The Hand That Counts.

I can still
recognize,
a sweaty face –
with
guilty eyes;
a selfless smile –
that made me
realize,
that the truth
is still a lie.
The March of Time
goes down a rigid line;
the drum that reverberates,
it doesn’t stop on a dime;
the vibration rolls
along tidal waves
through all matter
of time and space;
the skies that hold
the secret fate,
of the self-worshipping
human race –
have been foreseen,
to inevitably
betray;
The Ties that Bind
unravel and unwind,
to be once again tied
to our heavy hearted
changing tides.
Marching in circles
around the confines of
a broken
clock face,
must keep up to an impossible pace –
the hand that takes, the hand that shakes,
the hand that counts the sentiment faked.

Away.

I dropped myself backwards over the stern,

you stood at the bow, unwilling to learn,

refusing to follow the map I had drawn,

stagnantly anchored there all the night long,

your disgust was apparent as I swam farther away,

you began to pull the anchor up immediately,

but your head-games had already turned me cold,

so I kept on dog-paddling and cursed you, tenfold,

and as I saw you sail away without me,

just as I should’ve felt my most empty,

the weight of the ocean’s fathomless depths,

vacuumed me up with one huge, inhaled breath,

tucked me safely within its motherly net,

and whispered with love that I wasn’t dead yet,

seeming to rise from the uncharted deep,

a ghostly phantom too long  gone to sleep,

to guide my tired mind and broken body,

to a place of solid earth and humanity,

I found you once again so long afterward,

you were too frozen in place to utter a word,

and I simply conveyed my thanks to you,

for forcing me to see the true colors in you.

 

 

 

Bubble Bath.

I thought you’d left while I was in the bubble bath;

So I paraded around sporting bitchy tits ‘n ass…

I wrapped myself up in your freshly washed towel;

telling myself I was glad that you were gone now…

Silly me; you actually never had gone anywhere at all;

I found you standing quietly with your mouth opened in awe …

Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;

Swallowed whole – from all you know; desire you’ve never felt…

And when you see my red-ruby pouting start to pucker,

and sense how my insides tense;  you sexy mother-fucker…

Lick me clean of my tears – salted by such childish fears;

strike a match against the fuse between the filthy and the pure…

tonight I stroke your hidden side – that displaced face you always hide;

Allow me to perfect your view of how a good girl will abide…

you stood there, your hands wringing with intensity;

shirtless and hungry like a pre-meditative beast,

I was yours bendable expendable – that’s right,  wrapped up tight;

And you were yourself – an animal, ever-ready to bite…

the time became a sucking noise from the drain,

you manhandled my body and I hijacked your brain;

I’m glad you never left while I was in the bubble bath;

it’s sad to think about it now after so much time has passed.

.

 

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…

Hard Timing It.

Somebody, somewhere down my block –
must’ve disagreed with the job I got
made a poor-sport’s jealous decision
to go ahead and drop the dimes in,
tried and convicted – let the drama begin…
about a quarter after two, I make my way through
the mainline, like old times – of the CHU;
Somewhere down the shackle line,
a mouth talked shit that wasn’t mine –
so now I have to back a play,
that I am oblivious to, anyway;
not my problem, not my game,
but I’ll take a rubber bullet –
either way, all the same;
never a dull moment
when you reside on Cell Block A,
never any time
for your peace of mind
to reflect on the wars you’ve waged;
because bitches equals drama
no matter the hour or the place,
especially without the makeup
that used to mask her ugly face.
Last weekend, Chow Hall got locked down
yes, once again
the inmates found a new way in;
and when Cook tried to cook,
the good shit had been stolen,
she refused to work until
the fucks in charge
secured the food in the kitchen –
and we all starved meanwhile,
though they called it a “hunger strike”
chalked me another six months on my time,
simply because my skin happens to be “white”.
And, reading in the nighttime, no sir;
my Bunkie has rank and she is a lifer,
and since she says the light bothers her –
it’s light out at sundown,
or it’s curtains for sure.
Too cold or too hot
not a lone, happy thought –
cup o noodles for
a potent coffee shot,
prison is Hell for a half-breed
no motto to recite out loud,
no glorious songs to sing,
no gang to bang
from the safety of a crowd –
no belonging
with anyone or to anything.
Read read read
and then read some more,
read til your brain can’t
comprehend anymore,
one day the sun will be on your face
as you leave this place
out those elusive front doors;
Goodbye young chain gang,
rotten apples of my teary eye,
I will not be back to see you
but maybe
I’ll catch you on the outside.

Pinky Fingers in a Champagne Tub.

They took my finger,
it was the right-hand runt;
they chopped it clean off
and even cauterized the stump;
I couldn’t believe it,
even as I, myself – bled;
they seared closed the wound
I was fixed on my pinky, instead;
And when the shock wore off,
and they dumped me down the block;
I came pounding with a bloody paw,
on your secret passage 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 made by a 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 said, “We’ll get it next time…”

Bubble Bath.

bubble bathI thought you’d left while I was in the bubble bath;

So I paraded around in tears, sporting naked tits ‘n ass…

I sat on the floor, wrapped in your freshly washed towel;

In love with a truth masks my pain, somehow…

Silly me: you never left to go anywhere at all;

Eyes fixated on my body like I’m a photo on a wall…

Beads of sweat dot your head; a crown of liquefied guilt;

Swallowed whole – by all you know; release like you’ve never felt…

Can you see my ruby-sadness drenched, pouting lips start to pucker?

Can you sense: the way my insides tense; and my skin burns like a mother-fucker?

Lick me clean, of these tears – salted with my own childish fears;

Light the fuse of combustion between the filthy and most pure…

Let me nurture your hidden side – that face you always hide;

Allow me to show you how a good girl shall abide…

Don’t just sit there, with your mouth hanging wide;

Let me give you something to finally close those tired eyes.

I will be yours bendable expendable – to do with, whatever you like;

And you will be yourself – a snake in the grass, ever-ready to strike…

I will hold you closely, so tightly that your breath fails;

Bet your ass – we will lie together – in this filthy bed of nails.