Sinking Me.

Have you ever felt its slice? …
Never seen the flash of light? …
Weren’t you there –?
a winding road up –
to absolutely nowhere…
indulge me with your disguise;
who is to say
stupid or wise? –
I’d made up my weary mind,
treading circles in square boxes
has been suiting you just fine;
I got up off my knees,
walked away
no goodbye –
I haven’t the energy, or time;
My darling, it’s gotten old,
tired and spent
like a tooth filled with gold;
soft enough to give with force,
and allow its form to shape new mold,
but too hardened at the edges,
scarred deeply
by tragedy –
carved in her skin in big bold;
the slice that you refuse to see,
the load you aren’t willing to pull
in turn with me,
You’re sinking me.

Since You Asked.

The very time when

you came lumbering in

the dizziness began

my head wanted to swim,

 

a spank on a slippery butt-cheek

swallowed by lust, immediately

happy to thrust myself on your feet

an instantaneous subservient deed,

 

I suffered fits of double vision

a drunken, poisoned intuition

intoxication of the madly driven

strained my ears to better listen,

 

I entertained thoughts of you and me

while I sat in the corner so quietly

watching how you were successfully

strong-arming me, telepathically,

 

I swooned at your easy speech

I ached for your hands to dominate me

I would’ve begged, just as easily

you struck me most exceptionally,

 

all I will as say to what we became

how I never tire of screaming your name

You’ve said I’ve proven impossible to tame

and that was no matter, it’s all in the game,

 

you know I’m fragile and broken to bits

it never stops you from handling shit

when it comes to me, you still so “do it”

there it is: I dare you to chew it up and swallow it.

 

 

 

Dark Heart of Me.

I have these dawning moments when:
everything around me tightly closes in
tunneled down by a tornado’s spin –
and at end of the tunnel –
lies the booming realization;
I have these dulled down memories:
so very many once meaningful things
carved, imparted on the dark heart of me –
but I have let them fade away –
no new recollections to retrieve;
I know of some of the sacred divinities:
many of the Elders have shown me things;
drawn like a map midst the Mysteries –
however, any mystery is gone –
what fills its place, tastes despicably;
I live midst a sense of danger and doom:
like a shadow cast down by a permanent gloom
no matter where I go, it’s with me in the room –
it’s impeded upon and seeded a part of me –
not likely to change back again anytime soon;
I display a die-hard tendency:
hardens the hardness of the people I see;
deepens the darkness of the world around me –
 yet, I lead all the horses down to water –
and wait there until each one drinks;
I am modified by the things that I’ve survived:
skin on my body from cells that weren’t mine;
ears pinned to my head for a while, like Frankenstein –
these things were never easy on me –
but they’ve sure made me feel alive.
I try my best to remember to look ahead:
to not get myself tangled in the ‘said and done’ web
not to worry about what he or she might have said –
no matter what anyone will try to contrive –
we’re each just another day closer to ending up dead.

Open-Ended Places.

I dreamed again last night
of your younger life
of visions I saw
when things were alright
when the future ahead
was laid out, bathed in light
and the time hadn’t yet come
to hold my own defeat tight
I dreamed of open ended places
where anything stood possible
in its own living right
I dreamed again of nothing
but bathing you in sunlight
and opening the doors
that you’ve kept closed in life
I dreamed again of motherhood
in a victorious bond held high
I dreamed of never knowing you
as you’ve come to slice my pride
I dreamed again of rescuing you
from the darkness where you reside
and redressing wounds, unhealed
wiping blood from those beautiful eyes
I dreamed again of your newborn face
and all the promise inside if your smile
I awoke on fire and screaming aloud
a visit from my long-lost child.

On Being Sad A Lot.

Dark sunglasses,
vascular molasses,
paper-thin translucence,
subdermal interference,
veiny designed limbs,
bear the marks of him,
carved perpetually,
onto the skin of me,
and in all likelihood,
my legacy’s no good,
Dark sunglasses,
treasure stashes,
overtaken gradually,
badly mistaken identity,
and, it’s true when they say,
I met defeat along the way,
doesn’t mean I’ll just lay down,
for the circus that parades around,
and let those feet,
stomp anymore on me,
I’ve had enough now,
I’ve taken so much somehow,
time for some peace,
time for some sleep.

Anaphylaxis.

The buzz was what caught my attentive gaze,
triangulated to my inner-left-ear,
I strained my eyeballs far to the right, without moving;
and, there it was – like a tightly wound, black cotton-ball,
dipping in and out of the day lilies,
a low-toned hum,
reverberating from its dark-winged fuzziness;
and I stupidly forgot…
my mind became invaded by other thoughts and memories,
I truly just forgot my own allergy,
how deathly allergic I am to this Blackbeard of Bees;
my thoughts were of you instead,
immediately upon the tone of the buzz inside my left ear,
the vibrating sound amidst the foliage and flowers,
I am on high alert naturally,
so fucking stuck in old ways, am I…
all I was focusing on in the moment as he flew closer to me,
was how very glad I was that he could not sting you,
that you are gone away from me,
and today this bumble bee will not drop your blood pressure,
not make you gasp and gag for your very breaths,
he will not shock you with anaphylactic,
he will not make you cry or hurt you –
not this one, not today…
and that was when he stung me;
and I lost pace with my heartbeat so quickly then,
thank the Gods I have that adrenaline pen;
truth is though, I was still victorious,
because he didn’t sting my Boo.

Shame on Me.

I put my hat on backwards –
to straighten out my crooked head,
it doesn’t always do the trick,
but it keeps me out from under the bed;

I ride my surfboard goofy –
because that’s just how I roll,
it’s too hard to break the chains,
to the habits that we know;

I drive around much faster –
than I am supposed to be,
but if I don’t, the masses,
will surely get the best of me;

I give much more freely –
than I ever really should,
I suppose this may be because,
of my collection of nickels made of wood;

I am not an idiot –
in contrast to the things that I may do,
I am simply surviving,
just trying to make my own way through.