,
but do you see me laughing now?
My heart is breaking slowly,
ever since I said "get out."
Your eyes won't even meet mine,
no, they only meet the floor.
And I just can't help thinking,
as you get nearer to the door:
~"I'm never going to see you again,
no, I'm never going to see you again."
Good riddance and goodbye
and goodbye and goodbye.~
You said you loved me deeply,
but your heart made not a beat.
But I'll be damned if I'll be
the one leaving in defeat.
I said I hated no one,
but you're getting pretty close.
And even through this heartbreak
I feel relief at this close.
So pack your heart and pack your bags,
go ravage someone else.
I hate the way you've treated me,
and I hope you hate yourself.
This chapter comes now to it's end,
not happy like we'd hoped.
And my only thoughts about you now,
are hanging from a rope.
Still I hate the way you're going,
but you've really got to go.
And I wish you'd leave much faster,
'cuz you're killing me too slow.
And the only thing I'm hoping now,
the last thing on my mind,
The final thought of you (i hope)
and the last message I can find:
~"I hope I never see you again,
yes, I hope I never see you again."
Good riddance and goodbye
and goodbye and goodbye
and
Good riddance and goodbye
and goodbye and goodbye and goodbye~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scrapbook
-------------------------------------------
nothing but condensation as far as the eye can see,
the cold front moves in from the west,
the chill is too much to bear.
can you sing with me a little ditty,
about this foggy field in the city,
damp with rain and runoff,
city sweat?
i guess it's just too much to ask,
i know you wont forget my past.
and those streetlights south of our positions
seem miles away in these conditions
if we ran, i think we would make it,
our bodies can handle cold, they'll take it.
but for now let's stand alone,
and covered in the prickling fog.
i hope the pictures that you're taking
turn out well enough for making
memories.
maybe those will last much longer
than the fog and cold.
can you sing with me a ditty
about this foggy field in the city,
soaked with rain and runoff,
city sweat?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Apostrophe
-------------------------------------------
The sky is a purplish-gray,
and tastes like something sweet.
It's ever so cold out there,
but I'm bundled up inside, inside.
The purple flavor will stick to my fingers,
but I don't mind one bit.
It's every bit as wonderful
as the kiss that happened under.
I'll wipe my fingers clean
with my mouth*.
*Who finds himself addicted to the flavor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Point A
-------------------------------------------
It was a long time ago, but I remember.
Somebody said in the midst of our fight:
"the only way to get out of this is to give in"
I didn't understand just what they meant,
but I knew it was something to ponder.
Then life flew by and left me behind,
I found myself in a passenger seat at 18
going somewhere unimportant.
I caught a glimpse of the message
in a rearview mirror
as someone I'd known forever
drove me to point B.
And I understood a little better what they meant back then.
You can't break the mold without applying pressure,
you can't overcome the monotony without succumbing to insanity.
And I suppose losing control is always good,
if you're willing to maintain a little control over the madness.
It makes you appealing.
I wonder if I appeal to you.
I wonder if I'll break the mold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a Parking Lot
-------------------------------------------
In raindrop downpour
we are safe in a glass and metal, wheeled house.
The heat is on to keep your fingers warm
and the glass is covered in fingerprints and artwork,
shoeprints linger from lazy days.
I've worked many hours in this place with you,
this is where we shared intentions with one another.
When in motion, our hands lay clasped on the division
between the seats.
Now we sit in laughter, and I set my cheek against
your arm out of necessity.
I crave a closeness.
If there were some other way, I'd risk it,
but for now I'll just wish I could be closer.
Closer than these laying hands entwined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~FIN~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Clint Eastwood and the Smoking Pistol Rider
-------------------------------------------
He croaks out dust motes with his speech
and wasp, and cactus, and tumbleweed.
He kicks up spiders when he steps
and sends insects to their deaths.
He cleans pistols before he sleeps
and oils boots, to coax out creaks.
He tramps through saloons to earn his keep
with poker chips, to buy his drinks.
He spears the bargirl with his piece
and leaves her in a drought for weeks.
He coils like gunmetal snake
and poisons those who'd lay his grave
with bullet outspray from his hip
and some timeworn, dry, harsh quip.
