trained

She is as a tuft of pollen in spring
light on the air, her soul is joy!
She is bright,
full of life,
delicate...
She could be snow, for I have been fooled by snow before.

but when she is in my embrace,
it is not cold...
it is warmth, rapture!
for this is a seasoned love.
others have come,
and they have gone.

why was fate so harsh? Ah...
but the answer lies outside our hearts
there was turmoil, distraction, the stress of daily life...
with these bright flashes and explosions
would it not be hard to notice
a steady burning flame?
impossible to extinguish.

is this the right time? is it now?
can we finally give in to this bliss?
no. likely not. we will go on
as we have in the past.
denying ourselves the chance for true happiness...

why this madness?
habit.
we have been trained.

Hurt

I have been hurt--
she does not even clearly understand
what she has done.

She is blind to the view from my eyes.
I am wrong and there is no other side of that coin,
that tarnished and beaten coin.

What arrogance?
What perverse arrogance causes her to feel
as if she is so close to perfection
that she can rest
completely blameless
of all consequence?

I see no way of fixing it
other than to just do the thing
that hurts me the most:
to smile, and laugh, and appear happy, and cheerful
--and all the while suffer inside.
I spent many years doing this, trying
to salvage
a relationship that I had no real ability to affect.

I don't know how long it will take
or what I will I can find
to force myself down into that hell again.

I don't have to know her.
She makes it obvious
that her happiness
Is over-abundant. A cup of
Sweet sweet
Nectar
Easily flowing over.
Without me, or my family
That is hurt in of itself.
The bold "I don't need you."

She talks about this person
Who is to good to her
and is such a fine person
and that person who is
so loving and
unconditionally
understanding.

She seeks out the easy relations
in life. I have never been that.
I will never be that.

It is easy to love
Those who are easy to love.
She makes her deposit,
And expects her return
with interest.
Compounded daily.

Untitled

It could be this minestrone soup of chemicals
Marinating around in my brain
That is keeping me from the grasp
Of sleep

How long can this go on?
Will I be sitting here, at the
Edge of the bed… like a gargoyle on the corner of the rooftop
Waiting for the sun to come up
And return me my stoneskin armour?

More likely than not, that malaise
Will occur ocularly…
Red bloodshot and feeling like
The lids had been changed by
Those same slicing rays…
…to sandstone

Like we used to walk on
Down at the crick
At my grandparents summer home
In the country.

One thing is certain.
If I don’t try, it will never come

1/25/2006 1:02 AM

Untitled

By means most drastic,
The cut, the eradication, the stitch, the rend…
By this formulae known only to those secret
Academicians that have schooled for many years
In the Art of the Very Sharpe Knife

With their help, I have unleashed this demon
Where before my hunger ruled, now
Its hunger is the ruler of my fate

I ate.
Now, it eats at me.
The burning question…
When will it stop?
Or more precisely…
WILL it stop?

489…420…380…365…340…315…
Perhaps I might feel less fear if I followed
The Europeans…
…switch over to metric

It was necessary
At the time.
I’m no longer approaching mortality
At least not for the same reason as
The seven months past…

I am no longer truly a human.
I am a constructed species
Homosapien?
More like Halfmosapian.

In the end, the price always
Hits you like a brick.

Will the price be merely monetary?
Or will it exact a toll from my soul?
Then of course there’s the real question—
Will I even give a shit?

1/25/2006 12:54 AM

Untitled

The chill wind blow outside my window
I open it just a crack with my trusty hammer
I let the white sharp air infiltrate my mind
I can almost feel the stainless steel bed upon which I lie

But now I do not see my breath
No inhalation, no exhalation
My body has become as solid as ice
Here at forty degrees Fahrenheit

Preserved some would argue
Static, rigid, stopped
Is this real?
Or is it just the path down which my frozen mind slides?

The plain white sheet, draped over me
The label tied lovingly around my toe…
Jim had it right,
My only friend…

1/25/2006 12:36 AM

the becoming

Those old pleasures I have left behind--
glut, sloth, weak, slow, pain, death, shame...
there were probably more.

