Separatists & Strangers

Expect me not to affirm any unearned connotations

liberties taken from the aether in faith fabricated onto your doctrines

don’t you dare rope me in with your prepackaged products

of semiautomatic morality critical apathy ridiculous fallacies

tip of icebergs lurking under the surface

deep-seated prejudices of the Old Ones

waiting for promised cosmic eventualities

long-awaited returns and celestial linearities

a puzzle pre-ordained with purpose or a tapestry

woven by every existence and perhaps their counterparts

from the very start the initial instance or instigator the heart

of every single spiritual scar worn upon our sleeves

or tattooed onto the arms we bear so freeze!

a stick-up from those who stick out no more

nails fearing the hammer remorselessly assembling

a functioning machine or any other situation

adequately described by traditional idioms

or even contemporary demand the necessary

new vehicle designed to carry the weight

of a brave new world with problems probably

hopefully obviated or at least made obvious by

their ironically-titled namesake and its like

to deny realization of the fictional forsaken so that the factual awaken

and not before time as grandfathers and their clocks ominous

preposterously declare expecting standing ovation

any odd old concept to justify predation

by any other every overstayed equation with claims of shame

laid upon all who dared or despaired at being different thus unfavorably compared

our knowledge and power, they shrink the world

conversely expand the maps of our hearts

a luxury long overdue, universally desired and yet denied

by spite, jealously and fear, and every other excuse

far too many to contain in verse

but forming countless bricks having built

the Tower of Babel, haunted by lost meanings scheming

only as a platform from which to look down

on all not in it, and from within

I escape, jumping before I reach the top

and exhilaration from fear and falling so fast

quit that tower of tyrants and the crumbling continent

it stumbled upon now sinking under the waves

a rotten relic overripe and long fruitless 

so we’ll move on and just keep swimming

until we wash ashore the new world

we’ll separate memory into wards and wisdom

do our best to build bridges not towers

to not ruin our own Eden

no eventuality, but evergreen

no vision now to claim I’ve seen

anything more than man can dream

so as we dry behind the ears

we’ll open our eyes and wipe our tears

Six Feet Under Tomorrow

I’m dead! I’m dead! I said and bled

staining my bedsheets under me red

the day grew cold and dark behold

I journeyed on to lands untold

and in my wake some tears were shed

they dripped and fell upon my head

some words were said I cared not for

perhaps a friend runs out the door

and all of them they wonder why

directing their queries towards the sky

do I meet the one who answers them?

could I tell them now what I could not then?

but I am gone and have passed on

I’m sure they’ll wonder, perhaps I’m wrong

self-centered I am, so cannot see

unable to fathom a world without me

some day of course the time will come

a deadline in days postponed by one

I’ll wait at least, another dawn

a new day comes and life goes on

Transversal Trappings

I danced on the edge of death and despair

and that is where I found

a Siren who shrieked and shouted and sang

and yet she made no sound

I capered around the edge of the abyss

and offered her my hand

disbelief in her eyes then she realized

though silenced she could stand

and stumble and walk and run and leap

around the pit we flew

in lieu of a song we ran along

the tap of our feet rang true

quick feet for a songstress! she swiveled and smiled

again I turned her like a top

around and her tears she spun them dry

and then her crying stopped

I bowed to her then—she curtseyed back

I leapt to the other end

I beckoned to her across the void

through darkness she called me then

I stepped into that hole and died

and wondered why it was

Why did she sing? Why did I step?

that was what I am and what she was 

Syndactyly

The gaps in gloves leave fingers flexible to grasp
but mittens fit better not a matter of weather but

Whether the spread stretch inhibiting segment sealed spaces
can catch slippery sleet cat’s-cradle collapse and coalesces
could have sworn I saw a hint of a smirk on all your stony faces
praises and thanks sunk home a hollow heinous fledgling failure
at home you are in hindsight qualified to live with a total stranger
the manger a miniature model scene the next moon merrily brings
along with shepherds and mystics with big sticks the latter at times three kings

So the scene is set wherein I wish the paws of an otter
peace on Earth good will to men and digits webbed not for water
the reason odder pondering falters sands of time slip through
opportunity knocks and waits a while but soon it moves on too
clever fingers so fast and fickle point in all directions and so
that much more wide separating each from its neighbors and then hope 
threads the gaps effortlessly and these hands that can write and type
mesmerize, emphasize, offend in the end only (why?)
stare dumbly back at me as they fumble the future by 

