To whom it may concern:
/ a love sonnet / (a song of myself)
sing to the spaces the betweenness the veiled echoes of a flickering light in the distance offers of false promises of home of hope and you run eyes closed through the meadows to the precipice / I have given up running hope of escape velocity or your sweet entropy in the enveloping velvet void forgetfulness offers only comedy now dark matter; comedy and tears / we were so much better once so much more / so young
into the gloom the gloaming the depths of the human soul flat made clean free from panic in offerings made to the lord mouthing our prayers of thanksgiving contrition debased and Confess (you must always confess) / the Good Doctor walked alone but even he needed the Saint when the time came when the time came when he saw her when the time came when he saw Her.
Your cigarettes idle in the ashtray smoke curling towards the ceiling commingling with the incense the trace of memory / eddy through the air in withering mystic clouds whorls of desperation and longing bound to some infernal dictum not prepared for what would happen for the future for death (Death or The End.) you were not ready should your downfall come (come now, many years too soon there was much work to be done miles to go how had one man caused so much trouble for so many?) the Throne was still empty
no one left to remember us / you&me / just me/ dear god AMY!!! WHY???!!!???
ain’t no sunshine / an unnamed priestess of the deep night called me forth from my shadows from my longing from hiding beyond the empty blank tomorrow where all things come to pass in (we are those who sit in judgment, silent screams writ upon our faces) with and of / And I shall be made righteous And I shall sit by the left hand of the almighty And yea though I walk in shadow I shall be the vengeance And the wrath And the fury Of the Lord And his peace Shall cover the earth In blood / après moi le deluge.
screaming tires busting glass the painful
I always come back to the boat / sitting alone again thinking about you waiting wondering if I am too far behind to ever find the light of day / dream about sunny beaches drinking in the shade napping in a hammock no deeds to do no promises to keep; dappled and drowsy / a boat, but rootless, no anchor, no sails, no port (in the storm) like a leaf upon the wind slave to the current but who isn’t and laughter called: when there was no dream of mine you dreamed of me
invented by clowns and settled by circus folk (you have to be from a place to truly hate it) there is an idea (and idea that floats in my unconscious always there behind the curtain, adrift) about a boat – once I claimed … something … it centered around alcoholic delirium and a talking cat but now I … Kierkegaard’s shoes or an empty tombstone marking a ditch by the side (of the road) passed for absurd I got seasick once
swallowing your masthead, ink dribbling down my chin; dare I venture into this surreal wasteland screaming obscenities at vacant lots the wall falling to pieces peaces peesez the center cannot hold mere anarchy (the lynchpin) is lost alone and somehow it has to something to do with my childish plays at amusement my childhood my youthful innocence innocents the best days are first to flee (gather ye rosebuds) / Yes, I dare.
Suffering is Beautiful -- the Buddha said that life is suffering -- the buddha was full of shit / life is boredom life is getting by life is keeping busy life is the routine all over again same shit same day same same same / suffering is easy / the Tedium took away my mind my soul my will to live but only being tortured took away everything Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose / Death is the only true freedom and He keeps that chainlink grip so damn tight and just let go and … not even with a good bit of rope.
before you there was nothing after you there is less
We developed fast devolved faster fell into the infinite indefinite laughing drinking inky blueblack oblivion oblivious blankfaced saints of tomorrowmorrow and never really caring if we never woke up they never did and I still hadn’t hit bottom yet only when you have nothing are you free to do anything but that was so long ago and I know what pain means now (suffering is beautiful).
the Throne has always been empty we just never knew it always looking to the sky for answers waiting until the voices in our heads said that our prayers were answered with a resounding ‘no! fuck off and leave me be, up here it’s still day seven’ never realizing that we could tell ourselves the opposite and feel much better about the same nothing
Adrift. (any port in the)
The thought was that once past the lines and the bullshit and the buying of drinks and the dancing of dances and the fancy talk of the wingman to leave us with the moment that you would save me / we would drop anchor go to ground shelter from the coming maelstrom / if it lasted forever I know the last thing I'd do would be run today I'm just gonna stay here and pray that the day is never done but when the Storm Hit it seems I brought you into the tempest instead (why am I so comfortable with that?) – (and why am I safe in the eye of it now)
it was my car I should have been there I should have
but the words flow like blood from a hatchet wound like an unmuddied lake, brother and we go on empty useless cogs in a machine that broke down before your mother was born a long long time ago and no one gives a shit but we are still dying for it still paying a price for goods we never received lost in transition translation lost and we have no homes to go back to nothing left but to die to bleed out in a party laughing and drunk and waiting for the end too damn scared to pull the trigger but why won’t someone come save me?