They can be replaced with other vices
more fitting The Becoming.

Fire burns me--pain, sacrifice
the tinder...
and flame.
But as the Phoenix can tell you:
Baby, it ain't so bad.

Oh, doubt not for one split second
that i can endure this...
"s'only a flesh wound..."
and I know it's red, not blue!

Crawl if I must before
I
can
Walk!
But soon, I'll run
and never be back.
Not those old paths.

ode to my muse

What have you been doing?
Where did you go?
who with...
I laugh at these questions
because they are so
pointless

well, I stopped that habit
My mind got clean...
I found you, now you're
right back where you
belong.

Straps too tight, honey?
Chains to heavy darling?
I hope they make you bleed
for deserting me
when I needed you
most.

Now you know you'll pay! We'll
be up late nights again
The pain you take, the hurt
and evil use you endure.

All for the sake of my essential
creations.

Charge of the calvary

The tempest of wrath
clusters among the weak
of will

It snares me occasionally too...
But the shining glory
of mythical, ruthless
friendship...

...sweeping in--the
charging calvary
sabers flashing,
horseflesh flexing, muzzles
frothing,

the sound of beating
hooves, battle cries, and
the shot is heard!

--it brings me back--
to myself...

And there I set...
...at the table
holding all the good cards.

The Harpies

They swoop in with treacherous
black wings of death
screaming their woeful ballad

"You must give in to us!"
"You must obey, else you are
nothing!"
"Do that which your mind
argues
against--"
"The right, the good be damned,
be lost!"

Wicked beasts on their
aerie of depression and
paranoia

They feed on lesser men,
but they shall not
feed
on me!

This with every grain of
my soul do I resist

The battle carries on...

Inner Twine possibilities

Death, it comes to us all
and also does hope.
Perhaps sooner for me
it comes up from between
it lies in wait among
the teeth of loving friends
shadows, the edges of

the wheels on a less
but not the harpies
than sterile hospital
for they bring the doom
bed. where bits of
bells that sound in the night
dried blood still shows--

like painted signs--
I fend them off with my
markers of those survivors
incredible shield of truth
past, and mainly those

less fortunate. those who
always set me free
have seen doom in a Ziploc bag.

Lie down motheril

She's dead.
She's rotten inside
Staving off the inevitable

Force of will
and her drugs: nicotine,
pharmaseuticals prescribed
by a plethora of doctors

each unaware of the other's
existance
the blind cabal...

And let us not forget
majestic pain!

It drives her forward
a kinetic carrot before the
horse of decay

She suffers...fungus, cough,
ear,nose,throat...hacking/bleeding
stomach, head, eyes,

Just lie down motheril
inevitable rest...

Betrayal

Betrayal is the focus du jour
friends who professed commitment
Bloated self-righteous parasites
sucking off the cream of
my pain.

They revel in what they think
is their mentality
But as they prove themselves
amazing
to some...a corona of
intelligence displayed around
their heads

But some notice it is not
golden--
it is brown. And it smells...
of fecal matter.

A woman

I want a woman who can think out loud
I want a woman who can play my games
Unimposing but stands out in a crowd
Gets pissed off without calling me foul names

A woman who can say how she feels
She's neat and clean, but sometimes dirty
A sensible woman with sensible wheels
Hot librarian glasses, age of at least thirty.

Young thin blonds need not apply
They're all cover and no epic tail
If you're conceited baby, don't even try
A few dangerous curves makes me sharply inhale...

I like a woman shorter by the span of a hand
A woman unafraid to say what she wants
Some charisma and wit--no one night stand
Sometimes diplomatic, sometimes a little blunt

Does she exist beyond the confines of my mind,
or is she just and optimistic notion?
Woman like this may be impossible to find
If I do she'll likely play with my emotions...

