Friday, January 24, 2014

Getting Away From Getting Away.

sometimes there is no difference
between getting away with and getting away from
rays of black light illuminating the darkness
out there in the empty of the universe
clever ferocious and made up of nothing
so that I may reverberate it to sing
how could this matter with all that cold?
out there must die forgotten I've been told
because you must get a perspective
you must sit still to detect it
we are spinning at the same rate
and time and life demand to dissipate
a lot of contradictions piling up
dead soldiers on a mountain of doves
get me to get me out of here
a love of thusly seeing unclear:

this song reminds me of breaking hearts
and I am sick of faking arts
there is something to taking darts
there is something to moving parts
these words will get you into trouble
you pour them in and get muddled
only to get them back out won't be possible
you divide them and they'll still double
I imagine as a sun goes down on another planet
your death does not occur if you plan it

done and gone already:  eventually empty.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

He Walks Very Slow.

The airport blues get you when you just wait.
He turned to me.  He told me.
My heart is living forever.
I said it seemed that way.
The body is skinny and brittle.
The mind left a note on the counter.
Paper stretched over a skeleton with drugs to exacerbate bruising.
Scrawled in wrinkle the years dance.
No one under forty has experienced the chill outside.
Ice and sand where a hole was dug for a cellar.
Us caretakers,
We climb in to test our belief in a ghost.
The light hangs with beer cans and cigarette hands.
No sign is given, we drink a bottle together.
I'm listening for the best last words.
I want them to be profound so I can erase the indignity.
When you just wait a glimmer of expectation dims slow.
I think he knows that he has been here for a long time.
I think that he says he doesn't want to turn around.
Because he doesn't want to turn around.
The continent of discoloration etched upon his brow.
That does not look real.
And the hospital bed,
 and the broken reservoir lid,
 and the grinding teeth,
 and the diapers,
 and the wandering eyes,
 and the smile,
 and the brief shine,
 and the ambiguous loss.
And not knowing where he is.
It is all right because he is home.
He left and we are waiting but he is home.