a whiskey tour of the world: the screams wake me in the night and still alone I know not how to dispel the darkness just waiting for you to come back to me come back please just a glimpse a whiff of what the earth has bitterly forgotten and I know you never will because that part of me is dead and you were left so far far behind the tears would flow like the blood like the wine like the life leaking from my veins but I don’t know how never did and laughter never fully covers the pain the paint the lifeless eyes like glass balls of empty oceans dry cracked sea beds staring back at the broken mirror wondering why they can’t see anything either but it gets better right?
a fist raised against the dying indignities of my ticking timebomb soul you have taken so much but not this never this and though I never see it and only when the night falls and the beer flows and the evil seeps in do my eyes open with that devil gleam ready for a little bit of the good old ultraviolence or maybe just some righteous fury vengeance for the lord and the long empty hallways of our lives a smile is a smile is what takes me away and damn but you should be scared of me now.
when there's no one left to blame so never mind the darkness
God but the anger consumes me kept so deep hidden in the mustard gas trenches of my soul no one has ever seen my eyes my visage marred overcome by the vast fury of life unrequited nothing to fear nothing to love nothing to see here and so left alone to his desperate devices the demon keeps to the shadows smiling and biding his damn time for the break down the silence the shattered mirror crisis that will tear me to pieces and let him come screaming to the placid surface of my expressionless face.
oh my love my darling I've hungered for your touch
blood in the whiskey/ ink in my veins
A miserable failure at life and everything else besides I can only go to sleep knowing that its not going to get better but at least I’m not part of the problem no solution anyway so one more whiskey for the show and one more show for the night and one more goodnight before you leave me and one more girl that left me all alone with my whiskey and my nightmares but its not different than it ever was change is still just an illusion so drink up Johnny its going to be a long cold night.
some things burn better than others a red lighter without smoke where there’s fire there’s / circling the drain misery runs cold too cold to come out of blue ink scattered across the page across my crumbling bed across my crumbling life wasteland oh to be teenaged again and fix all those petty simple careless mistakes / life almost looks like art but without the point or the inherent beauty and / keep scribbling, assholes we’ll reach the monster one of these days and then by god and snicker snack I’ll vorpal blade his sorry / just another wayward traveler in the brokedown palace (a sad eyed angel clipped wings stained robes)
running from towards Death broken down falling laughter hits hard callous rings false and I go it alone / Again / we keep the lights off to hide our faces can’t let it be seen the dead unblinking eyes staring back into the mists myth shadows of my cobwebbed mind no stakes no steaks staked to the empty barren earth going to freeze tonight likely going to die / voices echo hollow like deserted hallways to nowhere all the doors are locked all the windows are broken and I have been blinded lost and left to fend for myself among the beasts of the wild oh dear lord Deer Lord it’s coming…
lukewarm the rogue a man (gone but) a nothing a no one a nowhere man please listen you don’t know but neither do you the current state of affairs state in affairs stated affairs the current against the current always against the wall shoot me now, I’m ready
the vagaries of drink (
we could call it sadness or inexpressible rage at the indecencies of mankind sweet jesus but the time never comes to play on blues play on / would will myself into slow decay bury me in that pinewood box next to you in the shade of the chestnut but might my time has not yet fully come / something deep inside of my bubbling below the surface screaming in dreams or really just nudging whispering to the splinters in my brain driving me on towards something something that never speaks its name but hides right there below the murky surface of the dingy mud puddle of my life
pass the pitcher pour the beer drink up of life and indignity we are so much less than we used to be so much less than we should be than we could be as the sun sets on the tragedies we keep laughing along to: Puck sing the song sweeter this time I want to cry again to the sad sack shit It has turned my life into
the blade cuts deep but I can’t feel it or anything anymore as I drift idly
by watching my life unfold past me was I supposed to be doing something as the blood trickles down and mixed with the whiskey with the ink with the last will and testament of a man gone down a ravaged poem to life to a woman to laughing at the devil right before he takes it all away / one more shot
) in the wayward margins