He'll bury bodies in the night
and wipe his brow by lantern light
that flickers as the full moon wanes
and casts fickle shadows on the plains.
And when up raises blistering sun,
he'll find his midnight work is done,
he'll gather up his horse and boots
and set a' riding towards the dunes.
Where he leaves a weaving trace
into the dirty western wastes
that test a man of all his mettle
or with god, his debts settle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sohcahtoa
-------------------------------------------
"We build up this world to hate it."
I'd imagine that to be the truth.
The simple fact is;
we can't determine just by looking.
I despise this concrete world,
but I love it just the same.
Every brick and pockmarked street of it.
And if I look at it just a little bit cockeyed,
I can see the grand design behind it all.
And that's enough to justify the prescence
of every heart that occupies it.
This world has more soul
than most of the people who live in it.
But that works, that's the beauty.
Beautiful things work beautifully.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Legerdemayn
-------------------------------------------
With a plain of dust beneath my feet
I walked, by thought consumed
and pondered I upon the chance
that I were else than first assumed.
How profound, if it were true
that I were someone else
and what a lie of grandest scope
indeed! To fool oneself!
A masterful deception planned
by noother rogue than he:
the very target of the ruse!
"Oh, the cleverness of me!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Gold a'Shining in Your Hair
-------------------------------------------
Oh pardon me, but have you seen
the much, much better part of me?
I had it when we parted, see,
but now it moves elusively.
The last I saw, it lingered near
the gold a'shining in your hair,
but then it flickered faintly there
and I observed it dissapear.
Observed it there,
it dissapeared.
Before then, it was hiding deep
inside your dreaming while you'd sleep.
And I made notes (and those I'll keep),
to determine wherein he'd creep.
I noticed this when you'd awake,
and retell dreams of wondrous scape,
the likes which ne'er 'fore would skate
within your thoughts (lest I mistake).
Wondrous scape,
lest I mistake?
And if I think much deeper still,
for in my findings, they do tell,
of where this most elusive fell,
and where then he must reside still.
Oh, pardon me, but I've just seen
the much, much better part of me,
it seems that ne'er parted, we;
that he still holds a place you see.
The best of me,
in you I see.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Saffron
-------------------------------------------
Well i've spent some nights alone now,
I'm not feeling that much better,
and I swear I've seen that second hand slow down.
My brain is getting stagnant
as it floats behind my eyeballs,
which watch the clocks all melting to the ground.
And I know the days get shorter
as we drift on through the year
like the leaves that leave all those green trees so bare.
But that doesn't mean I live less,
no, I try my very hardest,
'cause I've seen the end and don't want to go there.
Oh' the world makes less rotations
and the air gets that much colder
I've been scraping off the windows of my car.
But it's not like I could see much,
before this winter came,
and i don't expect that I will get that far.
Yea, I don't expect that I will get that far.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Displacing the Sun
-------------------------------------------
Come sit in my window,
window sill,
and let the sun
and your hair become one.
In the spray of light around you
the dust flies crazy
in efforts to displace itself,
dust motes tremble in your wake,
and the aftermath?
it looks like a halo,
or an aura.
It's a sure-fire way
to brighten a day
and the sun is a-shining,
so come to my window,
and sit on my window sill.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I Yearn to be Frozen 'till 2073
-------------------------------------------
The profoundest regret a man can ever hold in the pockmarks of his pockmarked heart is the deep and as-of-yet unavoidable regret of dying without ever seeing
the other side of:
the sun the stars the moon.
Yet if the other side were black
I'd gladly take my regret back
for I have seen the night each night;
the darkness held in day's respite.
I find that I would tire of all,
traverse back down that unlit hall,
and find myself at home once more;
of all that blackness I would bore.
This side is bright, that much I know
and the distance is far to go
and all to see a mirror of eve here?
Then my regret would be to leave here.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My Whiteboard Says I Hate You
-------------------------------------------
This is the red-day,
where passion holds tight,
never lets go,
never even loosens it's grip.
Red is always followed by black,
as blood always pours from holes
and eventually
those holes must
run dry.
Red is a day of wounds:
some in the name of love,
some for forgetting that name.
And red is always followed by black,
for the heart is but a hole
that has yet to run dry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Why is the Puget Sound so Quiet?
