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Dripping useless and outdated ideas into the floor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

Trapped in my Head

I'm stuck between a rock
and that dark place
where I always get what I want
At least, perhaps, in the evolutionary sense
Running through overgrown fields
With no desire but
to spread my seed throughout
Trampling over hearts
Until my feet are covered in blood
And smooth muscle rushes between my toes
with so many faint heartbeats I feel right at home
Standing in the center of the room
Spotlight on a bare spot on the stage
And I'm just beside it
waiting for that perfect opportunity
I'd jump in sooner if all those voices
Knocking about my head
Would quiet long enough
to let my own heart speak
Stagefright, a thing of the past
But all of this is just going so fast
And I have no choice but to panic
and try lighting a candle in the dark

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Schrödinger's Chronometer

A watch with too many hands
Can never tell you anything
Except that the time has passed
For more cordial interactions
And a stoic glance greets the world
With tight-lipped hatred
Seething through stone-set bits of flesh
Like condensation racing down the grooves of a glass
Threatening to decapitate each passing body
The universe capitulates
To an overextended circumstance
Where the well guarded facade
Held in place with self-imposed chains
Will lose control of violent extremities
And set about dismantling the appearance
Of something larger than self
Shiny silver badges flash like disco lights
On a crowded dance floor
Where every one is doing the "hurry the fuck up"
Sprawled out on a sea of flesh
Stretched tight in plastic contraptions
All updated for even more convenience
In an ever increasingly chaotic model
Molded in the artificial dens
Of men with pockets so deep
They drain the Amazon
Every time they reach for change
And the ignorant fool-hearted propagators
Stalk the aisles with sick surety, pacing
And panic emerges, in the natural form
Of predator vs prey
But the only choice is flight or oppression
Aggression or rejection
A sick smile sweeps over the sanity-deprived
Whose tan lines betray them
As to their true intentions
And another riot breaks out
But flailing limbs on blank faces
Will leave no marks worth mentioning
Because so much as time heals all wounds
No time means no wounds
And absolutely nothing to worry about
Even in a ticking sea of faces
Steady keeping the beat
Of the so-called countdown of their lives

Screaming in Silence

My tongue blisters
With all the words I let lie there
With all the wounds I won't let scab over
Because I like the taste of blood
Pouring over my teeth
It reminds me of all the time
I've shared with myself
Stewing, pondering, contemplating
Rearranging drawn out conversations
And piecing them back together
Like a Picasso painting
My eyes are stuck looking inward
My nose just fell off
And my ears have grown to unimaginable proportions
Taking in each passing glance
And awkward silence
Like satellite dishes in space
Hovering round a careless body
That grows more ripe
With each passing day
Thank goodness my nostrils disappeared
Or else I might have to actually admit
That this situation
Is far from odorless
And my lips would realize
They're just useless pieces of flesh
And would find themselves utterly perturbed
At the complete lack of attention
I've allowed them to draw
To a not insignificant number of situations

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Deciphering Maps Manufactured by Mice

Scampering about like rats in a maze
Colorful bells and whistles light the aisle
In rainbow waves of overindulgence
While parental figures struggle in too small seats
Smiling, oblivious to the part they're playing
Materialism breathes heavy on my neck
Dripping warm beads of irony
Down my nape
And I bite my tongue to keep from screaming
At all those who won't hear me anyway
Ears clogged with gold tokens and tv screens
The head cheese does a dance by the door
Throwing paper tickets like bills from an overturned Brink van
And children scatter and scream, scrambling for scraps
Just like their adult counterparts
And people still wonder why we are who we are
Sandwiched between soiled sheets of plastic
Someone's lost their way
And sits frightened high above the crowd
Who rejoices in boisterous laughter at his misfortune
Tears stream down his face like rain over asphalt
Broken, bumpy and disconnected
Snide remarks from the peanut gallery
Offer no comfort to those faces plastered against clear walls
Peering out like goldfish in a round bowl
Their perception of the world, forever altered
Slowly tweaked into something fashionable
Until they can finally swallow
What we've been grooming them for
When they leave their overpriced houses
To drive in their oversized cars
In fancy clothes and forced smiles
To the race no one is winning
Spinning round and round like a gerbil in a cage
Until it dies from the utter exhaustion
Of having to pretend it ever had a choice anyway

Studying the Inside a Neapolitan Ice Cream Cone

Drowning in a sea of false diversity
Pictures plastered to overtly differentiated walls
Thick with false smiles and lackluster eyes
That scream out an unbearable irony
I can feel in my bones
Time flies when you're nonconforming
For just your own comfort
Peace of mind
Without all the pieces
Threads of my sanity
Waving in the wind behind me
Wispy remnants of nonexistent secrets
I keep locked in my head
Barred from showing their teeth
In the physical world
Because I enjoy the ephemeral
Aesthetically pleasing potions
Of self-concocted proportions
Juxtaposed on varied fields
Of overindulgence
And I'm stuck staring at statuesque faces
Fixed in satanic stares
In between bites of grapefruit
As sour on my tongue
As the words I keep repeating
Each time the phone rings
And I find myself offended
At this utter lack of clarity
In such a colorful room
Full of white faces

A First Encounter

Could you please scowl a little harder?
I can smell that pungent odor of depression
And I can feel it in the air
But I can't quite taste it yet
Could you please shove it down my throat a little more
Your caveman grunts grate my nerves
Like giant fingernails on a chalkboard
And your cold eyes slice through my smile
Like a samurai sword across a swollen neck
And I just want to slap that smug look off of your face
Before it bores itself into my brain
I know you're depressed, but dammit
Can't you just be happy to be alive?
Look around you, fool!
See the heartache sleeping under the streetlights
And the hunger gnawing at your neighbor's wits
I know you haven't missed a meal in a while
And wrap yourself in warm blankets each night
Under your solid rooftop, free of debris
Take a deep breath, enjoy it
Relax! It will be all right
Don't bring me down from my euphoria
I like living in the clouds
So don't you dare take it away from me

