Wrecked awake

Snowy Stream Skimming the Subconscious?


Gathering my energy
Histories frames illustrate that I need ritual at my table
A feast to stop the lingering and rotting
To inhibit the dying and halt the death
Strange doesn’t indicate insane, but I’m not sure where I am
I thought my definitions were crystal fireflies and amethyst dragonflies
Tilling the soil in my soul
But an ill wind has pelted me with an acrid desert and I admit that I’ve damned my own river at times
With my mortal, deceptive, checkmate sentiments, etching sharp cornered boxes that I cut myself climbing in to…
I’ve tried to scoop the stars into my blessing bowl –
Stir their soft, unwavering vitality into my emptiness
Harness the moon, bathe in its crisp, generous, purifying beams
But the tide has ebbed and hope has settled into twilights camouflage
Shadows and dust, grime and rust, present and past, and thus
Beneath frozen ground, crocus and memory feel like velvet crushed
Timeline unravels like twine; Fraying lengths of lethargy and apathy…
We slide through eons like glowworms, interpret and invent ourselves, our epitomes, between our highs and lows
We hunt and gather a montage of whispers, hums, thoughts, beliefs, voicings –
We become
But this biting, frostburn winter has come among my travels, and among the debris I have lost my pith, my flame –
My scorch
Laudanum dreams might inject some warmth into the spirit of this place –
This institution of empty puppets, their layered, paper mache strips of faded letters, extolling yesterdays presence –
Extolling yesterdays presents… those dusty, pasted pieces shape bone, and limb, and holes; Vacant eyes of the dead
Chew up the ruby fire which exists in all lifetimes of clockwork dimensions, gnash and pulverize its shimmer…

As we rush from one time to another, chasing our breath and the sanity in our minds –
Smoldering embers can be stirred into fire
Over infinite rehearsals, we create vast valleys, to traverse whenever we reach into the echoes of ourselves
Where the sacred speaks –
Stones, blaze, smoke, haze; Symbols that weep, that rise or seep; Uncover and steep…
This crust, with a gentle boot nudge, cracks open a channel
Where have I gone?
I’ve caused my own slow death
Distance has not impressed the ghosts of my tender age
Yet held close to my heart a safer place –
I wish that scars could be strung on silken thread
To wear like pretty things, but take off and lay aside when tender spots ache
Fling into a corner or set upon the sill of an open window –
For the crows to carry away and churn into shiny totems
To make, for just one moment, shattering tragedies into things with enough purpose
That the pain, shame, isolation would melt into the ground…
I’ve walked where normal made you strange
Which haunted all of my ghosts nefariously
The pieces may never fit exactly again
But I refuse to have a love affair with regret
I am my indifference against incompetence
I am my psychology, philosophies and treasons –
A whirlwind charging into the seasons
I ask myself “What conclusion did you expect from your course of action?”
As I attempt to solicit the juice from immeasurable reasons
Staying one step ahead of myself seems a potent intrusion –
It extracts the softness from falters and hindsight
Renovates the myths of this breakdown
Into the mystical of a breakthrough
I am a compass
I am a bridge
I am my own thoughtful measures

Sunshine through the window dapples the walls with flower shadows
Fall is unfolding into winter, and wistful arms wrap me in a contemplative cabaret
To cavort, in a mad feast of affection for the miseries and the revelries
Lick the bitter from the wounds
Savor the sweet teasing my lips
Like grapes left late on winter vines become ice sugared wine to sip
And I can feel the lulling weight of anticipation, a divine opus sprouting in this desert in my soul
Beneath a frosted rubenesque moon
I smile

