Twenty-one

Twenty-one
My heart stops to bleed
I try to remember
For these twenty-one memories
Would blow embers into flames
Would define passion
But my brain is half-shattered
I've been much too proud
Of my self-inflicted lobotomy
Apathetic at the time
Dumbed down and numbed now
To the point
Where it just doesn't seem to matter
And it doesn't
Except in moments like these
When a bubble of the past
Rises to the surface
Of my half-set grape kool-aid gelatin head
To taunt me with jigsaw fragments
Puzzle pieces scattered, most lost forever
But the ones that come together
Fire lust within me
Give me the slightest hope
Cherished nonetheless
Of twenty-one

"Forgetting"

Ghosts and Spirits whirl like dervishes
Caught and crammed in a soft metal silo
Freed from time but tied to space by a coil
Clinging to dream, the lucky few
Vacate the hive for a minute
A short moment of remembrance
Denied a quick forgetting
Or consigned to lonely park benches
Behind seldom opened doors
Locked in basements, difficult to enter
Segregated from the swarm
Yet cursed in cherished imprisonment
They never grow old
They envy the ones ignored
Those who are being forgotten
Breaking their chains for good
Melting into the atmosphere
Where they belong
Parting the dead sea
They crawl without a leader
Too numb to appreciate this unexpected exodus
Caring less for those left behind
Knowing that they, for all their loneliness
Are the blessed ones

A Second Coming

I can't talk with my mouth full of water
But I'll try

What are you doing here?
I would have thought you'd be
Dry, bare bones by now
I'd come to terms with the memory
Filed and stored it in a dusty chamber
Where it's power could not hurt me
Anymore
Sealed in a strong locked box
I thought I had mastered the anger
That I'd dominated it through the tears of others
Though it had eaten me
To leprous skin and bone
Forgiveness seemed easy
When you were so far away
Because I wanted to love you so badly
But now you're back
Your own anger almost dwarfing mine
Your own tears, earned honestly
Though not half as innocently as my own
And you're still repeating your mantra
I will never forget
Your message, your signal flare
Something you needed me to know
With all the urgency of confession
(As if that were an excuse)

"My nerves are shot
My nerves are shot
My nerves are shot
My nerves are shot"
You always had a knack for stating the obvious

Until today I had managed
To squelch that ridiculous chanting
But here you are again
Showed up almost out of a dream
Needing a sponge
To soak in your rage
(None of my doing)
Begging me to stitch your heart back together
(I haven't the surgeon's skill)
Punching holes in walls
(.....)
Getting your knees dirty
Asking for miracles
Expecting me to pull them off
Ultimately disappointed
Hallucinating power for me to wield
Not realizing
That my back had already been broken
By the same sad world
That broke yours

The Narcissitic Mystic

Floating in a muck-filled puddle
The narcissistic mystic studies
The tainted gleam in her greedy eyes

A fog mist, salty poisoned sweat
Dribbles maps and legends, roads and highways
That tattoo her entire body

She courts tragedy in a lint ridden black dress
And despises the light
That calls forth her reflection

An aura...a stench
Wafts from her half-rotten husk
And sets a perimeter

Which I dare not cross
Lest she drag me down
To drown in the scum laced waters

Of her mysticism

"Intermission"

A little rest
It's been a long hard road
You're tired and you deserve it
So lay back
Let the sounds fill your head
Marvel
At how they seep into your body
Like a pure drug
And lift your spirit

Find a soft pillow
I'll stand watch
As you tear it all down
When it gets too hard
When you fear letting go
And the sights to see
On the other side of the wall
You're tearing down
Let me be your fortress

Together we will gather
The broken pieces of your days
And I will slowly put them back together
Just slowly enough
For you to feel the love
That comes in my reassembling
And leave behind
Everything that tore them apart

Everything that tore them apart
I will cause you to forget
As we lay
As we melt into one each other
As we melt into earth
Flesh of My flesh
Bone of My bone
One seed
Planted by Death
To sprout and grow
Into new life
In a new garden

Settle your thoughts
Receive calm for your shattered nerves
Though they are shot
I will ride shotgun