The Inevitability of Overthinking Every Situation

My knees shivered in the cool breeze
Under the dirty white tent
In the back alley
Secluded from the rest of the world
Because even in a place of acceptance
We must hide away
And my new found honesty with myself
Was doing back flips
To an existential beat
The written words of two vain souls
Staring into each others eyes
Glued together like those plastic lips
Of the shoes that wouldn't shut up
And screamed with each step
Threatening to throw it all off balance
It's just so typical
That all these tiny plastic pieces
Will fall apart at the most inconvenient times
Like the threads of a memory
That I can't seem to tie all together
To hold it all in place
And I feel it threatening to burst
Like an ancient dam
Overflowing with all the pent up frustrations
Of a cyclical depression
That rounds back each time
I step off in a new direction
But this time I won't let myself get complacent
I'll keep my gut reactions in check
Since they're all just repetitions anyway
As if I'm trying to say,
And perhaps I really am,
Just reach out and grab me,
Throw me to the floor
And stomp this heart in my chest
So I'll know it can feel something
Before I turn back a page
To ruminate on past transgressions
And lose the hope
That I can still get hurt

Placing My Past in the Present

There's a bear out there?
No, it's just a skunk in the tent
Now shake out those shoes for scorpions
So we can wade into water
And freeze beneath the geese
Thumper 1-100, Bacon and Ms. B
All sitting in the back yard
Awaiting an unpleasant surprise
Over hot coals in a barbeque pit
And I've been fishing through my past
Most of it tossed back
Because its not of the prescribed limit
But I've still got plenty to eat
And its not any of that hamburger helper stuff
No pre-packaged convenience for me
My kitchen cabinets are filled with fireworks
Exploding against the side of the house
Amidst a chorus of laughter
Or lost up chimney flues
Sending embers raining down on rooftops
And snaking through the night
Like boats on the river
Seeking out a respectable enough cove to swim in
Weary of large reptiles
Waiting beneath the surface
Next to the front door I keep maps
Of Texas parks and New Mexico caverns
And snapshots of Mexican markets
That bleed colorful memories into the carpet
With each passing day
I see you in the bleachers and in the stands
And at the edge of a track field
Coaxing me on
Urging me forward
And I will never have the words
To appropriately explain my feelings
At the great impact you've had on my life
And I find myself emulating you daily
In various thoughts and actions
That spring themselves on me so suddenly
I have a hard time not choking
On all the nevers I uttered
Before setting off on my own way
So don't fret when I get a little hard-headed
Or when I feel the need to escape to the woods
I'm just aping the personalities
That shaped mine into being
And honestly, I'm just not that disappointed

I Met My Hero on the Back Porch

I look to
Secrets etched in cigarette smoke
That sketched out the past
In wistful recollections
And there I find you
I look to
Large wooden forks and spoons
That left such a mark
They might as well be stains
And there I find you
I look to
A collection of silver spoons
Strung up and sparkling in the sunlight
Revealing all their points of origin
In tiny block letters
And there I find you
I look to
Stories of struggle
Against all odds
And the continuous reclassification
Of self
And there I find you
No matter how little
We may find our words
Caught up in telephone wires
Or scrawled out across a page
You always reside in my heart
And I carry you around
Like a token
To remind me to
Stand up and take charge
Of my own life
Because in the individual lies the possibility
Of moving from one frame of mind to the other
In a careful series of contemplations
Over reflective beads
On a well used rosary
In hard worked hands
That wrinkle with the cruel march of time
But never lose their independent nature
That burns like a fire
Through the night
Guiding me along my own journey
And I thank you
For nothing more than being you
And I just want you to know
That no matter what path
Has been carved out before me
I'll look to you for more than answers
And that as the past spills into the present
Filling in all the blank pages
I find an infinite amount of respect
For the great women before me
And I only hope that I will one day become
Half the person
You have turned out to be

All Smiles and Sadness

Memories are hazy
Like a drunken stupor
And all I can see are deer
Strung up against a tree
Bleeding into a bucket
Or an accidental abortion
That sat in a handmade concoction
Until it shattered against a hardwood floor
And belched forth years of repressed aromas
That crowded the room for weeks
Summer time signified
An overdue trip to the woods
Where free-reigning bike rides
To lake fronts and riversides
Always ended up thrown off course
From rusty chains that popped out of place
Suddenly, like a jack in the box
So we reached into cloth bags
For just a taste
And coaxed the too loving deer
Nearer and nearer
And I wonder if they could smell you salivating
At what lie beneath their short fur
Maybe that's why they ran when it got dark
Or perhaps they caught a scent
Of something stronger
And felt as sick to their stomach as I did
When we were told to quit watching that nigger show
Two out of five ain't bad
But it's certainly not ideal
And I have a funny feeling
That the precedent was set
Long before I was born
And even my attempts at being helpful
In long garden rows on warm sunny days
Were met with contempt
And I got whipped
For not knowing any better
If I hadn't been so interested in education
Who knows what I might have found
Buried beneath my mattress
Alas, the stock market tumbled
And like a bad gambler
You had to reach into your purse
To find just enough to seem respectable
But that was lost long ago
In car rides past the house
Where three of five sat wondering
What commanded you beyond our driveway
Jealousy left a mark
Burned into our young hearts
That still smolders within our chests
But gave us the strength
To build up mile high walls around our emotions
And keep them trapped
For fear that we might in some way
Disappoint such disappointing grandparents