Saying What You Will

Why do you pester me with long passages of melodrama

When you could have easily summed it up easily

If only you'd taken a breath and used a little brevity

However; as this is your comatose state

I will not judge you for not finding the words

When at first you don't succeed as they say

Whoever they are we do not know

Gladly I disembark from your cluttered vessel

And sail among an ocean of disappointments 

Where seldom people ever find solace

But they find a way to be content

Even if for an eve or two

While the stars bow down their weary heads

And hold the hands of the children's hearts

Where your words are worthless when storms are brewing

The masses are terribly unsure what you're doing

While these waters toss me hitherto

I cannot in good faith let the gods of my feelings rule me

Nor can i falter in my steps because doubt rules me

the good will has passed and god will do what he will with me

For in these endings it is always on a selfish whim

That i cry out, "Save me, just me, me first, me, me me."

And where i shout these is a place your voice won't carry

In a kaleidoscope of colors

You will see through a magnifying glass

That which I see with my naked eyes

Though i wish they were clothed with spectacles.

Wholly Unruly

The main thing to consider when choosing your side

Is whether or not it will make you destitute or not

Perhaps when finishing your decision you will come to the conclusion

That not everyone thinks the way that you do

It is enough to make your heart and nerves to grieve

When the friends that you possess choose to throw away your keys

And like you in an unruly ultimatum

Though the woods lead to fears that will cause the fearless to quake and cower

For blessed is the man who can kiss his dreams goodbye

The Song of a Degenerate Prick

If by some miracle the noise never settles
and we are blasted on cocaine and Ecstasy
if the internal police can't restrain us
and we are spiraling out of control
If by some wrong doing we find a little peace
Then don't allow us to be subjugated any longer
Then the shackles of decency fade from memory
in the very weary world that bound us as children
It will be business as usual
As angel powder feeds through my mind
Miles a minute, in a minute or three
Given a time to persuade our better judgement
Letting it shrink down in my size
And silencing only the conscience from regurgitating
Our meat.
If this is the loudest it can go
Build a new box of sounds
that can excel only to the maximum threshold
To cause a hint of deafness
i will not answer your phone calls,
Nor will i limit myself to phone calls,
If you need to reach me after a beep
You have no reason to be here
Enter freely and at your own risk
Let the windfall be of your own devising
To live fast and dangerously is a gift
So if you choose your world on the back of a horse cart
move to the other side of the street
i will bypass you and plow through pedestrians on my way to the middle
Given that I'll never see the top because
As i have no second sight
i forgot to pack for a rock climbing expedition
So excuse me while I'm driving
and your dead and gone
I'll recite the pledge of allegiance
only  to the alien masses
And when they pull me out of my hotel room on a gurney
Already half dead and half spiteful that they tried to save me
I'll thank the gods for their are more than one
I'll thank the gods of excess, sex and devastation
For to feel this pain was to feel alive
and to be alive is to not give two shits
No matter what calmer minds have said
they were only at ten percent capacity
Give up the fight
I already did as the monotone beep of my heart monitor sounds
and before you put me in the ground
Lay a pack of Marlboro's on my breast pocket
I'll share them with the devil
Since twice I've been to hell.

the Lives of Liars

They pasted together photos of themselves

On a large blank canvas

The white walls of its surfaces a daily reminder of their blank slates

so it was and so it is

As one day ends a new photo is entered

And a pressing sense of contentment permeates the homestead 

Till truth boils over into resentment

And photos are stripped from the walls now.

in a heart beat when mended wounds have time to heal

They plaster their board with fond memories of details

Details of decals of moments in their memories

And the joyous colors of technicolor

Will erase the broader stretches of time

And if someone chose to

They would see the bleeding colors

that stained the pure white canvas

They tried as they could and despite what they tried

failure never failed to follow their fractured selves

Till what they loved on the wall

was a fiction that someone else could tell

for though it was their faces

What they felt in the now

Was not the present truth

and the past was a ghost

For a place inside that was haunted.

Presently in Clarity - A short story

At the start of the day there was a boy who could not fathom why he could not walk home on his own.   Often he would plead with his mother to allow him this one small amount of independence, and often she would deny this request.   This went on for some time, he would beg, and be denied and then morosely take the route with his mother holding his hand.    It was for the longest of days his normal routine, and although he hated it, it always happened.

There was something about having to be towed along hand in hand with his mother down those wooded paths.   It was a serene location, quiet save for the sounds of morning birds or the occasional crickets.   The silence was only interrupted by those creatures and the light hum that slightly rustled the leaves that dangled from lowly branches.   These wooded trails were to calm to be accompanied by another, he wanted to experience this natural wonder of his own accord and on his own.    For so long he strove for this sort of independence and he had hoped as he often did that if he complied with his mother's wishes that she would permit him even just once to make the journey alone.  As the days passed on this was not the case.

So it was on a lowly winter afternoon, before the snow had truly begun to fall that the boy gathered together his outdoor attire and meticulously put it on in as silent a manner as he could lest he awaken the ruler of his house.   Even as he tied his boots he did so with the fear that even the most strenuous tightening would release a noise that would warn the woman of her young son's escape.   After all was fasted, buttoned, and zipped he moved his gloved hand to the door knob and twisted it calmly, and as he pulled the door open it creaked, and then creaked once more, and then a third louder time for good measure.   As these simple sounds echoed out into the quiet home he waited to hear her footsteps overhead but they did not arrive.   For now he was safe.

