All this time
then and now
been building up
been grinding teeth
been stomping feet
been digging holes
with an upward swing
eating poisonous thorns from trees
like it’s sugarcane
with Mexico’s best peyote
cigars and syringes
somewhere out there
fathomed too deep
where I hardly sleep
but my eyes stay closed
my mouth remains sewn
over words of my own
this place is forsaken
this space can’t be taken
the loose change shaken
from the secret pockets
sewn inside my cheeks.
What do you do when the knowledge finally seeps through?
Can you enjoy your freedom with the enslaved watching you?
What do you do when you have too many mountains to move?
Will you dirty your own hands trying to dig up the truth?
Can you worry about only the things that you pick and choose?
The trivial nuisance of something like gum on your shoe,
the convivial looseness of someone who means nothing to you;
What do you do when the call has rung loudly through?
Can you hurry out and scream about things you must do?
Will you fizzle out and fade away like so many before you?
What do I do when it’s time to reach out and grab onto,
The material rips, my fingers stick with pin pricks of VooDoo,
the unusual fits that linger and stick in the thick of the shit you do.
You say you’d never want to be
part of the darkness that envelopes me
You announce in your full capacity
How you’d hate to make me a memory
You mark up my skin with your teeth
You freeze time to sit with me silently
You say you’d never want to see
A future now, if it’s without our thing
And the closeness leaves a sting
My face burns and my ears scream
that future flashes in dashes and smoke rings
another party self-crashes to ashes, smoldering
We had spent all of ‘eternity’,
as we both knew the word to be,
swaying in time to a ticking,
the archaic music of a dying breed,
a mixture of feelings,
stacked up to the ceiling,
the shift in direction so subtly,
akin to the route of my thinking,
I define what is the lonely,
unyielding and unbending,
I despise my own tale’s ending,
tired of telling the story,
full of guts and seeking glory,
I will seek for all my days,
I will break for my own sake,
you can’t console me,
you won’t be able to hold me,
I seem to slip on through,
no stitching remains rip-free,
tears up and along the seam,
those same old railroad tracks to my dreams,
I shake awake too late to warn you,
we’ve already gone,
you and me.
(Yes, I think I totally made up that word up there ^ …. whatever)
Wound up and down
in a knot strong and sound
this knot won’t come unwound;
swirls the noise of defeat
bound like rope to my feet
in the eyes of this injured beast;
Given sometimes to perplexing fits
driven through tried and true bullshit
just glad to be as far away as I can get.
What’s a young life that’s been checked and abused,
just naturally expected to someday evolve into?
Is it possible that most people don’t have a clue?
But then, how could they feel the fit of my shoes?
It seems probable that those who life’s been good to,
with the spring in their’ steps as they walk down the avenue,
will each live and die miles from any Life that is true,
without walking the line down hard times, blind to virtue.
Because, what’s an old girl supposed to do,
at the appearance of that elusive “moment of truth”?
When the truth doesn’t seem to at all recognize you,
and instead, fills your head and keeps lying to you.