Friggart bore
Into silent darkness
Death to all
Thy left behind
Pride and stripped
Tunneling
Voiceless throats
Remain forevermore
Gathered strength
Clenching teeth
Soot and grime
Machine will grind
Until each burr
Buries itself
Into dried blood
Of all that whore
Let it remain
Of Gods who speak
Leave it forever
Of who shall sink
Whithered and lonely
Threatened and scared
Silent darkness
Unmoving hands
I guess I’ve been building
– Don’t call it by name –
A shelter to put my hat up
And a bed to lay down
Though I’ve never been a gambler
S’been too many bad cuts
And my pencil’s getting short
Like a tape stuck on 2
I hear music when I close my eyes
A slow drawl like I’m shaking coins
And waiting on time to bring me
Out of a late December
What makes a man stay home?
Tired too deep that keeps him in bed
Motioning slowly for a cold glass of milk
To cut out invisible pain
Don’t be running along today
Brown eyed Susan
It’s not a good day for a race
To go along for some fun
I guess some music
– Though not too loud –
Would be where I could go
To shelter me as I close my eyes down
Whispering incoherently into my ear
I lost myself into reverie
A world I’d always dreamed of
Soaked in sweat of our lust
We were alone in our madness
Lazy summer breeze through
The teepee opening
Was this ever our together?
Calmness so saturated
In lazy sun streams forgetting
Each worry on our minds
Like watching honey drip
And the taste that’s next
To souls forever twixt
Wake me if I ever go there
I wouldn’t mind your soft nudges
Urging my response
A smile always for you, my amora
In twilight hours of our embrace
Along river banks and gurgling streams
Lost in a deep green forest
Of your old mans beard surrender
Surely this is a swolen gland of memory
Cursing through my body
Pinching where I’ve been hurt before.
Should I starve you out?
Let you waste away like autumn flowers
Suffocating upon the bed you’ve made?
A cry from depths of my unconscious being
Let out like lightning bolts
Surging through my veins in callous blood clotting.
I hold the reigns, but I do not have this beast tamed,
Wild and friggart he still is
An uncouth I have yet to name.
I shall sweat you out
Heat driving mad, boiling away impurities
With a flame I have stoked ever higher
Designed to inhibit boulders
That this dungeon was built upon.
So maybe instead of you
I seek a me.
I fuss about my collar
And chop at my hair,
Wax off my new boots
And make sure
I’m not seen
With those patched pants on
Anymore.
Maybe I resist
By rewiring.
Maybe I divert
By running away.
Maybe I control
My impulses
By sending absolutes
To my nerve endings
So my digits
And elbows
Don’t move towards
My patch jobs.
Maybe I don’t remind myself anymore
About the things I never had,
Maybe I just lie in bed a little longer
Instead of reaching for dreams that aren’t mine.
Maybe I stop smoothing out the rough patches
For I think with better light
They might be my mountain tops,
Or maybe they’re the friction
That helps me down the road.
Blackness about
Silence within
Sunrise soon
My vision has been blotched,
My insides have been influenced
By an algorythm I didn’t want..
But accepted,
Like inflating gas prices
At the pump,
Along a journey
I didn’t plan.
The algorythm told me
What I should have known
I had to do,
It showed me beautiful photos
That directly appealed to my soul
Because I had trained it to know
What my soul was drawn to
In such a sly way
That my soul is starting to think
It has been tricked into being this way.
How do you step away?
Physically, mentally,
Spiritually.
Healthily.
How does one begin to see dots
So that a woven thread
Can be drawn between them
A threaded vine, hops,
Nestled between two calm growth lines
Of muscle and soul,
Callus and depth.
It feels like turning off the light
Walking alone in darkness
Reminding myself I live here
And can visualize the corners
To avoid bumping into.
It feels like losing a friend
Not the excitement of starting a journey
But the reverse
No more serendipitous friends
Going out for coffee at the coolest spot in town
No more hitting the peak at sunrise
No more rich street foods from India
Or Wat visits in Thailand.
It feels like a Doctors visit
Where reality cannot be escaped
Truth must be told to those who seek to help
And I must admit to myself the most
Where I wake up each morning
And what I have ahead of me to do.
I’m not a movie
No Hollywood plot,
I’ve got cuts on my hands
That didn’t get publicized
My boots didn’t get worn so
By a team of set designers
I didn’t seek funding
I am funding, myself.
So, perhaps this is my starting,
My turning away slowly at the inside
Where I re-write my reasons
And my daily check-ins
Come with meaning and fortitude.
What meaning I do give
Needs to come with a warning
That these messages of life
Are forever important.
This sitting still is painful
I’ve lost the nerves and feeling
To do so anymore.
My urgency and anxiety
Makes an awful racket
At my closed bedroom door.
“Please wait.” I respond softly.
My body ever sore
And lacking desire to remain
Amidst stacks of laundry
And hairy dust balls.
Two fans blow at each other;
Is this a lazy wind?
Coffee cups with
Level lines equispaced
Down their insides
Invite me for another taste,
Which could be the cause
Of this shooting pain
Down my left side.
Or maybe the pain
Just comes from sitting here
Against my will
Struggling to sit
Struggling to lay
Struggling to get movement
My body so much enjoys.
As I move
Each itch of stiffness
Cries at me
Asks me if it’s ok
To be moving so.
I respond in silence,
How am I to know?
The Doctor hasn’t looked at me
Only repeats the same question.
The confusion on my face
Would tell him everything,
But a blindness from this summer sun
Must be my fever’s killer.