raindrop

we are only one heart
we cannot live this away separately
what we are can never depart
for what we are
we were
from time told endlessly

i feel you when you are near
when i blink away the mist,
the heart of you appears
you wisp away the darkest of fears
and
the rhyme of your heart is all that i hear

when i'm left thirsty
you are a raindrop on the tip of my tongue
when the blindness leaves worry
you are the light when there shines no sun
you are the eternity in this value of one
you are the frailty of me if i should ever become undone

we are only one heart
we cannot live this away separately
what we are can never depart
for what we are
we were
from time told endlessly

you are the breeze along my cheek
when i can't find the will to speak
you are the truest part of me
that forever sets this heart free

you are the frailty of me if i should ever become undone
you are the eternity in this value of one
you are the light when there shines no sun
you are a raindrop on the tip of my tongue

next to you

that mouth so taut
and skin so white
as if in sickness
you had been caught by
some deathly fright
your hair so slack,
it clung to your face
all along your back
in strands of sickening waste

as you rot,
i thought
of what we once had,
of days gone by,
of  both good times and bad
this is no way for you
to end
as if by fantasy
your life was all in
pretend
the smiles you once kept for me
and the laughter i received
you were once so careless and free
and all of that is now deceased
so i keep you here
for me and me alone
to somehow atone
for the hatred
that had grown
up from my heart
when you tried to run away
after i begged you to stay
i'll keep you now
forever and always
as you slowly decay

next to me

you sit there
so peaceful
as if your
slumber
could not be
broken

but your eyes are wide,
staring through
the void
which only darkness
can open

in those eyes
i can see the white
of an eternity of light
unblinking and motionless
as the blackness of night

your hands are so still
and your breath is unseen
if i could only catch a breath
of the breath you breathe
or the visions you have seen
i would mark the hour
in both blood and ink
and wait for those eyes
to give me a wink

it was a few days past
since i had seen you last
when you'd went to the garden
to sit in the grass
when i went searching,
you were nowhere to be found
i listened so closely,
but heard not a sound
the forest was quiet
behind our quaint home
and it hurt my faint heart
to think of you all alone
i scoured the woods
for simply a trace
so by grace
and good fortune
i could again see your sweet face

under an old oak,
what should i discover
but the corpse
of my lover
your throat had been slit
and the scar reminded me of a smile,
blood at your lips
and eyes wide with denial

i cradled you in my arms
and carried you home
to sit in that chair
bloodlessly forsaken
and wickedly prone
to stare out into nothing
forever
with eyes so cold
and now i sit next to you
so wretchedly alone

thicken the smell

we used to be
the best of friends
but i moved away
and the most we
can hope for
is the memory
that bound us
to that moment

it is almost
like death,
this loss of
closeness

but i'm sure
we'll still think
of one another
when the lights
are off
and we're all
alone
with our pants
down around our ankles
and he smell of sex
is thick in the air

despite

of this instinct
to be
to continue
living
despite dying
despite the drudgery
despite deeds done
with such venom
and treachery
that the forever sleep
seems but a careless
slap in the face
against hope

care for the lost hope
slap away the invasive hands
careless and quick
until sleep bends

of this is instinct
to move forward
to live the luscious
despite dying
despite deeds done undone

[sic]

it rises up
from the inner sanctity
                 of the soul

a bomb blast
from the sanctuary
               of the heart

   let loose

here comes the burn
of dripping tongues
left lonely
in the    [sic]

the ninth time
is a charm
when the flesh renders wet
and releases us from harm

here comes the burn
of dripping tongues
left lonely
in the    [sic]

plea of pounding deaf
understand
the tranquility of
   [noise]

it comes stomping up
from the throat

shout the futility
of every day the same
blasphemy for the lame
individual unity

   let loose

here comes the burn
of dripping tongues
left lonely
in the    [sic]

the ninth time
is a charm
when the flesh renders wet
and releases us from harm

here comes the burn
of dripping tongues
left lonely
in the    [sic]

