Tag Archives: Brendon Behlke

Thud

He’s pounding on the wall
and I’m running, mindfully
careful not to fall
lest I be at the end of such malice
[thud. thud-thud]

Anger channeled as force
raging through the empty house
a tool of the source
reaching out, softening me up with sound
[thud. THUD-thud]

Each closer than the last
broken by heavy foot falls
that trample my past
a slow rhythm to pound out the meters
[THUD. THUD-THUD]

It strikes above me now
a torrent of breath heaving
smiling somehow
as if he knows my heart and devours it.

Who Am I?

I want to ask questions with no answers
to hear myself think and savor the sound.

I want to say I am alive but doubt it
because what is living anyway?

I want to take up space
               even if most of it is empty.

I want to be a bunch of particles
convulsing in the vastness of void
pretending to be interested in order.

But, instead, here I am:
Caucasian male, 39, 5’6”, employed
with a credit score of 650.

All I’ll ever need to be.

Getting an ‘A’

Born an orphan by design
the innocence sacrificed for another’s pursuits
a family was found
between the first four walls
               and the next
                              and the next
                                             and the next
until finally stability is refined.
Raised by standards defined in letters
evaluated by predatory minds
Growing to be what others desire
rather than the truth inside.
The heart that yearns for freedom,
finds solace in companions
who weep the same laments.

They know nothing of the ends they seek
They know only what is told to them
                                             shown to them
Sensing there is greener grass elsewhere
yet only knowing grass as a concept,
familiarity can only harm them in the end.

Finally, someone concedes they are good enough
they’ve measured up to a harsh stick
held by a hand hidden
leaving the heard to pursue their purpose,
to sell their value to the highest bidder.
Standing before them, vindicated
They are stunned, bled, skinned, eviscerated
then packaged, stamped and given a grade.

Forty Two

Everything we are is numbers
a menagerie of mathematics
calculations carved from chaos
manifest as the universe expressed
perspective brought to life as art.

Take away the day to day
the duties and obligations
the life we put on display
and the one we hide in resignation;
everything we are is numbers.

Let that comfort you in your time of need
when it seems all is fraught with terror
do not deceive yourself to concede,
all faults are just statistics and errors
a menagerie of mathematics

while you, the consciousness that remains,
define the order of operations
by which all else is contained;
disorder made numerical expectations
calculations carved from chaos.

Take these puzzled notions to heart
for it is not your task to find a solution
only to be present and take part
let existence be enough of a contribution
manifest as the universe expressed.

We are genesis and annihilation
the greatest pleasure and the most heinous pain
we are more than our birth or our station
we are what discord was meant to obtain;
perspective brought to life as art.

Whispers

Rude
               cracks
rolling
               waves
sharp ends
               break skin
a kindness
               from within
sold like lye
               and animal fat
after a hard rain
               what we say now
can’t be spoken again
               though the mouth will trace
its memory in the silence

Mantra

The sound of time
is a quiet note
               vibrating
the lips held tight
      pressured to parting
but nothing comes out
except that rhythm
               unending.

It fades into the background
a distant pillar of smoke
stark against a cloudless sky
only noticed in sober moments
when the world can afford its ending,
and we, as observers
can reflect on that broken line;
the gap always growing.

That rhythm calling out
enveloping the horizon
to remind us
               everyday
                              will find itself setting.

Throwing Rocks

Let the stone stand
the mountains seed

               planted

marked by arrogance
to commemorate some meaningless deed.

Let the stone stand,
the visionary’s pride

               sculpted

shaped by waking dreams,
that only the brutal rocks can confide.

Let the stone stand
the idealogue’s last breath

               buried

by thousands of its lesser
matching presence with cuts unto its death.

Let the stone stand
the titan’s bane

               humbled

laid low by the cutting slivers of time
leaving nothing more than a phantom pain.

Let the stone stand
as a reminder

               warning

pride is a chisel to make sand from mountains.

Well

Be forever amused
bend where you need to bend
hold fast where your ideals might be lost
and should you have cause to run
               do so quickly.

In safety – find friends
share yourself and share in them
rise together
               fall together
and become one,
still running
but not away.

               Become greater
safe in the knowledge
that none of this can end
all is new or renewed,
drink deep and ascend.