I am love
This world is a mirror
You see it as in reverse
The reality:
Reap
Sow
Plant
I am the Farmer
I love you
Because you know Me
For what I am
You know
That I am not Grim
That my sickle serves a purpose
It's blade, sharp and shiny
A two edged sword
Brings you to this place
Where enlightenment never dims or fades

We will ride it together
Until harvest has come
You and I will be One
Until we both realize
We've got a spare rib

The Begging God

The begging God
Holds forth His greedy hands
Palms up
Lifeline unbroken
A vending machine
Without a coin slot
Asks for a dime
Expects a dollar

A greedy deity
Who dances with demons
Listens to gibberish
Suffers fools gladly
Insisting
"This is the Way, the Truth, the Life
This is the way it's done, it's all you must do
This the truth: P.T. Barnum was right
This is the life, unearned and unpaid for
A wise investor's goldmine
A field of dreams for sale, barren
Blood money for more seed
It's yours for the asking"

The begging God
Patron saint of confidence and extortion
Comforts the elderly
Patiently waiting
For
The Big Payoff
For
It's easy to convince them
To expect a windfall
Green Granny Smith apples
On sale
Ten for a dollar
Tiny serpent worms munch tunnels
In nine of them
The gambling deity
Lays odds on whether or not
Their shiny skins will ever be broken
By coffee stained teeth or pearl shiny dentures
He knows they will
For
They are hungry, starving, famished
He also knows they will throw away all ten
When they bite into one bad apple

The begging God
Does not share well
His pockets are weighed down with loose change
But don't ask for a hand out
He will only begrudge two pennies
And tell you, as you
Walk away disappointed
"Don't spend it all in one place, buddy"

...and I did

I hear…I will…I do not understand, if you are speaking through me won’t you please make your presence known. If not, kindly show me to the door. Jolly rancher, jolly Rodger…Every rose has it’s burden, a shifting stone takes in all it has coming. A stitch to throw in a ditch saves just three under a dozen. Come in and care. Come in and make yourself at home. Come in here and cough up a phlegm-ball. Rest your weary head on my tombstone.

There’s a reason for all the things I do. Do you want to know what it is? One thing, and ONLY one thing: Pepto-Bismol. Shit gets things done. That’s my excuse, pardon me, sir, if you don’t get it, you won’t get it you won’t NEVER git it down in yer soul where it needs to be.

Never so young as you were that day. What a show. What a show. Pretty maids all in a row, fit to a one with tight trusses emblazoned. BUTNER BUTNER BUTNER! Three cheers for Butner. One big long cheer with corresponding slutty dirty dancing routine thrown in for free. From your friends in Butner.

They ate that right up. Didn’t even have to spoon feed ‘em. They’z musta bin reeeel hungery. Sure thought mine was special.

And it was.

Take my pick, that’s the schtick. Maybe the doll in the unwashed dreadlocks? Maybe the gal with the go-hero pout. Maybe the one with the sad dropping eyelids? Maybe the bitch with the genital itch. Maybe the whore with the venereal sore. Maybe the slut with the cellulite butt.

Or maybe the tiny, mousy mouse of a sprite, never had love look in her eye, that stuff only makes a man wonder why. Her shorn short and shut out the lights or you will never see that incredible aura and glow she dwells in like a bubble. She’s the one to choose. She’s the one, you can’t lose, you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain, how can I make it more plain? You’re gonna get wet if it rains and I haven’t got time for the pain, Strange Woman. MY woman.

Make some plans for a one night stand I’m a dope smoking’ man and I sure get around and my life revolves around Strange Strange Women. Strange customs. Strange habits. Strange ideas of just exactly how incredibly Strange they actually are. I’ve got mine, now you go get yours. We’re hookin’ up at the dance.

Dilly dance, dance of the week, American Bandstand dance and you didn’t like the words but it’s got a good beat so you give it an 85. You could dance to it.

Such was my hope. Twas to be my destiny, if luck stayed tucked in my pocket I was fittin’ to be gittin’ my share o’ what I got comin’…

…and I did.