Spasms

Slipping into Silent, Sempiternal Slumber

Howling, rabid emptiness chases the velvet night into a wildfire
Like the tall meadow grass is set to flame, when a wildebeest races across it, and coal-flung hooves collide
Clack spurs breeze spurs spark; Ignite…
And you, you seek refuge from your demons in this industrial, urban cave
Lean over the dark-stained, diamond-patterned, leather-clad and red velvet bar
Fidgeting fingertips drumming contemplative brooding into the stale air
Amaretto sour in a lowball, like a smooth, solid paperweight cupped in your caressing palm –
There was a time, in your glazed reverie… a warm, solid breast cupped in your caressing palm…
Oh those starburst eyes, spun from star-death kissed dreams, engulfed in yesterdays closely held far-aways –
Those young, ripe aspirations, like invincible silver-screen tutti frutti morsels
Almost turned the mountains to gold
And now, reconciled and bored; You pull at frayed, tender threads
Ply the mocking hands of fate with slurred quotes from unfinished poems that tremble
As you recount needle-sharp trials, that left clichéd burnt dreams rife with ghost souls –
The aftermath of cruel, crushing disappointments
It doesn’t actually matter how you got to here
To this here; sitting at this bar, belly warmed by this Italian-crafted aphrodisiac that melts the webs in your mind
Lets your skin breathe and loosens the macraméd bondage of your tongue
Until there are no walls, no blurs nor lines to censor the blunt within your words
You consider that while you are typically congenial; Blunt will do just fine at the moment
As into the liquor-fumed air you direct your attention toward fates tyrannical existence
Launch a stern admonishment to remove its sadistic tentacles and reacquaint past with present –
The babies breath with the lamb
Reignite the tingling anticipation you once felt up and down weathered and stiff vertebrae seams
Fill your head with origami clouds that spin your mirages into jeweled wings
Which carry your shoe-boxed reflections, metaphors, notions and half finished creations
Into this current, resigned, vanilla existence
Carve the dim air surrounding you into the dazzling fireworks that swirl through your imagination
Like the wheel of life nailed to that stubborn tree in the corner of the yard
Its spinning needle spitting sparks that heat your blood –
Snap your gloom like crispy bones
Burn into your skull, to relieve the pressure that your contorting fingers can’t massage away –
Husk that ritual, of fingers to temple, that provides an impotent mute at best, of the riotous, tolling spasms that throb
Or at least maintain some semblance of mediocre pain between the fingers and the booze…
It’s funny how no one knows your name
You’re like a smeared chalk outline on the wall
But your face kind of resembles someone that someone thought they saw somewhere, some time ago
You suppose that’s better than nothing
And return your attention to the molten liquid that loosens clenched vocal chords
Considering that possibly no one would think you sane if your lips moved in an attempt to scold demons
Despite those same cynics revering a faceless, bodiless specter called karma –
Of whose evidence you’ve never witnessed, and whose name you’ve spat toward hell
However, you have wintered with fate, its stingy, cruel, decrepit fingers twisting, squeezing your hand
Dragging you into its bone yard of the puppeteered forsaken
Where it climbs on the backs of demons, its egg-sized, wobbly eyes and arthritic claws digging beneath their thick skin –
It goads them to suck the juice from lottery ticket souls until they wither into shrunken tombs
To harbor nothing more than disappointment, faded eyes and sawdust…
Demons have known you well, dwelling in your mind, and in your house
You’ve seen them creep from behind the curtains
Seen them drag their dead limbs across the room when sun dust settled and the shadows fell
Heard the bed groan as they climbed in beside you
Hissing, yammering creaky-breathed soliloquies about a wasted world
Hammered into your pounding head lotus dreams unfolding 13 years of nightmares
Where crow, feather, beak and bone foretold that this apocalypse was your Everest, and –
“Another?” disrupts, returns the present, so you study your glass in its knuckled perch
And decide that there comes a time when fate must learn that you’ve had your fill
“Whiskey, neat, I’ve had enough of the former,” you remark, as you conclude that we each have our own demons
Some haven’t entered battle yet, some have already lost, some are still putting up a fight, while some have won
And insane can be a lovely distraction; You’ve no quarrel with her allure
So they can be damned, with their pointy fingers and clucking tongues, you think
But now, it’s time to scoop up hell and send it raining down
While you stand firmly on the ground, and on the brink

Abberations

Of Obscured Origin

Those eyes, empty mirrors telling honest lies
Apparitions sucked out all their life –
Gnarled, wasted fingers played a lullaby, morose notes beckoning your soul
Too late… eyes sewn shut and withered wings, the angels start to rust –
Damned to perch on headstones of the living dead
You pry open all your wounds, mesmerized with how your veins bleed acid rain
Standing on sacred ground, you sacrifice what others beg to keep
Reach inside and rip your heart from its bone asylum; Harvester of the absurd –
The banshees and the demons laugh and flirt with wicked sighs. Make a joke of me
Twisted flames melt your metal cage while you hold the key –
As all the crows are falling from the sky
Littering the fields with their tiny bones, soft among the brittle leaves and thorny stems
I’ll make my way to your resting place. Sleep upon your dandelion-finial grave –
Dig into the musky dirt and push it to the side, so I can rest my sorrow and my body close to you
Deaths alluring seduction your primitive desire – loamy eyes pursue its providence
It is not for me to maim or desecrate, to dissuade your hyperbolic love affair with the cessation of being…

And time unfolds what’s true, like rivers carve the stones. Like moss climbs up the trees and flesh dissolves to bone
And pain reveals what’s real, like shadow swallows sun. Like damage erodes sweet and tears eulogize what’s gone
And it is not for me, to try to hold you here. To mutilate your aberrations –
To calm my deepest fears

There is no peace tonight, in tender dream or prayer. The ghosts sleep in our bed, between you and me
Where my love sanctifies, your forlorn love impales, provokes our demise, without lament or wail
Deep in your caramel eyes, dark with brooding ruin, you’ve already gone to murder the light
In this specters dance, the grass is dying beneath your feet, the trees are weeping to the mountains –
The stones turning to dust, and the crows, their carcasses rotting in lovely desolation, are so delicate in flux
Time does not heal all wounds, its sutures rupture, unravel and assault
The heart becomes a tomb, decimated with misshapen visions, shadows of false prophecies
No footprints in the doorway, the flowers left to weed, windows smeared with seasons storms –
Black feathers stuck in blood upon the shattered glass
And all you speak is pain, all you love is woe, all you do is murder
You left long ago
This ruin is mine to tend, its desolation deep, these rusty, empty hours lacerate my bones
I watch you walk into the reclusion of your pain
You drink your torment down, then retch it back again
My hands slide down your skin, to calm your fevered grief
But in your frenzied ills your madness screams against relief
The twisted messengers in your mind, shrieking all your pain, mocking, taunting, brutalizing
Jagged beaks pecking at your last article of faith; Cannibalizing
And no one understands you now — appreciates the way you burn
They set fire to your fire, goading your pathologies from grotesque into perverse
The damage in the air; Your disenchanted wounds culminate in desolation
Too long you’ve worn this skin; Too long lived as this wretched mutilation
Where Death murmurs like a wanton lover, with tender care made of shameless deceit and treason
To disfigure… to cheat you, steal you of yourself – take scalpel to your soul and reason

And time unfolds what’s true, like rivers carve the stones. Like moss climbs up the trees and flesh dissolves to bone
And pain reveals what’s real, like shadow swallows sun. Like damage erodes sweet and tears eulogize what’s gone
And it is not for me, to try to hold you here. To mutilate your aberrations –
To calm my deepest fears

Note: Funny story. In a hotel with a nice, clean, huge window. Woke up late at night, couldn’t sleep so took a few photos. In the morning I realized that “I ❤ U” showed in the photos. Looked at the window but no such message was anywhere.