Anachrome brought me here:
Leveled the forest floor
And dug the deep holes
That left me homeless.
I wrestled with fate.
I angled my history towards
Chemical baths and
Burning blow torches.
Then I left in distance.
With mud huts and ivory
And skinny dipping clear-cuts.
Like a woodpecker on a telephone pole.
There was no death.
No marked spot for execution,
Hanging noose or bullet hole.
Anachrome lived in smoke.
I’ve lost my ways, forgotten and tilted,
My wings, they’ve bent all up and wilted.
They’ve shook out wildly their last flutter,
Left me to scramble my eggs in butter.
I used to hold my whispers tightly
But now I’m lost forever, nightly.
And to my breath I speak not warmth
For long gone dark, my sunken hearth.
When gone I’d toil a long days work,
To make a home, to fill my fork.
Though since my leaf has been unsheathed
I’ve lost my will to hold, to breath.
I pray to come, a return of my memory
To overcome my being, my sensory.
But if I were to forget it all,
Would I ever wonder how?
I was born into a centrifugal force,
A suction cup of heartache, of proverbial effort;
Cause and effect.
A slow line moving along Granville St.,
Caught in excitement of teenage free spirits:
Fashionably conscious and disregarding etiquette.
A night life on Hastings
Wish-washing lines between law and desire;
Societies dream of an everlasting image
With a reason for being a mother-fucking
Pop icon.
This is a history book documenting trend-setting hipsters,
Glossy pages filled with alluring sex tips.
Designed for those of us left standing on Commercial
Wondering: “who the fuck’s opinion even matters?”
There I was
Tramping around with cloud fogged judgement
Calculating with unintelligible numbers
Divvying scale stones
And wrestling demons
Wildflowers come again
Waiting hot sun out of day
Tangling with Earth’s decay
Into our last abomination,
Our last sepulcher,
That carries discarded memories
[Written upon mountainous walls]
Forever, for there is no end.
He walked away and he wasn’t walking tall
He shrouded and hunkered;
Fixed and determined and leaving.
Under one arm was clutched a notebook
Used regularly for scribblings and incidentals,
The other held nothing:
Bare, sober, exposed.
Not waving or weighing, but tucked neatly inside
A warm and worn pocket
Reserved for the odd receipt.
But mostly for his hand, unconsciously scrunched
Into a ball that hardly swayed
As his slouch carried him away.
Did you cut
My last dollar
Between chance
And Failure?
If we don’t lose it all
Then how much do we lose?
Knot worn and grumpy,
En-sensed long and tall,
A scapular in my heart,
A devil to my breath.
Where wicked thoughts laughter
Knees into our death;
My agony shelters fluttered beats
From wisdom setting free.
Decorate my lapel
Like honey in my hair,
18 mistakes I’ve made;
Black beckons fate.
Letters smudging fade,
Discourse setting deep,
Concubine’s white cotton leather
And my divine.
I walk my freedom with long bold steps
– Passionate about underlying rocks,
Saturated in air; fluid, full, exhilarating –
To my captures edge: sin and sorrow.
“DEFINE MY PATH!” From the tops of my lungs,
Knocking at doors of suffering madness
That tied these knots upon my bare feet.
It’s a long walk along hurt’s path,
A long breath to hold, withdraw,
With destiny, located amidst rubble.
It’s a long walk to freedom,
Blistering sores and stained reason.
Along my gall’s edge I protest,
Along gall’s edge I step,
And in this path I do not quiver,
I do not shake with torrent sadness,
For to my edge [my sin and sorrow],
I stare with will, my choice and I,
Into the void, my current’s capture,
And let flow from the tops of my lungs.
There is nothing that I can do
To change the minds of stubborn fools
Even if I were to try
My wiles on their brute for a while
I’d find my thoughts stuck between
Their fist, my faith, all compiled
And to which end that I seek
Should make it dangerous, us to speak
I seek not, which not begs of me
But which the stubborn fool’s to gain