When the door was shut, and he had strolled on a ways he took a moment to take in what he had accomplished for here he was now safe from reprimand, but only for the time being.   Eventually her alarms would stir her, or her sleep would have been enough and she would notice his boots gone, and his coat, and himself absent from the premises.   He had to act fast for it was only his wish to experience it alone only for a moment and be back without worrying, or bothering his mother.

The morning birds were silent that morning.   And in the cold weather there were no crickets to chirp forth, and event the air itself was still, and the baren branches had no leaves to rustle had the wind been active.   The barren world before him was not what he wanted.   He strolled on regardless, with one foot then the other.   It was true that he was feeling fullfilled, but this was not what he had wanted to see.   It was as though everything were on another plane, in some place beyond this earthly world.  The cold had killed it all, and he was now alone in the presence of everything that he wanted, but not as he wanted it.

History of Seperations

In the way you look 
It is killing the vibes
That permeate this mind
Till there is no more room
For rational realizations
It will only bend if its torn
It can only tear when it's bent
Slightly chaotic cores
Underneath cooling exteriors
Behind the hill of everything
We are underminded
When its only for the good
The good of all of us
Do not let the light go out
Silently the defenses
Developments,
And conditions will melt
Into the pot of shit.

The Light At The Edge of Shadows

For what its worth you are a perfectly imperfect being

In the smile that rests upon your face

Is a contagion that causes me to fluster

I see inside the soul of joy, and sadness

A window through the heart of a queen

Giving me hope in the possibilities in humanity

As you strive forth through your struggles

Still smiling, still stronger than anyone I've known

For what its worth you are an imperfectly perfect being

And in this world that is something special

In the terribly fierce winds of this chaotic existence

You have a soul that brings them home

Those who feared and worried for humanity

A hope to strive for because you know to care

Through the fabrics of the listless endeavors that you place upon your weary shoulders

We may see hope,

It is true you are not alone,

There may be others out there that others may take note of

But I'm thankful that I know someone like you

Even if you never know.

Imitating Clowns

If I should continue my onward descent

I will eventually enter into my void

A place in the back of my mind where I sleep

When my thoughts force me into tired mumbles

In the back of a room in the dark in the rain

That pitters and patters upon the roof

Echoing in a ghostly chamber

That is all in my head where it always was

As were the troubles that cluttered the room

Where my footing was unsure and I could not move

Lest I trip and crush the trinkets about

My soul to keep itself entertained remains

In a blanket of melancholy

Disguised in sarcasms and humorous undertones

An invisible frown painted on the face

Of my mask that must be worn today

Though I am inside and outside is nothing

The world is there and it is empty and nil

Tree's blow in a wind of catastrophe

because of my claustrophobic tendencies

Do not omit the details just because you can't write the words

It's not your fault what they did to you

Stop the process of getting stuck in your room

If the light were released from this void to that

We might actually smile for real

Maybe today just once it'll be real.

An Ode to the Death of a Long Ago Simplicity

Of all the things I've said and done

Take me back to the corner

Let the dreams of yesteryear fill my void

As I try to replace the cold with warmth

Toss out the good with the bad

And decide on no course of action

Back when limited reflection granted me nothing

Where cold hard facts were unfeeling and morose

When little children laughed and played

And no one told me I told you so

Before the mistakes came in and jilted me inward

But after I read my first books

And catapulted my endeavors into the stratosphere

And they lingered there

Just above my head

Like a mobile in a crib

Tenderly tuned to a tune of astute calamity

That somehow despite itself

Soothed my world weary heart

Before pretty eyes and  a delectable smile

Ripped out my fingernails

But after I decided to be good

Even though it would be difficult to breathe.

In All Frankness

Frankly the hardest part of following this path is not being able to see through the trees
As the winds keep blowing and pelting me with hail I can't see two feet ahead
Its not that hard to understand the complications of freezing yourself to death
When the world keeps beating you into submissive dismissive attitudes
Clawing on your hands and knees as you've moved on toward the destination
Granted that you are going down, face planting into the pavement
Tomorrow will bring the sunshine,
Today only brings the miseries, letting on the tears and terrifying trends,
Dependence that we put on our sandal-ed feet,
Strapped tight but we are moving on our skinned and scarred knees,
The bruises pushing on our points of pain,
That will not allow us to breathe.
Frankly the easiest part of following this path is not being able to see through the trees.

Rough Opening to Low Caliber

Michael was staring down at his bowl of cereal as if studying the frosted flakes.   He put a spoonful in his mouth and thoughtfully chewed on them as he tapped the spoon in the air before scooping up another mouthful.   It was quiet in the kitchen, as was the norm, and he enjoyed it.   There was something about getting up at seven in the morning when no one else had a reason to.  His mother was asleep in her bedroom, the door of which only a few feet behind him, and his younger brother had no reason to be up yet as it was the summer and he was allowed to sleep in.   Michael would have to make his way to the college in the next ten minutes but for now he pondered the silence and ate his cereal.

He ran a finger through his freshly showered hair and ruffled it up and it gradually steadied itself in a controlled fashion.   For this particular day he had worn a button down shirt with plaid squares which consisted of various shades of blue and grey.   After shoveling in another helping of his flakes he checked the cheap faced watch on his right wrist and collected the bowl in his hand after reading the time.   

The bowl landed in the sink lopsided and bled milk into the drain and then was followed by the metallic clanking of the spoon.   Michael wiped any remaining remnants of the food from his lips with the back of his hand and headed out the front door.    He needed to pick up Dennis, and since Dennis was always slow getting out to the car Michael always left a little earlier.

