To hell with the insipid emptiness
That keeps good people ineptly drowned!
Gaze into the perplexed distress and bless
The self that is so often shackle bound!
This is my pledge to the introspection
That so often is betrayed or unknown
Or left to rot in the gutter of dread
And then scavenged for the insurrection.
Together we starve and wither alone
Our thirst being a statement left unsaid.
There is numbness that grasps the bone
Which is surrounded by layer upon layer
Of prickle that persistently drones
Out experiences that do conjure
Recurrent traumas of spirits within.
Like swollen flesh, nothingness throbs
Throughout enduring routine of day
Expanding its reign under your skin
Until your inner turmoil sobs
Containing misery you cannot delay.
Come travel the depths of this lonely night
Where knotted roots grope for a morsel
Amid the pale faces of flesh undressed
Whose pathways are smitten with pools of blood
That had once been pumped by a vital heart
Now lay stagnant, solitary tear drops.
“Besides,” she says: head bowing, smile sly,
“My boyfriend would really hurt you if he
Found out I was going to leave him for you.”
And suddenly I am flushed through the vein
Into cavern where the vultures might digest
The grim reality we all might call truth.
Outside I dine in tavern with maiden,
Having spent last night
In this University town
With well-adjusted kids
Who have nothing
To charm each other,
I wake late
And am struck
Like a sword in the gut
With thinking about
The stress of the clock
And that ongoing need
As I wait
For my host’s
Breakfast to be finished. Continue reading “University Town”
In the company of his own fellowship
A coldness impales the male persona
As he stands in a barren winter field
Where the rapidly shifting wind throws his
Chilled stiff body into nothingness.
He stands trying to conceal his shiver.
Above the infinite eye of the night
Glares down upon the stupid smallness
Of his existence, reminding him
That millions have died in war, all of whom
Have been embedded into the cold ice
Of this winter night. Masculinity
Hiking these stone spattered mountains alone,
Do the true utterances I might speak
Make the barren field of my heart full sown?
Pondering the breadth of the love I don’t own
I ascend to another lonesome peak
Hiking these stone spattered mountains alone.
dedicated to the X generation
Can your phone number really resuscitate
His junkyard of childhood squalor?
Clamped to excess his hand pleads for more,
Probes darkness like a Buddha incarnate,
Clutches for survival, squeezes his mate!
And still the sponge holds water, ever more!
As his orange does citrus, opens the sore!