Monday, August 28, 2017

The creeping danger of all things
Eager and foamy with red lips
Congregating between the auburn brows
Meticulously sketched up on my forehead

Closer to me seems the crumbling cliff
Sending it's stones heavily into the drink
I become uncertain of a sure thing
That today, old gravity will surely fail me.

My wings are clipped, my beak is broken
These vicious talons are all I have left.
I am an eager lizard kicking at the gravel
My clumsy scales quiver at the Sun

Shame becomes a ill companion
Coughing and beckoning to be groomed
Flipping through dusty crackling pages
In a memory book called Regret

One day I may savagely rule this world
But today, I am afraid.

Saturday, August 26, 2017

Tease

Six sided shapes decorate your walls
An old piano in your living room
Your bed rest several feet above the ground
I can tell you enjoy your sex

You're paint yourself from head toe
and drape a loose shirt across your breast
A tight squeeze of denim jeans
The clinky janlging of cheap jewelry

You like to sit real close to me
But your eyes fight to make contact
I'll let you steal a few sips of my drink
As I try to relax into my seat

I think you want just a taste of me
You couldn't handle the whole thing
I want to lick you like you're ice cream
You're just as cold, but not as sweet



Monday, August 21, 2017

One Way Conversation

TO: Jake


Hey, man.

I didn't know you. I don't know you. And given the circumstances I will never get a chance to know you. To fully know you, I mean. What I do know is that we went to the same school, were in the same grade, or at least a neighboring grade, and that you had a wide smile that covered the vastness of your plainly handsome face. I've tried to read your personality through pictures. You're laughing, smiling, singing, and shouting. I can only observe your exclamations in and through silence. You are, were, very much real. Living a life I knew nothing about with mutual friends that I've drifted further from. Now these distant friends post your picture on every social media center, the news has your name bolstered in black, white, and red across the headlines. There are forums with comments filled with opinions about you, about your death, about your killer. And your face is clearer in my mind today than ever before, including the times we may or may not have passed each other in our high schools halls, or more likely, briskly across the senior lawn. I think I remember you were an A's fan. I recall you celebrating with a gleaming smile in the iconic green and yellow coat and hat. Could be a mistaken memory. Could have been another face in an endless crowd. And the same could be said of your circumstances, this could have happened to anyone else, it could have been another unlucky soul struck down by the fierce bite of that bullet. And perhaps you could have enjoyed this cloudy eclipse, gleaming that contagious smile back towards the hidden Sun. And I would continue on not knowing you, not needing to have this conversation with the idea of your poltergeist. So even though I never knew you, and never will, I wish you were here.

Today I Got A Haircut

I am not a poet. But I am inclined to write. 

Silly how distant one can feel from his own thoughts.

As if a thought is anything to own.

Ownership. "This is mine. I claim this."

Certain desires arise from the grip of claim.

"I claim this and therefore it is mine. 

I shall protect it, care for it, and respect it."

Over time:

"This has gotten old. What else is there to claim?

I will neglect this, reject this, deflect this.

Yet my clasp shall remain tight upon my ownership over this."

At least, this is true for me. 

Truth. What is it anymore?

Has truth always remained the same, or

like a pocket of wind, or body of water

is truth defined heavily by it's immediate influence?

I.e. gravity, temperature, the moon, a vacuum between adjacent buildings.

I am no mystery.

There isn't much to me.

I want food, drink, fucking, and popularity.

There is the corner of humanity that fits me.

And though I am not mysterious, 

I keep myself hidden,

Fear...

Staring at the monster face to face.

My own personal devil.

By no means am I spectacular.

I am ordinary, plain white bread, bleached of all nutrients.

Current state: edible but not nutritious.

Current mood: excited but not necessarily excited.

Plagued by a lack of education.

I am an animal wandering the streets.

I dodge cars in traffic and pick at the scraps thrown to me,

with the audacity to be choosy.

I am filth.

Becoming the trash I consume.

I am grim.

The settling murderous black clouded dust.

There is a war within me.

And I am the War.

Victory: Life

Penalty: Death 

Obstacles: Honesty, courage, vulnerability, clarity, assurance, confidence.

There is a long drawn out wire before me.

It is suspended at a terrifying height.

It stretches out and across into the darkness.

And I know something is on the other side.

Will it be wonderful?

With decorated frills and erotic confetti?

Or is there only more darkness, more wire, more suspense?

Who cares.

This is my corner of humanity.

I might have chosen it.

I might have built it.

Either way, I have staked my claim.

And I accept that this claim may only be a phase

an oscillating phase that takes an eternity to come full circle

And this softens the blow

pads the pillow

But I am not a poet

Just a catastrophe with a built in panic button. 

Sunday, August 20, 2017

Satisfaction

Satisfaction runs from me
And kicks dust into my face
If I peer through the settling cloud
I can almost see it in the distance

I very much play the fool
who wades in the cooling waters
a dreadful thirst rises in me
But I am too stubborn to drink

A vice to quench the temporary
need to speed the inevitable.
Breathe it in or choke it down.
It comes and goes just as fast.

The boy in me wants sweets and cakes
and to clamor all day long
The man wants love and respect
and to wrestle sumptuously into the night