Dennis frenetically moved the toothbrush in his mouth to and fro the sound of scratching bristles against teeth sounding louder within his inner ear.   With toothbrush in mouth he knelt down and tossed through a pile of jeans at the foot of his bed and tossed them back and forth digging through them like a hound digging for hares.   When he found a suitable pair he gripped the toothbrush with his teeth to free up his other hand and he twisted and turned the pants to be sure they were what he had been seeking.    Satisfied he tucked them under his arm and moved to a dresser drawer that was half out and overflowing with white briefs.  He snagged a pair and walked naked across the hall to the bathroom.

He tilted over the bathroom sink and let loose the toothbrush, and then followed it with a few globs of toothpaste spit.  Then he wiped his face clean with the palm of his hand and stared at himself in the mirror.   He turned and put himself in profile and sucked in his gut to show his skin tight against his rib cage.   On his right shoulder was a tattoo of some random Chinese symbols that supposedly read “Witless Rage”   which was the name of his favorite metal band.   After running his fingers through his returning pubic hair he stepped into his underwear and then pulled his pants on.

It was then that the car horn sounded outside and he knew Michael was already here.   “What the hell man, it’s only seven thirty.”  He muttered to no one in particular.    He crossed the hallway back into his room and opened up another drawer and retrieved a black tank top.   The horn honked again.

“What’s with the noise!”  His mother yelled from her bedroom down the hall.  

“It’s nothing ma. Go back to sleep.”  He stuffed his wallet into his rear right pocket and pulled the pack of camel lights from his desk drawer before making his way for the door.

“I was sleepin’.   Tell him to have a little respect.”   She yelled some more but Dennis had no interest in responding as it would only lead to an endless argument.   As he left the house he made sure to pull the door shut as loud and obnoxious as possible.

Sean put the barrel of his father’s forty five in his mouth.   He put his teeth down on it softly and he looked down cross eyed at its silver polished surface reflecting the light of his desk lamp.  He was lying on his back on his freshly made bed and he fantasized about the mess it would make on his new sheets.   He wondered if red meaty chunks of his brain would wind up stuck to the wall, or if his mother would be able to get the blood stains out of the sheets.   He figured the best option would be to just throw the sheets away, and then the bed as he was sure it would soak through to the mattress.  

He was already dressed in his khaki’s and his favorite striped polo shirt.   His hair was already hardened into its gelled mold.  The skate shoes on his feet were black and worn, but they were his favorite pair.  Next to him on his desk his black thick rimmed glasses sat opened and staring down at him as if bearing witness to his particular brand of insanity.

Then the car horn sounded and he slowly removed the gun from his mouth and sat up just as quickly.   There was a very melodic style to his deliberate movements as he walked across the room to his closet where he tucked the gun behind one of his old high school algebra books.   He cleaned his lips of the metallic taste of the gun with his fore and middle fingers of his right hand and made his way outside. 

Nikki wasn’t exactly sure what Michael saw in his friends, and she pondered it as she always did as she stood waiting for his car to round the corner to the school.   It was a tradition they started when they decided to go to the local community college rather than the larger university in the city.   It was more cost effective this way.  Books cheaper, tuition cheaper, and the money they would save on transportation alone would give them prime opportunity to save up for when the transfer to university became necessary.   She had pressed the idea on Michael who seemed to share a common stigma that this two year college had less to offer than he’d find somewhere else but eventually he agreed.   She knew it didn’t entirely have to do with her urging the idea, because she was not that naïve.   Sean and Dennis both had settled on the school as well and just as much as Michael was planning his time with Nikki he was always planning his time with his friends.   Nikki admitted to the jealousy on a daily basis.

The familiar tan sedan round the corner just beyond some oak trees and proceeded in an immediate left turn into the parking spaces.  Luckily Michael had found one close to the front of the school and pulled it hastily and at a crooked angle.  Nikki checked her watch and they still had another six minutes before class but she was growing impatient.   If they took too long Michael and her would not be able to find seats together and would be forced to sit by people they didn’t want to sit by.   Luckily for her neither Dennis or Sean had signed up for any accounting classes and it was the one class this semester that her and Michael could share together.

Dennis stepped out of the car first with his head hung down and a cigarette pursed between his lips he brought up his lighter and cupped it in his hands.  He wasn’t paying attention at the intersection of cars, and someone came to a quick halt as he brazenly stepped in front of them.  The driver of the mini-van, a middle-aged woman threw up her hands in protest, but Dennis didn’t acknowledge her existence.  Instead he stopped where he was and made another attempt to light the cigarette.  After it was lit he still hadn’t budged and took a long drag and blew a puff of smoke in the air and then proceeded his progression.  

Nikki watched on with the shake of her head.   It hadn’t been the first time Dennis had done something like that.   He must have figured himself invincible one of those young people who thought they would live forever.  She didn’t think he was much different than a moronic child that wobbles around on a bike in the middle of the street despite the fact that heavy boxes of metal are driving to and fro about them.   He was like one of those kids unaware that any number of things could prevent a car from stopping as they should, one such thing being the irritation of a emotional driver.  If it were anyone else she might have felt bad wishing the soccer mom would plow over him with her “my child is an honor student” bumper sticker wearing vehicle, but as it was not anyone else and it was Dennis she could care less.   

“You could have been killed you know.”  She said to him even though she knew what his response would be.

He looked back at the intersection pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and holding it between his fingers he pointed with the hand.  “Pedestrians have the right of way.   Plus she was a bitch.”  Dennis smiled a crooked smile and took another drag on his cigarette.  He then spoke again, “Bet you’re going to tell me these will kill me too.”

