"I been tellin' parts of things
I'd like to give it all to you
but that would take a thousand nights
buy me a drink
for every one
and match me shot for shot -
the both of us will end up dead
you know that ain't a pretty sight
but I'm jumpin' way ahead -
that story, well, it just ain't right
to talk about in disrespect
other people's bad bad nights
the kind of shit that makes you sweat
when you think it might be safe
to close y'eyes
turn out the lights
and resurrect yer dead...
and yanno? I think I know
how it came to be.
I gotta keep that to myself
it's just a goddamned theory
and talkin' shit is plantin' seed--
the truth is just a memory
of every mythology
writ by Romans and made sweet
by them contemplatin' Greeks
drinking grapes and wearin' sheets...
I'm fuckin' with ya now, yanno,
a little bit - because the snow
of some jabberdrunken bitch
can purify the worst bullshit
and dress the world in virgin white"
He left, and she said to his back:
"I could, yanno, talk all damned night
and never once repeat myself...
Nine hundred and ninety-nine
lies or truth or just bad rhyme
pissin' time away in Hell
flowers where the angels fell
into graves they dug themself
in envy of us all..."
I wanted you to know I know
that I have failed you just as much
if not more than you failed me
and my attempts, ridiculous
triflings of words and worse--
the posturing as ritual
hate crimes are habitual:
We're loathesome to each other's touch.
I did not believe in love
and neither of us had "the stuff"
Integrity nor fortitude
and wishes won't make dreams come true.
I wish I could have helped you more.
Perhaps if I'd been catholic...
or more persistant at the door
that you've locked since you were six?
(You didn't think I knew, did you?)
You have places broken too
and just as many war stories,
the rubble of a little boy
singing songs in harmony
to Beatles on a phonograph
to fill the gaping hole of lack
wondering will Mom come back
and why "enough" was never more
than token guilt gratuity.
(Y'gotta let that go yanno)
and I just typed that like a pro...
lessons learned from fact, after
we realize that canned laughter
is annoying to the ear--
too similar to schoolyard jeers.
You don't need to pose like this
offense as a defense is
practical in tactical
maneuvers of mechanical
emotions of Pavlonian
(aren't you weary of the game?)
I am aware I'm not the same.
I never was the names you claimed
just as you are not my God--
I'm sure you'll miss the services
the rituals done in your name
but damn responsibility
cleft like leaves of yellowing
spinning spirals on the tree--
and just like the comparison
your roots are deep and hold the mud
together as a truce of us
[CENTER]one of many habits mine
lick my fingers turning page
I never could
- subconcious -
fade as the superego "I"
begs a grip on rage.
To hell with it--
I blush furious;
doing just what I should not
flipping through fragility
past the entries
(I am not serenity!)
pounding fist upon the proof
in my search for love defined--
as I am
not one as I used to be
nor the way I wish become--
"I am that I am"
chaos and the letter "l"
words and pages dictate me
search for "love"
in the Webster's
with an edge, gold leaf.
* * *
A simple act of treachery
or a glimpse of truth revealed
in pages that I am--
just one of many
questioning my own damned eyes...
"it ain't so."
as I shut the spine
- concealed -
safe within the word again
flipping finger sigh--
that gods had heard:
I have this disorder (an OCD) and I cannot watch a movie without the ginormous box of snowcaps (I let them melt slowly in my mouth, then I line the little balls up on the roof of my mouth with my tongue and count them and if it's an odd number, I am allowed to crunch the next one with my molars) and I thought this was a problem, but nooooooo...I saw the Dalai Lama and he told me that my prediliction for snowcaps was a metaphor for Tibet, and they gave me this red robe and I was told I could never talk to your mother again. I told them I had never talked to your mother before, but they didn't care, they told me to spin this prayer wheel, and then Cindy Crawford appeared to me, and told me that Richard Gere was a falsetto Lama, and I said "Dickie SINGS?" and she said "shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" and I nodded okay, she leaned forward and said "he doesn't know he can't" and I said "Oh. Okay." and I nodded knowingly, just to placate her because honestly I really didn't give a shit if he sang like Luciano at that point, I just wanted to get the fuck out of there, and I looked at her, and she pulled this veil over her head, and became a nun, and pointed over my shoulder to these chapel doors, and I ran to them and they slammed shut, mysteriously, just before I could escape, and I pounded on them, screaming, "No, no, no!" and I felt a pain in my chest, and realized my breasts were growing enormously, spilling out of my gauzy raiment. (Anybody ever try wearing raiment? It rubs against the nipples, 'causing great discomfort.) So I put my hands over them, to hold them down, (I don't know why, it just felt like the thing to do) and when I did, they receded, but my belly grew, like it was air, flowing, from my breasts into my tummy and then I felt my pelvis opening, as if the travails of birth and I turned in horror and realized I was in church, at communion, and the priest was summoning ME, and I didn't want to be, but I walked, trembling, one shaky step, then another, and my water burst, gushing red water and I cried out to an image of Mary, woeful in stain glassed, over the pulpit, as I pounded on glass that appeared myseriously: "ELAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAINE!!!"
