nov.2010
Stone skies heave their dust on these bones. Film reels & rears/ whinnies & bucks, sticky & clinging to the flesh. Adolescent cries & adult whimpers scatter the chance pieces of dark from corners of rooms & backs of torn nickelodeon screens. Filth/ fashion & fame peruse highways & scum riddled good riddance back alleys. Chubby girls in made up slant eyes & sideways smiles sell soul in street cornered & neon choked veins. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Trickle down goes their ethereal imagery & velveteen songs, smooth along backs of throats and planular thighs. Heels grind no-good goddamn bones into strobe light infinity. Black medallions ordained by the idol ideal & good & all things just/simply/merely servants to servants or is it the other way round?
nov.2010
There will be no quotes. No legacy. No long-winded orators of hope & silence to quicken pulses, open the dusty lungs of bated breath & grease eye sockets to the realities of air & the sky from which it quietly rains. No billboards with plastic faces plastered slogans branded, whipped, scared, scarred & starred in private horror tarnished silver screen. No idle idols to languish & love & lust. No tired old men, old women to revere in modest mock futility. No fruits to labour, till or toil/long withered on the vine sustenance will be found in the nothing maxims, proclamations ululations, ultimatums, decrees & dilapidated constructs of so called wise men & mad ravers alike. No beasts, no behemoths or leviathans with their steel bones, powdered stone flesh & great staring eyes by the thousands. No more death march on the clock/whistle bound & gagged monikers/monkeys, logos & pathos in the theatre of our lives.
nov.2010
Horses. Thousands of them. Many riderless but most bearing the weight of gaunt men & pale women. All bound in a soul rotting damp. Driven by fleshy machinery infinite hooves tamped the earth & drove out clouds of dust, now forced to wander it rose up over the endless prison of parched ground to survey that which had for so long kept it within deceptively secure walls. But this freedom would not last. The force which had so liberated soon ran its course & when it could no longer sustain let slowly & quietly tiny frames to rest on flanks, threadbare woolen shoulders, musky hides & dirty scalps. This wall of gaseous earth silently settled, a mottled grey which rendered shuffling animals & their curious cargo, the earth beneath them all & the sky above, a deadened & choking nothingness. Consuming it all save for the blacks & whites of eyes all red rimmed & frosted glass.
nov.2010
Bring along sing-song diaries & story book journals that tell, speak & dream of our petty lives, pretty wives & insignificant others. Thought/full/ or empty our shells weigh the same as they did before. Brought to the feet of virgin mothers, we are told, in the old language, that for all of our imagined wrongs there must be a thousand writes. But that which we cannot speak must surely bear no voice, bare no choice, naked & aware of the elements we find ourselves in dire need. More so than one could imagine. Let them have our shivering sweat bound drowned & blistered bodies. Is it contrived if I think before I speak? When I trap letters is it me telling the page or do these words, already spoken a thousand times over, spring from the surface upon which I scratch my mighty pen. Too many answers & not enough questions these days/these days try too hard, much too hard to rake the muck from souls bored & polished already. Give it a rest. A fiery breast brought forth first the mutterings of our lies. Tongues know better/followed suit soon & swallowed the minutes till our clocks clung to wrists & wrangled from the mountains fell the hour glass rain, felt not heard the world round. Lick script & tip the scales in your favour/pinch salt in a fervor & pour a heaping helping between each syllable for good measure. Don’t take too long, mind you, it won’t wait when messages come/go & arrive sometime back again. Don’t get used to it. There are pillars of fire beneath your feet & a black boiling sea above your heads. Ramble with causeways & cobwebs, tread lightly on your centuries old dust for we will all arrive in good time.
