He was second from his mother
Trampled from the start
Cut off from a lover
Hidden in the dark
Eager just to please her
The deceiver hits his mark
Footprints in the instance
The call came from the start
He was broken from a leather
Spurred 'til end of day
Pushed in stormy weather
Buried in the hay
Glowing just from showing
The deck stacked up this way
Warning for the morning
The snap took it away
He was mine a day in August
Punched out on a card
Stood the crowd in unrest
Kissed the one they marred
Fleeing from ever seeing
Sirens screaching from afar
Last words from pastures
Marked by brand new scar
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Friday, October 14, 2011
Blackbird Memory Letters 8
It wasn't what I expected. Walking through your elephant graveyard. It wasn't what I had dreamed. I was calm. The bones curled up high around me. A last embrace. You walk across the shore as if the path were predetermined. Keep going deep into the bottom of the ocean.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
On the Back of a Crumpled Up Piece of Paper
My wife was a wanderer
I tamed her with my hand
That froze like lightning
When struck upon the sand
My old man was a pauper
Who dressed up like a prince
He walked off with the dog one night
I haven't seen him since
My cousin was a gypsy
We lost her once at dawn
Her mother woke up with a chill
Her child forever gone
My best friend was a streaker
And in dark corridors stood
With an audience of echoes
I never understood
I tamed her with my hand
That froze like lightning
When struck upon the sand
My old man was a pauper
Who dressed up like a prince
He walked off with the dog one night
I haven't seen him since
My cousin was a gypsy
We lost her once at dawn
Her mother woke up with a chill
Her child forever gone
My best friend was a streaker
And in dark corridors stood
With an audience of echoes
I never understood
Saul, Saul
He broke like belts of gold
Melted down to be resold
He bit the frog out of my neck
And then gave my voice away
We burned down the house that night
Saul, Saul
I held you until the sky grew light
Saul, Saul
You ran off when the sirens came
Saul, Saul
Left me screaming out your name
Saul, Saul
The fire caught beneath his feet
Into the distance heard them beat
Sparks were biting at my chest
Lit up scarlet with the hay
The starlings came up to my door
Saul, Saul
To bring the bones I knew no more
Saul, Saul
I put the roof back on myself
Saul, Saul
Put your bones up on a shelf
Saul, Saul
Melted down to be resold
He bit the frog out of my neck
And then gave my voice away
We burned down the house that night
Saul, Saul
I held you until the sky grew light
Saul, Saul
You ran off when the sirens came
Saul, Saul
Left me screaming out your name
Saul, Saul
The fire caught beneath his feet
Into the distance heard them beat
Sparks were biting at my chest
Lit up scarlet with the hay
The starlings came up to my door
Saul, Saul
To bring the bones I knew no more
Saul, Saul
I put the roof back on myself
Saul, Saul
Put your bones up on a shelf
Saul, Saul
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Far Fetched
A chill ran up my spine
Prancing across the nerve endings
It's fine, I said, all fine
I had only crossed a line
I didn't recognize that face
The moving form they said was mine
It was gone, I said, erased
Through the dawn I would pace
They were pulled around my sides
The blankets there as a last embrace
I lied, I said, I lied
I came back here to hide
The cottonwoods were bending
Bracing against the forest's tides
They will break, I said, no mending
Dispell the wind you're sending
Prancing across the nerve endings
It's fine, I said, all fine
I had only crossed a line
I didn't recognize that face
The moving form they said was mine
It was gone, I said, erased
Through the dawn I would pace
They were pulled around my sides
The blankets there as a last embrace
I lied, I said, I lied
I came back here to hide
The cottonwoods were bending
Bracing against the forest's tides
They will break, I said, no mending
Dispell the wind you're sending
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Marrow
Every time they talk about marrow
I storm away
As if they knew anything about
The ghosts that sleep inside my bones
There were days when the sun came out
but it didn't shine
It just hung there absently
Only required to go through the motions
The dog brought home a deer leg once
And then I saw
The deep red between the cracked bone
Little more than a smudge dried inside
Every time they talk about spiders
I always wonder
Which ones made that poisoned webbing
Beneath the pristine face of those bones
I storm away
As if they knew anything about
The ghosts that sleep inside my bones
There were days when the sun came out
but it didn't shine
It just hung there absently
Only required to go through the motions
The dog brought home a deer leg once
And then I saw
The deep red between the cracked bone
Little more than a smudge dried inside
Every time they talk about spiders
I always wonder
Which ones made that poisoned webbing
Beneath the pristine face of those bones
Friday, July 22, 2011
Feverstruck
I have no solace
In this I gain
In this I gain
Quiet roads I traveled over fallen leaves
Frosted graves
I have no mercy
In this my pain
In this my pain
Severed dandelions lain on the ground
Washed away
I have no fallback
In this high rain
In this high rain
Fever struck
In this I gain
In this I gain
Quiet roads I traveled over fallen leaves
Frosted graves
I have no mercy
In this my pain
In this my pain
Severed dandelions lain on the ground
Washed away
I have no fallback
In this high rain
In this high rain
Fever struck
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Blackbird Memory Letters 6 & 7
Drum beats. I saw your face in the mirror. I was terrified. You flew off before I could reach your feathers. The pattering grew louder and again I fell away. Consumed by sound. Two slaps across the face and down I went. The rocks dug in and never came out. Shutters closed and the lights came on. The heat rose and we started coughing. You couldn't see. I came and pressed against your chest until your heart calmed down. I woke up that morning to your eyes looking down at me. A dream? I wanted to ask if you were part of it. But I was too afraid to lose you. We were driving- I never liked driving but I was too tired to complain. I sat beside you and I could tell. Another dream I wanted to wake up from. Even with you there. maybe especially with me there. That time. Orange day lilies, yellow forsythia, white chrysanthemums, black roses, blue forget-me-nots I never would. you pass through the years and wonder if the recognition will disappear after awhile...terrified and expectant. A lamb led to inevitable slaughter. It's not that I want this. I fight the whole time. But one day, I fear for that one day.
They use to steal your shoes when you kicked them off in the grass. You would walk home with torn up feet. Prize in hand. As if it didn't matter if you had caught them or not. They could never break you. I don't have a lot of shoes to steal. I get a lot of fingers pointed accusingly at my bare feet. And so I walk a mile away from them and then walk a million more, hoping the blood trail will dry up eventually and they won't be able to follow me and take my feet away.
It's a quick tap on the back and you realize the trap has been set for years. I never wanted to come here. I just couldn't avoid it. There are secrets in these hallways. They echo in the middle of the night, bounding across the floor and casting shadows on the carpet. The walls will crack some day from all this weight, like vertebrae of the heart stacked up and squeezed under a burden far too heavy. It's not tangible, but they'll break all the same.
Blackbird, the thunderstorms have returned. Nothing is more exciting than the terrible power held within those bolts of lightning. You always did like your spirituality to be more concrete. Something that could crack your head open.
It took me a while to realize how I could lay down and the cars would drive across me just the same. With a crosswalk for a shirt and a heart as flat as a highway there was no other way for it to end. I imagined the heat from the metal brushing by my face, how the rubber tires would feel rolling across my body, not even big enough to be a speedbump or feel like a pothole. Just a little thump like a frost heave.
There were scribbles on the walls. Dark shadows running every which way as if a giant tree were casting its play of silouhettes across the cement. And then I began to register the words. "I painted his body as if he were a God. I cared for him as if he were my own blood. You fail to see the beauty I have spent my entire life searching for." There is no other way to love a man than to be eaten alive. One can feel joy or pain or angst or obsession but none of these are so important as consumed. Because then, then it may be worth it. Once someone has a bite of your heart they can't exactly put it back. And it's not like you would ever ask. It's weird really, because I tried so hard to say no and now I can't even say no to myself. One day I will wake up and realize that all of these nibbles have added up and all that's left is one edge that has hidden the damage this entire time. Not that it's all poison. Sometimes you can do better with less. But I know I will never get it back. And that scares me. You get one life and one heart to go with it. I just wish I had a bit more to show for my troubles.
They use to steal your shoes when you kicked them off in the grass. You would walk home with torn up feet. Prize in hand. As if it didn't matter if you had caught them or not. They could never break you. I don't have a lot of shoes to steal. I get a lot of fingers pointed accusingly at my bare feet. And so I walk a mile away from them and then walk a million more, hoping the blood trail will dry up eventually and they won't be able to follow me and take my feet away.
It's a quick tap on the back and you realize the trap has been set for years. I never wanted to come here. I just couldn't avoid it. There are secrets in these hallways. They echo in the middle of the night, bounding across the floor and casting shadows on the carpet. The walls will crack some day from all this weight, like vertebrae of the heart stacked up and squeezed under a burden far too heavy. It's not tangible, but they'll break all the same.