“I would if I actually thought you gave a shit.”  Nikki said.

Dennis smiled and clicked his teeth together before throwing the cigarette in the grass between the sidewalks leading up to the school.  He said no more and walked on.

Sean was approaching by this time.  Nikki could never get a response from him.  He gave her the creeps with the almost mute attitude he had.  She had asked Michael about it before and Michael claimed that Sean talked around him and Dennis all the time.   He seemed decent enough but when you’re best friend is Dennis how decent could you really be.   Then there was Michael though, the enigma in their trio.   He was a decent guy, polite, hard working with big dreams about his future endeavors and he was friends with Dennis too.

As Sean walked by she said hello, but he kept his eyes to the ground and walked passed her to follow on after Dennis.   Michael was a few steps behind him, “I think I’m getting through to him.”  She joked.

Michael offered his arm to her and she wrapped hers around it and they too began walking toward the school.   “You only need like another ninety-nine hello’s before you get even a “hi” back.”  He said.

She wanted to ask him about Sean but she decided against it, they only had a few more minutes before class would be starting.

Tommy awoke to the immediate realization that he was not asleep in his own bed.   The ceiling above him was about a foot lower than his own and did not arch the way his own did.   The mattress underneath his body was far to firm to be his own, and when he turned and saw the half-naked woman covered by half the comforter he knew without a doubt he wasn’t in his own house.   He sat up dragging his feet to dangle over the side of the bed and he realized that he was without pants but still had his shirt on.   Casting his eyes about he tried to see if he could spot his boxers and jeans but they were not in his immediate vision.  With a quick contemplation he chose not to awake the woman whose name he could not recall and he stood up to his feet and walked to the end of the bed bare assed.

Again, he could not locate his pants, but saw her bra and panties at the edge of the bed resting just under her curled toes that poked out from the bottom of the comforter.   Slowly he approached the open bedroom door and stuck his head out to see if there were any other occupants in the building and when the coast seemed clear he stepped out and watched the floor in case he missed his clothing sprawled out about someplace.  

The air conditioning was blowing and as he passed a floor vent he felt the chill breeze roll over his legs and ass and he attempted to pull the shirt down to cover himself.  He then passed into what looked like the living room, and it was clear it was a simple one bedroom apartment.  With its bland white walls, and limited space.   This was a small relief to him as he figured it would be less space to have to search.   He rounded on more corner and saw to his great relief his pants with the boxers in them resting against the legs of a kitchen chair.   Tommy wasted no time and pulled them on and strapped his belt and proceeded to a window just over the sofa in the living room.   He peeled the blinds with his middle and index fingers and he didn’t recognize anything outside.  

After checking his pockets for his wallet and keys he walked back into the girls room and sat on the end of the bed.   There was something sensual about her lone foot being exposed and he reached a hand out rubbing the tip of his finger along the edge.   She stirred at the touch and sat up in a start as she pulled the comforter over her exposed breasts.  Tommy laughed to himself, as it appeared she hadn’t recalled him either.   “Well, this is awkward.”  He said.

She yawned and parted her brown hair out of the way of her eyes and scoffed at his words.  “Yes, yes it is.”  It was clear that she wasn’t used to her one night stands bothering to wake her up.  Indeed Tommy would have been more accustomed to letting her sleep and escorting himself out rather than having to put both of them through the awkwardness of sober conversation.

“I’m Tommy.  Does that make it any less awkward for you?”  He did his best to give a sincere smile and shrug.

“Maybe a little,” She said with a smile, “I’m Lilly.”

“Well, Lilly,” He said extending his open hand to her, “It’s a pleasure.”  She took it and nodded to him that it was.  There was still an awkwardness to her handshake and she didn’t linger long.

“I was going to wake you and ask you for directions but that just seems rude.   Would you like to get breakfast with me?”  

Lilly looked over at her clock and the red digital numbers read 11:33, “It’s more like lunch time Tommy.” 

Tommy jumped up from the bed, “Lunch it is.”  He stood to leave the room, and as he put his hand on her door knob he turned to her as he slowly shut it, “I’ll give you a moment to clean up.”

Dmitri tossed the ball under hand to his six year old son.   The boy was named Ricky and he wore a plain blue ball cap from his little league team.   He maneuvered his glove to receive the ball but it slid off the tip and thudded against the grass.   The boy sighed and walked over to where it had rolled away, and once it was retrieved he half-heartedly threw it back to his father.  “What’s that about?”  Dmitri said as he tossed the ball to Ricky.

“I’m tired dad.”   Ricky responded as he once again missed the ball.

“Tired?  It’s almost noon.”  Dmitri retorted.  He pointed for Ricky to get the ball and the more shuffled his feet in a defeated trot.   “You gotta keep up your game.   Just another ten minutes then we’ll call it quits.”

“Promise?”

“No I don’t promise.    I’m your father not your girlfriend.”  He motioned with his glove for the boy to toss it to him.  Ricky once again threw it without motivation and it landed on the ground half way between them.   The boy adjusted his ball cap and walked forward to pick it up and when he did he returned to his original position to throw it again.

“So what are you gonna do when we’re all done here?  You gonna fall sleep on the couch watching that trash on television?”  Dmitri prepared to catch the ball and when his son let it fly this time it went high enough that it would have passed over the man’s head had he not reached his glove to intercept it.

Ricky took a stance and held his glove open to receive his dad’s pitch but Dmitri didn’t throw it.  “What’s wrong with throwin a ball around with your dad all of the sudden?

