I am not allowed to watch Whale Wars any more... It makes me way too angry...
...and now, a poem...*yay*
The Match Dipper's Teeth
On this foundation of our life
we have built a prison -
the ribs around your heart compose the bars.
We capture breezes in blankets
and watch them become ghosts.
We laugh and never fuck the way we used to
in a torrent,
in a tinder,
in a tender thunder storm -
lost amongst the stars
that drape our walls,
shadows amongst the neverending violet light.
We sleep dry amongst the rain when it's a muse
and when it falls,
when we do sleep
connected by the web of fog
and lies and song and endless string of cars,
it shines us on like silvering scars.
Seperated at the hips and hearts
by the blinding, sleepless, simple mist,
the drone of whispering pistons drift
lock my jaw with bolt and bars
Sleep, my sweet,
amongst the match dippers teeth
sulfer-brittle, broken and barred
the pieces of each you gather and keep
as tools to cut out the stars.
:)
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Machete
I wrote a poem
with a machete in my lap
.
The poem never had a chance -
I liked the way the blade
made me feel.
Black steel
and self doubt. With these
two things I will start,
a war.
with a machete in my lap
.
The poem never had a chance -
I liked the way the blade
made me feel.
Black steel
and self doubt. With these
two things I will start,
in a thousand different ways,
Monday, June 22, 2009
Spoken word without the spoken part...
Shotgun
The noise instantly settled deep within
like a fossil or a foundation.
Still, I know it -
like a scarred finger tip or
30 year old photos of a father's
hunting trip.
"Place the stock under your chin
and breathe, See?
Squeeze the trigger gently in
and kill it, it's that easy."
After 39 seconds of silence he told me we
were not his only sons.
And as he turned to me and stared
down the barrel of his gun
he said - "You never were a promise
just a working man's mistake. Maybe just
a way of beating death
from cradle to grave"
He likes his coffee strong and later on,
and his women sweet and cheap
His Guns and Ammo issues
and he liked his whiskey neat.
He spoke this to me subtly -
as soft as silk or fleece.
The way you speak of ones you meet
with brittle teeth
Quietly,
as if you're keeping
some nasty secret deep.
Deeper than the whiskey keeps
(and deepening)
buried deep within your sleep?
What a whiskey whisper holds
keeps
his sheep
from sleeping.
The noise settled deeper still,
it sits. I could put my thumb on it,
pin it down and, without ultrasound or bloodhound,
tell you exactly where it lay buried
in the back of my chest -Like a crucifix
or thump,
it hangs in the ether
separating my black lungs
at the dimple in my neck.
And as if a token silence is all that I have left,
the rush of air escaping becomes a blast of dying breath
Bang.
The noise has settled deep within
all the broken bones and tissues
cutting out the ventricles
dissecting the squared inches.
Marking them 1 to 4
polishing the ridges.
Stacking them like cinder-blocks, echoing a wall
But my Jericho is coming and
he comes to make them fall
Calling through a horn
with a sound so wafer thin
Coursing through me
like a thread of venom
Cutting through like violence,
screaming like a heartrace or
silent violins.
Write an ode to the wasteland
of the white-tailed flag of flesh
the hunger for some torture -
for the mercifully fresh.
"Life is war" he tells me
appearing only half his size
with one hand
he stokes the fur
while the other
gouges eyes.
"I swallow air raid sirens and
I spit them out blitzkrieg"
He's challanging to the struggle -
I'm struggling
to breathe
as blood reaches
my feet.
Slowly sinking dirt-ward
toward someone else's sky,
tapered limbs are pinned to death
like paper to a fly.
Startled, you realise
that the noise so settled deep within
Is not the sound of searing buckshot
but of your heart crashing in
and reverberating sharply
so darkly in the darkness
that the noise is now every sound;
every spinal wave;
everything,
but a shotgun blast.
The noise instantly settled deep within
like a fossil or a foundation.
Still, I know it -
like a scarred finger tip or
30 year old photos of a father's
hunting trip.
"Place the stock under your chin
and breathe, See?
Squeeze the trigger gently in
and kill it, it's that easy."
After 39 seconds of silence he told me we
were not his only sons.
And as he turned to me and stared
down the barrel of his gun
he said - "You never were a promise
just a working man's mistake. Maybe just
a way of beating death
from cradle to grave"
He likes his coffee strong and later on,
and his women sweet and cheap
His Guns and Ammo issues
and he liked his whiskey neat.
He spoke this to me subtly -
as soft as silk or fleece.
The way you speak of ones you meet
with brittle teeth
Quietly,
as if you're keeping
some nasty secret deep.
Deeper than the whiskey keeps
(and deepening)
buried deep within your sleep?
What a whiskey whisper holds
keeps
his sheep
from sleeping.
The noise settled deeper still,
it sits. I could put my thumb on it,
pin it down and, without ultrasound or bloodhound,
tell you exactly where it lay buried
in the back of my chest -Like a crucifix
or thump,
it hangs in the ether
separating my black lungs
at the dimple in my neck.
And as if a token silence is all that I have left,
the rush of air escaping becomes a blast of dying breath
Bang.
The noise has settled deep within
all the broken bones and tissues
cutting out the ventricles
dissecting the squared inches.
Marking them 1 to 4
polishing the ridges.
Stacking them like cinder-blocks, echoing a wall
But my Jericho is coming and
he comes to make them fall
Calling through a horn
with a sound so wafer thin
Coursing through me
like a thread of venom
Cutting through like violence,
screaming like a heartrace or
silent violins.
Write an ode to the wasteland
of the white-tailed flag of flesh
the hunger for some torture -
for the mercifully fresh.
"Life is war" he tells me
appearing only half his size
with one hand
he stokes the fur
while the other
gouges eyes.
"I swallow air raid sirens and
I spit them out blitzkrieg"
He's challanging to the struggle -
I'm struggling
to breathe
as blood reaches
my feet.
Slowly sinking dirt-ward
toward someone else's sky,
tapered limbs are pinned to death
like paper to a fly.
Startled, you realise
that the noise so settled deep within
Is not the sound of searing buckshot
but of your heart crashing in
and reverberating sharply
so darkly in the darkness
that the noise is now every sound;
every spinal wave;
everything,
but a shotgun blast.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Smoking in the Dark
Fading away
a cigarette ash falls,
shaped like a star
falling because it must
glowing & floating in the air
like a little g-d,
teasing, taming the moment's tone.
Blood rushes to the end of your hand
as you smack the universe blind.
A thousand wasted days
One hundred demons
2 seconds
One million stars
and ashes fall shaped like stars
Falling and floating like stars -
burning out
and dampening the light
Suffer, the stars are beaming
Suffer the night
Glow like an ember
or an alter of candles
Breath even less
and put it out
like a g-d.
a cigarette ash falls,
shaped like a star
falling because it must
glowing & floating in the air
like a little g-d,
teasing, taming the moment's tone.
Blood rushes to the end of your hand
as you smack the universe blind.
A thousand wasted days
One hundred demons
2 seconds
One million stars
and ashes fall shaped like stars
Falling and floating like stars -
burning out
and dampening the light
Suffer, the stars are beaming
Suffer the night
Glow like an ember
or an alter of candles
Breath even less
and put it out
like a g-d.
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