-------------------------------------------
Everything is very much more
beautiful in my mind,
it's like a book looking good when you read the title and the description inside,
only once you start reading it
you pull a: "wow this is rubbish".
I speak decrescendo,
and I know it's hard to notice
because it's over such a long measure,
but I assure you it is so.
I listened to Bright Eyes today,
and realized this is purity.
Or something like it,
and I'd liked to live pure
for a little while
and see how that treats me.
Bums live pure, it's all:
gotta live, gotta eat, gotta stay warm.
Makes you feel tarnished eh?
I feel like green copper.
And there's dynamite
behind my malachite eyes,
but not a one of you sees it,
even as close as you've got.
I could spin in circles,
dizzy it up,
spew,
and hit your sister,
and you'd chalk it up as
another day in the life.
You'd never talk to me of course,
but we know you,
deep down,
would understand.
If i took the time to speak the reason to you.
Reason like a razor blade,
who's only purpose is to cut things.
I'm charming, and I know it.
They call me Mr. Charisma.
Everyone.
except for Mr. One Purpose Razor Blade.
You can't use it for much else,
a conducting material maybe,
decoration i suppose,
okay so maybe it does have various uses.
But here we stick to the mainstream.
And ingenuity and integrity
are not the mainstream.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There are Ghosts in the Pavement
-------------------------------------------
In the headlights
the steam rising from
the freshly soaked asphalt
looked like ghosts escaping the earth.
Like roaches that run when light speaks.
It was unnerving,
and had I been driving
I would have crashed
from my exclusive attention,
watching this exhalation
of souls transpire.
Potholes shimmering
with the first rainfall
of the season
seemed as graves,
and I expected to see
somber sallow faces in each
as we rumbled over them.
The white glow of
halogen against
dead wet skin.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Replacing Roses on the Casket
-------------------------------------------
"Are you Cold?" I inquired. She nodded.
I offered her a swatch of flesh, for that was all I had.
A piece of me.
In exchange she offered me a smile, and I took it.
It lasted through the sunrise,
we lasted through the sunrise.
The day was spent nursing my wound in the hammock out back. In the sunlight.
I knew she'd passed when the empty patch
began to bleed again, my blood thinned out.
I found some comfort in blaming the orderly for it all. I laid the smile next to the swatch on her casket as they returned her to the earth.
I walked home in the pleasant spring breeze with my face black and gauze on my arm.
I lay in the hammock with a tear in my eye.
It lasted through the sunset.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shades of Gray
-------------------------------------------
shades of gray, shadows of real colors.
and all the little gray people long to be like those objects that cast them aside on walls and ceilings and floors whenever the light is on them.
but a shadow is as intangible as you can get, and we shadows can't manipulate our lives to become those colors we idolize.
ignorant to our state... we are doomed to always aspire to be something we can't,
and forget how important
a simple shadow can be.
shades of gray make up the universe that holds the colorful world. the world who's inhabitants we envy so much.
yet what we wouldn't give to usurp that position and be that which casts the shadows,
as opposed to the shadows themselves.
at least we have something to work towards.
red
blue
yellow
red
blue
green
orange
purple
yellow
orange
purple
green
white
gray
black
black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Broken Back Blues
-------------------------------------------
Listening to old tunes you tossed my way,
from discs with my name and your heart on them.
Marked with ink that long ago stopped reeking;
some of the discs won't play for me any longer.
I'm sitting back in my chair near the desk with your name carved in it.
I play the guitar.
I try to break away from the same two songs that aren't quite long or good enough to be songs.
They remind me of you.
I picked this up for you.
and...
30+ poems with your name between the lines.
One wall, one desk, six cds, one heart.
That last I gave myself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Afflicted Apperception Assembly
-------------------------------------------
Can you feel the echoes pass between us?
Like walls encase a canyon, we are distanced.
And I feel that breeze constantly remind me
that you are far too far to ever comfort me.
And I need that distance to close.
I cant stand the thought of you so far out,
I have to glance up skyward to see you now.
And it seems so far away, I'd walk days and days
and days, and never feel your embrace.
Can you close this distance darling?
Can you bring yourself to me?