And then Paul Newman rode up on a bicycle, and Katherine Ross hopped on the handlebars, and they rode off through a side door as she smiled winningly and threw me the bouquet.
I just wanted you to know
just in case I can't say so
like--just in case I die--or worse--
I live with tubes shoved down my throat,
I just wanted you to know
that fucking up is A-O-kay
in fact I think that DNA
tests a panel just for that
they've isolated genes--hormones!
that lend to traits particular
and darken litmus spaces--"what?"
double as boredom in bold
that lead the lightning dash of chart
to places where no man would go
if he had some sense at all.
I need a 'script of "fuckitol".
I wish the clock would chime to twelve.
I had a case of "oh-my-my"
shipped off to "gone to hell."
[CENTER]Some bring me fruit and flowers.
Every day's an anecdote.
A cautious tassel on our drapes
reveals the sunlight antidote.
I strong-arm the door for them -
a growling Annie's by my side.
Ever-eager Freddy is
consigned to terrier, again.
"My Hero --Alpha Dog!!" I lie.
"I am, " he whines.
I laugh.He sighs.
"Of course you are."
He wags the rug in smug placation.
Friends are different these days -
orbs are present in their eyes.
A haunting to be sure, I know,
I look at them and say goodbye.
I can't correct what has transpired.
So I wish them well as they
walk their narrow, spindle-gait
There be dragons that prevail
I lock the door - security,
and I decide to sweep the floor.
Take that with you, Mutha-wruck!
I will pray this day away.
Love is in the flickering
tealights and my potpourri
bubbles in the caldron we
keep hidden by the ficus tree
that twinkles with blue lights.
Nothing's on the stove tonight.
The cat is dying quietly.
"Layla" makes the pain alright
and Clapton is great company
singing sad sobriety
of one too many anecdotes.
Grief sings out the sixteenth note
and I am silenced by the weight
of memories I'd thought remote:
I often used to wonder why
on those days of witnessing
watching strangers cry
always offer them a hug
but they would duck as though I were
offering arms that were a flame
as if as if I would hurt them
I didn't understand until now
that at times it is too much
and love is not a comfort but
a blanket coarse with itchy wool
on skin that is still sensitive
from the ones that came before
Now I understand too much
knowing I know not at all
like the time I argued that
I cast no shadow in the fall
gazing into sun that lied
the shadows were still tall
me and my four feet.
She didn't do me favors then
showing me that it was there:
Turn around and look, you'll see
now I know they're everywhere
doing everything I do
She was not a friend of mine.
But Oh I loved her so...
Sometimes touch is just too much.
Sometimes it is just too soon.
Sometimes tho, it's just enough,
and that cow still jumps the moon.
I wish the fork had run away
with the spoon I learned to use.
I guess it had to be that way
what with me, hot tar, & noon.
And no it ain't regret I feel
it's just feelings I tried not
to feel, I took the long shortcut
traveling where wild things are.
Puzzling the sand, the beach
and why the jabberwockies ate
oysters as they begged for life
remembering they were polite
as they went in for the kill...
Here. I wave to you a hug.
Knowing that it hurts to touch
burns that are still blistering.
And a kiss might be too much
but I pray you know the peace
I'm sending backwards home to you.
Little girls get lost sometimes.
So little girls should be renewed
with a precious drop of pure
down my cheek to wet my lips
upon my fingers
as I see you both in you.
Pluck a petal "He loves me" I held it up for scrutiny examining the subtleties made translucent in the light as if I could detect a flaw a shadowed hint's malevolence my concentration evident by my posturing of squint.
I turned it over for survey-- Did he love me in that way? I watched the colors re-arrange. The edges yellowed with disdain. My fingers marred the delicate properties of velveteen. Bruises formed upon the sheen of perfection formerly-- love, that had been meant for me if only I had let it be...
