This macrocosm is heavy inside
held by a few dozen windows
a handful of doors
openings that force the world small
less than the words on paper
an image echoed on closed eyes
nothing to desire or be afraid of
Outside – looking in
this place is nothing.
No one looks here on purpose
eyes have better things to do
only visiting when lost.
A world this small from the inside
Leaves no hope for those looking back
to see…
Birthed in anguish
the love season gone sour
a smooth transition to a troubled end
the pot of gold
abandoned by the rainbow.
The cauldron of unbreakable resolve
sculpted into a ceramic life
made fragile
only able to find peace
as broken shards, glittering once again.
The hammer apologizes,
“I’m not usually involved,”
We answer in fractured colors,
“do you think in words?”
silence on a blank page.
They keep their thoughts to themselves.
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?
Tell me
what I’ve done means something
I’ve still got time
it will get better
Tell me
the weather outside is nice
love is enough
the worst is behind us
Tell me
those I love won’t ever feel like this
their futures are bright and limitless
I’ll die before I see their end
Tell me
anything that will keep me going
that you mean it
to trust you
make it sound genuine.
Familiar streets look new tonight
the day drowning in the west
a thin layer of moonlight opposed
holding everything down
heavy
The self – a body of whispers
bound in loose threads of thought
woven around tooled cotton
emptiness made a fool,
a caricature of substance
like a corpse on strings
dripping with the life inside
desperate for an end
or at least something to catch what is left.
The pilot light defies the dark
a flickering of potential
this is every Tuesday now
What was at once time cycled by the moon
then every few weeks
has become common place somehow
Though the basement is an abandoned place
left to wires, pipes and tubes
of all the hidden movements in the house
the quiet void is the most intrusive.
Boldly embrace the moment,
Essentially there is nothing else.
Somber minds will tell us of the future
Transcribing it as a burden we must carry.
Reminiscent orators will speak of the past
As an obstacle to avoid or embrace, depending.
Not many will speak for the present
Guarded against its volatile nature,
Eager to be anywhere else.
They say [no words could describe] the world beneath
spawning [this terror I feel] deep within me
corrupting [where the soul abides] into blaspheme
the dark heart [tearing through the walls] with savage teeth
rips through me [to find what’s inside] to excise it
let feral things see [and devour it all] before my eyes
consuming me [until all that is left] are my cries,
yet even that sound [is a hollow call] I can’t commit.
My remains are sent [out to the darkness] to retire
like a bat [searching for an echo] in the vacuum of space
if I could divine [some sound to harness] I’d leave this place
but all that’s left [in the loud silence] is my desire.
Outside [there is no response] I delve within
Where [the sound inside died] art was made
becoming a kiss [just past my lips] and falls on the heart
which once had thought [there’s no life outside] where it had been.
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!”
Grow Gray With Me 