Go On.

Scratch every single thing
That ever held meaning
Swipe away the empty words
All Ive said and all Ive heard
Make it rain with truthfulness
Wash the stain of uselessness
I dont need the toxic lies
The well concealed goodbyes
Its all a joke told cruelly
Behind the trusting back of me
Just go on and get in line
And take your place in kind
Youre all the sorry same
Point fingers and place blame
In the face of reality
Incapable of solidity
Its like a giant oozing wound
Stitches opened far too soon
Im alone in the responsibility
Of letting mutants close to me
Days and nights between
The lies fed forcefully
I vomit each and every breath
Until nothingness is all thats left
Go on.
Go live your life.

Timepress.

 Do you remember the days of Sand, when we met?

How the stars above were filled with awe…

And the sun shone brightest upon YOU and ME,

All bestowed with the blessings of Ra.

For OURS was a union, never foreseen,

Not by my Master, not by your Queen;

A bond of all lifetimes,

It turned the kindest man green.

While the Bronze days that followed,

Never quite had the feel of tomorrow

Bore secrets and legends made of victories and sorrow…

Shared by the trace of a bloodline

So ancient to this present space and time;

But YOU and I can still taste the flesh upon which we dined…

It is gone but not lost on the time we have borrowed.

So confusing, this fear pent up full inside here,

And the pangs have gotten stronger

I know YOU are near…

To find YOU again in an Iron of times

Has long sent the mysteries of the dead up my spine

Just to lose YOU once more in the throes of my mind…

The journey thus has been so unkind, so untrue to this soul of mine.

I reach for you now

Because I feel you there once more

Unsure and afraid of what you’ve come back to reach for,

But most certain that I can’t set these fires anymore.

Your soul knows all that will be, or has been,

Has it truly been written in limestone and sand grain?

That your return will be a mockery of destiny’s reunion…

 How many centuries have we buried in this sand?

Repeat the beat upon my chest for taking your shaking hand,

once again, we face each other for another final stand,

the sweetest of sauce,

can’t ease such a loss of such an elusive man.

Banners High.

I want to sleep so that I can dream…
And be there with him once again;

My fingers intertwined like vines,
Inside of his fingers, gripping strong,

Inside of the safety,
To which I know I belong…

So many signs, banners flying high,
Snapping tight;

His voice carries over the wind to my ear…
Reminding me again, I have nothing to fear;

My memories have faded some,
Inside my mind, slipping away,

From my recollections,
Of days like yesterday…
So much time, years slipping right on by,
Stacking upright;

But the memory within the entrusted heart…
That its heavy beats cannot break apart;

Keeps his fingers intertwined with mine,
Locked within a Love-Forged tomb, eternally,

Inside of an impenetrable vault,
Residing deeply within me…

So many words of mine and yours, they were not lies,
Frozen airtight.
Just listen to your heart, my Dear…

I assure you it’s my promise you will hear;
I have held your hand always, this way,

Inside of mine, unrelenting over time,
Through the tribulations,
Combined, at least ten digits, intertwined…

So many fires burned, to dry up every fallen tear,
Tonight.

The “Whyer” (An Un-Secret Chronicle).

Toilet Seats and Vaseline.

 

