Call it lack of sleep
or call it low blood sugar;
Call it irritable bowels
or call it laundry day;
Call it what you will
but please call it something,
to give a name that will cover
the funk that was today.
and I like it,
as the sensation spreads
from the head,
through the neck,
relaxing the shoulders,
and the breathing releases
and the heart rebounds
so that i’m not tight at all,
and I like it.
The doors have closed,
but down I don’t go,
instead content
to hear the buzzing
of unknown origin,
to lean on the wall
of cool, cool metal,
to enclose myself
in a metal box,
where there is no noise
and there is no strife;
there is no movement in the box,
but somehow I end
on another floor.
yet unclench, I shall not!
refusing to render
the satisfaction of release,
despite the pain!
despite the heat!
despite the puss filled blisters,
fit to burst,
I shall not unclasp!
I shall not remit!
I shall hold the cup!
for within is the only salvation
of this beautifully sunny spring morning.
in the pushing, pull,
thoughtsfearsapprehensions fade;
straining clears the mind
i’d send this all away;
i’d walk right out the door
and never look for more.
i’d grow my hair long,
my beard would be fit for song,
and all anyone would see
would be the slightest resemblance of me.
i’d turn into a bum,
and shut myself in from the sun,
only coming out at night,
to protect my eyes from the light.
and no one would give me a thought,
i’d let me reputation rot,
glad to have finally disappeared,
glad to have finally repaired.
but the edge keeps moving,
keeping pace with my every step,
refusing to submit to my ardent desire:
to throw myself off,
to fall off the edge,
to see the end of it all
as it begins again
and again,
each and every day.
sat there, lonely
in the flow of the crowd,
watching the passers-by
and all of the drug-store connoisseurs,
waiting for the real buyer
that he knew would never come.
but still he waits.
and is there even now,
watching.
waiting.
silently judging the drug-store connoisseurs.
i’d never let you know.
i’d look you in the eye
and laugh at all your jokes,
while disarming all your fears.
i’d stand up straight.
i’d dress just right,
and always tuck in my shirt,
while never forgeting my belt.
i’d hold a respectable job.
i’d talk about it all the time,
and rub elbows with the elite,
while winning over your mom.
i’d be everything you wanted.
i’d be everything you needed,
and when you least expected,
i’d gladly slit your throat.
regularly spaced
and free of weeds;
full of potential,
full of hope;
but potential has been squandered,
and hope has been crushed;
so what will it be this time?
what will you be this time?
and what will i?
and grew
until he was unrecognizable,
and even more so to himself,
doing things never before conceived
just six months before,
becoming something new
with every passing day,
unsure of what he would be;
surprisingly unconcerned.
running into friends,
or something like that,
who have not been seen
for at least two years,
and yet there is a connection;
and yet there is a collection;
of shared feelingshopesdreamsloves
that is not easily lost,
even by the passing of time;
even by the passing.
with a stolen spoon,
not cleaned from last time,
noodle-iscious attack!
breathe in.
breathe out.
but it’s still the same.
repeat:
in…….
out……
now shut the eyes
and plug the headphones,
while dialing up some mates.
and maybe things will be better
by the song’s end…
you are slightly deformed
and while I consider eating you,
the thought of your strange projection,
bursting in my mouth,
is slightly sickening;
and though I know that in a dark room
i would never notice,
in the light, i just can’t do it.
so i will zip you up,
and lock you away from the outer air;
then i will forget you;
and in a few weeks, purely by accident,
perhaps i will find you,
and perhaps I will marvel,
and perhaps my curiosity will lead me
to take a long overdue bite.
looking up,
that’s all there was;
and as the question hung,
what answer could there be?
and that’s when we turned,
and walked away.
never looking back.
never holding on.
never regretting.
i’ve got to shake this feeling
but it won’t be shaken,
sneaking up again,
catching me at unawares,
just when I look away
THERE IT IS
laughing,
grinning,
feeding;
NOW IT’S HERE
IT’S ON MY BACK
clawing my shoulders,
scrabbling to hold on,
slowly burrowing;
forcing its head
into my head;
forcing my head
out of its head;
until soon,
all that I was
will be gone
and all that I will be
is parasitic.
Good naturedly Chester looked up
with a look of self-assured superiority,
incongruent, to say the least,
with the slightest of oranging.
watching train wrecks,
in two minute segments,
each piling up
behind the one before,
progressively blocking from mind
any hope that my train will arrive
safe, secure, and on time.
Constantly bounding
back and forth and back,
doggy style i live and breathe.
it’s been a while,
and i have whiled
sweet time away
with little to say
for three months;
six months.
nine months;
twelve months:
that makes a year,
and that is a dear
thing to waste,
in want of haste,
with lack of foresight,
and too much hindsight.
despite the loaded bases,
i’ll throw one more,
checking the first
and the second,
finally the third,
hoping to close it out
and get the save,
but this is the end,
no matter what happens,
and in that freedom,
i’ll wind myself up,
hoping to not let you down.
let me first preface,
with an acknowledgment
of the total geek out,
shortly to follow,
but sometimes it’s necessary
to hear the songs of zelda
playing in one’s head,
as strength develops,
to the sound of my hearts,
and i’ll face another boss
and shoot my master sword,
then round out the game
by saving my lady’s day,
sending ganon back
to the dark world from which he came,
all metaphorically of course.
should entirely consist
of bad ring tones
repeated endlessly,
ad infinitum,
at least we had the here,
at least we had the now,
to build upon in memory,
and turn into something grand.
and once again I’m alive,
seeing the waning light
at the end of the fall;
gaining strength
from rotting leaves,
dying grass,
general decay;
hoping that i’ll survive
while watching everything else die.
Free-styling,
Free-wheeling,
spilling out impromptu thoughts
that somehow fit,
that somehow hint
at an intelligence greater
or a greater intelligence,
whichever the case may be
in which the mystery
is somehow solved
of how to not make an ass,
whilst standing on stage.
We returned together
after leaving alone,
glad and and content
to have found each other
somewhere along the way,
passing through who we were,
glimpsing in the distance who we could be,
hoping to remember how to get there.
We thought we’d outrun the storm
only to find it waiting,
three hundred miles and three states
down the road,
with three hundred miles
of pent up fury,
and three hundred miles
of pent up rage,
ready and waiting
to beat and to batter,
to blind and to bruise,
to force us from our course,
to keep us from making it home.
To say that it is a little kichy
would be an understatement
but despite all of the tourists,
and all the overpriced shops,
and all the family bikes,
is the land
and the land is perfect,
an idealic world
of unspoiled beauty
still there to be viewed
and possessed for a moment,
so long as you stay out of town.