a small piece of yourself

a smile crosses my face
when i receive rude gestures
on the freeway while driving
the speed limit

i have to laugh when i
get a weird look for
holding the door open
for someone

i wink at their sneers
for smiling at strangers

it's a good chuckle when
you've paid for someone's
drink in the drive through
and their mouth is agape

it's odd to see their expression
when i turn down my radio
at the stop light

i find it strange to get
honked at while waiting for
a pedestrian at
the crosswalk

i love the way their eyes narrow
when i walk up and introduce myself
to the new neighbors
and offer a hand to help them
move their boxes into their new home

it's an odd feeling when you
let the person with one item go
ahead of you in line at
the grocery store

it's a weird sensation
when you spread open
your chest for someone
and they gasp at how much blood
there is on the inside

a blistering morning thought

a quarter of 3
and the sun has yet
to fuck the sky
and the morning
is but a deafening sound
on the horizon
of a landscape
composed of
unreasonable purposes

the children sleep still

the linens have cooled
beneath the blanket
of dire intention
yet the scabs haven't
healed fully
upon the beaten skin

cold mountains of desolate
deliberation,
take this knot from the throat
and leave patience behind
so we may find
a reasonable solution
to our destitution

give a fair slap
to the face of tranquility
in perpetual penance
and dig out the sores
from their very root
and let the blood come
tumbling down
over cheeks
where tears have only tread
before

flay away the tenderness
from ragged tongues
which speak of countless troubles
in a dead man's dialect
that has been long since forgotten

give unto us
an ending so great
the gods shall weep
sweet songs
of remembrance
for what they have done
to the living

break the backs of the leaders
so they may know
what it is to crawl
into the grave
like all the forgotten
who have ever died
for their convictions

give this to us
while the children are
still sleeping the sleep of the condemned
so they may never wonder
of the greatness done before them

all of this
at 3 in the morning
before the sun
has yet to fuck the sky

flowers in rain

of all the days,
the ones that quicken my heart
are filled with calm,
peace,
and silent repose

when the mind slows
to a gentle roll
and the clouds of discontent
have lessened
and the dripping rain
has all but stopped
knocking against
the drooping brain pan
that keeps the monsters
carefully hidden,
then comes the serenity
of smooth nights
and tepid days

no pleasure greater
than absolute silence
when the haze
of disturbances
rattle down to a halt
like the wheezing cough
of the infirmary patient
cracking out one last breath
before gazing skyward
at the final memories
of life long lost

the bones relax
at times such as these-
a fluid reprieve
from the broken moments
under watchful dark

how the eyes blister
and scab,
healing under their own weight
upon the weight,
above the waiting rain

O' send me from this slowly
so that i may feel the fingers
pinching away
at the skin
for sins
of flesh
and failure

lure me into the night
so i might
breath again the misty dew
from the wilting flowers
of reproach

even sad flowers cry
over an ending
come too soon

the loves we lose

When the voice is quieted
and the hands fall finally still
and the mouths whimper with regret
and the last sob shudders from quivering lips
all know it is too late for a last good-bye

so many steps left untraveled
so many joys left unsaid

we fall still in these moments,
wishing another story could have been told

what we would give for the sound
of
laughter,
of
glee,
of
blissful joy

what we would give for but a single
second
to
make amends
for those
of the long sleep

it doesn't take courage to keep moving forward-
to keep on living-
the only toll is another breath,
another beat of a saddened heart,
another blink of a watery eye

we take the sadness with us
like a medal on the chest of a soldier
who fell too soon

we keep untended wounds
and draw hope from an ascending sun

we gather among the ones we love
and speak of the lost
as if they were but a dream
conjured from a sleepless night

we try to keep tears from falling
from eyes that have seen too much
in the way of loss without redemption
and we only cry when no one else is looking
so as to make it seem as if we have the answer
to an unspoken question that has plagued us
for a lifetime upon all other lifetimes