I wonder did you know your kids-- yanno they didn't mention them? I remember Eddie and ya'll had things together then but you had a lot of cats... and lotza gizmo's Eddie had put together in his hat with his wand a-tap-tap-tap: He pulled another kitty out.
Your first year of wedded bliss was us, and our beneficence of blotter on the tongues received and you both seemed so damned relieved it would not be real....you kissed laughing creativity, equallly magnificent pretending happiness and weed was the fog machine that night.
That was one weird party man as if you had your forces planned like it was a game of RISK and we were neutral novices dancing like we were the witch doctors of your wedded bliss.
"This one needs some mellowing," I saw his eyes and we agreed. He nodded and he planted seeds in a semi-toxic drink, whispering,
Tap-tap-tapping the top hat; "Drop yourself into the vat" with a serious straight face and that tight-neck hard starch lace
and? forget about this place...
as it melted like Dali and his watches tick-ticking sidereals of our surreal and feathers molted and congealed
in puddles on the floor.
A Queen was fanning furious spanish lace and curious hearts upon her sleeve that flew when she said "Hrrrmmmph," and worse-- she looked away unmerciful and called upon poor Percival reluctantly, the dogmatist blunted his blade on their necks.
I wondered, touched your tummy then-- your kids your kids Did you know them? Eggs of ovulate and need of piercing of your bad boy's greed as you patted him, his head like a knight who'd won his bread and breakfast with the queen...
I'll always wonder did you see?
curtsey, curse and play reverse chords against the antiverse lessening the grip of terse rings upon white fingergloves--
as lacy as the bounds of love:
orchids dropping off the twig
like confetti from your smile
covering the mound of this:
Metal plate and picture frame your birth date and your brithname with a vase that turned sideways after all your blooms had died....
Wearing fancy knickers and copper button-downs the white man came the ladies gasped the beauty of the beast revealed beneath flapping skins "savages!"
The elite wrought savagery rape and pillaging forthwith slaughter of the innocents
<i>I'll light this rocket just for them</i>
red and white man's rioting
the floating eye above it all
appendix a. of commandments
"Thou shalt not kill" said God to them:
"until you hear me in your heads"
then take your paper and your quill
and write the destiny
Eye commanded "manifest".
Those who can't be ruled must die.
We took corn and we taught them how to make the sour mash-- they should have fed us peyote on the fabled Turkey day refined as unity.
But there's some things that we won't do-- so we bought men brought here in chains "survival of the fittest" was enough to back up all the claims of fortitude to work the fields The bidding starts on this "work hoss" transactions on the human yield:
"Thou shalt not covet" appendix "b" we bought and sold them mixed the seeds the women were magnificent our lack of conscience was revealed in the blue eyed babies born "fit to serve us at our meals" and iron out the wrinkles of our white linen handkerchiefs..
stiff with starch of corn congealed
just one more use for it.
The Irish came and we denied employment as their children cried. "No Irish Must Needs Apply" until accountants as the scribe figured out the difference between the cost of niggered men:
a simple mattered difference-- slaves cost more than Irish spent in the jobs more hazardous to risk our dear investments in exploitations of the skin-- we sent them down to mine the Earth "good riddance" and dirt returned to dirt...
But oh, again, their women fair made for twice the recompense...
We did it with the Japanese. (We must like women on their knees.) Koreans, and Vietnamese and now we have the Mexicans-- they picked our fruit complacently, but now they are the "Artisan" laying tile with patience as we sharpen quills of laws to pass--
"A Wall! Goddammit--build a Wall!" Forgetting that we fought to free those beyond the Berlinese Wall, we cheered on at the fall, and even claimed the crediting!
Forgive my lack of Flag flying-- I'd dug one from Katrina trash. I really thought I'd want it back I couldn't stand the thought of it
rotting there in the debris, with the lots of life I'd cast tossed aside and finallly FREE waiting for the blessing of
a FEMA truck and oh-fuck-me
from Allstate's Company...
as if it were the calvary that never came to make "Fini" a not-so-happy ending that
I pray is incomplete...because
happiness is just a pause
* * *
My apologies for this "rough cut", but I've been having trouble posting, so um, I just jumped on the wagon as it passed. *smiles and luvin' hugs*
I dreamed that I was given gifts-- two earrings and a necklace with royal purple stones in them sparkling with a star within...
I felt uneasy, lacking worth: "Perhaps you'd meant this gift for her?" But no, the lovely trinity was made especially for me.
