Holiday snacks get me lamenting.
All my sad songs
Repeating unto the end.
When whispers left lingering;
Sounds and voices.
I shocked
My mother.
Whistling another slow one.
Month: October 2014
Abyss (day 1234)
A wayward message
Made its way to me,
I shook my conscience
But followed me there.
Soon I awoke,
My name was called
To be lost in abyss
Of a new moon.
Understanding Madness (day 1233)
To be ever understood, hands closed and wondering why.
(Where I whispered hello Monday
To a gallon of nevermind.)
Can you ever feel the coldness?
Dancing There Again (day 1232)
So there I lay,
And I was hardly born.
To be one and unconfirmed,
Lost and sadly looking down.
But skinny love yelled my name
From two street blocks down the road,
To my wrecking ball of unforgiven,
To my memories of simple love.
Like a midnight starscape,
I was ending all my pauses
With a thousand wonder whys.
To be dancing there again.
Life That (day 1231)
This isn’t my coming out chant
This isn’t my remember the good ol’ days rap
No, this isn’t the kind of shit you’d expect from me
Where soft glow combines with a real desire
Spreading out like wings
No, this is a truth experiment
This is raw discussion
Morphine true-isms
Blisters spreading about the exposé
Peeling back: non-relent
You see, nothing’s been hard
No part of life’s been a chore
There’s never a day gone by
When I’ve been forced to stare at the walls
So uncomfortably spread that rot is my vice
There’s a dollar sign around my halo
With uncomfortable silence when bills drop on bills
There’s a memo on my desk
Reminding me to keep track of the present
This all fails to phase me
Rolling around in steel balls that shatters silently
When haters start slinging their gorilla lyrics
Hiding in my deepen’d billfold
And there’s glass, there’s glass scraping little lines
Across my weather strengthened back
Yet, I’m not your typical chump
Squealing my daddies gold in rubber exhaust
I’m a hustler crushing pimp
Not a player pickin’ easy cherries
Playing a role, playin a mother fuckin role
Buying into a toll booth
That flips my hard edge into
Magnified chocolates and fluffed pillows
And a silk god damn flower
I take opportunities in the present
The big rolls that die hard
Rise and fall, and rise again
It’s my game, I take two dollars
Exchange them into five
Because I’ve been bred well
Learned from the best
I’ve taken one-two-three strategy
Added on my own strong fourth
Funny thing about this mastery
Is the only competition I find
Comes out from where the wolves hide
From the silent arch ways
That reach out and bite when you turn your back and hide
I fight it, with intelligence…
With awareness and exposition
Omnipresence is not a myth
Omnipresence manhandles the unaware
Blissfully slouching at the solid wood table
Honest Greenthumb-Man (day 1230)
I grow my tulips in large wooden buckets
Pansies are higher, in small clay potters
Resting precariously upon railings and windowsills
Then here we have hanging from awnings and perches
Creative little baskets filled up within:
Snap dragons, petunias, geraniums, lobelia
All overflowing with blossoms of life
Watering is fun for you know when it’s done
By the stream of water flowing out the base
Now off to the side of this here green kept lawn
Is a boxed off topsoil-rich haven of growth
Strictly for vegetables and strong smelling herbs
Which will feed me this summer
Well, most of the summer, after they’ve ripened
After they’ve grown high and wide
Some of them root plants, digging into earth
I’ve built up on rows to give them wide birth
Others are leafy greens with big flapping wings
Reaching out high for the hot summer sun
One row I planted with mixed lettuce fantasia
Its colours range wide, from green, purple, yellow
Well, that is my garden, my flowers and vegetables
It isn’t that big, and it’s grown a little wild
But it makes an honest greenthumb-man out of me.