Blackbird, the thunderstorms have returned. Nothing is more exciting than the terrible power held within those bolts of lightning. You always did like your spirituality to be more concrete. Something that could crack your head open.
It took me a while to realize how I could lay down and the cars would drive across me just the same. With a crosswalk for a shirt and a heart as flat as a highway there was no other way for it to end. I imagined the heat from the metal brushing by my face, how the rubber tires would feel rolling across my body, not even big enough to be a speedbump or feel like a pothole. Just a little thump like a frost heave.
There were scribbles on the walls. Dark shadows running every which way as if a giant tree were casting its play of silouhettes across the cement. And then I began to register the words. "I painted his body as if he were a God. I cared for him as if he were my own blood. You fail to see the beauty I have spent my entire life searching for." There is no other way to love a man than to be eaten alive. One can feel joy or pain or angst or obsession but none of these are so important as consumed. Because then, then it may be worth it. Once someone has a bite of your heart they can't exactly put it back. And it's not like you would ever ask. It's weird really, because I tried so hard to say no and now I can't even say no to myself. One day I will wake up and realize that all of these nibbles have added up and all that's left is one edge that has hidden the damage this entire time. Not that it's all poison. Sometimes you can do better with less. But I know I will never get it back. And that scares me. You get one life and one heart to go with it. I just wish I had a bit more to show for my troubles.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Pep Talk (For E.)
He tells me to cut it out
Stop looking out the window
Slipping my eyes to the side
Sending my gaze out the door
He tells me to open the gates
And stop being afraid to look in his eyes
But they are terrifying
The way they're willing to just walk in
And walk out again
And who knows what they'll carry away when they go
He tells me to understand the safety
That place will always hold for me
I'm trembling, even though I know he's right
He tells me to stand up a little straighter
I try to act tough but it doesn't work
My eyes still dart sideways
I hug myself so my muscles don't shake
He tells me to not be tortured for the sake of anyone
To die for them at most
To stop being strong for everyone else
And learn how to be strong for myself
But I just shake my head
He tells me to "Look at me!"
I turn my face towards his
But I shut my eyes
He tells me to stand up
I feel like an empty cocoon in his arms
But my heart slows down a bit
And I remember how to breath again
He tells me to never let go of the art I create
I shake my head at its worthlessness
No, he says, it isn't to you
And it isn't to us
So don't burn it
He tells me to never forget
That he will never forget
But I still don't fully trust that
My memory lasts longer than memories of me
I want to tell him all about the dog
Who loyally waited for a man who would never return
He tells me to laugh
Stop the ghosts in their tracks
Throw the weight digging into my spine
Tighten my muscles in seizures, not stress
Or guilt, or remorse
He tells me to sleep
Because I need to know
What death feels like
To really appreciate being here
I tell him I know
I just see far too many alternatives
Stop looking out the window
Slipping my eyes to the side
Sending my gaze out the door
He tells me to open the gates
And stop being afraid to look in his eyes
But they are terrifying
The way they're willing to just walk in
And walk out again
And who knows what they'll carry away when they go
He tells me to understand the safety
That place will always hold for me
I'm trembling, even though I know he's right
He tells me to stand up a little straighter
I try to act tough but it doesn't work
My eyes still dart sideways
I hug myself so my muscles don't shake
He tells me to not be tortured for the sake of anyone
To die for them at most
To stop being strong for everyone else
And learn how to be strong for myself
But I just shake my head
He tells me to "Look at me!"
I turn my face towards his
But I shut my eyes
He tells me to stand up
I feel like an empty cocoon in his arms
But my heart slows down a bit
And I remember how to breath again
He tells me to never let go of the art I create
I shake my head at its worthlessness
No, he says, it isn't to you
And it isn't to us
So don't burn it
He tells me to never forget
That he will never forget
But I still don't fully trust that
My memory lasts longer than memories of me
I want to tell him all about the dog
Who loyally waited for a man who would never return
He tells me to laugh
Stop the ghosts in their tracks
Throw the weight digging into my spine
Tighten my muscles in seizures, not stress
Or guilt, or remorse
He tells me to sleep
Because I need to know
What death feels like
To really appreciate being here
I tell him I know
I just see far too many alternatives
Saturday, July 2, 2011
The Sound of Forever
(In Memory of 'The Ballad of Birmingham' and explosions in Maine a few years back)
Boom Boom
Mama look at this leaf
It's black, all black
Put it back on the ground
Put it back
See it crumble Mama
See it break
Was it a mistake
To pick it up?
It was a mistake
To come here
Boom Boom
Mama what's going to happen
Over there? Over here?
Have no fear, we're fine here
(I hope)
They'll be fine there
(But not)
See the ash Mama, see the ash
How it turns the water black
See the dog and the cat
How they cower in the grass
I'll hold you close little dear
Close your eyes, have no fear
And if your face starts to glow
Take my hand as we go
Boom Boom
Mama look at this leaf
It's black, all black
Put it back on the ground
Put it back
See it crumble Mama
See it break
Was it a mistake
To pick it up?
It was a mistake
To come here
Boom Boom
Mama what's going to happen
Over there? Over here?
Have no fear, we're fine here
(I hope)
They'll be fine there
(But not)
See the ash Mama, see the ash
How it turns the water black
See the dog and the cat
How they cower in the grass
I'll hold you close little dear
Close your eyes, have no fear
And if your face starts to glow
Take my hand as we go
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Galaxy Child Under a Mirror
She was quiet. Too quiet. He slid the knife up under her chin.
"Wake up, girl."
She didn't move.
"I said wake up, damn it!" He pulled the knife back and shook her shoulders violently.
Her frame moved limply, her head rolled to one side. Her thin gown had scrunched up on her torso, revealing too much of her scrawny legs, but she didn't fix it. "You wake up or I'll fix you up real good, you hear me, girl? I'll give ya some make up for that other eye! And that will just be for your breakfast."
*
The night before she had run out into the moonlight, collapsed on the grass and stared spitefully at the stars. So perfect. So bright and beautiful. So clear as diamonds in a mirror. Reflecting into infinity. The wind pretended to offer a cooling embrace but stopped at the trees. A mirror, she thought. That was it. She went back inside and looked at the ragged reflection looking back at her. She punched it in the face.
*
He was growing impatient. He took the knife back out and leaned over her body to press the flat end of the blade hard against her trachea.
"Rise and shine, you sunny little girl. I've got a surprise for you. Some of the guys think you're real pretty. They want to meet you. But you have to get up first. Unless you want me to let them in here and wake you up themselves." Still there was no response.
"What the fuck kind of drugs you on? Get up God dammit!"
He pulled one of her emaciated shoulders over to the edge of the bed. That arm, which had been tucked up under the pillow with the other, swung over to the side of the bed.
"Holy fuck."
There was a crimson bandage wrapped around her wrist, no it wasn't crimson, it was a white bandage. It had been a white bandage, strung loosely around her frail bones. He pulled out her other arm to find it in a similar state of disrepair. He pulled up the pillow. Soaked through the back, as was the mattress just beneath it. He scrambled to find a pulse. Hardly there. "Holy fuck." He stood frozen as the pulse grew quieter. Then backed away. Out of the room. And shut the door.
"Wake up, girl."
She didn't move.
"I said wake up, damn it!" He pulled the knife back and shook her shoulders violently.
Her frame moved limply, her head rolled to one side. Her thin gown had scrunched up on her torso, revealing too much of her scrawny legs, but she didn't fix it. "You wake up or I'll fix you up real good, you hear me, girl? I'll give ya some make up for that other eye! And that will just be for your breakfast."
*
The night before she had run out into the moonlight, collapsed on the grass and stared spitefully at the stars. So perfect. So bright and beautiful. So clear as diamonds in a mirror. Reflecting into infinity. The wind pretended to offer a cooling embrace but stopped at the trees. A mirror, she thought. That was it. She went back inside and looked at the ragged reflection looking back at her. She punched it in the face.
*
He was growing impatient. He took the knife back out and leaned over her body to press the flat end of the blade hard against her trachea.
"Rise and shine, you sunny little girl. I've got a surprise for you. Some of the guys think you're real pretty. They want to meet you. But you have to get up first. Unless you want me to let them in here and wake you up themselves." Still there was no response.
"What the fuck kind of drugs you on? Get up God dammit!"
He pulled one of her emaciated shoulders over to the edge of the bed. That arm, which had been tucked up under the pillow with the other, swung over to the side of the bed.
"Holy fuck."
There was a crimson bandage wrapped around her wrist, no it wasn't crimson, it was a white bandage. It had been a white bandage, strung loosely around her frail bones. He pulled out her other arm to find it in a similar state of disrepair. He pulled up the pillow. Soaked through the back, as was the mattress just beneath it. He scrambled to find a pulse. Hardly there. "Holy fuck." He stood frozen as the pulse grew quieter. Then backed away. Out of the room. And shut the door.
