Halloween
by Julio Chapluzki
Perhaps i’ll watch a scary movie
and maybe hand out some candy;
I could always drink a brew
and even read a chapter of harry or two.
Perhaps i’ll watch a scary movie
and maybe hand out some candy;
I could always drink a brew
and even read a chapter of harry or two.
they make games as though
the things we say can be
bent and molded
our words valued
by the letter and formation
but somehow the L in
love is worth the same as the L in
loss
they can’t even hear you
through the smoke and the
corn stalks
your stuck here
building walls out of
cd covers and garbage ideas
to hide your private stash
of different colored needles,
empty kool-aid packets,
and dead bugs
with your head in the clouds
screaming.
rabid, with your teeth
in a crooked smile
and your eyes protruding
from their homes
your skin brown like
leather
shiny
unplugging you is like
pulling the wire ten feet from the outlet
my father said it would shock me
turns out you do
walking around the garbage bins
i knew i was gonna find you here
lamping in the dim moon light
with street lamps and alley cats
i still pretend it’s on my way to
work and you still pretend like
your not gonna stay long
looking all confused and lost
and i hear rumor you left,
moved to a darker part of town
where the churches fall down
with all that fire on the ground
without all my unsent mixtapes
dealing with the putrid rain
water on my pant cuffs
twelve noon might as well be dusk
here where only the clouds shine
i would like to retreat
like a hibernating bear:
“fuck winter.
wake me when it’s over.”
headphones and busses to places
i fear will tower over me due to
buildings so tall i nearly fall over
looking up at the sky seeing ferris wheels
from wooden benches in parks bearing
elderly women practicing kungfu while
clapping together spoons of wood with ever
step taken in the direction of the man
made wet lands of frog leaping lilly pad
mosquito breeding grounds placed
voluntarily by morons counting pennies
per day as they poor cement and hope
led to finally finding the cigar my lips
craved and cherished the taste through
all three walking past ponds elsewhere
in the town taking pictures of the grass
so green it could be played on if it weren’t
covered in manure actually made by man
i feel a new urgency
seeing my possibly,
hopefully future,
seeing my way out
and my way in
my way to stay
and to stop
but first the stack
of papers await,
calling me who does
not get to write now
to judge those who do.
touched by locomotion
through glades of ever-fleece
hands burning on coffee mugs
drifting and drowsy while drifting and
driving is nifty when thousands of
soldiers are dying and digging their
dicks in the ground all around
sing a song where a frown turn this
world upside down with a phrase one
of change one of might one so sound
built on drifting while driving and
drinking ’till drowned –
till my stinking silk skin turns
to soil in the ground and my soul goes
up and up and up and around just like
satellites or mediorites or
merry-go-rounds like the things that you
see at night when no light will come
’round like the silliest sincerity you
could try to compound and package and
sell for just cents by the pound.
the cold of fall descended
in a northerly wind
with hard driving pricks
of rain that stung my face
when looked at too long,
but still i took the pain
in the joy of feeling
the promise of cold to come,
fighting the shivers
by trying not to notice
the enveloping cold
as it stole into my soul
our words drifted from
our mouths in white puffs of smoke–
contrails at ground level.
wasted energy on trips to and from
lining things up but failing to make straight
the plans we made for tonight
knocked over and spilled on our
priceless things
the stains we fail to wash out
How I try to perceive you
How deep down must I look
How long must I search for you
How treacherous are the waters that I must cross
*
How many calls must I make
Of joy and love
Of sadness and fear
Before you hearken to my words
*
How may I examine myself
Without an inner eye through which to look
How many errors must be made
Before one can tear down their guise
*
How many breaths of air will I take
Before I breathe in you
How many mornings shall I awake
Before I know the name of you
*
What is a heart without a voice
What is a mind without a soul
What is a body without an essence
What is a man without a goal
*
How much pain must I suffer
Of myself and this earthly plane
How much fear must I survive
Before the judgment of our name
*
How many triumphs must I take
And walk away with tears for the defeated
How many defeats must I claim as my own
And still gait away with dignity
*
You are the essence of my being
You are the thought that makes me real
You are the desires of the heart
You are the ghost within my shell
visions of clean pillows
stacked behind me so should
i fall
it arches perfectly back
spine, shoulders, neck, and head
to the soft landing
my dreams keep leaving out
I keep coming and going,
entering and exiting,
writing and avoiding,
wondering who’s to blame
besides my own priorities.
every night there seems
one less star
in this
asphyxiated
nig
ht
s
k
y
.
tiny little guy was he
tiny little guy he was
he would
run and play and topple over
as though his floppy ears
were too heavy for his body
cute little pup he was
pee a lot did he
quickly
faithfully
rightfully
earning the name
mommy’s little
piss-squeak
putting on my shirt
the scent of last night lingers
smoke from the fire pit
around which we all gathered
revealing our thoughts and lives.
they’re eating you up
piece by piece
those people in your head
(the only ones left to
talk to)
are eating you up
and when they finally let
all the artificial light back in
you know it wont make
you see any better
you know it wont make
you feel any better
and the icicles on what
used to be the sun
hang so low you try
to jump to knock them
down but it’s hundreds
of feet up
the sky is ugly from the
street lights
you feel ugly from the
street lights
and right before they take
the last few bites
those people in your head
(the only ones left to
talk to)
laugh as the incandescent
rays freeze your face.
blue and golden brown
to be the touch of new
in your otherwise decadent
beehive hair
the home of your frost bitten
heart
The Hemorrhaging Eye
A star among evil
Stares your judgment down
Into the damp, dark basement
The Deceitful Air
A shroud of prevarication
Chokes your judgment until it falls
Into a catatonic state
The Debauching Tongue
A prostitute of consternation
Seduces your judgment with power
Leaving it disarrayed on the dusty earth
all of the blood was surely
pumping when my black knight
woke me under what was always
a full moon to sing me gothic
lullaby’s and take me wanting
into his lair under the dirt
where we would crush everything
in our paths
always i would wake in the
aftermath confused and lost,
my most precious belongings
scattered around my room,
and parts of me broken and
bruised and ashamed and i
would wait for another bright
moon never more prepared.