Win

Tragedy ensues on an evil note
the chorus of wicked minions assault
I know this time it is my fault
Spells cast upon the words I wrote

The bell never tolls it's doom down here
instead its only misery and blood
Like entrails strewn around in mud
My heart beats fast in clenching fear

The brimstone winds tear at my skin
the smell of pain and ripe decay
the man beating his head would say
"They will not win! They cannot win!!"

I wake among my twisted sheets
covered in the smell of death
the genesis of the day in the west
what of last eve's mythic feats?

The day obscured by the solemn din
I see that man and his bloody head
An eerie voice in side me said,
"Oh yes they win! They always win!!"

My requiem

The pain within me burns my soul
Like a candle thrown into the fire
The hurt I caused her—a deep hole
Now in our live—strung on broken wire

She said goodbye—and eternal farewell
Dined on her promise to forgive
I’ve retreated back within my shell
A world where no happiness can live

I could have loved her ‘till I was dust
But I destroyed it all
The unintentionally broken trust
My requiem—my fall

Never again will I feel this way
I’ll remember her until my last day

Anguish

Anguish grinds like stone on stone
It fills my chest with force
It rends and tears muscle, tendon, bone
Ravaging through me on it’s molten course

The pain of loss haunts me
Phantom sensations from a severed limb
Like a ghost of foam borne from the sea
Not loss of appendage, but cherished friend

A misjudgment of character yet again?
A pretty bottle with the flavor of swill?
Both of us reacting to the bell’s revenge
Like Pavolov’s dog, it bends our will

I will unlearn this dreaded trait
Perhaps one day she will as well
I dare not let it make my fate
To do so makes an earthly hell

I wish her happiness and peace
To find herself and cleanse her soul
Then know one day her great release
And find me waiting, my arms to hold.

nightmare

Part of me wakes screaming at night
like a runaway truck with evil teeth
its hard and cold--it hurts like steel
rips everything apart like rotten meat

The crystal breaks and turns to dust
the patterned beast it does not bleed
the pharmaceuticals course through my head
but the captive muse is still not freed

i hear the footsteps on the wall
the man without hands reaches for me!
but he shrinks back from the horrid sight--
the volume of the screaming tree!

when will the time come to regress?
to roll into that Neanderthal sphere
and curse the day that i evolved
to shed that microprocessor tear

inhale deep the vulgar wind
the cube of nothingness set free
when comes the time of fancy dress?
the bird of death--it pecks at me...

Mrs. Wrong

She lives her life in retrospect
Looking at the time it was a wreck
Disease, divorce, and destitution
there can be no resolution

Hypochondriac, psychotic mess
she does what's right--that I'll confess
but in that warped and sickened mind
she cannot tell justice from crime

So she sits upon her twisted throne
in the grim death camp she calls a home
making decrees as she sees fit
not understanding or caring--not giving a shit

whatever it takes to feed her pride
regretting that she's not still his bride
but instead a rotting withered corpse
waiting for that indisputable force

to come and carry her away
like the huge dark birds of yesterday
or to sink into the ocean of black
with a carcinogenic heart attack

The curse of Valhalla

He pulls the blade from the bloody wound
Wipes it clean on his enemy’s back
That fallen foe will rot in the sun
Following the hellbound ebon track
Slip into the eternal ragged crack

He’s weathered many skirmishes
He’s lived through death and pain
The captain’s face is very young
But his eyes show victory in vain
Only strategy and tactics still remain

He gathers his men to fight again
The meadow crimson and damp
The assemble into ranks
Then march off toward the camp
Feasting and toasting their champ

The wounds do heal and knit
The captain looks with woe
The men—now they sleep
He knows the morn brings other foes
To fall again in Valhalla—the eternal flow.

overdraft blues

Jose Quervo's a good friend o' mine
Drink with him whenever I got time
Stoli/Rocks--I'm the biggest fan
That old Russian juice make you a man

Workin' all week
A dead-end job
got nothing to show
feel like I been robbed

Took all my time
got paid too low
didn't even cover
that overdraft hole.

Know a little girl she like the Maker's Mark
Shit go down smoothe like a walk in the park
No ice, no chaser just a shot or three
any more than that--she ask to marry me.