“Nothin dad I’m sorry.  Throw it here please.”

“You said you was tired.   So you’d rather black out for half your day than spend a half hour with your dad tossing the baseball around?  Why is that?”  Dmitri rubbed his mouth so that his bottom lip was dragged down a bit by the palm of his hand.  He stared at the boy strictly for a moment before tossing the ball again.

Ricky retrieved it and tossed it back.  Then it was silent the rest of the ten minutes with them catching and throwing back and forth and back again.   After Ricky’s last catch Dmitri said, “Alright we’re done go watch your shows and nap.”  As Ricky made for the back porch he had to pass his dad and he kept his head low so that his cap’s bill obscured his vision.  

Dmitri lifted out a hand and ripped the hat off  of his son’s head.   Ricky looked up with uneasy eyes.   “You wanna go get some ice cream?”  Dmitri asked his tone and expression softened.

Pretty Tears

As the pretty tears fall down fragile cheeks,

She turns her frown around but it does not stick,

Trying as she can to not feel what she does,

Holding onto an aching pain and straining for the sun,

A light shines down onto the pretty tears,

Drying them and staying on the fragile cheeks,

But the tears don't stop and the pain doesn't go,

It simply hides away.

As the pretty tears fall down to drip,

Sailing down to the knee as it taps impatiently,

Hearing the ticking clocks and sniffles around,

Listening to the fragile thoughts of all,

For all are feeling, all are sharing,

Even if all do not know.

As the pretty tears fall,

They fall for all,

Through the held back cries,

Of dreams of lullabies,

Of warm embraces,

And thoughts of those last,

Those last unknown places,

Journeys to go.

As pretty tears fall down fragile cheeks,

She looks about the room,

It's still standing, though it is cold,

And the clock still ticks,

A knowing glance from them about,

For all about are feeling, sharing,

And they all know.

As the pretty tears fall despite the sun,

She'll wrap blankets about herself,

For it is cold no matter what the forecast says,

It is dismal,

And that way it stays.

As the pretty tears fall,

They fall for all,

For always,

In fragile memories, 

In rooms you don't mean to look into,

And that's okay,

Someone knows,

But they don't know all.

Dissecting the Meal

A second helping came and went,
I can't get up for I am spent,
She said don't leave and yet I did,
Though it may have been bitter and stupid,
The food slides down the gullet fine,
For I am one to run and dine,
Just hiding out of sight,
So that I might find what I might,
Just outside this pillowed mess,
Of bed sheets in bitter distress,
Blaming me for food poisoning,
When I told you it was rotted and passed dated,
You consumed it of your own fruition,
Chose to choke on it, and blame me for it,
However, it tasted just fine on the tongue,
Mushed between teeth and mashed and mangled,
Don't forget the initial warmth of the biscuits,
Now you've learned a lesson or two I guess,
I only wish you didn't simply blame me,
Maybe your tastes and mine just weren't meant to be,
What's to blame if that were the case,
If you like chicken fried rice,
And I eat garbage mice.

Me, The Rock

in my own way I feel,

like a stone atop the chest cavity

of a dying man

weighing him down

and crushing his chest

but as a stone I am not accountable

someone had to have dropped me

and left me there to cause pain and misery

I feel cold and I am immobile

unfeeling stone

as that is what i am

and what else could I be

for days on end the man would holler

till he could no longer

and all the while I was nothing

but a rock

placed there against my will

because I have no will

despite myself

i am nothing but myself

and myself is myself

a solid mass of rock

unable to be unique

unable to individual

corroded off of some cliff

cracking the chest

pushing out the last labored breaths



Hopeful Jibber Jabber

A child like wonder will compel me forward,
Not knowing what each new step will bring,
Unaware of the joys or horrors around any given corner,
Despite myself I will lose myself in fictions,
Created by others or in my own mind,
Seeking solace in friends,
And chasing liberties in my creative spaces,
A decline may occur
But it will not end in any dastardly fashion.

People will holler and dispute the abuses of power,

But I will not let my mind wander much further,

I'm colliding with walls and slicking down my hair,

The gelatin substance that greases down my looks,

Let's my filter the violence through a media machine,

So I can look on without ever participating in said schemes.

Lost in charismatic speeches I will worship the saints,

Then disown the belief in believing the truths of the lie,

And Commit to memory all the tools of the trade,

But no matter the course I will always be child like and in awe,

Uabashed in my serendipitous tones,

Landing my feet squarely against the jaw,

Then, as the teeth fly out, I will smile.

I love the smell of the smells of the smelling organism,

The one that can alter your face and give you smiles when you'd rather have frowns,

That can decipher your falsehoods and bring out simple truths,

That you thought no one cared to see.

Oh, the fairer sex can demonstrate the abundance of beauty,

But cannot destroy me this way,

But I only wish that they could.

So go on and accept calamities.

And dissect your three wishes.

So go on and admit one,

And tear up the second.

No amount of crying will empty all the tears,

The fountain of youth doth burst from sadness,

But what forward momentum can one obtain,

From drowning in their own tears,

For the shore is not far,

It is just over yonder,

under the same yellow sun,

And upon the same green earth.

So step back and breathe it in,

The lilac plants and silly games,

Take the time to listen,

And bless that time,

For it is rare and far between,

To have open ears,

On either side of a head.

