Blue

Perforated Peephole Proposing Possibilities

You were in the midst of your demons, stumbling drunk on confusion and rage
I had taken on tragedy, tied it up and put it in a cage
The sea in your eyes was crashing
Battering, bruising and foul
I was swept up into that miserable pain; Cyclone
Wondering what I was going to do now
You were the web spinner of discontent, flailing lament and chaos so savage it devoured its own meaning
I was an inkblot out of proportion, a lonely distortion, and despair drenched in so much blue, it leaked into my shadow
We fed each other our mysteries, murdered simple solutions trying to fit the pieces
Your nails, staples and razor wire heart didn’t speak in my tongue
But modern love bores me with its fraying before fully flourishing
And I knew who you were beneath the webs that you’d spun –
Beneath the fallout from betrayal, from the most selfish, cruelest deeds
That left you a cut, bled, empty scarecrow lying facedown in the witchweed…
It took a relentless, thousand mile wilderness trek with magnifying glass schematics
To recall those first breathy exposures that we left mildewing in the attic –
Those lips scorching new paths by the moons creamy illumination
That cast out archival wounds and tiers of paraffin woe, melting once again
Fire dance, flames that fly, shooting through a ferris wheel sky
I thought that we could, but now the only question is… Why?
Now with nowhere to belong
No lasting impression, despite dragging my shadow to every sunlit wall
And so the suffering… the corn rots on the stalks, sucked dry of its juices by the baking sun
As am I, wasting away, parched and brittle from drinking an illusion all wrapped up in prettiness
Spitting dirt, my bones shallow, disintegrating, falling into themselves, weeping… dust…
My heart feasting on brittle duplicities
Meanings have no meaning but we pile them up, create teetering monstrosities
Sorrow and tragedy speak in obsidian hues
I’ve never seen beautiful until you
I’ve never known lonely could soak into my bones
Leave me writhing, begging and screaming to be left alone
I breathe but yet can’t catch my breath
I wonder, am I awake or am I dreaming yet?
We were a wildfire storm that chewed up a lilac-frosted sky
And I’ll never regret what others will never understand
Your name a wistful memoir on my lips –
On the brink, like an hourglass sucking down sand
When I recall how we decapitated muse and utopia
Reckless and colliding like a magnitude 13
We notched fouls and madness, crashed and burned
Set flame to the laudanum after we doused it with gasoline
Thus this catastrophe that I have become –
I dream hopeless gasps instead of tender sighs
Wandering through a landscape of charred, lonely ruins

Blue swallowing love
Begging, what, my dear heart, were we thinking of?

Something a bit different IV

Dedicated to Saynotoclowns

Small Car (2002)

Swift Speed Suggests Smashing Scene

She mentioned he was flawed but I saw it in her eyes
That hunger which replaced her common sense at times
Didn’t matter he was wanting, so long as he was wanting her
Just call her Miss Dysfunctional and paint her past a blur
I tried a bit of reasoning –
Said remember James and Tim?
And Louie, Bill and Keith, and how each one left you grim?
She agreed, that certainly, they all had been huge disasters…
But you can’t remove your heart and fill that empty hole with plaster
I told her lessons learned would save a lot of time and grief
And she, in her witty way
Said Love is like a thief
And this boy has found his mark and wrung me out and wrung me through
And love is just too powerful, and there’s nothing I can do…
I shook my head
After all these years
I knew dread –
That I’d be mopping up her tears
This circus full of giddy fools
Their big clown-head smiles full of drool…
Oh my friend, come conquer this
Can’t you see I’d be remiss
To let you drive your tiny car from clown to clown in every bar?
Their empty eyes and cotton candy flowers
Should warn you that their love will rot your empty heart in a few hours
Those slick white gloves that hide their claws…
Which amaze you with tricks, to which you ooh and ahhh…
This ain’t no elementary school fire drill, and you, my girl, have had your fill
No more clowns in your tiny car –
Leave them lounging at the bar
Their confetti drinks and big black shoes –
Next to the beds of other fools…
She thought a bit and then she smiled
Said –
The right guys never been my style
This big tops got to have one dressing room with a star
I sighed, wondering…
How many clowns can you fit in a small car?