Cat Lives
Cat sits behind cage
Bored
Man comes in
Cat leaps up
Tries to catch his coattails
Snags his heart instead
Cat sleeps on couch
Content
Man comes in
Cat wakes up
Swats away his gentle hand
Signing it in red
Cat hunts in field
Brave
Man comes out
Cat pounces down
Returns to comfort of house
Victim having fled
Bored
Man comes in
Cat leaps up
Tries to catch his coattails
Snags his heart instead
Cat sleeps on couch
Content
Man comes in
Cat wakes up
Swats away his gentle hand
Signing it in red
Cat hunts in field
Brave
Man comes out
Cat pounces down
Returns to comfort of house
Victim having fled
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Fire Steps
I crash down to the bottom of a mason jar
Reach all around and stroke the smooth glass
The lid’s not on, I see a star
There’s a little path in the dark woods of my heart
And it could take you right up to my love
But those last steps are all on fire
I lay down under the moonlight’s soft glow
Until a meteor falls and the jar is smashed to bits
I stand and clap, what a show
There’s this big, old oak tree at the foot of the stairs
It could take you right past those burning steps
If you could only reach its branches
I scrape my foot on a shard of glass and red
It burns and blisters like I’m climbing those steps
My heart locked, even to my head
Reach all around and stroke the smooth glass
The lid’s not on, I see a star
There’s a little path in the dark woods of my heart
And it could take you right up to my love
But those last steps are all on fire
I lay down under the moonlight’s soft glow
Until a meteor falls and the jar is smashed to bits
I stand and clap, what a show
There’s this big, old oak tree at the foot of the stairs
It could take you right past those burning steps
If you could only reach its branches
I scrape my foot on a shard of glass and red
It burns and blisters like I’m climbing those steps
My heart locked, even to my head
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Goat’s Feet
Some distance from the wayside of a harbor
I lingered here in this ardor
To carry on the mire
A flame of azure fire
Searched for the young kid lost in the marrow
Drowning, while distant Yarrow
To look upon the tweed
Of goat’s foundered seed
On shelves we held our devils
On shelves that we disheveled
On shelves we held at bevels
Disheveled befell our devils
Many miles north of the furthest earthen pole
Lies womb and birth the toll
To pay is far preceding
The hour lies there bleeding
Rusted at the bottom of the old stone well
On the faded collar his bell
To mingle with despair
Adolescent disrepair
On shelves we held our devils
On shelves that we disheveled
On shelves we held at bevels
Disheveled befell our devils
Gated with a white cross of elephant bone
The place where I took you home
To mirror my dance depleted
Shadow you never defeated
Shelves that were disheveled
Abounding with your devils
I lingered here in this ardor
To carry on the mire
A flame of azure fire
Searched for the young kid lost in the marrow
Drowning, while distant Yarrow
To look upon the tweed
Of goat’s foundered seed
On shelves we held our devils
On shelves that we disheveled
On shelves we held at bevels
Disheveled befell our devils
Many miles north of the furthest earthen pole
Lies womb and birth the toll
To pay is far preceding
The hour lies there bleeding
Rusted at the bottom of the old stone well
On the faded collar his bell
To mingle with despair
Adolescent disrepair
On shelves we held our devils
On shelves that we disheveled
On shelves we held at bevels
Disheveled befell our devils
Gated with a white cross of elephant bone
The place where I took you home
To mirror my dance depleted
Shadow you never defeated
Shelves that were disheveled
Abounding with your devils
Lady Lemonade
I’d rather be a dog sipping
Hot cocoa
Than a lady lemonade
Spinster swallows
And I choke on the scarf you made
There were six of us in the back
A yellow rust
Spray painted melody
Bump bump splash
The rubber crashed into the sea
That dog keeled over
Five days ago
Buried under the lemon tree
They picked up ice
To fill the glasses on the balcony
The pickup grew quiet
Fields held frost
We used to sneak out in the cold
Midnight held close
Six miles left us before we grew old
Hot cocoa
Than a lady lemonade
Spinster swallows
And I choke on the scarf you made
There were six of us in the back
A yellow rust
Spray painted melody
Bump bump splash
The rubber crashed into the sea
That dog keeled over
Five days ago
Buried under the lemon tree
They picked up ice
To fill the glasses on the balcony
The pickup grew quiet
Fields held frost
We used to sneak out in the cold
Midnight held close
Six miles left us before we grew old
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Bedtime Story
A Child's Tale
The cat didn't understand why it couldn't go sailing. It couldn't swim well but that was a skill a number of sailors lacked. It knew all about ships and it liked water well enough but every time it asked a captain if it could join the crew the man shook his head and nudged it aside. Their boats didn't have any rats, they were small vessels and were always kept exceptionally clean. The cat was becoming increasingly depressed and mewing at any passerby on the docks. "I just want to go sailing" it said. It was by a park and there were little toy sail boats gliding through the water. It glared in envy at the imaginary passengers under the fluttering white sails that looked so much like the wings of the dove it caught yesterday. The cat pounced. It fell into a downpour and slept shaking on someone's doorstep. In the morning it was sunny. A woman came out and chased it away. It was hungry. A little girl put out a can of tuna and watched it. The cat didn't let her come near. The can was only half finished when a mongrel appeared and chased the cat away. Then the cat remembered it wanted to go sailing. It sat at the dock as the last boat drifted away in the sunset. The cat curled up in the sky and left one eye open in case the dog returned. The crescent of the eye glowed in the reflection of the street lamps. The sailors blessed it for the light it brought into the night. The cat never got to go sailing.
The cat didn't understand why it couldn't go sailing. It couldn't swim well but that was a skill a number of sailors lacked. It knew all about ships and it liked water well enough but every time it asked a captain if it could join the crew the man shook his head and nudged it aside. Their boats didn't have any rats, they were small vessels and were always kept exceptionally clean. The cat was becoming increasingly depressed and mewing at any passerby on the docks. "I just want to go sailing" it said. It was by a park and there were little toy sail boats gliding through the water. It glared in envy at the imaginary passengers under the fluttering white sails that looked so much like the wings of the dove it caught yesterday. The cat pounced. It fell into a downpour and slept shaking on someone's doorstep. In the morning it was sunny. A woman came out and chased it away. It was hungry. A little girl put out a can of tuna and watched it. The cat didn't let her come near. The can was only half finished when a mongrel appeared and chased the cat away. Then the cat remembered it wanted to go sailing. It sat at the dock as the last boat drifted away in the sunset. The cat curled up in the sky and left one eye open in case the dog returned. The crescent of the eye glowed in the reflection of the street lamps. The sailors blessed it for the light it brought into the night. The cat never got to go sailing.
The Original Blackbird Memory Letter
To go. To go away. To Break. To be broken. The words aren't as simple as they seem. Sometimes you need a little poison to clean the wounds. Or let the blood. Haven't you ever found it interesting how empty we are? You take all the fluid out and what's left? A shell. You put it in again. What happens then? There's nothing in that fluid. Except salt. Sea water without zooplankton. We calm down about then. Relax because we're all the same, swimming in our own enclosures. The sunlight likes to dance with me. Light and free. But slow sometimes, and gentle. Did you know Apollo? I remember his horses. Their hooves beat across my face. Left bruises. You ever tell anyone? Not a soul. You can't kick back without hooves. Remember how you used to try? I guess landing in snowbanks began to sting too much. Smoke knocks on the door and you shrug it off. There are plenty of cracks. And plenty of ghosts already. I'm not leaving. This and this alone is mine. There are darker things in this world than headaches and phone calls. I don't believe in either of those. We make them up. It's all in your head. Like when that silver horse won the Derby. Stuff like that never happens in real life. There's a porch somewhere and it's all cracked and weathered and all it's trying to do is move on and get away from abandoned dogs and stray cats. Splinters in your feet. They're just reminders that we are fragile. But they make you strong. I know, you've had a good number of them. I try not to think about the marks left behind or the chunks still stuck in me. It makes for tough conversation. Especially around meals. Food has no value all of a sudden. Funny how we notice value only when it is lost. Sometimes it's hard to imagine the light a fallen tree might let in. Little stars, not always wanted. Are we wanted? I want you and you want me. Does that not make it so? No, we never are. We're just here. No one asked you. No one asked me. No one asked us.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Blackbird Memory Letters 5
Dearest Blackbird,
How did May already get here? I thought April would swallow me and never let me go. Instead it put me on trial and gave me a white tulip verdict. After all those dried roses in glass bottles...There was a crash as the glass hit the pavement. No one was there to hear it. In the morning they walked past and never thought twice about the ground they trampled.
