Monday, June 29, 2009

Shooter

They exist in their own bucket reality
Where man is a monkey
And the monkey is a child with
A handgun

“Our men are on it
We’ll have this all
Straightened out by
Tomorrow, I hope”
But the portal’s far too big
Too far ahead
And there’s something making its way
Around through flecks of shadow
So troubled
So anxious
As are we

Whose ignorance will pull the trigger this time

Our hearts said no
Our souls said no
Our minds said no
Even that split-second reaction before thought kicks in
Screamed NO
So why are we still wondering
Where we went wrong
All your friends for this scoured
Peel of grits and
Irritable but endurable
Sociopolitical ingrowth

I’m already marked
So I’ll seize the pistol
Knowing you’d never
Fire anyway
Thumbing the cylinder
It's not even loaded
Somehow I doubt
For the lack of bullets

You always got your man
You just never had to do it yourself
before now

(Oh, how a very literal dream can become such an allegory. Sheesh.)

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Opalescent

You broke me out of one
Simple standard
To force me onto
(In Indian style
All the while)
Any other cliché
One for the other
It’s not okay
But I’ll endure
It’s my middle name

Where have we heard that one before

Whatever happened to sincerity
Does it really come in exchange for
Manhood?
Nobody wants a sacrifice
It’s even worse than
Picking sides
Nobody cares for the ineffectual
Loser
He’s useless as the

Blank, blank page
Blank, blank screen
All these dots and squiggles
All these pretty/ugly people
Selling you things you could never need
Create the problem, hand out the solution
Cheap as free

I want to bare teeth
Like a tree bears fruit
Not a perfect white
But blinding enough to kill you
If I wanted to
But I don’t want to
I just want us off our asses
And into the sunlight
Hot and festering
the entire way

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

To Do 2

-More with two or three completely different focuses. Some may call unfocused; challenge that notion.
-Minimal. Lose leeching articles.
-Take "form" seriously. May feel like example of style over substance. Humor it.
-Speaking form: syllable-centric lines and stanzas. Things people generally don't notice, but more rewarding to investigative reader.
-Points are great in their own right. Make some more reader interpretative.

-Any idea that feels/sounds ridiculous, explore before discarding.

Just Like So Much...

I want to give you so much shit
But what's my problem
At least you're pursuing some cause
What the hell am I doing?
Maybe I'm just jealous

What the hell do I believe in?
Art?
Even then I still scoff
at 90% of it
Like do they have it or
are they pretentious idiots?
What makes me the authority?
Just breathing?
It's not enough

I want to give you so much shit
But I already give myself plenty
For so much as thinking it

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Last Asteroid

Static in the sidewalk cracks
I see you stirring as energy
Synergistic slow-motion
Always certain to evade the ghost
And as you reach stair-steps
And splinter
One billion shards of light and glass
Till they coat the screen
Fade out

Fade in
Key autumnal music
The middle of summer
Leaves loosen, fall
Red, yellow, but habitually
In brown
Feet, off-screen
Crush leaves
One billion pieces
Become liquid
Bleeding into the cement

Junkie spaceman
Alone in rocket ship
Coming down from
Last tick
Time passes
Weeks, months
Shudders
In cold sweat
Shaking hungrily
From withdraw
Stares out window
Porcelain earth
Reaches with finger
Touches
Shatters
One billion pieces
Acerbic

Saturday, June 20, 2009

Calabria

I’m spending all this time
Blacking out faces
The feeling underneath is verbatim
With the one that I made up
I live inside

If I survive this summer
I’ll write and tell you how it went
As if you (or anyone) wants to
Hear me complain
As if any of us changed
In the way we wanted
Regardless
You’re for the better
I’ll always be worse

I’m sorry I couldn’t make
Your graduation
I’ll probably miss your wedding
And funeral too
That is of course if I
Hang around longer
Not very likely
And you probably won’t
Remember the promise we made
when we’re 72

I’m spending all this time
Watching you “grow up”
But we’re already grown up
Yours just happened
I don’t think I’ll ever feel like I did ---
Ya know? ---
It's something deep down there
In the gut

Thursday, June 18, 2009

What do I pay you for your lies?
Is it free of charge or clocked by time
For a minute flat you can make me smile
But in seconds on the corners dull
What do I pay you for your love?
Is it all made up or do you feel something
Do I shake you from the inside
Or is that all faked surprise
What do I pay you?
Even when you’re not asking
Deep down you’re praying
Spewing your bullshit even through your eyes
Was it all an act when we made love?

What do I pay you for your boredom?
God knows I never piqued your mind
Even when I tried to pull you
Every white laugh was a tug at truth

What do I pay you for your lies?
What the hell was ever real with you

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Dreams of the Southern Branch

(this one started out as a song... actually, it still is a song, i just need to get back into writing music.)

Did it feel like you thought it would
When they made you a wind and buried you in it
What did you expect with my
Armchair strategy, did you think we might actually win this?

All dressed up
In your apocrypha
Your hypocrisies
Do they fit right

All dressed up
In your best gown
You think they’ll let you
Drown down with it

Do you feel like you thought you would
In the middle of the street blocking traffic
Did you expect with my
Armchair strategy, that it would somehow soften the bullet?

