The boy dissolves
wrapped in wire,
natural colors fading –
to set the stage for new ones,
bright reds – sober blues.
His whole right side – slips,
a landslide of flesh,
falling out of place,
roughly hewn.
Broken, broken.
The boy dissolves,
replaced by insults.
Humbling offenses,
that drag the gaze down,
as if from a collar – a chain.
What can be found there
between locked eyes –
is only shame.
Mind, grab a shovel,
bury it, bury it.
Woe to the contemplative real estate,
where the red light shines
quiets itself.
Shines again.
Where the sound is loud enough to oust
the compulsion of rationality
conceding to lunatics.
Growing like absurd flowers.
Bold crimson lines swaddled in shadow,
haunting the eyes, even in darkness,
animated almost.
Stop motion secrets.
The red light cries out endlessly,
while shapes play in the spaces between,
the noise flirting like waves.
Swallowing the shore at dusk.
Echoes of solitude.
The floors here are disastrous
tornado wreckage
tidal waves retreated
leaving indiscernible trauma
old lives told like nightmares
with baubles and fabric.
Wires could pass as wigs
regurgitated spaghetti
A discarded blue dress
may as well be buried tile
sequins and seaweed
a three-day old corpse;
any of those things.
Three days?
has it only been that long?
She was there
then suddenly she wasn’t
taking with her the very air.
She was gone
but my thoughts remained with her
I, the pale-less well ne’er drawn
She is dead
I too have died within her
as well the words never said
I was known
defined by the external
words not spoken but intoned
I was lost
words that were read absently
will the active mind exhaust
I am dead
I, a string tied inside her
found a severed broken thread
Together
set adrift in the abyss
ever lost to the nether.
Something has changed the sounds out here.
They phase out and then reappear
like vagabonds in the frontier.
Breath itself, a labored chore
an anchor pulled across the sea floor
not wanting to move anymore
though unable to interfere
Wayward eyes will find no relief
lost amongst the constant mischief
the world apt to abuse belief
real and absurd defined ‘unclear.’
The smell of the place reaches deep
like a fog over the throat that creeps
finding fetid remains to reap
the scent of one’s end always near.
You can feel the hostility
hidden like electricity,
tangible curiosity,
tamed only when engineered
Senses reel back from the attack
all becoming abstracts or black
flesh hacked away by well-aimed flack
the mind, a shattered chandelier.
Darkness then takes you by the hand
drags you out before that big band
desperate teeth pushing words through wasteland
“There is nothing for us to fear!”
The pilot light defies the dark
a flickering of potential
this is every Tuesday now.
What was at one time once a month
then every few weeks
has become common place somehow
Though the basement is an abandoned place
left to the wires, pipes and tubes
of all the hidden movements in the house
this quiet void
is the most ambitious.
Discover fear
the pain nearby
a dear friend found
on the ground scrapped;
around here they keep us rapt.
We must be scared
no one cared first
prepared for loss
but not cross then
they toss failure – embrace Zen.
Zen is nothing
anything failed
numbing their mind
concede kindly
or find the exit blindly.
Folly follows
and swallows hope
wallows in shame
but the game stays
proclaimed the winner this day.
Harness the pain
bring to reins fear
and gain their vote;
take this note down –
keynotes are heard in breakdowns.
End
over
end
I see
a face
before me
reflected abstract
the horrific visage
reflected abstract
before me
a face
I see
end
over
end
Guttural sounds
are lost then found
memory bound
as I recall
It once chided
now subsided
suicided
to bring my fall
Such need have I
for troubled cries
that I might die
should they be stalled
Or so was thought
but all for naught
the ending sought
could not be bought;
I am no thrall
Though the sounds end
I will not bend
before the wall.
Grow Gray With Me 