My feet seem rooted in concrete,
I need someone to save me.
I feel hours pass like decades in a freezer,
the sun just pours with time, a humid heater
and I know that all this waiting while I sweat
is so damn far from being over yet.
And I need that distance to close.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Undercarriage
-------------------------------------------
The river under the earth
pours from a crevice in the rock
and washes across the undercarriage
of this vast pine tree land.
With downpour in the spring and autumn
it grows and toils to burden the world
with another jagged eroded hole
in her heart of stone
that will fill with crystal
when the hot red blood
that flows through her
flows through her
and sends the river
scattering particles
into the sky
through crevices in the rock.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perchance to Dream Anyone?
-------------------------------------------
The cascade mountains weigh heavy on my thoughts of late.
I contemplate the rain.
Theatres and coffee shops come to me in semi-lucid daydreams, places I used to go.
I regard the pine trees as lost friends, left behind and forced away from.
But the most well missed, I've noticed, is nothing of where I was raised.
Nothing of the land or cities.
Yet still, I long for her above all else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seafoam, Bottle One of One
-------------------------------------------
Dear bottle opener,
I'm tired of being caught up in this "memoria".
Swiftly jumping at the chance to batter myself.
The only light that summer brings is cast
upon images of the "eros" that peirced my heart.
And there are shadows thrown,
while glare on the filmy strips of purgatory burns,
(blissfully), my retinae.
i yearn for you above:
freedom,
lightshine,
blue skies,
shore side,
concrete,
sidewalks,
park benches,
heartbeat.
because with you there is no memory of:
roadside tree,
melted asphalt trail,
bike wheels spinning,
sweat pools,
clip pedals,
messenger bag,
lake side,
high deck,
sweet flowers,
mother's smiles,
future glimpses,
grave mistakes,
heartache,
repair,
rebirth,
reassurance,
reality,
relief.
Hence the need for your return.
A letter on the wind,
a rose in the grass,
a kiss in the shade,
and one response.
Respond post haste.
With most sincere affection,
The boy on the beach.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We Deliquesce
-------------------------------------------
Oh, this dust does settle on our aging flesh
and lightens our sun-darkened, liver-spotted complexions more than any drape or paint or fear of death could ever do.
The trembling in our troubled hearts does shake loose bones from their moorings and send teeth a-rattling and a-clanking in our speech parched mouths.
But that is the future and there is only fear in such foresight, only hesitation and anticipation and failure in such meanderings of the mind.
The day is now, and we must embrace it and seek to fill it with all that fills our nightly dreams, we must make this day glow from now 'til the dust coats our wrinkled shells.
Because when we are old and tired and have no more tomorrows to seek out and fill, and no more nightly dreams with which to fill them...
We tremble,
we pale,
we weep,
and ultimately,
we deliquesce.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sweet Southwestern Earth
-------------------------------------------
Rain falls on the parched southwest
as she tries to remain
as hard and dry and stubborn
as she has always been.
And if she has her way
she'll not accept a drop.
She'll keep her plains and
deserts dry and hot.
Well the skies keep getting darker
as does sweet southwestern earth
Yet she doesn't see the merit,
or what good ol' change is worth.
So she'll keep her head held high-up
as her hair is watered down.
And never accept change is coming
to her sweet southwestern ground.
But that's all she needs.
Oh oh why can't she see?
She just needs that change to come,
just needs a change to come.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Am I Just Real Estate?
-------------------------------------------
Water, electricity
both flow 'round inside of me
filling my spine with a
shudder and jolt each
time I am lonely or
lost in some agony
held in a trance by
some midsummer's tragedy
laid out in front of me,
held out for me to see and inspect
and gauge value of property.
It's the loneliest mess
that the market will ever see
and it will all sell for
dimebags and haypennies.
A witful remark earns you
points with the women,
who just won't go near you,
so: "good luck, go get 'em!"
A challenge I issue from
the seat of my vehicle
as I am moving at
the speed of a miracle.
It comes to a standstill,
the line I've been waiting in,
I'm used to the waste of time,
starved, I am getting thin.
I feel my bones push through
the skin that covers them:
Trying to free
the spirit held under them.