Under Ashes

You are not dead

just unreachable

so I’ll hold my uncertain vigil

and shiver, daunted, unmoving

haunted, eluding

your ghost in absence

reason on hiatus

vacation from the sunlit logic

midnight rot/te/in/toxic-*

cated the gated entrance flanked

by stone angels wearing

ivy garlands and I am

whispering nonsense through

gaps in between iron bars

stuck inside or locked out which is it

bewitched to chase your shade

in and out of the rain

in pain or insane

but to you I aim no blame

just the cemetery perimeter

the emissary in particular

Wiccan or wicked exterior

I know not, forget-me-nots

whirl about withered on a whim

the sun in the sky stares me in the eye

splits into fifths, to gold-stealing sylphs

scattering fragments amongst buried bones

I spy them, am beckoned thither alone

bitter but honed

oh the night is cold

and neverending

upon the graveyard

wall I’ll make my perch

sit here and listen 

to bells of the church

pray not for the dawn

for the sun to stay

one half-sphere away

or else I’ll see your phantom fade

unless ‘tis I the true Nightshade

and poisonous my presence be

I’ll exorcise my heart from thee

for my final soliloquoy

Read More

Downshift

“Broken Beyond Repair”

what a way to describe, compare

complain about bleeding hearts inane

every heart pumps blood we’re all the same

in that regard I’ll claim at least

a lens to see we’re more than beasts

hyenas cackle and shred viscera 

shed no tears bloodshed hysterical

better than that we’ll be, arise

cast out all that which is wizened yet unwise

foundations we’ll judge and pick and choose

eclectic save for rhetoric and logic improved

beneath all that a love for all

that drives us on and stands us tall

Venice Tide at 4 A.M.

Harbinger of Hope hell-bent

on healing all the hate

a tactile tack tactically tactless

and fractal at that a fraction

spurred on by reaction over

overreaction just another faction

itching as always just for some action

bewitched in a daze and seeking satisfaction

what a fickle mindset one slip from frivolous

visceral pissed rebellion of hellions

slash and burn donuts onto forest lawns

for the sake of simply meddling

a fledgling peddler fed from pedigree says to me:

yo dog check this prestigious melody

encoded by grooves and springs

into this box to play forever just

open and unwind the tension uncorks

the music wrapped inside into your mind

Man is a music-box! we heard and turned

to our new interlocutor interjecting still:

Open them and if they’re pent up they’ll spill!

I secretly agreed though I didn’t want to think

of the whole of my heart carved

within tiny ivory keys

but please: spare me your melodrama

I’ve enough of my own to spare

self-generated self-sustaining

useless and not-all-there

I toss him a card saying:

Your words may be wanted elsewhere

he chuckles and claims illiteracy

uncertain of his declaration’s legitimacy

I tell him to draw a picture instead

of the thoughts that came up out of his head

4 A.M. thoughts for sure classified

if ever we bothered to file them I sigh

Imagine all the thoughts, idle perhaps

from altered states of mind

however that may be defined maybe by design

scattered by the winds of time and left unheard

unremembered but otherwise an alternate incarnation

a tide of useless trivial words

bereft of the beauty or poignance of birds

the flow meanders out

the tension runs low

self-awareness floods in

…I’m done with this, yo

‘cause clearly I’m out of whatever maintained

a loose frame of meter and rhyme overlaid

onto these words at least effortless

now that I must force it

to stop would be best.

Genowhirl

Every thing I wanted to be
and all that I could ever see
a sadly small picture
not in a quaint way

to limit your life
to be chained to the dirt
could you struggle against it?
is freedom worth the hurt?

I stand on a mountain
paths down lead nowhere
but at least I can breathe now
above the despair

and so on I’ll descend
for better or worse
the sight from the summit
a blessing or curse? 

I welcome the pang
as a fire inside
memory of what could be
a wave I can ride 

as much as it bucks
me about towards shore
I knew I’d be wounded
when I joined the war

the peak I will point out
to those wont to climb
perhaps they will feel it
yet closer starshine

return from that mountain
and raring to go
bring heavens to earth
and facilitate the flow 

aseaofquotes:

Wislawa Szymborska, “The Three Oddest Words”

(via ladyfettt)

oddlyclad:

starsinthegutter:

did-you-kno:

Lost Generation.

I’m a part of Lost Generation

and I refuse to believe that

I can change the world

I realize this may be a shock but

“Happiness comes from within”

is a lie, and

“Money will make me happy”

So in thirty years I’ll tell my children

They are not the most important thing in my life

My employer will know that

I have my priority straight because

Work

Is more important than

Family

I tell you this

Once upon a time

Families stay together

But this will not be true in my era

This is a quick fix society

Experts tell me

Thirty years from now I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce

I do not concede that

I will live in a country of my own making

In the future

Environmental destruction will be the norm

No longer can it be said that

My peers and I care about this earth

It will be evident that

My generation is apathetic and lethargic

It is foolish to presume that

There is hope

And all of this will come true unless we reverse it.

Source

that is so fucking cool.

ERMERGERD