and in this we bathe-
a lake of blue water to take
the black away,
to remove the heartache that threatens
our every move
and if there were any other way
to show the sadness we prove
it would be far too late
for the lives we're forced to lose

the rich, the poor, and the ugly

existence is a sweatshop
where you work
your ass off for
minimal payoff

but the powers that be
will try to confuse you,
and lead you to believe
that hard work
will win you a seat
in the rich boys club-
as if they would ever allow
someone like us to
penetrate their ranks

no,
you work,
pay bills
and wind up with a few dollars
left over
for an overpriced hot dog

we are slowly being
priced out of normal living

we pay for an education that we'll
never use
at an interest rate so high
that our children will
have to take over the payments
when we're dead

we trim the fat
so we can afford a car
and an apartment
and a couple of trips
to the grocery store
every month
while someone else
gets rich using
our resources

and at the end of the day,
you might be lucky enough
to see your family for
a few hours before you
pass out
from exhaustion

don't fall for the illusion
of financial freedom

our quality of life is set up
to keep us poor,
to keep us in line, and
in order
so every success is
lined in failure

but you're not failing,
you're just getting by
and hoping you
won't die
before you're ready to retire
and become a greeter
at some discount store
where everything
is made in China

rub a dub dub

lay back
in the tub
and stare
at the ceiling-

so is the giant
of sleep
threatening your eyes,
and washing away the day

so cool
so casual
goes the scrubbing of the genitals
before you wipe at the asshole
and lick your lips for
another swipe

black death laughing
stinging your eyes
melting the shit from the skin
in a lathered revival
of washcloth tragedy

hum a song,
a funeral march

beat your hands
against the tub
in a syncopated
rhythm
that rhymes with
frustration

bob your head
to the beat
of the palm
and cleanse the spirit
once more

lap at the suds
like a foamy beer
and piss away
the last incarnation
of Christ
in this war of words
that's got you worked
up like a dog

bend,
pull the plug,
and watch it all
drain away

 

Shed a tear for Jesus

Just like everything else,
God
is a business.
Vast amounts of money are
spent, paid,
and thrown away
in the name of
God.
There are some speakers of
God
charging hundreds of dollars
for a ticket to come see their show.
And don't be mistaken, it is a show-
a fine performance dedicated to
the act of swindling money
from desperate people.
They'll say that the money goes to charity
or to the church,
but it casually goes toward
their living expenses
with a few coins tossed to the needy
to make it look good.
Don't be mistaken,
God
is a business - BIG BUSINESS -
and these soothsayers make plenty
from a few lectures
on how you should lead your life.

Now this isn't to say that
God
is a bad idea,
but I'm pretty sure
that if there is a
God,
He's probably not struggling
to pay His rent
or
desperately trying to make His car payment.

This is to say that there are
Greasy,
Swindling,
No Good
Bastards out there
making money on Faith.

They look pretty,
wear nice suits,
have the latest hairstyles,
and drive luxury cars
all on your bill.

They have the brightest smiles
because they can afford
a fantastic dental plan.

In a way,
they're a lot like Politicians,
but rather than peddling Freedom
for tax dollars,
they're trying to sell you
on the idea that you can somehow buy
Salvation.

an individual purpose

what the fuck are we doing here?
the hate
the violence
the silence
the fear

single cells tearing away the life
through pain
through menace
through penance
through strife

life doesn't get any easier
and we can't help ourselves
to the directions we steer
and the decisions we delve

what is it about suffering
that turns us on;
some portion of the ego
that proves someone else wrong?
it's a never ending battle with
who we are
and who they are-
and to prove it,
we carry the scars-
little battle cries from the flesh,
tepid memories of what we've endured
and most of the wounds are fresh
to make our histories assured

it's all where we've been
and rarely of where we're going
every single transgression and sin
emblazoned through the blood
found flowing
from taut flesh
and the bone that pokes through
to remind us
of the very things that we do
to make life worth living
but when the living is through
what was it that made
the very essence of you?