A spitter, a fighter,
and child unhindered,
lies deep in my core
like a lion or murderer
with fear in it's heart as
it's prison is realized
the strongest of killers
reminded of his small size
and placed in a cage
imagined or materialized.
And this is the ending
finality catches all
and leaves no survivors
just knowledge, subliminal.
And in the end,
desperation.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ocean Spray and Nicotine
-------------------------------------------
I find that when I breathe deep
it's ocean spray or nicotine.
Aye, one corrupts the other cleans;
I am composed of these two things.
Rain clouds cause me to debate
if being worldly's worth the weight.
~My roots yearn for this good day's drench
but if I starve them, else is quenched.
My vines and veins would all constrain:
clench tight in attempt to refrain
from facing night as Sol recedes
from ocean spray and nicotine.
Our sun finds when he breathes deep
it's ocean spray and nicotine.
One burns deep, another cleans;
but both are found inside of me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The King of Pagerland
-------------------------------------------
Ron Durgess, King of Pagerland:
salesman extraordinaire,
six foot two,
built like a tree trunk,
with sweat rolling down his spine like sap,
and shame in his furrowed brow.
He tied the thirteen loop tie
and dropped like a fading star towards the ground.
Spasms,
and the creaking of manila under stress.
When they cut him down they read the note,
And buried him, King of the Pager, under a humble blue stone head.
1984
Long live the king.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Poets Are Softspoken Gods of Creation
-------------------------------------------
The quasi-science of my thought process
convolutes the understood into
misunderstanding of oneself(myself)
until I am reduced, in this confusion
to a blithering rant(acious) bag of flesh.
"Rantacious".
Like a sunburst, the birthing of a star,
or the collapsing of a universe:
A word created sends a near cataclysmic reverberation of change through the universe.
Millions weep and die at the making
of such a thing.
For this, poets are gods:
somber gods of the unity's most sacred, archaic, and powerful of things.
Words: which level cities, destroy worlds, their civilizations, and their people.
Even if spoken softly.
Even if never spoke at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your Lungs are Water Containers
-------------------------------------------
"Is this the drop off?" i asked her.
....
there was no response,
she was gone,
i knew as much,
and i knew nothing
would choke an answer from the darkness.
i contemplated wildly what might become
of me if i went looking,
but realized the effort was futile...
i filtered the sand between my toes and knew one step more meant i would become intimate with the black abyss below.
plate movements below the rumbling crust of this earth had made this place long before the sand i stood in had been born.
i was ready.
i lifted one foot from the fluid sand
below the water,
i saw my pale knee flash up above the
blind point in the water,
and when it came down again,
a step ahead,
a final step,
i tumbled forward.
my last thought was:
"please let me wash ashore
in some distant place".
and then blue oblivion engulfed me.
there was cold beneath the
eerily calm salt water.
cold and blue,
then black and salt stinging my eyes.
i phased out.
the dreams lasted a lifetime,
then my brain realized it was short of oxygen, it tried to panic,
but the thick cloud of pleasant illusions kept it stifled, silent, and i passed without so much as a rush of adrenalin.
and that was that.
my body washed up on some distant shore.
and sand stuck to the skin until it
decayed like any other
sea-creature on the beach would.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SOGV2 (Light Travels in Waves)
-------------------------------------------
shades of gray,
shadows of real colors.
and all the little gray people
long to be like those objects that cast them aside,
cast them abroad haphazardly,
unknowing, not a care for our comfort:
they cast us on a whim:
on walls and ceilings and floors, whenever the light is on them.
but a shadow is as intangible as you can get,
and we shadows can't manipulate our lives,
can't become those colors we idolize.
we are ignorant of our true state...
we are doomed to always aspire to be something we can't,
and forget how important a simple shadow can be.
shades of gray make up the universe
that holds the colorful world,
the world who's inhabitants we envy so much.
our intagible existance holds them steady.
but they take our shaded forms for granted.
oh, what we wouldn't give to usurp that position,
to be that which casts the shadows
as opposed to the shadows themselves.
at least we have something to work towards.
we work to break down the spectrum.
white
orange
purple
yellow
red
blue
green
gray
black
black.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Capyche (OfASpectrumSpecific)
-------------------------------------------
Wondering what connection to home I have;
stranded in this bleakly kaleidoscopic place.