Lament of a Lily Field

A gravely injured butterfly
Flaps its wings over lily fields
Trying in a vain attempt
To salvage itself
With the dust lifted from its wings,
Picked up by infant children,
It is frantic in its final actions,
Waging a war with the air,
A battle that it cannot hope to win,
But still it persists,
Evading all the pitfalls of a lily field.
Somewhere it searches despite itself,
Somewhere to die in peace,
Hoping to evade the scathing pains,
That would leave it in discernible pieces,
Its antennae search the winds above the flowers
But the winds are lying all of the day,
Proving their falsehoods which bash the bug away,
Its too bad for the distance it took to do it,
As the lily's bend and break in distress,
Reaching up in attempt to save it,
The butterfly flaps its wings frantically,
Faintly falling feverishly just beyond its landing
On the other side of a lily field.

A Denouncment of a Discernable Deficit in Denials.

With restless feet I'm shuffling myself to the brink of denial
Testing it out but not partaking of a whole slice
And as the corners crumble into crumbs at my table
I will slide them off with the palm of my hand in to the garbage.
In effect I will destroy my fascinations because I am fit to do so,
Because it was written in my biography that I would
And who am I to deny the truth of the pages.
My denial is the pinnacle of my aptitude,
For I can also do flips for you through flaming hula hoops,
So put away your whips and chains and take a time to think,
What gains will I receive if I burn all my dollars before I can deposit them.
Broke, and crippled between the sofa cushions,
As I scratch for a quarter of a dollar in the last sanctuary I'm aware of.
Tomorrow my denial will be a thousand times the force it is now,
And I will not be able to reckon with the wrecking crew
Who have come to slander my walls and call me out with needles.
In this denial I will drown but for the spacious amount of time it took to see,
I am saved by my own cowardice for I lack certain attributes to make it real.
Now, before the reality sets in I will shuffle away back the way I came,
And I will surmise what can be figured only to have it dropped to the floor,
Where it shatters like already fractured glass,
Gracious children will try to help me put it back together,
But how can I be bothered with the pieces when I hated my antiques so.

In a Moment

Volcanic islands emerge in the center of the sea

Formed by fire and rock

Soon the growth arrives

And the grass encompasses everything

But in truth this is not the truth

This is but a lie they told

Turn on your television sets

Let the images float into your brain

And pass right back through

Like a ghost who can not hold himself up with a wall

As the same structure falls upon him

It's not too late to scream for sanctuary

Surely someone can help you through,

But let us not be hasty

There are still islands in the sky

That's what the doctor told me

When he said I was suffering from lies

They are formed by rain and air

They are not sound structures,

But neither is my mind.

This Has Always Been A Hopeless Struggle in the Sand Castles

Poised to fall through the floor the ghosts are holding on to the thin of the air
Attempting to break the trends that resulted in them being there
As their bodies fight over pointless and stupid actions
The former of what they were is staring down at the sight of spectacle
It's going to continue to happen just as it's happening
And there is nothing to be done to stop the forward progression
The coyote will yelp and howl in little barks
But the ghosts will still be stranded between the floor boards just two stories up
It's not fair to criticize them for they did not choose to die and be stuck
They tried their hardest to live, but the bodies below were already zombiefied,
Living out the mundane and foolhardy life as though they were still lovers in ecstasy,
When in fact that where undead flesh eating monster thingies,
Former reflections of a poorly kept former self,
So go on and objectify the whole world if it helps you to cope with the images being thrown at you
This scene will remain as it has been
Right under the nose of the social media
Where they alive were lying to the living though dead through the log in and passwords,
That protected their public secrets, 
No longer stuck with themselves having to figure out their own issues,
Now even if they were wrong they could state it just right to get every one to justify their mistake,
So they'd keep on making it, being reinforced by a bunch of idiots,
And be posted quotations,
Because they no longer had original thoughts inside their heads,
It's times like these that the ghosts do not miss,
and as they bare witness to their past aggression,
They look at each other with half cocked smiles of half asses amusement,
And shrug and say what the fuck are we doing here,
Let's just go our own separate ways already,
And that they are sorry.

Stuck, Trapped, Imprisoned

Haphazardly the individual walks between the lines

And oncoming traffic speeds by at 70 times

In his panic he charges left then right,

Trying so hard just so that he might,

Be struck by a speeding truck,

But with his awfully good luck,

He should not have even tried it,

Maybe if one more piece could fit,

But too many times the traffic as whirled by,

And too many times did he believe his lie,

Trying as he could to find the way out,

Instead of just speaking to what it was all about,

In the seasons to come,

When all the parts were at their sum,

He just sat down in the road,

Unable to be burdened by his load,

And there was no one who would destroy him,

He was going to be stuck looking grim.

A Nightmare of a Tub

I start the bath but only dip my toe in

I am afraid of a change in the tide 

As skeletal fish do swim against my thigh

As I slowly find myself sinking of my own design

I am ill equipped to master the art of being breathless

Cast into the abyss with a thousand jellyfish kisses

Tormented by the suckers of an octopus

Trying to hold it in, trying not to cause a fuss

One day in the edge of my tub

I see the plug that would spare me thus,

And try as I may, as with all my might,

I am willfully soulfully trying to fight,

The current is sucking me down and back again,

So that I'm tossed and turned and hardly know where to begin,

Urchins are stabbing slowly into my skin,

I'm bleeding out a fog about the bath as I'm drownin'

This is all so inconsistent,

Left toe pulled free of the drink,

I am satisfied and dry,

The wash room is emptied and as I stand their bare,

The sounds of the silence echo in my ear,

As nighttime serenades of ambient noises are all I can hear,

So I look into my blood-free bath,

And I wonder what it was that made me feel so afraid,

Of the creatures that weren't that that never laid

Siege to my extremities,

And never came close to puncturing the inner me,

Somewhere in my soul I know,

It was all just a dream,

But the reflex memory will not let me stay clean.