All dressed up
In your apocrypha
Your lovelorn addiction
They don’t quite fit right

All dressed up
In your biggest fantasies
You know they’ll still wanna kill us
When we’re already dead

Even though I’m not a part of this
Even though I never asked for this
Why does it still surprise you when
I say I’m sorry, what can I do
Do what I can to get us through this
We’re in too deep now to ever quit
Why does it still bother you when
I say don’t worry, we’ll do something

All dressed up
In our apocrypha
We’ll go down shooting
If we won’t be heard

What did you expect with
My armchair strategy
That when it came to summer
We’d fly back with the birds

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Somnambulance Pt 7

She stuck out like a thore sumb
Red yellow and torn around the nail
Chewed at and spit out
It must have cost her everything
She was old now
Older than I expected
It had only been ten years

Although a decade is actually
a relatively long time
It never feels like it though

The first thing she did
Was kick me in the face
And send a few teeth flying
As I sat there swearing
Spitting up bits of blood
And wondering what I'd done
Suddenly I found myself bothered
That now I'd look like one of
those hicks with no teeth
I hated that it bothered me
It didn't matter right now
What were a few teeth
Compared to my life

Surprisingly she held her
hand out and hoisted me up
And as we sat in silence
at the giant cafeteria table
she asked me if I was okay
and said she'd mistaken me for
someone else

Teeth kicked out for looking
like someone else
Why couldn't I look like a celebrity
and be asked for an autograph instead

I needed her help
so I tried to remain polite about it
But I couldn't help but want to ask
Was she going to pay my dental bill too?

Monday, June 8, 2009

Basilica in Blue

she screamed
skeleton key
torn free from
her breast
dead sentries chant
beneath the cold cement
pews stacked
windows slick with half-
evaporated lacquer
dust covers leave
no trace of the lives
they once led

i'm taking it with me
the story's for no one
to learn from
to learn to love
just a selfish deviance
directed toward
these fiends in shadow's length

stoop is crooked
stoop is bent
chandelier clear
of melted candle wicks
timpani plays the heartbeat
to the soul of the
blackened furnace

i'm taking this with me
i'll run to the doors
and i'll lock the doors
on my way out
what's meant to be kept in
will be kept within mine instead

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Fuck You

you don't care what i have to say
because you don't care period
and i'm not going to stand up
and be your precious white knight
no matter how much moral support
i have behind me

see, you buried yourself
and you can't dig yourself out
and you want help, so much help
but all you've got in return is hate

death pumps heavy through your veins

see, i don't ask for any restitution
but i can't consider you anymore
for every little scrap i try to save myself
to simply survive the night

see, i'm not old
but i'm just as tired
and i'm tired of crying over
your already corpse still in spasms

if you're going to die
go die in some hole where
i won't have to hear it
and cheer up in your final complacency
knowing i was just as screwy as you
just in different places

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Lola Castradora

No balls/If I have anything to say/Then I can't get behind it/
I want to say something striking/That's not laced with expletives/
I want to tell you I want you/but what's that worth

What's ever worth it

No guts/It goes from my stomach/Straight to my bowels/then
waits/Little oily pools of/gestated gesticulated waste/poking,
peering out of place

I wish I was a woman/So I could say these things/And someone
would care/But if I was a woman/I wouldn't say these things

So instead I sit
and watch you climb out the window
and fall five hundred stories
to concrete
and still laugh
when you hit
saying "Come on down.
the weather's great."
But I'm stuck
And the biggest part of me
Deep down, the only part that matters
Wants it this way
Because it's easier
And the sun isn't always yellow
But it isn't always burning my skin either

No balls to speak of/Maybe I should just get it over with/and
paint my nails/the brightest shade of pink available

I wish I were a woman/so I could kiss you/and we'd laugh about
it/then still be friends

You say things that make me feel so small
I want to crawl inside your head and steal it
I want to own you
But can never say it
Because it's this seeming impossibility
On the concrete path you're always landing

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Movie Dialogue #19

“You know what? It’s not even that guy. Fuck that guy for sure… but it’s not even him. He’s just the asshole, the catalyst. That’s what they’re there for… But it’s not what kills me... What kills me is the old ladies that all look alike and all act alike and at one point you’re just like ‘oh, I just saw you a dozen times already today.' And they write their goddamn checks because they don’t grasp the concept of a debit card. ‘People that use credit cards don’t have money.’ A debit card is not a fucking credit card...! And I don’t even hate them. 90% of them are nice and smile and say thank you and say shit like ‘I really appreciate it’ because they think everyone complains to you. Everyone doesn’t. And it’s not just the old ladies, it’s the people that slide their cards wrong, or dig for change, or give you a thousand coupons, and they apologize, they are really truly fucking sorry about it too. But also it’s the fucking sports, it’s the fucking weather, it’s the bullshit... Oh and they’re nice too, usually... It’s just the job that’s a fucking joke. It’s the job. All it takes is the rare asshole to help you realize it. He’s the one that wakes you up. And you know what? I thank that guy. Because I kept telling everyone I was looking for something else, some beautiful job in the sky where I don’t have to deal with these boring fucking schmoes. But I’m not. I have nothing else and I don’t know how to get anything else. And you know what? I’ll probably just go home and cry and sleep and wait a week or two to get my ass out of bed and go look for an equivalent shit job. Because it’s all that I can get because it’s all that I’ve--- Anyway, thanks for being a friend here. But I doubt I’ll see you again. Nite.”