nov.19 2010
Come in from the night, from the cold. Join the congregation. All of us missionaries, dumb-luck, honour bound saints & sickly sons of chance. All of us spreading the seeds of dissent, diseases distant & wisdom rooted in long rotted flotsam/logjam & jism of soul. Meaty mediators of angel/devil quarrels & conundrums of the spirit & the sight. Daily fixtures on the idolatrous beg, borrow & steal scene. Wandering through streets camouflaged chameleons & crying for the morning dirge. Death hymns & funerary fractured & faded/hand chiseled & scribbled stones of cold granite time without end. Skirts & johns mingle in backroom/bathroom deals speaking whispers & trading flesh for pride, the only stock they can muster from pockets empty, lint failures climb & cling from shadowy finger dented depths & long forlorn forgotten rotten scenes they once twice maybe just told one another had starred in. actors, divas, playboys and prima donnas lustered behind wax eyes & smiles garnered & gardened tilled plucked & sold to the highest bidder. Bicker long into the night with my inner voice. Driven from pastures green & without end to the edges of scrub rock brush alpine limit lakefronts & seascapes. Nosing the ground with sinuses raw & begging for the sound & the fury. Bury the senses in a tunnel of shame. Better than these barren rocks & gold veined hillsides & fronts. Affluence lost but not forgotten heeds the call of nature’s wild/tamed & bitter heart to the sweet end.
Lucid eyes gathered what others left behind. Felt rather than seen the discarded/disused/diseased amidst their wake. Life gathers here, at the fringes, at the corners of eyes & just beyond reach. Where evenings cloud settle & wait for dawn & strings of hidden song tease ears & spines ache & shudder at the between the lines/between the lives of those we bring & those who seem at least for a while within our own. A magic I once held between thumb & forefinger that I could not only touch but taste. Matter/mattered where there should be none, or something like it I guess. Voices rose, slow & measured in a syncopated staccato sort of way, like waking sleepers timed & predictable pantomimes of dream world roles/perfectly cast & hardly ever out of place, unlike here where so often we are found loitering/the solicitors of doom.
dec.5 2010
These days, trains of iron. Earthbound meteors, astral bodies heavy with our burdens & powered by our greed/feed & seed slowly the open plains with a steady rain of second rate dreams & visions. Gathered nightly in starlit sacks that all too often let the light through, illuminating the would be/has been/neverland hands bitten by the ones they feed so loving & careful. Those missed during these unearthly, nocturnal rounds rest easy till the morning’s mist. Later they meet on spongy green fields, virgin verdancy & unknown earth. What a bloody phalanx they make. Stone tipped spears, hand me downs & charity cases, full of bloodlust, need & must, greet with a stillness untouched & abnormal quiet unshaken. Strange, but when the curtain falls the roar & wave of applause swept them under, a vast, vacuous legion of sleepers. Eyelids soft &, easy now, tensed knuckles in repose/sighs settle like dust upon a field worn & weary, stirring only slightly as a whistle distant & lazy, whispers & sputters under a chalk white moon.
dec.15 2010
Stair steps creak & creeps towards me the measured & precise footfalls of fate. So carefully have I prepared a place for her to sleep alongside me. We sink down in dead sea slumber, shoulder to brittle shoulder & head to feet with ageless & seamless time upon time. Stirred & surprised the sand settles, orderly & precise. A geometry unscrawled & otherwise ignored by the likes of us. Our hands do not touch, nor do we welcome the warm, paper crisp wings of doubt to trickle & murmur their soft songs of sorrow & deceit.
dec.15 2010
Daylight breaks & falls to pieces, tumbling over the yet sleeping ground. Unaware it seems, birds begin sing song reveries as the mourning washes over them like a heavy, longing sigh. Paralyzed with indecision, dew drops flash their stolen light until their resolve slowly & invariably fades away.
Lazily drawn shadows down on fours & hard luck bring gifts of solace, solid & distinct. On porches unkempt, the heads of helping hands unpaid/lips pursed & tongues coined for catchy, all-night pop slang & empty pocket cerulean lullabies.
Alluvion skies boil & burn like knees on fours. Come to pixelated pussy & fractured facsimile smiles. But why all the madness, why bring the battle to our door. Sanctuary forsaken & through wires in walls runs loose the current carries these ghostly voices to our ears. At one time I’d like to think we were beautiful & we bore pride on our heels/a weight healthy & welcome to the touch. This song I have written for no reason & relentlessly, manhandled unloving these words. Not without a certain affection, an affliction of care & wary respect. Who am I to say but I want these things to be my own, a secret place I always wanted but never found. Whispered worries reign supreme. The hermit on his sleeve wears a silken heart bleeding.