Quicky

In the time it takes you to read this it took me less time to write it,
I'm on a journey of self discovery that will take me to the far reaches of my inner spaces,
My mind a sea of ridiculous consequences that deem me ridiculed by my human race
The species that excels me to excel in momentus glory
I'm tired of feeding the frenzy of the worldly panic of my discretion,
I will set upon the world feeling free with cynical optimism,
Breaking down the door while braking for the pedestrians that are in my path,
As they fade away from the world we will not
We will be okay and not because we are legends,
But because its no big deal.
To glide through life.

Another Rough Opening

                THIS NOVEL IS SET IN AN ALTERNATE HISTORY

William Deacon was about twelve years old when his mother succumbed to her sickness on the trans-national rail road.  It was as the train car passed from Colorado to Utah that she began frantically and painfully coughing into her fist.  The typhus had hit his father about a month ago, and his mother had kept well to hide her symptoms from her son.  Of course the entire time William had been aware of her deception.  Somewhere in his young heart he wanted to believe her lie more than anything, but it was not to be as easy as all of that.  It didn’t take long for the doctor on board to realize what afflicted her and she was immediately moved to the storage cars to rest on a crate of hay next to the stink and staleness of the goats just behind her.  William was ordered to stay away from her as they opened his jaw and had him stick out his tongue.  They peaked inside his ears with odd contraptions and used their thumbs and forefingers to open up his eye lids as they aggressively held his face.    As they did all this the twelve year old hugged his arms over his bare chest and felt awkward just standing there in his skivvy’s.   They finished eventually and told him to put his clothes back on.   William did so rather coyly asking them if they would mind waiting outside the box car as he did so.

                He dressed quickly and moved to his mother’s side and held her hand.   Her palm was soaked in sweat, and her eyes were rolling back into her head, and her lips were dried, the flesh up on them flaking and white.   “Momma, I know you may not hear me momma, but please tell me I’ll see you again,” He paused a moment attempting to swallow the sadness down, “With Jesus.  I’ll see you with Jesus right momma?”  He used his other hand to tilt her head toward him as if seeing him may spur her back to life, but no such event occurred.  The sound of the box car door opening was then followed by the rush of footsteps as the doctor put his arms under the boys arms and pulled him up to his feet and backward out of the car.   William wanted to scream, he wanted to kick his feet in a broken hearted fit of rage, but as he saw her arm dangling over the edge of the crates, he soon realized there was no point in it.

                There was an old widow woman whom he was forced to sit next to.  In her arms she crocheted what looked like a pair of mittens.  She mostly had her head tilted down while the thin frames of her glasses rested at the edge of her nose as though they may just slide off onto the floor at their feet.  William watched her hands move in strange motions as the mittens in her hand began to take shape, and her hands looked the same way his grandmothers did when he saw her in her casket.   Once in a while William would tilt his head into the isle of the car and look at the door that led toward the storage cars but then his gaze would return to the old woman who was always looking at him by this point as if knowing the thoughts that were going on in his head.  The last time he did this she said, “There’s nothing you can do dearie.  Once in a while it’s something we must all learn.  It is a sad affair, but it is a part of our existence.”   William didn’t know if the words were supposed to be comforting, they certainly didn’t seem so, but her frail old all-knowing voice made it sound as if they were supposed to make it all make sense.  William nodded at her half-heartedly.  “Do you have family you are going to see?”  William nodded in the same manner again.  She stopped her crochet and sighed, “Well who is the family that awaits you, boy?”

                “My Uncle Thaddeus.  He’s my mom’s youngest brother. “

                “And what does Uncle Thaddeus do?”

                “I’m not sure, I never knew of him until we boarded the train.”  He turned his head down the aisle again, this time he didn’t care to meet her eyes, and he just stared and then sat back in his seat.   He closed his eyes and as the tear tried to escape under the lid he looked toward the window to obscure it from the old women’s vision.  He hoped the ride wouldn’t be much longer. 

Rough Opening for Talentless

                Despite everything Roger Michaels tried to seem unaffected by the impatience that everyone else seemed to be afflicted by.   Truth be told however, his heart was racing, his palms sweaty in anxiety ridden fists.   He tried to hold his right leg from tapping, but it persisted.   Taking his hands he pressed them both down on the leg, and it began tapping rhythmically.   One, two, one two, and a small thud of a bass drum echoed with each tap.  From his spot on a deceptively uncomfortable padded chair he saw that everyone else littered about the lobby of the theater were doing the same.   The feet tapped in unison, as young women and men scratched under their noses, through the hair upon their heads, and inspected fingernails as if impulse were driving them to do these things.   The unified anxiety, and hopefulness within each of them was manifesting forth.

                Joanna: 

                                Patience they tell us,

                                Wait and see the end result,

                                Don’t get your hopes up,

                                And never hold a grudge,

                                Take it like a champ,

                                There’ll be other days,

                                But goddammit I gave it my all

                                All is all I have.

                Marcus:

                                No one deserves this more than I do,

                                I’ve wanted this part more than anyone,

                                This is my favorite show I told them,

                                All that sweet talking can’t be for nothing,

                                No this is mine now,

                                No one deserves this more than I do,

                                I gave it my all after all,

                                And all is all I have.

                Marcus/Joanna:

                                Waiting for the truth to set us free,

                                Waiting for the news to break us,

                                Or make us,

                                Prefer that it made  us,

                                Semi-famous,

                                Locally known,

                                I need this for my resume.