In spite of the obvious answer to such wonderment, the young S was always genuinely shocked by the amount of time that she and her best friend spent in the dreary realm of “consequence” that one must visit upon being caught and deemed guilty of a thing; and her honest queries regarding this topic had J in regular meditation surrounding the (now, un-secret) adventures of she and her playmate.
S was a “why-er”; she was never satisfied with the answers that adults gave her on any subject, having been born deeply embedded with the distrust of the world’s top Conspiracy Theorists.
While daydreaming in after-school-detention (an almost daily trifle in their juvenile lives, Monday through Friday), S had the tendency to ponder she and J’s being there on the deepest of levels, following up the thinking spell by writing a four-page summary of her opinions on the scenario, crumpling the two sheets of paper into a hopelessly ink-smeared ball; and then, proceeding to chuck it at a professional baseball pitcher’s speed from across the room to J.
Once, upon being given an unsatisfactory answer (about the original scout of Mount Rainier) from an adult at a holiday party thrown by J’s somewhat uppity grandmother, S took a poll among the rest of the guests present, and had calculated and announced its results (which were, I should add, NOT in the favor of the original adult answer-giver, after all) before the party’s conclusion. S didn’t gloat, however.
It was times such as these that J wondered to herself in earnest:
How old will S and I be when we land ourselves in the slammer?
So it went, that through the childhood years of these two uniquely blended souls, and without fail, each and every time that the two of the youngsters found themselves in trouble, and subsequently paying the consequences or making amends for said trouble, J would find herself under a barrage of verbal bullets in the form of inquiries surrounding the miserable circumstances. It isn’t as if the S’ huge arsenal of ever-replenished appendages to the bottom line question of “why” bothered J; in fact, without the company of her best friend during her younger years of Life, J most certainly would have grown up to be much different in character and disposition, as S’ perpetually running interrogations undoubtedly molded J into the opinionated and exacting person she is, ever stimulated by the tickling in her young brain by S in this way.
It worked both ways, too; as S spent her time feeling an innate sense of alarm and impending danger at all times, as a direct result of the friendship shared between them. Hyper-vigilante S was always a little over-protective of dreamy J, and continues to be to this day; but during the days of their youth, the one always harbored a compelling notion of security towards the other. From the outside looking in on the girls’ connection, it certainly appeared a strange combination of traits that held the two girls so closely bound to one another, being as night and day different as they were.
For instance, S has the personality of a chucker, and resorted almost instantly to fist fighting (or worse) on the playground when she was faced with opposition of any kind (withstanding that of her beloved J); plotted hideously diabolical schemes, and launched the most elaborate of hoaxes and pranks against their natural childhood enemies when called to action. J, on the other hand, was much more apt to being soft and tended to shy away from confrontation, preferring to logically figure out the root cause of any differences that arose between her and others. There had been many times that after walking away from a situation that J was certain she had successfully hashed-out with a peer on the playground, only to be informed that the very same student had come by some horrible “accident” in the aftermath. A tell-tale sign of S’ inevitable involvement was the fact that during these particular instances, not a single “why?” was muttered to J in the whispered conversations that came in their wake.
The result of such variances in personality and behavior between the girls became the rough outline of the solid bond that can be observed today. Where many young children who foster un-becoming friendships during the years in Life when one is still uncertain of one’s own preferences, tend to grow out of such a role by high school, J and S honestly seemed to not notice the blaring contrast between them. The years passed by with only the pains and struggles of the Outside World touching the girls; and the cushion between the two of them, an element that allowed them to just “be” with each other, never softened or faded or burned out. If anything, the enchanted web woven throughout the days lived by them only served to strengthen and protect them from the Outside World and its never-ending stream of hardships.
In summary, the terrifyingly alert and disturbingly cool S that currently walks around scaring the Hell of people and totally lacking any verbal or mental filter, whatever, actually has a much more calm and nurturing side than most might suspect. J smiles to herself even now; to think of the handfuls of times that little S looked up at her so curiously and asked,

Why?”

Hangman’s Blood.

He sat, legs out-stretched;
his drink, known as Hangman’s Blood…
he wore exhaustion…

“I’m a Jar-head, Babycakes…”
blue diamond eyes, a match strikes;
“Of course I still smoke…”

sports bright twinkly stars,
eyes: adorned by shrapnel scars…
lives for deployment…

he carries no clue;
beyond decorative brass…
of how deeply he is adored…

A career Sand-Tank Gunner;
my first Love, look at you now…
I still see so much fire in you.

Pinky Fingers in a Champagne Tub.

They took my finger,
it was the right-hand runt;
they chopped it clean off
and cauterized the stump;
I couldn’t believe it,
even as I sweat and bled;
while they closed my wound
I  brooded on my pinky, instead;
And when the shock wore off,
and they dumped me down the block;
I came with my remaining four,
pounding on your secret door;
Where did they take your finger?”
you demanded to find out;
hell-bent on reconnoitering,
racked your rounds and bombed out;
You returned with twenty seven;
pinky fingers in a champagne tub,
you held it out in front of you;
an offering of my murderous Coconut;
I crushed through pink ice cubes and fingers,
but not one of them was mine;
I stared at my heavily bandaged hand,
and you said, “We’ll get it next time…

Min Ven.

night horse

A Toast
from one dead soldier,
to another –
cheers
from one dawning sun,
to the moonlight –
let’s get fucked up tonight;
this life’s been hard,
hard as fuck to survive,
skål
let the tears fall,
my friend –
we’ve been
through it all;
fighting back to back,
through the fires
of living Hell…
seën
to all of our times alive,
to our many defeated
victories stacked up high;
velsigne dig
a key that we found
in the enemy’s pocket,
a while back –
we both knew what it unlocked,
and so it was tossed
into a well as we passed;
min ven:
Moenie bang wees nie,
this too, shall pass us by –
like the many storms weathered
between you and I,
you will keep walking,
right here at my side,
and I shall abide.

day horse