They're telling me to forget. To shut down my mind and duck my head and just get through the day. They don't believe me when I tell them there's more to this than what they see. My mind has no gender, no race, no age, no form. It is merely trapped in a body which possesses each of these features. I want to rip off my skin sometimes. Pull out my hair and slash through my curves so they stop staring at them and look me in the eye. Some shadows were meant to be taken off the page. Some wrists meant to be cut as if all that really mattered was digging out the malignant pit, a bone buried underneath. The veins and arteries could be twisted up and glued back together later. That was the plan at least. The skin there always looked so vulnerable, blue streams could be seen gliding just beneath the surface. It was like watching a disease take control over the body. It was fascinating. My shoulders shook. My skin grew transparent. I kept touching my elbows and wrists as if to see they were still there. Squeezing them to feel a pulse. Rubbing them with ice to cool the blood. I was an addict without a drug. Searching in vain for indifference.
In the silence that abandoned us we found a key to the feathers life gave us long ago when the world was ending and we were the only ones left to put it back together. I tremble because I hear the words so clearly now, languages I never understood are sending me messages too late. I crack the bottles over my head and collapse at the foot of a wave. Silver boomerangs spin through my peripheral vision, blades I want to duck away from, but can't. Beats fade. Shadows lengthen. I try not to think about the flowers I left on the window sill in a house I will never return to or the butterflies I never let out of their jars. We're wanderers sometimes, who get trapped on a circular path. Bricks passed over so often they turn into red chalk. Worship is a figure of speech. It floats in the conversation but never really sinks in. Tying clouds down is nearly impossible. But we did it once. It squirmed in the net and lashed out with static energy and sprays of water. It made such a mess. We took out the vacuum and took it all away. To squint. To cringe. To open up and say we lost another one.
Blackbird....
Hush my darling words will keep, slip away in endless sleep, if one day you should wake, It will be my soul you take.
How did May already get here? I thought April would swallow me and never let me go. Instead it put me on trial and gave me a white tulip verdict. After all those dried roses in glass bottles...There was a crash as the glass hit the pavement. No one was there to hear it. In the morning they walked past and never thought twice about the ground they trampled.
They're telling me to forget. To shut down my mind and duck my head and just get through the day. They don't believe me when I tell them there's more to this than what they see. My mind has no gender, no race, no age, no form. It is merely trapped in a body which possesses each of these features. I want to rip off my skin sometimes. Pull out my hair and slash through my curves so they stop staring at them and look me in the eye. Some shadows were meant to be taken off the page. Some wrists meant to be cut as if all that really mattered was digging out the malignant pit, a bone buried underneath. The veins and arteries could be twisted up and glued back together later. That was the plan at least. The skin there always looked so vulnerable, blue streams could be seen gliding just beneath the surface. It was like watching a disease take control over the body. It was fascinating. My shoulders shook. My skin grew transparent. I kept touching my elbows and wrists as if to see they were still there. Squeezing them to feel a pulse. Rubbing them with ice to cool the blood. I was an addict without a drug. Searching in vain for indifference.
In the silence that abandoned us we found a key to the feathers life gave us long ago when the world was ending and we were the only ones left to put it back together. I tremble because I hear the words so clearly now, languages I never understood are sending me messages too late. I crack the bottles over my head and collapse at the foot of a wave. Silver boomerangs spin through my peripheral vision, blades I want to duck away from, but can't. Beats fade. Shadows lengthen. I try not to think about the flowers I left on the window sill in a house I will never return to or the butterflies I never let out of their jars. We're wanderers sometimes, who get trapped on a circular path. Bricks passed over so often they turn into red chalk. Worship is a figure of speech. It floats in the conversation but never really sinks in. Tying clouds down is nearly impossible. But we did it once. It squirmed in the net and lashed out with static energy and sprays of water. It made such a mess. We took out the vacuum and took it all away. To squint. To cringe. To open up and say we lost another one.
Blackbird....
Hush my darling words will keep, slip away in endless sleep, if one day you should wake, It will be my soul you take.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Galaxy Child
There is bitterness in the sky
she says, "because I put it there
Because that's where it belongs"
The stars were jealous
Because she didn't have to move
But they did
She threw a kiss to the wind
And laughed, "because I hate it
How it always runs away from me"
The planets drew in close
Because she whispered real quiet
Like dust falls
There is a stillness in the clouds
She says, "because I'm sick of this
Because that's about all I can take"
she says, "because I put it there
Because that's where it belongs"
The stars were jealous
Because she didn't have to move
But they did
She threw a kiss to the wind
And laughed, "because I hate it
How it always runs away from me"
The planets drew in close
Because she whispered real quiet
Like dust falls
There is a stillness in the clouds
She says, "because I'm sick of this
Because that's about all I can take"
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Evenings with the Muckrakers
Blue my silhouette
The brain forgets
What it don't want to see
Ashen faces drawn
Devils spawn
Right in front of me
Fell a sonic boom
Crushed the room
That stood on irony
Opened up their skulls
They were full
Of plastic jewelry
Even as it shines
I can't understand this make-believe
Ancient crosses broke
Drank the smoke
Of silent ecstasy
Splinters pierced the skin
Cobweb thin
A spider's tragedy
Bells rang on the shore
Like the door
Lacked the levity
To dismiss the cries
Sea gull skies
Bled a rookery
Even as it whines
The echoes lie in media sieves
The brain forgets
What it don't want to see
Ashen faces drawn
Devils spawn
Right in front of me
Fell a sonic boom
Crushed the room
That stood on irony
Opened up their skulls
They were full
Of plastic jewelry
Even as it shines
I can't understand this make-believe
Ancient crosses broke
Drank the smoke
Of silent ecstasy
Splinters pierced the skin
Cobweb thin
A spider's tragedy
Bells rang on the shore
Like the door
Lacked the levity
To dismiss the cries
Sea gull skies
Bled a rookery
Even as it whines
The echoes lie in media sieves
Betraying Nostalgia
Far braver than the dark gave you credit for
You whispered to the sky
But only white drops came out
Diamonds behind your eyes
Past hollows that you swore would never close
Shut their doors upon you
Crossed the paths with tattered rope
Breakers for the morning dew
Far emptier than the tornadoes would ever allow
You grabbed the handle bars
But the tires deflated on the spot
Metal rusted onto the tar
Lemon grass stuck to the corners of their mouths
You took in the wet scent
Choked when the air turned pale blue
Returned the letters I sent
You whispered to the sky
But only white drops came out
Diamonds behind your eyes
Past hollows that you swore would never close
Shut their doors upon you
Crossed the paths with tattered rope
Breakers for the morning dew
Far emptier than the tornadoes would ever allow
You grabbed the handle bars
But the tires deflated on the spot
Metal rusted onto the tar
Lemon grass stuck to the corners of their mouths
You took in the wet scent
Choked when the air turned pale blue
Returned the letters I sent
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Stamped to the Past
Dear Karenin, we push away when we least want to. Someday I will realize all that I have lost by this society. Only now did I realize you were one. And I will never see you again. Dear purist of canine form, I will search in vain for the rest of my life for a replacement. Like Asanti, Saski, Oliver, Tevril, and Samson...and of course Mine Summer Bird.
Dear Faux Corvid King, I still cannot believe it to this day. There are so many things I will never forgive you for but most notably the time you cut off my wings.
Dear Senator, you were right. All one could really need is a garden and a library. But there just aren't enough to go around. And too much of everything else.
Dear Order of the Antler Founder, there were so many bones. They're all sorted and arranged now but we're still scraping off the flesh. One day the bolts will have nothing left to hold down.
Dear Rook, keep laughing. The joke's on you. You collected my paper cranes as I gave them to you but I burned them before we reached 1000. I've kept the scraps but I'll never look at them again. And you, you'll keep floating through conversations until the world stops talking and you realize there's nothing left for you to hold on to.
Dear White Rat, I will find you someday, and I will kill you.
Dear Okay, music was brought to life by your hands, wind by your feet. Half a world away I can still hear them moving through the trees.
Dear Negro, Canelo, and Morro, patience is key. Rewards aren't always as tangible as desires. We brushed noses, learning through scent, and you decided I smelled trustworthy. I'm pretty sure I just smelled like rain forest mud and sweat. The ants were biting my feet but I was frozen by your strength. For the first time in your lives you didn't shy away. I was the first pale one to respect you.
Dear Ledges, you gave me a golden feather. I gave you empty monologues and broken songs. Neither one of us really knew what happened but one day I dropped over your side and never came back.
Dear Blackbird, you have my letters. I will never stop writing.
Dear Faux Corvid King, I still cannot believe it to this day. There are so many things I will never forgive you for but most notably the time you cut off my wings.
Dear Senator, you were right. All one could really need is a garden and a library. But there just aren't enough to go around. And too much of everything else.
Dear Order of the Antler Founder, there were so many bones. They're all sorted and arranged now but we're still scraping off the flesh. One day the bolts will have nothing left to hold down.
Dear Rook, keep laughing. The joke's on you. You collected my paper cranes as I gave them to you but I burned them before we reached 1000. I've kept the scraps but I'll never look at them again. And you, you'll keep floating through conversations until the world stops talking and you realize there's nothing left for you to hold on to.