Berated by another teal torrent from the skies,
whilst jagged bolts of electricity pierce nigrescent clouds.
It's drowning day on the chartreuse fields,
and the dead, remnants of a carmine war,
are washed away: sallow face and all.
The leaves of violaceous shrubs are rended,
and only the most stubborn of the ochre trunked,
fruit-bearing trees stay strongly rooted in the loamy mahagony soil.
I'm in wonder at this place:
this viridian skinned planet.
Yet find it homely compared to my own:
a sapphire sphere.
And though my spirit is weighted by loneliness:
I know no matter where I go, my heart is always Red.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Servings Per Container: 16
-------------------------------------------
They drank all the chocolate milk.
It was creamy and smooth and sweet,
made to be devoured straight from the carton.
Though I had ten times my share
I'm still infuriated,
because they drank the bottom drops
and I wanted them.
It was delicious milk.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Drive Home
-------------------------------------------
i wore a feather in my hat,
you wore a flower in your hair.
and i guess you didn't know,
but i know i didn't care.
and the nightlife has betrayed us,
and your flower blew away,
and the only thing that's stable
is my feather, which will stay.
but through the rolled down window,
i feel the frigid wind picking up,
and i'm feeling mighty cold now,
even with this steaming cup.
and i'm slowly sipping coffee,
while you're slowly nodding off,
and i feel the feather work loose
every time i have to cough.
and i think i'm getting sick now,
i'm getting sick of you,
maybe from the heartache,
or maybe from the view.
but i know it's rolling downhill,
and it's quickly gaining speed,
and i'm looking between every line
for a message i can read.
you are stone cold on the outside,
and this betrayal's gotten old,
i'm taking you for silver,
but once thought that you were gold.
and i'm spitting out my teeth now,
jarred loose from metaphoric blow,
and of all the things i'm wishing,
i just wish that you would go.
we've been stuck for forever
and the snow keeps falling down
and i haven't seen a sign of life;
we are miles out of town.
and the last place i can stand to be
the worst spot to spend the night
is: the passenger seat of this car,
with you next to me all night
and the flower fallen from your hair
has started to decay.
and the snowfall has diminished
and it's more now like a spray.
and the scent is getting stronger,
and my eyes are swelling shut,
and i'm starting to feel uneasy
there's a squirming in my gut.
so let's get the hell out of here
this night's gone on for days.
i cannot wait to end it
i can't wait to part our ways.
'cause the tension's getting stronger
and my feelings can't hold tight.
and if there is no resolution,
there is bound to be a fight.
so fight for resolution,
or find a better way.
but either way, just open up,
and say what you said you'd say.
or the night will never conclude,
and then i'll fall apart,
it's just part of my character
to have an end to what i start.
and the ball is in your field now,
and it's been there for a while,
so stop your stalling soon,
and don't you dare start with denial.
'cause it's stalling that you're doing,
you've been doing it all along
and i kinda feel like i'm the only one
who thinks that it is wrong.
so speak your mind or close your mouth,
i've had it, yes i'm through.
i'm sick of all these day dreams
with the star role played by you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dress(TheCosmosAsOurWardrobe)
-------------------------------------------
I love it when you wear your moonshadow dress;
it brings out the worst in me.
I loosen my sunbeam tie when you come near.
Black velvet shadows on your curves, cast by moonlight.
You said:
"I love you in your smooth starshine suit"
But baby,
you're wearing your meteor dancing shoes,
while trying to run me out.
Goodness knows you're a graceful dancer:
Pirouetting along the Milky Way in that aurora-silk dancer's skirt.
Despite this pleasant, star-spattered view, I'm getting homesick:
your supernova eyes have been distracting me for lightyears now.
So run me out and chase my stardust footprints;
I can hide on the bright side of the moon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cinnamarillion Rose
-------------------------------------------
The moon sets high
in the light blue sky,
a rose-tint sets down below.
And cinnabar fringes
highlight black-tree hinges
that connect to the world that we know.
The sun floats adjacent
to the morning-moon's placement,
(it's as tranquil as it is bright).