                The pair of them Marcus and Joanna push their cheeks against one another singing toward the sky.   Their hands were enveloped within one another’s, and the note hung deliberately in the air before them as if trying to stay suspended within an inch of the ceiling.  Then it subsided and as if unaware of the violation of bubble space the pair of Marcus and Joanna went back to themselves and awkwardly excused themselves from the room.   Roger had seen them before, not just a couple times, but nearly ever time he had auditioned for parts.  It was often that they were cast in a role of substantial importance and yet they behaved as if they had never had the opportunity to act before.

                Marcus was paper thin and wore a plaid button up shirt that hung terribly loosely on his figure.   His hair was a ruffled mop of pitch blackness dangling over his left eye and he was often given to tossing his head back to remove it for his sight line to be cleared.   He did this often enough that it became apparent to Roger that Marcus believed that the action made him attractive, that flipping his hair to the side of his face only to have it return to its initial position was somehow going to drive the women wild.

                Joanna did not share Marcus lanky frame but neither was she overweight, she was what one would call avegerage and what Roger deemed average with a bit of extra heft.   She wore shirts that were two sizes to small so that her rather large breasts would be trying to burst forth from her outerwear.  This particular day she was donning a low cut flower printed blouse.   The flowers overlapped over the edge where her bra top was partially exposed covering the cream of her cleavage.   It was often that she was feign disdain that men stared at her breasts, as though society hadn’t deemed these lumps of chest fat desirable to men.   Roger didn’t see the point of exposing these beauties if you didn’t want them stared at.   She was a bit of a hypocrite.

                The foot tapping was still persisting, and the whole lot of them who waited – about fifteen or so – began to groan in unison.

                Chorus:

                                Undeniably we are,

                                Rather casually,

                                Awaiting our verdict,

                                Life or death is at stake,

                                Were not whole lest were on stage,

                                Grant us and end to our worrying,

                                I can’t go back again empty handed.

                Roger began tapping his knees with the palms of his hand, back and forth, and his arms criss crossed over one another as the bass drum continued, and a light acoustic guitar began to emanated a chill and calming tune, as each string was plucked.  Soulfully the people continued:

                Chorus:

                                Every day we go to work,

                                We go to school,

                                Every day we try to deny it,

                                That we don’t live for this,

                                Pouring our hearts out,

                                Trying to be found out,

                                Living on the fantasy,

                                That we will have a legacy,

                                Of singing and romancing,

                                Sword fighting and tap dancing,

                                On a big city stage,

                                Not stuck in this small town cage.

                The sentiments were echoed for a brief time before they faded into the walls of the theater lobby, and then every person snapped their fingers as one.  The guitar music faded, and Roger missed it immediately.   He could feel boredom building in his mind next to the anxiety as they all as patiently as they figured they could waited for the director to post his decision upon the door of his office.   Before the door of said office Marcus and Joanna were standing and waiting in a two person single file line.   She bit her nails and he fixed his collar.  Roger did not move from his spot, and somehow he felt this time was different.   That was when the bass drum finished, and the richochetting sound of cymbals clashing against one another in jazzy overtones took its place. 

                He felt the light heat of the spot light land on him.   Directly from above the hot yellow beam was all the light there was, and all else was dark.  Roger could no longer see the others about him.   The only reason he knew they were there at all was because of the low hum that rumbled passed the lips of each and every one of them.   Roger stood to his feet and the light followed him like a perpetual rain cloud, he took a slow and methodical step forward, one foot crossing over the other.   His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and his head hung low so that he stared down at the floor.  Then he began his reflection.

                Roger:

                                In a place behind my eyes,

                                My dreams persist despite,

                                The fact,

                                That I lack,

                                A certain quality.

                                Upon my soul a dreamer sees,

                                Into a world that wants me so,

                                Nothing ever felt so right,

                                While staring into my bathroom mirror

                                All those years of watch movies,

                                And sitting front and center at the playhouse,

                                Whatever the place,

                                I wanted to be where they were.

                                Actors behaving,

                                As if they were not themselves,

                                Becoming someone else,

                                And not who they were.

                                Can’t say I lack the drive,

                                But that’s something else I lack.

                Chorus:

                                Talent.

                                Roger Michaels says he wants to be star,

                                Roger Michaels tries it all the time

                                Roger Michaels who drives his parents car,

                                Roger who god it should be a crime,

                                How talentless Roger Michaels is.

                Roger felt a hint of embarrassment about the words the people sang but he in good conscious could not deny that they were right.  Maybe one day he’d somehow have a break through, but he was twenty-seven and that moment had never arrived.  With hands still dug deep into his jean pockets he continued his slowly pace across the lobby floor.

                Roger:

                                I’ve heard the words

                                But I have to believe,

                                There’s something up fates sleeve,

                                Some moment of clarity,

                                Were my passions will manifest into,

                Chorus:

                                Talent? 

                That was when every one erupted in laughter and the lights quickly switched back on.   Roger’s spotlight persisted faintly as he stumbled through the people who all made their way to the line behind Joanna and Marcus.

                Roger:

                                We all have dreams,

                Chorus:

                                Just dream on,

                                It’s not going to happen,

                Roger:

                                It could happen,

                                This could be my break,

                Chorus:

                                We hope you break your legs.

                                To listen again,

                                Captive in our own fantasies,

                                While they humor you with readings,

                                Give us a gun,

                                Give us some rounds,

                                Put us out of our misery!

                Roger:

                                Cruel.

                Chorus:

                                But true!