Dear White Rat, I will find you someday, and I will kill you.
Dear Okay, music was brought to life by your hands, wind by your feet. Half a world away I can still hear them moving through the trees.
Dear Negro, Canelo, and Morro, patience is key. Rewards aren't always as tangible as desires. We brushed noses, learning through scent, and you decided I smelled trustworthy. I'm pretty sure I just smelled like rain forest mud and sweat. The ants were biting my feet but I was frozen by your strength. For the first time in your lives you didn't shy away. I was the first pale one to respect you.
Dear Ledges, you gave me a golden feather. I gave you empty monologues and broken songs. Neither one of us really knew what happened but one day I dropped over your side and never came back.
Dear Blackbird, you have my letters. I will never stop writing.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Blackbird Memory Letters 4
Dear Blackbird, we run in circles, each growing smaller as around and around we go and even when we reach that center we just keep spinning. We can't see straight. It grows increasingly impossible to put one foot in front of the other. I've tried to jump off this carousel but the stirrups tie up my feet every time. My only hope is for the girth to break. But it never does.
If I were a broken record I'd be all blackbirds and dusty books and dead roses scattered across the floor. Autumn leaves and tall evergreens and a slice of mirror blue sky. But I'm not. I'd be lucky to have a needle in me no matter what came out. Instead it just goes in and bubbles in the veins behind my ears. It never comes out. I heard the blue jays laughing at you once. You chased after their hope but they were always too quick for you. They nearly fell over their sides shook so much laughing at your misfortune. I wanted to grab one and tear its feathers off for you. The crows were worse. Black nightmares. Pulling me up into the sky by the heart strings, sinew ripping out of my chest. The music rang clear. The sun embraced my face. They promised me secrets. And so I let them take me every time. But just when the pull was bearable they would unwind my heart. Way up in the clouds. Until they'd pulled out the end of the string. When I hit the ground...I had to come back for you. Give you a piece of my own each time to get you going. They would cackle somewhere off in the distance. Dark spies planning their next attack. Eventually I didn't have any heart left to give. All the blood pooled in the liver and I couldn't give it up. It gave me up. I felt my soul snap. I lay down on the sun-baked bench and tried to disappear. Nine lives I hadn't used up. Nine lives you took for me. Nine lives that pooled together when the snow melted and my sculptures fell apart. Masterpieces of imagination flickering out when I woke up from the dream. It was beautiful. And I let it be destroyed. The earth grows warm and everything goes cold. I remember the yellow flowers lain above me. The smell of the awakening soil. I scanned the horizon but there was nothing there because I couldn't see anymore.
There were spiders in the garden. Big yellow ones with black women dancing across their backs, profiles smiling up at me, big hoop earrings dangling from their ears. They slept on zippers and fed on canvased shells. Bites were hard to come by. It was as if you could go through every web and turn over every rock and never find your poison. The teeth were in my intestines, chewing up my gut. One day they will eat their way out and the whole world will see how empty I am inside.
I remember my lady hawk. She would dance in the sunrise. Copper and ivory. Throwing blades of light up into the sky. Trying to pierce the cruel god that brought her there. I remember they used to try to bring me to a building and sit me down behind cold stones walls and preach to me about the glory of life. I kept trying to tell them life was outside. It was under my feet. They didn't get it. They shut the doors and shoved the shoes back on my feet and told me to sit still. I would wait for you knowing when you got back you'd lock yourself away and be silent the rest of the day. You shut the world out like they wanted. You shut me out like they wanted. But I knew I'd still see those feathers in the morning, and somehow you'd remember the black coat and burning eyes at night. The velvet fell apart in the bathroom sink. I starred at it until the sun came up and a hand pulled me away. They said when they found me my skin was blue. I thought I was still looking at the sink but they said it was gone. I couldn't hear them. No matter how many times they said it, I couldn't hear them. The sky flashed but by the time the thunder rolled in you'd already lost your voice from screaming. The color stained the carpet. A burn that melted under the bone. You turned away. North was always the answer. Until you got there. Their voices made me cough. I couldn't breathe until they stopped. But then they never stopped. Convulsions in time to their rhythm. You spat up blood and they used it to paint their faces. Porcelain masks hennaed to a devil's tune.
All black bodied birds. Ashes, ashes in the summer time. I'd spin you around if I ever got the chance. We'd make rings in the grass. Stir up a wild fire. And all fall down.
If I were a broken record I'd be all blackbirds and dusty books and dead roses scattered across the floor. Autumn leaves and tall evergreens and a slice of mirror blue sky. But I'm not. I'd be lucky to have a needle in me no matter what came out. Instead it just goes in and bubbles in the veins behind my ears. It never comes out. I heard the blue jays laughing at you once. You chased after their hope but they were always too quick for you. They nearly fell over their sides shook so much laughing at your misfortune. I wanted to grab one and tear its feathers off for you. The crows were worse. Black nightmares. Pulling me up into the sky by the heart strings, sinew ripping out of my chest. The music rang clear. The sun embraced my face. They promised me secrets. And so I let them take me every time. But just when the pull was bearable they would unwind my heart. Way up in the clouds. Until they'd pulled out the end of the string. When I hit the ground...I had to come back for you. Give you a piece of my own each time to get you going. They would cackle somewhere off in the distance. Dark spies planning their next attack. Eventually I didn't have any heart left to give. All the blood pooled in the liver and I couldn't give it up. It gave me up. I felt my soul snap. I lay down on the sun-baked bench and tried to disappear. Nine lives I hadn't used up. Nine lives you took for me. Nine lives that pooled together when the snow melted and my sculptures fell apart. Masterpieces of imagination flickering out when I woke up from the dream. It was beautiful. And I let it be destroyed. The earth grows warm and everything goes cold. I remember the yellow flowers lain above me. The smell of the awakening soil. I scanned the horizon but there was nothing there because I couldn't see anymore.
There were spiders in the garden. Big yellow ones with black women dancing across their backs, profiles smiling up at me, big hoop earrings dangling from their ears. They slept on zippers and fed on canvased shells. Bites were hard to come by. It was as if you could go through every web and turn over every rock and never find your poison. The teeth were in my intestines, chewing up my gut. One day they will eat their way out and the whole world will see how empty I am inside.
I remember my lady hawk. She would dance in the sunrise. Copper and ivory. Throwing blades of light up into the sky. Trying to pierce the cruel god that brought her there. I remember they used to try to bring me to a building and sit me down behind cold stones walls and preach to me about the glory of life. I kept trying to tell them life was outside. It was under my feet. They didn't get it. They shut the doors and shoved the shoes back on my feet and told me to sit still. I would wait for you knowing when you got back you'd lock yourself away and be silent the rest of the day. You shut the world out like they wanted. You shut me out like they wanted. But I knew I'd still see those feathers in the morning, and somehow you'd remember the black coat and burning eyes at night. The velvet fell apart in the bathroom sink. I starred at it until the sun came up and a hand pulled me away. They said when they found me my skin was blue. I thought I was still looking at the sink but they said it was gone. I couldn't hear them. No matter how many times they said it, I couldn't hear them. The sky flashed but by the time the thunder rolled in you'd already lost your voice from screaming. The color stained the carpet. A burn that melted under the bone. You turned away. North was always the answer. Until you got there. Their voices made me cough. I couldn't breathe until they stopped. But then they never stopped. Convulsions in time to their rhythm. You spat up blood and they used it to paint their faces. Porcelain masks hennaed to a devil's tune.
All black bodied birds. Ashes, ashes in the summer time. I'd spin you around if I ever got the chance. We'd make rings in the grass. Stir up a wild fire. And all fall down.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Inner Demon (In Memory of Layne Staley)
It was a dark
Like a slap
I saw the blood beneath his eyes
It was a surge
Like a blank
The suddenness of demise
Saw the curve
Like a star
The glint of quiet blade
Saw the line
Like a mark
Driven by the spade
It was a snap
Like a bone
The voice that reached the ear
It was a breath
Like a pine
That swelled when he grew near
Saw the smack
Like the lips
Of poison kissed the sky
Saw the loss
Like the music
Was leaking out his eyes
Like a slap
I saw the blood beneath his eyes
It was a surge
Like a blank
The suddenness of demise
Saw the curve
Like a star
The glint of quiet blade
Saw the line
Like a mark
Driven by the spade
It was a snap
Like a bone
The voice that reached the ear
It was a breath
Like a pine
That swelled when he grew near
Saw the smack
Like the lips
Of poison kissed the sky
Saw the loss
Like the music
Was leaking out his eyes
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Blackbird Memories Letters 3
Like Moose and Montana you never believed it existed because you'd never seen a living sign of it. Like aliens? I don't believe in aliens. We're all aliens. All of them are to me at least. Strange beings I don't understand. Illegal aliens. Like plates in the sky have more right to walk this land than earth colored feet. Put it in black and white and flatten it out. Then even a speck of color or form is alien. Terrifyingly foreign.
