Thursday, June 18, 2015

Raven's Run (2015)



Sometimes is where I lay my head, in between the thoughts of never
Letting her run her fingers through my greasy hair while I hear her breathe

Maybe it’s the rise and fall of everything all over again, in which I catch the glimpse
A mirror’s mirage of the time when I felt all my limbs die, running through the green

I put a pin through a grape soda bottle cap to commemorate being late
Through the tree line when all the rangers’ cars lined up and looked at us

We were two dead bodies just seconds away from being broadcast in streaming text
Or off fucking on a cliff overlooking some mucky, smelly river that cut the East
                                                                                                                                    
The grey shakes loose the images, fat fruit falling from its branches
I bite, the tang of longing locks the hinges of my jaw, I’m somehow still in awe

Something old, somewhat new, I feel the steam of the shower rise around us
My legs are fire, my chest is a drum beating steady though I’m dead in thought

Feeling the hot sting of overheated water peck against my back,
When I put my wet skin on yours, hours of being exhausted wash away and I’m ready

Ready to stay soaking for a while, dry off, and grow old for the rest of the night
A handful of balloons on strings of jokes that we’ll soon forget by the last fight

I hold on tight between the gaps in day and night, while I distort the heavy dream
A memory in truth, really, only fragments somehow collapsing under the passage of remembering

But it’s comfortable here, in the grooves of faint smells and dim echoes fading all the time
I’ll stay draped in unwashed covers, kicking my feet loose in the night, ready to run at daylight

Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Old Skeleton (2014)



And like some haunting hallucination
I smell the drifting clouds of coffee in the bedroom
Floating like the ghost of every Christmas past
A phantom of your silhouette jostling around the room
Throwing all your clothes in the floor
In a mad dash to get out the door
While I turn over, aggravated, in bed
Wishing I could afford to be more dead to the world

You’re not the first spook to throw open cabinet doors
Though I’ll admit, I thought they were more secure
But I’ve found a bottle can’t keep much hidden
Besides pride and dignity, barely reclaimed by morning’s light
After I piece my head together from the night’s shatters
My throat is raw, so the talks were long
And judging by the redness around my fingernails
Those words were likely better kept unsaid

But if the way my head feels is any indication
I found my stride and let a torrent of sounds
Slur straight out of my mouth and into some unfortunate ear
Maybe it’s a sign, this time, that I’ve gone too far
After all, how many times can I count my losses
And move on, only to find something else to lose
How much more of myself is there to give away
To this phantasm addiction, just to feel a chisel against the concrete
These haunts don’t matter anymore, these ghosts are things long gone
And I, chief among them, am poorly wearing this shambling skin

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

Darkest Those (2015)



You humans are all the same:
A straight-faced glare at creatures you don’t understand
Pitchfork and torch in hand

Subtle prayers for the great destroyer
To raze the little life you’ve made, in vain
Hoist up your legend by burning your homes
Just to spit in the eye of this fictional creator you’ve made

You humans, so drab in your imagination
Station to station, rotating out what limits you have
Fencing in your cities with beliefs coated in bullshit
Some cosmic egg hatched as you watched
But ignored all the significance in its incubating dance

A universal exhale from your conscious mouths
Breathing out before you could taste the air
And know what was really coming
Wrapping and tapping your knuckles
On the great big wooden door of the empty beyond

What little letters you’ve scrawled on your white paper
Lined and licked, dedicated mantras of bigotry
An allegory of the hero’s journey, all the while
Acknowledge that every hero is dead, none are left
Save for stories terribly told with sloppy, fat tongues
And fatter lies spelled out by lard-coated words

You see what you want to believe as deserved confirmation
A selling point to how great you’re whole idiot race is
Flailing like children, drunk on want and lust

You humans are all the same:
A slobbering grin while staring at your own reflection
Dick and ego, heavy in hand