Workin' all week
A dead-end job
got nothing to show
feel like I been robbed

Took all my time
got paid too low
didn't even cover
that overdraft hole.

Fresh Irish Guinness like chocolate milk
Thick as oil but smoothe like silk
Though I don't know how to get up and dance
Must have found something special there in my pants.

Workin' all week
A dead-end job
got nothing to show
know that I been robbed

Took all my time
got paid too low
bank cheatin' me good
with that overdraft hole.

split the atom

She split the atom of my soul this night
the agony of her raptorial prose
slash the cord on my emotional kite
insidious thorn from a wounded rose.

I'm the architect of my own doom
insecurity, turmoil, jagged fierce pain
Inside my head--wild animal in a room
Tearing, Clawing, Ripping around my brain

The padded walls, gods how they bleed
vinyl skin, soft foam rubber flesh
A violent massacre of gory greed
sift through that mess with wire mesh

Perhaps with time it will be right
Impatience and that tempest--enemies
struggle for power near every night
control, however, they will not sieze

Well, permanent sway they do not hold
hideous heads do occasionally rise
I beat them back with the club of gold
But not held in check, they steal the prize

my quest

This perception in my stomach will not subside
Wicked moths or simply irritation?
I need to seek her...instead I hide
But what I want seems no indication
for that which she has any aspiration
Causing pain with no intention
its the demise of my invention.

Exquisite torture nonetheless
use my reserves of failing will
How long this loneliness? Who can guess...
Know for certain I’ve had my fill.
My hearts' from where my soul will spill
I fear too greatly the journey's end,
when all that's left is Title: Friend

So I trudge along at her constant pace
Her comfort is my first concern
My cursed impatience in its place
still my lips--gods! they do burn!
And my mind will infallibly churn
My untimely love gives her full reign
Will it be my Hell? My ruination again?

Can she not learn to read my mind?
or even perhaps my troubled core.
to see what lies down deep inside
I may be forced to seal that door.
Just like I did a year before
in the dark times of my annihilation
when another held me in subjugation

That fine armor I once had worn
to protect myself in somber days
cast aside when hope was born
sight set upon dreams' golden rays
Her wholesome spirit now do I gaze
Looking closely--amazed to see...
She has that armor just like me!

Mournfully she wears her still
not realizing she is free from harm
The lesson we've learned--a bitter pill
She'll not be swayed by simple charm
till she can trust, she n'er take my arm
Some day she'll know! It will be my quest!
She'll see I'm not merely seeking the flesh.

sight

Stagnation is no indication
of where I'm going to
affection without all that lust
I must be one of the few

I see the beauty all around
is it just me? Only me?
the shallowness of the human race
why can't they see? why can't they see?

the media pollutes our minds
with slender, tall and blond
Diversity is what's for me
of variety is what i'm fond

This is of course to say nothing
of beauty intellectual and spirit true
traits mundane, and traits amazing
facets of being--many, not few.

When might i find that special soul
the one with sight that's just like mine?
If we meet, will I even know?
or be lost 'till end of time?

slow death

Within these walls
behind the glass
like an exhibit
my fate's been cast

I ponder wind
and sun, and sky
I view the leaves
drift indolently by

I'm caged and bored
I long to be
outside this place
reckless and free

But here I sit
squandering time
it flashes by
not worth one dime

Present is sacrificed
like a pagan goat
to the gods of Wealth
just to remain afloat

Better to spend minutes I have
with friends, progeny, or alone
than waste it here in this cave
laboring for the errant bone

A farce of circumstance I am
my nose enslaved to the wheel of rock
chained and rowing against the flow
pushing uphill that granite block

Daily I struggle to remember
my faith--Karma will prevail
have I been deserving? and if not
what tortures will my failures entail?

Perhaps it is as a friend did tell
the greatest of all human woe
saved and stored, kept in stock
presented only to the strongest soul

Like the corporeal elements of me
any thing that doesn't cause my demise
is added to the camel's back
merely strengthens me, no matter size.