They called it Fringe Science. Everything I'd ever believed in...it could be proven in some regard, every cause and reaction ever dreamed about suddenly had potential. I fell asleep trying to ignore it. But I was there and I remember. I held you tight and never wanted to let go. Somehow you were back. I had brought you back. And I was terrified you'd disappear again. I did disappear again. You opened your eyes and the trees faded away. Your face was dry. Your arms empty. I went to scream. But nothing came out. It had all melted away somewhere deep inside you. Somewhere you couldn't get to. I kept looking. Kept digging. But I was afraid. I'm still afraid. Of the truth. You meant well. But he didn't want to help. You had to find alternatives. There was an option. Connecting through the dream state. They said it wouldn't work if it had been so long...but it did.
My feet are saying don't walk today. The hills are covered in blood. They expect you to pull the blankets over your head. Look away from the window. Open the door for the salesman and not complain when he doesn't wipe his feet before entering the kitchen. Ignore the crimson path he leaves behind. What are you selling today, sir? Souls. In between his crooked yellow teeth lives the hiss of life. I'm sorry I didn't realize who you were. Maybe we can make a deal. When you lack compassion deals are tough to come by. His eyes mocked you. I shudder underneath my bones but the earthquake hits outside. Go play your music somewhere else I say. We shall not dance to this tune today. Away, away evil friend. You had your chance at me. I've stopped begging. When the footsteps fade the lights go out. The field dries up. Everything red dust. I got myself a red fiddle but all I play is blue. Forget-me-nots sprout up around the bones, all twisted around them, holding them down. Black firelies. My lights could never be so bright.
They called it Fringe Science. Everything I'd ever believed in...it could be proven in some regard, every cause and reaction ever dreamed about suddenly had potential. I fell asleep trying to ignore it. But I was there and I remember. I held you tight and never wanted to let go. Somehow you were back. I had brought you back. And I was terrified you'd disappear again. I did disappear again. You opened your eyes and the trees faded away. Your face was dry. Your arms empty. I went to scream. But nothing came out. It had all melted away somewhere deep inside you. Somewhere you couldn't get to. I kept looking. Kept digging. But I was afraid. I'm still afraid. Of the truth. You meant well. But he didn't want to help. You had to find alternatives. There was an option. Connecting through the dream state. They said it wouldn't work if it had been so long...but it did.
My feet are saying don't walk today. The hills are covered in blood. They expect you to pull the blankets over your head. Look away from the window. Open the door for the salesman and not complain when he doesn't wipe his feet before entering the kitchen. Ignore the crimson path he leaves behind. What are you selling today, sir? Souls. In between his crooked yellow teeth lives the hiss of life. I'm sorry I didn't realize who you were. Maybe we can make a deal. When you lack compassion deals are tough to come by. His eyes mocked you. I shudder underneath my bones but the earthquake hits outside. Go play your music somewhere else I say. We shall not dance to this tune today. Away, away evil friend. You had your chance at me. I've stopped begging. When the footsteps fade the lights go out. The field dries up. Everything red dust. I got myself a red fiddle but all I play is blue. Forget-me-nots sprout up around the bones, all twisted around them, holding them down. Black firelies. My lights could never be so bright.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Elephant Graveyard
I couldn't see the curved ribs
Just the seaweed like the mire
Had come to rest upon your back
Without the wisps of fire
I couldn't see the water
But I heard the constant crash
Hidden from me by a heavy fog
Ivory and ash
I stepped across the cool sand
As far as I could see alone
But I sensed the hounds upon the scent
Digging for precious bone
The wild wind flipped my hair
A constant present one place before
Empty but for cracks under the sky
At the very heart of nevermore
I couldn't hear your voice
But I still felt your cries
They pierced through my clothes
And welled up in my eyes
I couldn't find your face
The flotsam blocked my view
And every one of those still bodies
Reminded me of you
I came upon each giant
Revealed with each cautious step
A haunting silhouette I had to accept
And approach with no misstep
I woke up in this room
With the sunlight pouring in
But I shut my eyes and tried to return
And replace my twin
Just the seaweed like the mire
Had come to rest upon your back
Without the wisps of fire
I couldn't see the water
But I heard the constant crash
Hidden from me by a heavy fog
Ivory and ash
I stepped across the cool sand
As far as I could see alone
But I sensed the hounds upon the scent
Digging for precious bone
The wild wind flipped my hair
A constant present one place before
Empty but for cracks under the sky
At the very heart of nevermore
I couldn't hear your voice
But I still felt your cries
They pierced through my clothes
And welled up in my eyes
I couldn't find your face
The flotsam blocked my view
And every one of those still bodies
Reminded me of you
I came upon each giant
Revealed with each cautious step
A haunting silhouette I had to accept
And approach with no misstep
I woke up in this room
With the sunlight pouring in
But I shut my eyes and tried to return
And replace my twin
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Blackbird Memory Letters 2
We were silhouettes. You can still see us walking across the porch in summer. Our shadows weaving in and out of each other. You just have to know how to look. Dancing like broken hearts, valves flying wildly, blood rushing up in fountains, flecked across your face. Red hearts. Red blankets. Red winters. Red violins. I understood why he did it. I understood the amount of passion and amount of crazy it took to dip that paintbrush in and drag it across the naked wood. I understood the amount of sorrow needed to create such a beautiful sound. We are just water in the end. The water mixes with paint. Among other things. I hear voices at night sometimes. And I don't want to answer. They're looking for me but I want to remain hidden. Cut all ties. Break all bricks. Crumble like the cookies you left in the oven for too long when you were looking for me and I was buried in some corner crying. I fall. And keep falling. And never stop. And yet I'm not flying. Sometimes it's just gray mist we've got for company. Your mind can race all it wants but it never goes anywhere. Just holds you in this cloud. White fog and silence. But you can feel the sun somewhere. Off in a different world.
The record stopped and I realized it had never been there to begin with. It was only ever what I wanted it to be but I never saw it. Just the old dusty player. Waiting expectantly. The notes were just memories. Sometimes memories can be more alive than the flesh and blood around you. That's what I like to believe. But it still doesn't get me out of here. Stop trying so hard. Graves and Graduations are patient enough.
The record stopped and I realized it had never been there to begin with. It was only ever what I wanted it to be but I never saw it. Just the old dusty player. Waiting expectantly. The notes were just memories. Sometimes memories can be more alive than the flesh and blood around you. That's what I like to believe. But it still doesn't get me out of here. Stop trying so hard. Graves and Graduations are patient enough.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Fugitive
Wake up to the moon upon my back
Run off into the shadows
Don't look back
Wave to the vacant country road
Sing to its last departure
A quiet ode
Rest when the legs finally give out
Forget their wanderings
All about
Run off into the shadows
Don't look back
Wave to the vacant country road
Sing to its last departure
A quiet ode
Rest when the legs finally give out
Forget their wanderings
All about
Friday, March 18, 2011
The Degradation of Great Minds
Ravenous for crossword puzzles
I want to eat them like flies
Webbed in a spider’s lines
The world was quiet up until then
Then we woke up
The silent snicker collapsed in guzzles
I saw it begging desperately for air
Instead I turned away from there
It was a knock, bang, pounding, and then
Then it just stopped
Gently knotting the cord around their muzzles
Beat by beat we walked together
Step by step we lost forever
Talk and laugh and eat and talk and then
Then they found the body
I want to eat them like flies
Webbed in a spider’s lines
The world was quiet up until then
Then we woke up
The silent snicker collapsed in guzzles
I saw it begging desperately for air
Instead I turned away from there
It was a knock, bang, pounding, and then
Then it just stopped
Gently knotting the cord around their muzzles
Beat by beat we walked together
Step by step we lost forever
Talk and laugh and eat and talk and then
Then they found the body
Friday, March 11, 2011
Seirenes
Raisins fell out of her throat
I caught them in the aftershock
And while we were still remembering
The twilight stole them away
I used to walk on dark beaches
My feet would sink in deep
And I wouldn't feel so transparent
Someone once shot the old goat
All mildew and iron locks
She left the ground for trembling
Clicked like the sail's mainstay
Violent winds used to stir up the leaches
I could hear them in my sleep
Their scratchings were so apparent
My giver wore a seed covered coat
In tangles as bloodstreams in stocks
Blue diamonds relieved fervent lumbering
Tied at the mouth of the bay
Oak beams collapsed upon her beseeches
Woke up that night to the counselor's weep
We gave up the case too acquiescent
I caught them in the aftershock
And while we were still remembering
The twilight stole them away
I used to walk on dark beaches
My feet would sink in deep
And I wouldn't feel so transparent
Someone once shot the old goat
All mildew and iron locks
She left the ground for trembling
Clicked like the sail's mainstay
Violent winds used to stir up the leaches
I could hear them in my sleep
Their scratchings were so apparent
My giver wore a seed covered coat
In tangles as bloodstreams in stocks
Blue diamonds relieved fervent lumbering
Tied at the mouth of the bay
Oak beams collapsed upon her beseeches
Woke up that night to the counselor's weep
We gave up the case too acquiescent
Indifference
I’m remembering indifference. It’s almost better than nothing. Than empty space. But it isn’t. It’s a woman sitting on a park bench, legs crossed, arms folded on her lap, staring blankly when an ambulance is screeching behind her and everyone- the guy beside her, the squirrel on the path, the ducks even- is telling her to look, to pay attention. She just sits there and you want to shake her, you want to force her head to turn, press it until it cannot resist any longer. But you don’t.
