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Showing posts from August, 2008

The White Wall

paper rustles people talking bright blues and grey jackets shirt tables squeak pens click pencils scrape people breathe in and out glancing sipping with hair that’s jelled and sticky or that’s poofy and unkempt the picking teeth the yawn and sigh the temple rub the eye rub the crotch rub others stretch and move and clench and wince hands moving in and out of pockets (the drone of thoughts that call for stillness) words pop out and dance some underline and shout others circle and stand italics lean a bit closer to whisper to each other or give long looks some seek to sleep others just shift from right to left some read down and up others still keep clicking their pens while light weighs heavy on the right side and the shadows sit in the chair on the left some pick noses others ears others twirl and untangle hair hands shift and blood fills the pressed skin near the cheek bones chairs keep squeaking and feet clap their sandles people blink and blink and blink and blink and blink

Wry

I am so bland, parched and dry; I sleep in the sands where the sea laps and strands of death wrap the depths of ocean in my mind. :: I asked the moon for tides but waves keep crashing near; I am tired afraid aching sleeping {slight said} “leave me alone my darling… I’m okay; I’m dying,” and slowly silently blinding. My Dearest, This upsidedown-thing’s not working in me, I’m so right and I can’t stop. Wry 1. Produced by a distortion or lopsidedness of the facial features. 2. Abnormally bent or turned to one side; twisted; crooked. 3. Devious in course or purpose; misdirected. 4. Contrary; perverse. 5. Distorted or perverted, as in meaning. 6. Bitterly or disdainfully ironic or amusing.

Wrying 3

I am so bland, parched and dry; I sleep in the sands where the sea laps and strands of death wrap the depths of ocean in my mind. :: {I asked}the moon for tides, {but} waves keep crashing near; {I am} tired afraid aching {saying} “leave me alone my darling… {i’m okay}; I’m dying,” and slowly silently blinding. {those words} i spake to the wave, it slapped and lapped at me waxing and waning eclipsing the whiteness {i need to}wear over my regrets nobody gets except you{hear}me laughing while not laughing —this upsidown-thing's not working; {and I can't} stop wrying.

Wrying2

I am so bland, parched and dry; I sleep in the sands where the sea laps and strands of death wrap the depths of ocean in my mind. :: {I asked} the moon for tides but waves keep crashing near; I am tired afraid aching sleeping {saying} “leave me alone my darling… i’m okay; I’m dying,” and slowly silently blinding. {those words] i spake to the wave, it slapped and lapped at me waxing and eclipsing the whiteness {i need to} wear over my regrets nobody gets except you {hear} My Dearest, this upsidedown-thing is not {working in me} i’m laughing while not laughing [so right] {now} and I can’t stop.

The Testing Place

My Jesus It seems that I have to test Everything I trust Making sure it Fits me like I wanted It to yet when I wake I find myself still in the pain and ache that met me yesterday in the dark of my heavy heart what dangers meet my hand something within my way caves in and crumples to a fetal position I find my heart again to be the broken place

The Teeth of Insanity

like a cast held hostage to another’s fracture of mind, settled in my place, a vague inclination that it’s not mine. What should I say father, do I own it? Never! “come what may!” I yell with a wrinkled fist, like a tired old man my soul wrinkles through whistly teeth, white and yellow. and shuts, waiting for the winter Re- peat: “come what may," but even to come like it always does. my inflection is weak,with stress Put on my wool sweater on the “ what ” rather than the and socks, and make “come” or the “may”— tea to pass the day how ironically my without a sec- fears present ond thou- themsel- ght. ves. (fol) (sel) This terrible weight of missing something anything it just keeps sinking and reminding me something’s missing anything and everything is shouting and stretching their faces to mock me and jest i

the Spring 2

I asked about the pond we found a little further from the house than I’d been all my life. It was full (even in drought my father said) and I was glad, it was clear (even with the glare) I could see it was deep— and I ran through the grass (that came to the edge) to look but I slipped and my foot sunk in and my elbow too. I reached for some grass and pulled myself out, breathed deep, then sighed, then laughed at [to] myself and stood up (with shirt off), and backed away to get some distance. I ran to the edge (full speed), took a leap, plugged my nose, breathed deep and closed my eyes. I went back every day. :: I dropped my bags (there were two). hugged my dad. kicked my shoes. threw my shirt. In the sun my eyes glared but I lift my hand and jogged through the grass and sat my feet in with a smile. I paused and decided, rolled backwards and stood. I backed up and I jumped. :: This time I flew in, briefca

The Pen is Merely an On Switch 2

Adam’s pen writ upon our hearts fatal words, quieted by mentalmutteringswhirringavarietyofgizmosandwhatch-a-ma-gigs’zoomingsofastpastourunseeneyesthatdepthperceptionandforwardmotionbecomeanillusionof accomplishment and motivation oilisourappetitesandgasolinefeedingkeepschurningmouthsrunningsothatoursimpleearsaretosatisfiedtohear our hearts’ whimper…

The Pen is Merely an On Switch

Adam’s pen writ upon our hearts fatal words quieted by mental mutterings whirring a variety of gizmos and whatch-a-ma-gigs’ zooming so fast past our unseen eyes that depth perception and forward motion become an illusion— accomplishment and motivation: oil is our appetite. our feeding hands keep churning mouths running so our simple ears are too satisfied to hear… our hearts’ whimper.

The Insufficiency of Words

(to Express What I Mean) The Insufficiency of Words (to Express What I Mean) I. Like A Child Again unsettled “what is this,” I bellowed. “The swollen soul so heaving!” I cannot escape this reasoning This circular conflict Of my desire pulses Like the very veins of mine Pulse with life. This is the lie I’ve called love, A swelling of the soul, “A swelling that must cease or die!” Ancient evil of mind, many minds of men undone, I ache and hate thee won. You are my omen, My ill-fate of an unfaithful conscience Insufficient for your work of making Me a man; Fellow fall and be gone, Ancient rebellion: My obnoxious right arm “Sever me!” It cries in mocking vanity. “scorn you, I do” say under my voice “but it’s so attached,” shouldn’t I leave it like that? Ancient evil, oh, scorpion of day, The sting, this serum, what A mad mix in me. That I would rot and fall, this Arm that cannot save— I am Jacob’s child, and I In