Take a moment.

When you look in the mirror,
what     do     you     see    ?
Do you see the person who
puts       you       down      ?
- the person  who should be
responsible       for       your
happiness? Do you see what
you've always wanted to be,
or the very thing you fear the
most?  Are   you   living   the
dream, or swimming through
the  n  i  g  h  t  m  a  r  e  ?
Each   moment   is   at   your
fingertips;   patiently   waiting
for  you  to  reach   out   and
touch it. Take  hold  of  your
joy  and  make  it  a  part  of
yourself.  It is who you really
are   behind   the   reflection.
Stop  looking  at  the  outline
and    concentrate    on    the
image. Smile,  because that's
who      you      truly       are.

No   one   can  adapt  to  the
moment    quite     like    you.

inner wars

And
that dark stain
bleeding through the skin

And
that great heavy emotion
playing in the guts

And
that fine thread of optimism
that keeps telling you
it's going to be all right

So
marches the song
of the distraught

So
says the meat

Give
that last part of yourself
so you may be devoid
of its trappings

Play
at the puddle of madness
like a child
trudging through the mud

no escape
so says the meat

Live
so you may die of life

What
possesses you-
compels you
to reach farther
than you ever have
before

try that

a certain sensitivity

the Stresses of Life
gently lapping at the sores
working its tongue
under the skin
through the muscle
and back again

the feeling of
being drowned
in your own spit

of parting your chest
to expose the bone
of cracked ribs
which hides a heart
punctured
from its own tissue

every weight
stacking high
on your throat
slowly cutting off
the air
so you can't smell
the sour of
your own sweat

little temptations
marching out
from beneath the shadows
to show you
what real fear is

by the time you realize
what you've done to yourself
it feels as if it's too late
as if you can't even
crawl into a hole
and hide yourself
from yourself

a cairn
culminated of each tragedy
balancing
on center
dead center
threatening to tumble over
and leave you
empty

and you have to find
value in something
something to keep you struggling-
but it all seems so useless
so tiring and graven

hopes and promises
whisked away
on the tender fingers
of all those who have jabbed you
in the chest
right over the heart
that never seems to heal

empty lies-
every one
told in secret
behind your eyes
giving charm to the notion
that you're
the only one
who has ever felt before

shaken and stirred

on a hook
with no sign
of release-
waiting for
                  the
      inevitable
to shower down
from above and
drench the soul
     in blood
while the meat
  grinder
    churns
its wicked teeth
so far below,
awaiting the body
                            to
                                fall-
the fear persists
and the challenges
tear the skin
in two-
all the writhing parts
           lapped up
      by fate
aNd  spit  oUt
       again
because the taste
             is rancid
and the meat is full of bones

they say we die in SIN
and BURN in HELL,
but it isn't true.
we live HELL
every day and never
                 SIN
enough to truly deserve it

the broken, and certain cycles

a broken fist
a gash about the jaw-
nothing hurts as much
as the war taking place
in the head

the criminal tongues
taking away
peace of mind-
conducting
trials for the
next chemical introduced
to the writhing masses
as an experiment
in flame-
conjured in words
that have a tendency
to kill

it's not the bodily harm
as much as it's
the mental anguish
we impart upon
one another
for fortune and
gain
at the cost of
everything we
hope to believe in

so many wrongs
done to so many
people
at the expense of
innocence

and

we toss it away
as if it were
nothing at all

as if innocence
were a crime
steeped in
ignorance

only fools believe
in integrity

and

truth

and

justice done
for the sake of
the future
of
justice

how many children
learn to beat mothers
from fathers
beating mothers
in front of
children
?

how many children
grow up to drink
away the fathers
memory
of the mothers who
stood by
drunk fathers
?

how many children
take the beatings
of future fathers
because of
past fathers
who beat
and battered
in front
of the innocence
of children
?

a snake biting its own tail
savagely repeating
history
in smoke and mirrors
all to come up and
be done again
and again
until the
end
of time

amen.