Resting Place.

We slept without breaths –
underneath six feet of topsoil,
bathed in the heavy suffocation,
of loosely strung illumination –
another silent burial site’s
flimsy paper lantern lights,
among the beloved already beneath,
primordial soup of bones and teeth –
a headstone lain down too heavily,
granite secrets kept steadily,
a lifetimes of anchors: dropped deep –
chained to my chains for all eternity,
a fate bound to a rabid Mammoth,
chained to both well-traveled,
and yellow, daisy-kicking feet,
we dreamed without darkness –
under the same stars,
that together, we once betrayed,
in a match’s quickly stricken,
enticing phosphoric display,
we struck fire to the paths –
from which we just had strayed,
never looked back, admittedly,
we ran until it all faded away,
into one, never-ending and exhausting –
ill-fated, suffocated final resting place.

Loosed Arrows.

A remastering,
of such forgotten arts,
as those of loosed arrows,
leaving holes in my heart.

The rekindling,
of old smoldered flames,
as those of loosed arrows,
shooting darts at my name.

The reawakening,
of long-sleeping eyes,
as those of loosed arrows,
blowing through all the lies.

A reacquainting,
with the shadows left behind,
as those of loosed arrows,
become lodged in my mind.

A reintroduction,
to all I escaped from hopefully,
as those of loosed arrows,
are shot through both knees.

The Back of the Monkey.

A pet in the lap of the admiralty,

purring to the stroking,

laughing at the joking,

you mean to keep me,

to reward your infidelity,

to please the eye by which you see,

to one day stuff my dead body,

and display the beast in me.

Fixed onto the back of the monkey,

the stray in the street,

bloody hands and dirtied feet,

you mean to tame me –

to take me home and re-name me,

to clean me up and change me,

to alter what Life’s made me.

You think you’ve tapped a bead,

but your eyes misconceive,

oh no, that isn’t me,

and since you fail to see,

the truth comes painfully,

I’ll draw blood before I leave,

there’s no re-naming me.

Eating Thorns.

All this time

in between

then and now

been simmering

been building up

rather patiently

brooding silently

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

sparkling fringes

champagne, cocaine

and pornography

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.

 

On “What Ifs”.

“What if…?”

and, as the words
shoot from my mind
through my lips…
there’s a sign,
shooting from
somewhere
far behind.

What if…?

And, I cannot know
the aftertaste of
a poison on my lips…
a crash above,
low the high
circling
what was.

What if…?

And, as the chance
sucks itself down the drain
out of my fingertips…
there’s a pang,
deep inside
everywhere
all over again.

What if…?

And, as the present
becomes the past, here and gone,
time all spent…
hard and long,
lungs howled
everything
emptied of my song.

Come and Go.

A Masterpiece that will always deeply touch and move me; one that I can’t take credit for.

It’s by Rob (Just Ruminating) and it’s a powerful, powerful piece.

it’s called “Come and Go”; enjoy…

Come and Go

Her back never faces the door

“I’ll only need you on certain days”

she says
(absently)

“I’ll have to write them down
my memory doesn’t work so well
especially when I am caught up”

she’s thinking
(a lovely stare)

“Who is that in the mirror?
Where did she come from
why the fuck is she here?
I don’t need this shit right now
She shouldn’t be here!”

I ask
(matter-of-factly)

“Where did you go? Does the rain
bleed sideways always?  Or
does it come in sporadic torrents
spurting out
covering everything
like a permanent stain?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again
almost comical.  I can’t wait
until the coffee is so strong that
it sends her into a
tailspin for once.  Just once…”

Bemused I say

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your
poses. You can either look like
something is
coming around the corner at you
or you can look like
you have beheld the Gods.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She chuckles
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll rest now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me
sometimes I feel like I’m an actress
in my very own horror flick.
I watch the scenes go by indifferently
perhaps if I got the cobwebs out
I’d be able to see things more clearly
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose sexy)

I smile
I say
(sincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then I say
(coyly)

“Although, I must say, blue would
really bring out your intense eyes
I wonder, will she be home later?
If so,
will you tell her I will be
betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away
until she works through her shit?
I will be around permanently.”

She smirks
(cutely)

“Sure.  She probably thinks the
world is ending as we speak.
You know,
she’s good at catastrophizing
the shadows work best,
usually
she plays those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea
she can be engaged like that
so, I’m not sure if she is or isn’t.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)

“She’s hyper vigilant, that one
reminds me of me once I detach,
once I fixate on my salvation,
well…anyway…
you know I simply spend a
fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

I reply
(dramatically)

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

I lean in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the squares have
transformed,
they are so different they’re hard
to recognize.
Are they not? There’s so
many of them that
even tunnel vision
even hyper vigilance
can’t always help you focus on
shapes that are always shifting though,
I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
(contagiously)

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit.
at least for your quirky imagination.
Christ is it time already?
I gotta get back to her
she could be in a state.
Hopefully not
in front of that fucking mirror
it’s not the best place on most days.
It clouds her judgment.
It needs replacing,
that, it’s cracked and warping.”

I rise
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure
I have your brand next time you
come and go
I found a place that stocks it
regularly, the stuff of legends
will you do me a huge favor?”

I ask
(simply)

“Sure”
she says
rising
(grace imperceptible)

I put my hands on her small frame.
Looking at her intently,

I whisper
(tenderly)

“Just remember come and go
as you please she can too, especially
her
use my place whenever you need it
I know you’ll be sure to keep things
nice and tidy. You happen to be
quite masterful at that.  And
don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out
you know, for both of you.”

She smiles wryly
(so lovely)

Glances a kiss
off my flushed cheek
turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know.  It makes all the
difference in the world
I know it does to me anyway.
I’m fairly sure for her as well.
She’s always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up.
I’m pretty sure she knows though.
But you know how she is.”

As the door closes behind her

I think,
(happily)

“Not really. But I am learning,
I am learning.”

Wasted Energies.

You've done this thing,
like attaching a string,
from my mind to your heart,
from my mouth to your brain;

You've created this thing,
like a hornet's sting,
from my inner-most thought,
comes a painful tingling;

You've become something,
not quite a human being,
from my unhealed parts,
the blood is running again;

You've turned out to sing,
the song of an old enemy,
from the deepest of want,
for the very same things;

You've proven to swing,
back and forth, in between,
from the history you haunt,
o the throne of a King.