Thursday, January 29, 2015

Growing Up Sketchy

I am a shadow of my former self
I person I do not admire
Nor one that I detest
Just a shadow
A smudge on the wall
That I notice but never clean
A fly that sits in the corner of the window
Never buzzing
Never bothering
A ice sculpture on the front lawn
A transparent figure
Not unlike a ghost
But cold, and melting
Losing space
Losing existence
But willing to come back with the seasons
Existing to observe
Never to act
To listen but not speak
I am a shadow of my former self
The parts are all there
But they are robotic
I an automaton
I a machine that moves from one place to the next
Twitching my fingers on a keyboard
Moving my wrists to fold mundane causes
Blanking on the answers
While speaking freely toward the questions
Like a paper bag unused below the register
Observant of the plastic
Useless beneath the metal
Used by those who think more
Who aged more
Lost in my icy metallic exterior
I am a shadow of my former self
A self who died at twenty-something
Completely content with being not content
Conceding to simplicity
Falling on to knees to beg for silence
Because the noise is negative
Not wanting death
Just wanting patience
I am a shadow of a self
Not former or otherwise
An illusion I concocted
While listening to the radio
Contemplating the state of the world
Blissfully listing listless trivia
Going from door to door
Car to work
Home to a place that used to be it
Sipping on water cups
Drinking when its hopeless
Feeling lost
But healthy
I am but a shadow of some other person
Who I was
Was lost in the street.

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Catastrophe in Philosophical Problems Guised as Wisdom

If the cold strikes your heart
and you can no longer feel
Don't fear the distance
That the chilling feel reels
in the midst of the freezing
You can be sure itll hurt
But better to be cold
Then to meet flames to be burnt
Go on then
Argue semantics
Give into your institutions
And give me your merits
The world is cold
The sun is hot
And though these are truths
You're still taught their lies
The patience you feel
As the mosqutoes bite
Is as weak as the meek who will inherit the dump
Lest they stand up
Back to their knees
For they no longer have feet
Because to grow them
That's a lizard like feat.

Thursday, December 18, 2014

A Story of Awkward Loneliness

As they gathered on the outside
She stood plainly in their sights
Directly beneath a spotlight,
A street light, extended above her on a post
In the middle of the room
And under foot the grey and cracking stone of a sidewalk
That followed her where ever she went
Like a storm cloud set aside only for her
The people did not notice her
Or so it seemed to an untrained eye
They stole glances from their peripheral
At the corner of their eye
As it darted back and forth
As they conversed with old friends, and new ones
Chit chatting away with little of the lady on their minds
With little of her sidewalk or her light,
Or the little black heels she wore under foot
Or the sequin cocktail dress she wore, 
All sparkling blue under the waning light
As they gathered about her
But were not about her
They kissed one another under mistletoe
Mistletoe's strewn in tinsel
As the holiday lights grew like snakes around the trees
As their breath was apparent before their faces
And she,
She in a dress with exposed knees
Shaking violently in the breezing freeze
To the people she would have called
Had they not retired to the inside
Leaving her and her personal light post,
Leaving her alone on her sidewalk.
And so it went on for a few more hours or so
The awkward lady in her awkward black shoes
Wishing away that the people might care
Hoping that someone might journey a stare
Or grow curious what was behind her made up smile
For she had kept her teeth just barely visible
Just barely visible escaping behind her lipstick spread lips
The blush on her face cracking on her skin
The mascara runny and graying where tears began spreading
That golden brown hair draped lovingly over ears
That were beat red and freezing in that unforgivable cold
She the lady in the awkward black heels
The blue sparkling cocktail dress,
Under the flickering of a high up light
Through the windows and the silky curtains she watched them
Through the glass and through the cloth she could see
Through the barrier and through the comfort she pondered
Outside the hall with but herself and her sidewalk
Her perpetual hell like a perpetual cloud
Cold and freezing, hardly feeling anything
But the harshness of absence
The absence of acknowledgment that she shouldn't have come at all
Her hands over one another 
Fingers interlaced
And grey streams of mascara running down her canvas,
Down her painfully woeful face
When once she was young and full of brightness
She grew older and dingy grey
And the people all around her danced in the summer light
As winter had come and gone 
Several times
and severely too fast.
The heel had shattered on her black left shoe
and the black right one was wearing away
Though she hadn't moved at all
There was a boy
No more than fourteen
Who ventured on over
and stood beneath her light
And he squinted through it,
Maybe perceiving the ghostly image
But she didn't think it so
But then he grabbed her wrist
A gently immediate sort of grip
And he pulled her forward
As she was removed from the light her heel stuck back on
The wearing of her clothes diminished
And she aged in reverse
The mascara rushing back up to its darkened place around her eyes
And she no longer shivered.
The rest of the people went in rewind
Moving ten times to fast
Till the snow was falling again
And they were safely and preciously inside
But she did not care,
She was young again
And he was the same
He'd always been there wanting to dance
He just never knew her name.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

What I Heard

I once knew a man
Who wanted to have the world
He strode forth atop his shoes
-with feet comfortable inserted
It was a mask he wore
That's what caught my eye
There were eyes where they should be
And a mouth as it should have been
The nose was a bulge of tissue
-but just as they should see
In all matters before the naked eyes
He was as was needed
But that was the trick
That was what the clown 
What he wanted them to tick about
To ponder on
There was of course no make-up
-but there mine as well have been
This man was normal as normal as normal can be
A relative term if stated myself
But he is what he was and he is as he's not
Punching in and punching that
That which had to be
And upon his wounded and battered knees
-only worn from waking
He bent and squatted
Cracking a joint in place
Re-positioning slightly into socket
And a twenty in his pocket
That is even useless in the soda machine
He talked to me but once
Before he exited the stage
And he said this,
"Go and be fruitful,
Go and multiply
Screw them all mercilessly
And get screwed in return
Bare idiots upon the land
Raise them with your careless hands
Let them decide the fate of the masses
When they were late for all of midsummers classes
Hark! Unto them,
Upon their little shoulders
Little toy soldiers
That they cannot share with anyone"
Then that was all,
-except what he muttered under his breath
as he passed me at the door,
Not sure what it all meant
Not sure at all
After all, 
I'm just a clock on the wall.