Thursday, February 17, 2011

Anarchic Melodies

A cacophony of sounds
A melody that pounds
Into my unfit brain
-Unfit for understanding
The simplest of syllables
Like two strangers whistling in the dark
Grasping for echoes
That dance around the room
Like fireflies on a warm summer night
Deceiving even the most astute
And I wonder what song
Is carried by the wind
To these untrained ears
And I yearn to comprehend
The incessant chatter on sunny days
To know to whom they are speaking
Is it to each other in love?
To one another in jest?
Or is it to me they plea,
To just tell the world to rest?
The rantings of the raven,
The wishes of the wren
All of them mixing in the wind
And I find myself lost upon this
-A cacophony of sounds

Machiavellian Bonanza

Bought, sold, traded, underwritten
Shipped overseas and hidden away
In brass cavities the size of a house
Secret tombs still holding the wealth
Passed down from long dead men
Stashed away from the public sphere
For fear of an uprising
Poverty breeds violence, right?
Damn, dirty beggars trying to catch a free ride
Off of someone else's inheritance
Flabbergasted fools glued to blue cloth seats
Pretend to understand the evils of socialism
And will scream it through the streets
As they patrol the neighborhoods
Protecting everyone from themselves
And pocketing that redistributed wealth
Hypocritical normalities cloaked in moral ambiguities
That closely resemble the emperor's new clothes
And the sidewalks are still buzzing
With the ignorant whispers
Breathing life into their own doom
As trillions is washed out to sea
And settles not beneath the ocean
But in the slimy pockets of overcoats
Hanging from the shoulders
Of all those we never stopped calling Master

Monday, February 7, 2011

It All Makes Sense To Me

It's all just a series of loose connections
Like peanut butter and banana sandwiches
Glued together with honey
Or song lyrics and the slow death of feminism
Synapses fire at random
Latching on to anything within reach
Until I've stacked gender roles on top of legos
Beneath a mountain of books
On how to be a good Christian
And in my eyes, that pile sits in the corner,
Dripping useless and outdated ideas into the floor
Until the room is filled with them
And you can't help but to breathe it in
I can taste their pungent odor
Like foghorns at a Friday night football game
The thick vibrations grapple at my throat
Until my tongue swells like a decomposing body
Adrift in the river
And I yank out my teeth
Just to open an air passage before I lose conciousness
And fall to the floor in a drunken stupor
High on my own vanity

Manic Musings

..harried by streams of consciousness
f l o a t i n g through space
empty gourds echoing back towards
..........rubber walls
stretched tight across white plates of bone
strong as steel
light as cirrus clouds against a cold blue sky
.....curved space-time
juxtaposed against seas of algae
...................soaking up solar rays stop
future power shortages
.....and the walk home never ends
..........roadways bend into the wind
...............and creaking wicker chairs
.....l ancient porches
through cr ac ked layers of dust

tiny blips on the radar

black as the inside of a palm
....cupped against an eye a dark room

from distraction

Succumbing to Diluted Shadows

I wonder just how much of my life
Is just in my head
Random thoughts scratch across my brain
Just enough to make me feel uncomfortable
Like I'm wading through the mud
In shoes that grow heavier with every step
And it's raining
Not spinkling or drizzling or misting
It's a torrential rain that slams down on my head
Each drop stinging my skin
As if god is up to her old tricks
Intent on torturing her creations
Because she knows they can't do anything about it anyway
And I stumble through the storm, drenched
Nothing really ever seems to go my way
And I see faces reflect the opposite of what I'd call
An appropriate response
Ignorant to the wounds they inflict on my tattered soul
I'm choking on all the negativity
Swirling around the room like a swarm of bees
Each sting a little closer
To the one that'll do me in
Excitement waxes and wanes, as does the fear
That all of this is just made up
And I'm the only one intent
On torturing myself

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Daydreaming Through an Egyptian Wasteland

If love conquers all,
why is my past littered with bodies
that burn like the streets of Cairo?

Have my thoughts run amok for so long
that there is no hope of them being tamed?

Can I ever truly be grasped,
or am I caught up, imploring the wrong lingo?

Should my jargon, perhaps,
reflect a more relationship-oriented treatise?
Because this lexicographer finds himself
at a surprising loss for words
to describe these feelings inside,
threatening to engulf my entire being.

Was not the blood, coursing through my veins,
born through another's blossoming love?
Is this my springtime? My revolution of self?

Must I pit two sides of a coin against one another
until some part of me is crushed beneath the other?

Will you sew me back together
after I have ripped myself apart
and help me mend the pieces of this newly remodeled heart
that I strangled in my hands
before tearing it asunder
for fear that it might house some dark secret
I'm not yet ready to confront?

Here is my surrender,
I'll lay it out for you:

Tread lightly o'er my Being
as you find your way inside.

Tiptoe through the dark
until I finally find the courage
to pull a candle from the bookshelf
and take you by the hand
to guide you through all the lonely hallways
I've built around myself.

Don't let my ego fool you;
I'm not as strong as I'd like you to think.

Be my Sphinx upon the Nile,
my pyramid in the boundless desert
and stand unyielding through the weather
I feel ready to send your way.

Conflicted is Just a Word

Are you ready to really know me?
To understand how deep my paranoia goes
and realize just how far I let my mind get away from me....
Will you be there to coax me through my insecurities
and to take my hand when I feel ignored
by the world at large?
Can I count on you to be the shoulder
where I can always bury my head
whenever the facade slips
And it all comes tumbling down
like a shelf that reached its prescribed weight limit?

I just want to rest on that freckle
where I can relax under your watchful eye

Will you help me through all of the times
when i overanalyze to the point
of wanting to shred my own skin
and just reappear as something no one will recognize?

I tried once but it didn't go so well
and i still feel just as fucked up as I did before
if not a little more crazy
sometimes to the point even, of ridonkulousness
are there a set of magic words i am supposed to utter
to give myself the strength to break free from these chains
I wrapped so tightly around my chest
or am i just to surrender to a feeling,
a growing agglomeration in my heart?

as if most of my problems weren't big enough
this one expands before my eyes
until its as if there is nothing else
and perhaps this is whats supposed to be
but the utter lack of clarity i find frightening
in a strangely serene and optimistic way
and if i weren't experiencing these emotions simultaneously
i'd think i was bipolar