Sunday, May 9, 2010

So? How about it.

(stole this skin from a shadow
slipped it off his shoulder
while he was running from the light
and I wonder if he made it clean
or was rolled under its waves
and crushed)
It's mine now with that stretchable smile
you seem to find so interesting
and the eyes that they call so deep
yeah its funny how much fits
inside infinity
so here's the truth and here's the rub
don't rub your cat smile up against me
because I've seen it before
your long teeth flashing in the dark
right before you disappear
or did I?
Either way it's clear
when it comes to you and me
that it's all about fear
so baby turn off the light
and we'll practice our fights
one against the other
(would you be my lover)
until the sparks from the doorknob
jump to the windowsill
and dancing there become the sun
and all at once we are awake
awake and alone
I am gone
or was it you?
Whichever it's true
that the world is not for us
it wants all this trust
and I'm not sure its worth the fuss
life is such a mess
i must confess
I'm just waiting to break out
while we're waiting
(do you want to see
how we would make out)
if this was the real world
if this is what there was
be-be-because
I stole this from a shadow
and you've the soul of a cat
and I know we both know
where the lie is at
Sun is here again
let the fun begin again
its all a sin again
so how about it...
lets be friends?


Insurgents

red checkered rags tied tight round
white freckled faces.
green and blue eyes glare between locks
of bright gingered hair.
we are all prisoners of this dust road.
thin pale hands gripping
such tight grasps clasping
and it is not hunger that leads us
not fear pushing behinds us
but the road has cuaght us tight
in its red clay hands.
our enemies bear our flag
and we hate to see it so.
and so with these grasps we fight
holding tight
to our slender stick canes
carrying the bags upon our rods
like a mark of penance.
we contend with those
who were meant to defend.
we tear our claws of bullet and torch
into tanks we ourselves helped forge.
and still the sunset burns
we cannot put it out
for all our weary sweat and eager shouts
with spittle flying dusty and grey
across the scattered ranks.
we stand and march
because we cannot sit and weep.
we ignore the faces just like our own
and aim for the betraying signets.
we say they betray.
they say we revolt.
and the words are nothing to either.
because we have forgotten what they mean
and what power they had has been lost.
we may have broken the contract first
but they broken it far worse.
there is only the road
the great red stretch of dust
reaching up to curl around our feet
and pull us down.
or is it onwards?
the lines ragged run
across the grey horizon
and suddenly I wonder if we are all puppets.
we cannot sustain this.
we cannot maintain this.
a country divided must always fall,
and we're all standing with our backs against that wall.

w/ Amy Johnson- wordmaster extraordinaire.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Gale Force Five.

welcome to this
the hurricane the storm with no center
and I and I have lost an eye
I have lost who I
used to be or thought I was
its gone under and I didn't pause
to sheathe my streaming claws
or wipe my bleeding mouth
when I was done with it
I lost it in the storm
or I tore it apart as the storm
I don't know and couldn't care
whatever it was is gone now
scraps and fragments in the dusty air
and I am free
all these teeth and claws had to be
somewhere and before it was me
now they are me and beware
beware the bite
for there is poison down the fang
and malice on the tongue
I am the storm
and the storm is me.
You were everything
and now I'm free.
How do you like me
how do you like me now?

To preface.

The days spent within the embrace
of these stiff straight arms
strangle me.
I cannot take these right angles
anymore.
Give unto me something of the sun
and with that half-breathed wish
suddenly you are there
stretching fingers of warmth
throughout the long corridors of my mind
and oh how these halls reek of smoke
for I have been burnt before
and still the peeling walls look like flames
curling up around these supports
hungry hands to pull it down.
So be careful you
with your glow and grin
because I am a patch of tinder
and you will burn me up again.
But regardless I welcome you
because you are nothing straight
with your crooked eyes
and long hands curved around my face
Maybe this time it will all come out.
I'll give you a free hand
and all the doors you want.
If you want to walk away
I guess that would be you
and your choice
but it would only take your voice
to burn this whole place down.
So here I am
With these white walls strict around me
and nothing but the sound
of you when you found me
So.
What next?

Monday, May 3, 2010

Fall Out Girl.

What's the point of all this angst, of all this art?
Tonight there's you and me and a couple of spare hearts
I saw a few on sale and picked them up
for times like these
because you're standing with a hammer and a saw
and I'm gonna fall anyway
Hey baby what's the point of all these words and wonder
you're here and now and I'm a cat with extra lives
so its a saturday and the moon is high
I'm willing to spend it for a couple of your lies
so lean on me and tell me I'm strong
weave a web of wishes about how long
you and I will be a we
and I'll look at you and laugh
because the lies taste so sweet on your lips
and I eat them up one by one
cause carpe carpe give me a cape and I will
be your superman, your hero.
At last half a day or two
we'll stretch out this fantastic misery.
I haven't written in a while
and I need to bleed again.
I haven't lived in a while
and I need to breathe again.

Just a thought.

They were sitting against the brick
with their long corners sprawled across
the walkway and I could not stop.
It was a long-day morning and
already it had slipped away from my control
but for a moment I paused
and pictured taking them up
scooping the resisting white cardboard
into my arms and running
spreading them across the lawn and doing nothing.
Standing and thinking and creating
at last with a splash of colour
and long scrawls of script
something of more worth than all these
thousand clumsy sounds by which I mutilate
the lovely language of Isabella and her loves.
At the end with my hands speckled with paint
and my nose smudged with ink
(for so my writing always ends)
I would place them proud
slender flags piercing the virgin grass
like a claim upon a moment of your time
a Caesar's cry over your tumultuous thoughts
for you came, you saw, and I conquered
for just a minute
the weariness of the days
with this
my new metamorphosis
the magic of taking some few sheets
of something blank and nothing
unmarked with meaning and
weighted by naught but potential
and transforming them into this

A gift.
A glorious moment of reminder.

I think. You're wonderful.


Saturday, May 1, 2010

santa fe.

i am the watchman walking through the night
calling "all is well, it's alright."
checking each hour bone by bone in the dark
to see if it is true
to see which lie will finally snap
which well woven tendon will split at last
pulling with its snapping strength the whole
and so street by street I go
with my careful feet along the crumbled edges
of these cement sidewalks
and I wonder whose side you're walking by
you're a voice with an always echo
someone behind you crying amen
and when the day comes and your skin
splits from your self they'll sing a hymn
great and glorious a whole rush of sound and grief and sin
Two are
Two were
One I am
One AM
and all's well
farewell