You can’t blame her. You can’t even bring yourself to look at her objectively anymore. Because she’s just a reflection and no matter how many stones you throw she’ll always creep back into focus, starring into emptiness. Even when she knows there’s something there. She just doesn’t care. I want to paint her. Not because she’s a rarity. Not because the light is just right. But because she’s so honest. She wants oblivion. She knows what’s there but she wants to forget. It’s how we all feel. She’s just got the guts to admit it, to live it. It takes a lot of courage to forget. A lot of hatred and a lot of pain, but a lot of courage to say ‘I’m done, no more. You can never reach me now.'
I want to paint those soft lines of her hair, the little wisps that escape around her pale face. That hardness in her eyes. That stillness in her form when all around her is light, summery movement. She’s an icicle out of place. I’d paint her shadows blue, light her eyes with cyanide. I’d ghost her in like a stranger. Mix the ochre with a hint of dead leaves and dirty grass. Paste on her clothing as if it were stolen from someone else and forced on her so she would form the necessary image. I’d make the sky the brightest blue and shine the sirens in until they blind the viewer while she remains one lump of silhouette, unmoved by her surroundings. I would call it ‘Indifference’ and nothing else would need to be said.
You can’t blame her. You can’t even bring yourself to look at her objectively anymore. Because she’s just a reflection and no matter how many stones you throw she’ll always creep back into focus, starring into emptiness. Even when she knows there’s something there. She just doesn’t care. I want to paint her. Not because she’s a rarity. Not because the light is just right. But because she’s so honest. She wants oblivion. She knows what’s there but she wants to forget. It’s how we all feel. She’s just got the guts to admit it, to live it. It takes a lot of courage to forget. A lot of hatred and a lot of pain, but a lot of courage to say ‘I’m done, no more. You can never reach me now.'
I want to paint those soft lines of her hair, the little wisps that escape around her pale face. That hardness in her eyes. That stillness in her form when all around her is light, summery movement. She’s an icicle out of place. I’d paint her shadows blue, light her eyes with cyanide. I’d ghost her in like a stranger. Mix the ochre with a hint of dead leaves and dirty grass. Paste on her clothing as if it were stolen from someone else and forced on her so she would form the necessary image. I’d make the sky the brightest blue and shine the sirens in until they blind the viewer while she remains one lump of silhouette, unmoved by her surroundings. I would call it ‘Indifference’ and nothing else would need to be said.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Blackbird Memory Letters 1
Dear Blackbird, I hope this finds you well and the worms can bring you these scraps that I drop down with saline. I know they've got their own to worry about but maybe they'll be so kind this time. Don't worry about the worms. We all end up their food in the end. If it starts with just your words they might pardon you later, but it's not too bad. Just quiet sometimes.
The music here is too loud sometimes. It hurts my eyes. I cover my ears but the world turns black and deafening with lightning. It's all green and orange and it shakes up through my spine. You want to give up at times. It happens to the best of us. I'm sorry if I ever made you think that wasn't okay. Knowing your limits is good. Like flying. Whoever said you couldn't? Me. Every time I'm at the edge and ready to jump. My heart stops. And I'm gone. Like that time you pulled me from the roof. You laughed and swept me up in your arms and said don't you dare do that again. But I locked you out there once. And it was freezing. We were so obsessed that sometimes cruelty was the only way to handle it. The pain in return for the safety later. Or maybe we were just pushing the limits. Testing the strength of the bond. Infinite. It was silly for us to test it. Like all those people testing the intelligence of monkeys and crows. What do they know about any intelligence but their own? The monkeys and crows though, they know the true extent of it. I came home and the light was different. The house was full of water. I couldn't stay there. I went outside and saw it dripping down the shingles. But my ears were still clogged and I still couldn't see clearly. I tried to remember what season it was but I couldn't feel anything. It could have been freezing or sweltering. I just can't remember. Broken bones lose their nerves. You used to laugh when they said winter made you sad. They didn't understand. Snow was never the problem. We turned white once. Terrified and shaking in the cold. But we didn't hold it against winter. We held it against ourselves. I never could stop blaming myself for that. Don't. Maybe I wanted to be white. Made me appreciate what I was. To hide. To be hidden. To sleep. To be put to sleep. I know. I'm sorry. It's okay, Summer. You only did what you thought was best. Shifting the light. Shining for those who never get a chance to go on before their time. I'm well past my time. It doesn't get any better. It's like those dragons kids imagine. The older they get the less ferocious they become until they turn into stuffed animals you kiss goodnight. Statues that have lost any life of their own. You're afraid of that. Stones turning into butterflies. Cracks revealed as pieces of strings, glued to fool the eye. I just don't want to live in a flat world. You'll never be flat. That's what's most important.
Why does the dew creep up without warning? Maybe you're just asleep. Dreams are funny things. They bring you away and when you return make you believe the world had stopped in your absence. As if you spun the wheel. That's just how it feels sometimes. Always pushing that rock up the hill. Breaking at the knees, sweat pooling on the small of the back. Saline. We see a lot of that. Don't poison the roses. If you still walk, walk beside them. I still walk. It's a mistake I've made again and again. Someday, someday you'll learn how to fly. Trust me.
The music here is too loud sometimes. It hurts my eyes. I cover my ears but the world turns black and deafening with lightning. It's all green and orange and it shakes up through my spine. You want to give up at times. It happens to the best of us. I'm sorry if I ever made you think that wasn't okay. Knowing your limits is good. Like flying. Whoever said you couldn't? Me. Every time I'm at the edge and ready to jump. My heart stops. And I'm gone. Like that time you pulled me from the roof. You laughed and swept me up in your arms and said don't you dare do that again. But I locked you out there once. And it was freezing. We were so obsessed that sometimes cruelty was the only way to handle it. The pain in return for the safety later. Or maybe we were just pushing the limits. Testing the strength of the bond. Infinite. It was silly for us to test it. Like all those people testing the intelligence of monkeys and crows. What do they know about any intelligence but their own? The monkeys and crows though, they know the true extent of it. I came home and the light was different. The house was full of water. I couldn't stay there. I went outside and saw it dripping down the shingles. But my ears were still clogged and I still couldn't see clearly. I tried to remember what season it was but I couldn't feel anything. It could have been freezing or sweltering. I just can't remember. Broken bones lose their nerves. You used to laugh when they said winter made you sad. They didn't understand. Snow was never the problem. We turned white once. Terrified and shaking in the cold. But we didn't hold it against winter. We held it against ourselves. I never could stop blaming myself for that. Don't. Maybe I wanted to be white. Made me appreciate what I was. To hide. To be hidden. To sleep. To be put to sleep. I know. I'm sorry. It's okay, Summer. You only did what you thought was best. Shifting the light. Shining for those who never get a chance to go on before their time. I'm well past my time. It doesn't get any better. It's like those dragons kids imagine. The older they get the less ferocious they become until they turn into stuffed animals you kiss goodnight. Statues that have lost any life of their own. You're afraid of that. Stones turning into butterflies. Cracks revealed as pieces of strings, glued to fool the eye. I just don't want to live in a flat world. You'll never be flat. That's what's most important.
Why does the dew creep up without warning? Maybe you're just asleep. Dreams are funny things. They bring you away and when you return make you believe the world had stopped in your absence. As if you spun the wheel. That's just how it feels sometimes. Always pushing that rock up the hill. Breaking at the knees, sweat pooling on the small of the back. Saline. We see a lot of that. Don't poison the roses. If you still walk, walk beside them. I still walk. It's a mistake I've made again and again. Someday, someday you'll learn how to fly. Trust me.