And over the mountains
hang dark colors, like fountains
as remnants, spilt over from night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5am
-------------------------------------------
5am,
and nothing is on but the static sunrise.
it almost feels like sandpaper,
and the birds chirp like a dusty alarm clock...
aggravated blue sky
and silhoutte tree-tops.
a nighttime trip,
and the daylight's coming up quick
and i can see the city lighting up,
its christmas time on a summer morning,
and nothing is on but a static sunrise
and that dusty alarm clock sound...
it's 5am
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Good Riddance and Goodbye
-------------------------------------------
I hate the way you're going,
but I guess you've got to go.
I wish you didn't have to leave,
or at least not half as slow.
Love works funny ways,
but do you see me laughing now?
My heart is breaking slowly,
ever since I said "get out."
Your eyes won't even meet mine,
no, they only meet the floor.
And I just can't help thinking,
as you get nearer to the door:
~"I'm never going to see you again,
no, I'm never going to see you again."
Good riddance and goodbye
and goodbye and goodbye.~
You said you loved me deeply,
but your heart made not a beat.
But I'll be damned if I'll be
the one leaving in defeat.
I said I hated no one,
but you're getting pretty close.
And even through this heartbreak
I feel relief at this close.
So pack your heart and pack your bags,
go ravage someone else.
I hate the way you've treated me,
and I hope you hate yourself.
This chapter comes now to it's end,
not happy like we'd hoped.
And my only thoughts about you now,
are hanging from a rope.
Still I hate the way you're going,
but you've really got to go.
And I wish you'd leave much faster,
'cuz you're killing me too slow.
And the only thing I'm hoping now,
the last thing on my mind,
The final thought of you (i hope)
and the last message I can find:
~"I hope I never see you again,
yes, I hope I never see you again."
Good riddance and goodbye
and goodbye and goodbye
and
Good riddance and goodbye
and goodbye and goodbye and goodbye~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Scrapbook
-------------------------------------------
nothing but condensation as far as the eye can see,
the cold front moves in from the west,
the chill is too much to bear.
can you sing with me a little ditty,
about this foggy field in the city,
damp with rain and runoff,
city sweat?
i guess it's just too much to ask,
i know you wont forget my past.
and those streetlights south of our positions
seem miles away in these conditions
if we ran, i think we would make it,
our bodies can handle cold, they'll take it.
but for now let's stand alone,
and covered in the prickling fog.
i hope the pictures that you're taking
turn out well enough for making
memories.
maybe those will last much longer
than the fog and cold.
can you sing with me a ditty
about this foggy field in the city,
soaked with rain and runoff,
city sweat?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Apostrophe
-------------------------------------------
The sky is a purplish-gray,
and tastes like something sweet.
It's ever so cold out there,
but I'm bundled up inside, inside.
The purple flavor will stick to my fingers,
but I don't mind one bit.
It's every bit as wonderful
as the kiss that happened under.
I'll wipe my fingers clean
with my mouth*.
*Who finds himself addicted to the flavor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From Point A
-------------------------------------------
It was a long time ago, but I remember.
Somebody said in the midst of our fight:
"the only way to get out of this is to give in"
I didn't understand just what they meant,
but I knew it was something to ponder.
Then life flew by and left me behind,
I found myself in a passenger seat at 18
going somewhere unimportant.
I caught a glimpse of the message
in a rearview mirror
as someone I'd known forever
drove me to point B.
And I understood a little better what they meant back then.
You can't break the mold without applying pressure,
you can't overcome the monotony without succumbing to insanity.
And I suppose losing control is always good,
if you're willing to maintain a little control over the madness.
It makes you appealing.
I wonder if I appeal to you.
I wonder if I'll break the mold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a Parking Lot
-------------------------------------------
In raindrop downpour
we are safe in a glass and metal, wheeled house.
The heat is on to keep your fingers warm
and the glass is covered in fingerprints and artwork,
shoeprints linger from lazy days.
I've worked many hours in this place with you,
this is where we shared intentions with one another.
When in motion, our hands lay clasped on the division
between the seats.
Now we sit in laughter, and I set my cheek against
your arm out of necessity.
I crave a closeness.
If there were some other way, I'd risk it,
but for now I'll just wish I could be closer.
Closer than these laying hands entwined.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~FIN~