Sentence to Thy Name (day 1229)
Allowing punishment to crush ritual
Berating better senses of civility
Harshly, against cold stone under foot
Upon a wet and soggy day of death
Smeared between dark moist earth
And trampled, unkept grassy shag
This is not the end of an era
Nor end to a life spent well
It is the beginning of torture
Souls repentance; realization
Destruction on the darkest day of life
Standing, dripping, begging at the gates
Hallowed be thy name as birthright
Non-linear thus be thy path towards thee gallows
Distrust be cruelly written across thy brow
Hastily, uneven, unsymmetric, unceremoniously
Where shaggy be thy mane
Dies the sentence to thy name
A Tigers Growl (day 1228)
You’re drivin’ fine baby
With those blonde curly locks
Deep cut with blazing canons
I feel your fire
And it’s not just those eyes
Darting lightening bolts
Around this lame room
Cheap roses curling around your arm
Inked into the desert sands
That have blown across your skin
I want to feel those fine
Black leather pants
As they slide to the ground
Crumpled about your ruby red toes
Those five inch matte black pumps
A tiger’s growl baby
Is no more powerful than that snarl
Luscious red fully bloomed lips
And hand crafted pearly whites
Baby, what’s your name?
’57 Appaloosa (day 1227)
Can you control my yelling as I short my conscience to your wedding?
-Laughing with the children blowing bubbles down by the pond-
I didn’t expect to see your friend Lucifer standing there
As I convinced you to drag the fresh linens through tumbleweeds of mystery
-It is the style, I explained bitterly through my clenched teeth-
Amazed to know you fret over the cake with your eyes opened so wide
Calming the sunshine with sips of refreshments from white dixie cups
-I chewed all around the top rim of mine, unable to resist the feeling-
Your sawdust left a trail for the onlookers to follow as you trailed off into obscurity
“Madness” they muttered under their breath directing their eyes to your mother
Her hands were boiling with innocence; a fools bargain at the end of the road
-My loaded shotgun wasn’t a toy gimmick to be taken lightly, though I held it so-
Even the village authorities didn’t know what to make of it all
Trained as they were in 39 different methods to disengage a situation
A calming hustle settled over the observers
-I came prepared with my gradient tinted aviators and beer cozy-
The ’57 should-be-retired Cadillac rolled on over the loose gravel
Unnerving the guests as her tumbleweed dress sat down amongst the tears and stains
Rat piss and shit and splintered deluxe leather upholstery
Sporting a vintage look you can only get from years of missing affection
-I couldn’t help but remark on the timing of it all-
Doorless I was on my sturdy ’94 Bronco, I still had a radio good for the local DJ
But oh was I jealous of the missing hubcap on that old Cadillac
Rattling free as they sped through the streets, top always down.. it was a ’57 after all
We all knew they were notorious for having glitchy automatic tops
Plus, the rust on that thing was shining so bright in that heathen sun
-I turned to the wild thing next to me, nearly popping out of her mid-twenties figure dress-
“Say Cindy-Lou, I’ve gotta cooler full-a-beer, two lawn chairs an’a good-ol-radio
Wanna grab my shotgun an’head on up to the ol’ mine and shoot the breeze?”
-I could see it in her eyes it wasn’t the beer she was after-
Her nose rings and solid gold spacers told me she liked firing shotguns
Wild women always had a soft spot in my heart
Their unnerving contradictions always dropped my caution to the wind
But I rolled out of there with my spirits singing about Friday nights
2 good speakers in the ol’ Bronco: front right and rear left
-I wasn’t spitting sin, I was just riding on the gin waves of the 1230 nuptialities-
So we left those 76 long jaw’d and sweating visitors at those old rodeo grounds
The automatic shifter kicked a bit as it shifted into third
But the dust wasn’t settled from the ’57 Appaloosa
Rattling down the never happier road to short lived elation
We turned right when they turned left
We headed higher as they got down; after all it was honeymoon season
In the land of Friday nights and worn out shotguns
The Creep (day 1226)
I am the creep
Lurching in your dreams
Lying around to wait
Out untimely interruptions.
I am the Patron Saint
Leaving smear marks on the wall.
Godly is mistaken
Underneath forgotten layers.