Smoke on the Horizon
Streaks across the sky
Sunlight you and I
Sunlight you and I
We see the streaks that cut the sky
Open wide, Open wide
Black upon the blue
Sunlight me and you
Sunlight me and you
Stare at the naked bruise
Cut right through, cut right through
The burning in the sky
Sunlight you and I
Sunlight you and I
Watch as the smoke collides
Air has died, air has died
Eating up the blue
Sunlight me and you
Sunlight me and you
There's nothing we can do
Can't break through, can't break through
Sunlight you and I
Sunlight you and I
We see the streaks that cut the sky
Open wide, Open wide
Black upon the blue
Sunlight me and you
Sunlight me and you
Stare at the naked bruise
Cut right through, cut right through
The burning in the sky
Sunlight you and I
Sunlight you and I
Watch as the smoke collides
Air has died, air has died
Eating up the blue
Sunlight me and you
Sunlight me and you
There's nothing we can do
Can't break through, can't break through
Empty Shells
Because bombshells are just the trees
After a hurricane
I forgive you
Because embers are just the sunset
After a lightning strike
I forgive you
Because I am just the cartridge
After the shot
You forgive me
After a hurricane
I forgive you
Because embers are just the sunset
After a lightning strike
I forgive you
Because I am just the cartridge
After the shot
You forgive me
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Quiver
Move down upon a hollow road
Dreary wind’s gentle tap on your door
The grey bird’s path in willow lanes
Skeletons for evermore
Or lest the snow falls on the ‘morrow
And quiet drapes winter its sheet
Keepsake my sparrow in the morning
In memories ‘til spring we meet
Dreary wind’s gentle tap on your door
The grey bird’s path in willow lanes
Skeletons for evermore
Or lest the snow falls on the ‘morrow
And quiet drapes winter its sheet
Keepsake my sparrow in the morning
In memories ‘til spring we meet
Black Rabbit
You’re my dark, he says
My cold, my marrow
The hills are covered in blood
He says
Run quick, rabbit, run quick
You’re my heels, he says
My strength, my muscle
He gave them all sharp teeth
He says
Go hunt, he told them, go hunt
You’re my bright, he says
My barbed wire, my senseless
They all got filled with hate
He says
They’re coming, soon, they’re coming
You’re my ears, he says
My echoes, my shaking
That shadow’s coming fast
He says
That smoke, ash is where it comes from
You’re my heart, he says
My pulse, my racing
And he pointed to the source
He says
Soon black rabbit, soon it will be bursting
My cold, my marrow
The hills are covered in blood
He says
Run quick, rabbit, run quick
You’re my heels, he says
My strength, my muscle
He gave them all sharp teeth
He says
Go hunt, he told them, go hunt
You’re my bright, he says
My barbed wire, my senseless
They all got filled with hate
He says
They’re coming, soon, they’re coming
You’re my ears, he says
My echoes, my shaking
That shadow’s coming fast
He says
That smoke, ash is where it comes from
You’re my heart, he says
My pulse, my racing
And he pointed to the source
He says
Soon black rabbit, soon it will be bursting
Tiny Dancer
Again and again I found myself touched by the singular desolation of that photograph. There was little in it that made so specific a claim but as a whole it was utterly impossible to ignore the despondency of the delicate figure wrapped around herself when all the air about her waited in vain for her movement. There was energy in the pose she held, her muscles rigid with purpose, but there was a remarkable feeling of weakness hiding in the shadows. Her body seemed to shiver underneath her thin shirt and leggings. I always felt the need to reach out to her but the despair seemed irrevocable and a glass of purely dimensional disabilities kept me from ever reaching her morose form.
She stood upon a stage as if held up by a giant hand, forcing her in front of the eye of scrutiny. She was balanced on the toes of one foot, pushing with all her force against this evil platform. The rest of her body was pulled up in a peculiar fashion similar to a child wrapped tightly in the fetal position. Her arms angled as a splash of ivory down across her raised leg and her hands landed pointing up against the knee in a tight, flat palmed grip so that her form created a series of triangles broken only by the slight curvature of her shoulder blades and head. Her hair draped down over her wayward shoulder and fell with a soft glint that betrayed its fine texture. Her chin tucked between her shoulders into the point where her finger tips and knee cap met, leaving no gap under her neck for light to pass through.
Her feet and ankles were bare, as were her arms and shoulders, and she gave the impression that her clothes may as well have been torn and spoiled for all her marks of abandonment, though they were not. Her black leggings clung to the muscular curvature of her legs like a second skin, terrified that at any moment they could be separated from their wearer. Her shirt stuck nearly as close, pressing like saran wrap over her ribs and spine. It folded in grey creases on her sides like half a sun floating on the horizon of her upper arm and raised thigh. The shirt was dull as the underside of a rain cloud but I knew it to be of a brilliant crimson. So striking it had been on her, a splash of blood from the center of a grey landscape. Even in the monotone landscape it managed to stand out but not so much in the manner of vitality as it had then, rather it was a soft center under which everything else was buried.
Her face wore an expression of detachment. Her furrowed brow and cringing neck spoke of some inner pain as hidden from the observer as her cries were silent. But her eyes were cast down in almost an angelic manner. They were calm and accepting but altogether in a land far too distant for another soul to connect to them. This contrast of both strong and quivering spirit was perhaps what always drew me back to the image. That unique quality that made the audience view her both as a passionate and headstrong individual and as a delicate and withering grace. This fact and perhaps the alternate view which could make this image appear to be taken from an aerial position above a body in its last breath of agony, made me cling nostalgically to this little slip of paper as if I understood. As if I could have done something.
I gave it one last hard stare before finally setting it upon the stone base. Above was her inscription, below was the grass whose roots kept down my memories. I lay a rose delicately on top of it, being careful that the thorns did not hinder the image under its glass covering. I knew every line of the image by heart and knew I’d be lucky to ever lose it from my dreams. I silently bade farewell one last time. As I turned away the impression of the crimson petals upon the mottled grey stone remained on the insides of my eyelids in an eternal haunting. I wanted to stop, to turn around and admit that I was only running from the guilt, but I had to move on. With either indifference or oblivion I had to keep walking. I wiped the back of my hand across my face in one final gesture of absolution and took off down the road.
She stood upon a stage as if held up by a giant hand, forcing her in front of the eye of scrutiny. She was balanced on the toes of one foot, pushing with all her force against this evil platform. The rest of her body was pulled up in a peculiar fashion similar to a child wrapped tightly in the fetal position. Her arms angled as a splash of ivory down across her raised leg and her hands landed pointing up against the knee in a tight, flat palmed grip so that her form created a series of triangles broken only by the slight curvature of her shoulder blades and head. Her hair draped down over her wayward shoulder and fell with a soft glint that betrayed its fine texture. Her chin tucked between her shoulders into the point where her finger tips and knee cap met, leaving no gap under her neck for light to pass through.
Her feet and ankles were bare, as were her arms and shoulders, and she gave the impression that her clothes may as well have been torn and spoiled for all her marks of abandonment, though they were not. Her black leggings clung to the muscular curvature of her legs like a second skin, terrified that at any moment they could be separated from their wearer. Her shirt stuck nearly as close, pressing like saran wrap over her ribs and spine. It folded in grey creases on her sides like half a sun floating on the horizon of her upper arm and raised thigh. The shirt was dull as the underside of a rain cloud but I knew it to be of a brilliant crimson. So striking it had been on her, a splash of blood from the center of a grey landscape. Even in the monotone landscape it managed to stand out but not so much in the manner of vitality as it had then, rather it was a soft center under which everything else was buried.
Her face wore an expression of detachment. Her furrowed brow and cringing neck spoke of some inner pain as hidden from the observer as her cries were silent. But her eyes were cast down in almost an angelic manner. They were calm and accepting but altogether in a land far too distant for another soul to connect to them. This contrast of both strong and quivering spirit was perhaps what always drew me back to the image. That unique quality that made the audience view her both as a passionate and headstrong individual and as a delicate and withering grace. This fact and perhaps the alternate view which could make this image appear to be taken from an aerial position above a body in its last breath of agony, made me cling nostalgically to this little slip of paper as if I understood. As if I could have done something.
I gave it one last hard stare before finally setting it upon the stone base. Above was her inscription, below was the grass whose roots kept down my memories. I lay a rose delicately on top of it, being careful that the thorns did not hinder the image under its glass covering. I knew every line of the image by heart and knew I’d be lucky to ever lose it from my dreams. I silently bade farewell one last time. As I turned away the impression of the crimson petals upon the mottled grey stone remained on the insides of my eyelids in an eternal haunting. I wanted to stop, to turn around and admit that I was only running from the guilt, but I had to move on. With either indifference or oblivion I had to keep walking. I wiped the back of my hand across my face in one final gesture of absolution and took off down the road.
Dear Readers,
All I've been looking for is some place to put it all down. Some place where it can be final and unfinished simultaneously. These little strings pulled from my brain either in fragments or in delicate braids, they need a home. Certainly some have traversed other places but nowhere has felt quite right yet, so they're trying for here. Please do not send them sprinting away but rather help them adjust and suggest changes for the better. They are for themselves mostly, and partially for myself, but there is still a piece of them for you. Take it. But treat gently- honestly- but gently. That's all I can ask. All the best dear reader. I look forward to hearing from you in the future.
~Black Cat Shining
~Black Cat Shining
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