I donned the necklace, locked the clasp, I picked it up to look. I gasped.
For there within the purple stone, was Camelot, without the throne! JFK and Jackie too, were there in all their fortitude.
I watched him take the oath, decreed-- one hand up (naivete?) swearing his allegience with dignity unmatched, but then
the man I married mocked my dream-- he grabbed an earring, out of greed. "You have two--so one's for me!" but even in the depths of sleep
I felt some thing depart from me.
I did not holler. I did protest using my most very best voice of do not fuck with me: "You will give that back to me -
if you like your ear."
I realize that dreams are code for all that's sacred we behold, and so it was when I awoke, I pondered on the meaning deep.
"JFK" was good and youth. (It does not matter if that's true.) It's what he represented, dreamed, and what I felt was robbed from me
by the man who'd sworn an oath "'till death we part" and I do quote implicit possibilities... as well as incongruity
of death, survival, cliche' creed?
I woke myself up from my dream and pondered on the differences of what is "want" and what is "need" and what is common sense--I think
I need some objectivity; and stamped approval:
"You may breathe."
I woke up, feeling spent.
* * *
And okay, it's obviously not posted the same as it was--but I do have some problems other than forum decorum on vocabulary. Until I learn how to utilize this forum's enhancement feature of "bold" and "italic" I'll just tone down that stuff to a minimum. I prolly overdo it anyhow. Love to all!
Afterwards in the bright lights when they click the penlight on and check you in your squinting eye the other one all swelled and shut there's certain things they do that cue you to make subconscious flinch
a hand, ungloved, to touch your head? It moves your head magnetically the polar opposition of a memory of energy
answering the questions asked through a clench of teeth in clamp avoidance of the sympathy don't-don't-don't "please-don't-touch-me"
the bruises bleed the bones grow lumps beneath the skin and swell to waves of confusion as they pumped more blood from me and I was stumped:
"What is this, and when did this? How did this, and ...who are you?"
Triple beams of circle lights: "Just lean back, please. Please, just try to relax"--m'god, are you mother fucking kidding me?-- "We're almost through, if only you'd cooperate," she said.
"Then I couldn't call it rape..." I turned my head and felt the scrape and everyone was all pink-faced when I asked if I could go...
They kept my pants as evidence. They kept my panties too. They locked those in a zipper bag as if I were contagious flu bleeding out the eyes...
I answered questions (when I knew) I told them what I didn't know. "Yes" and "no" and "Can I go?" I need a shower. Need a drink. I need, I need, to not-damned-think-- I need a place that's safe--my home-- Like? Years ago, when I was three...
I asked that nurse, before she left: "How'd you know that I got raped?" I hadn't planned confessionals-- I didn't wanna vestigate
I figured what was done was done and nothing I could do or say would make things out a different way and if I could ? I would have run
like a dog hit by a car hobbled underneath a house growling at the hands that tried to pry me from my own insides
snarling through the pain.
"How'd you know?" I asked again. Her silence is the sad refrain imprinted by the stamps of eyes that looked at me in answering "I knew because, because the same..." and then her sorrow looked away.
The club of "ain't no compromise" like veterans of war...we are kindred and corrupt and shamed by the constancy of blame
by serenity blaze on September 17th, 2008, 10:50 pm
We ran out of duckies in Ooltewa (sweet Tennessee) and management had caught a whiff that we had taken in a corpse ingeniously in animate when he knocked upon our door seeking shelter from the storm too drunk to know that we're the eye packing up black clouds with us lassoed from the sky he cussed as we pulled him from the sea so we tossed him from the boat
by serenity blaze on September 21st, 2008, 11:19 pm
I poked my husband, asking, "Please, would you go shut the door for me?" But he had fallen in deep sleep as I was waiting nervously for my surgery.
The nurses had taken my clothes and nearly every thing I owned. They gave to me a cotton gown and it might have reached the ground-- if I stood at three-foot three; but alas, there's more to me than there ever was before.
A lady took my temperature, so I indeed did ask of her: "When you leave, please shut the door?" I asked her what the gown was for...
"Modesty," she said, "and you're messing up my readings girl-- close your mouth." Then close the door! I thought to myself grumpily.
She departed, and yep, you guessed-- once again, the door was left open to the nurses desk (all of them ignoring me) I glared at them through my bare feet and then? I bent my knees.
And so it was an orderly who finally regarded me, postured and composed was I, a sideways smile between my thighs--
"Girrrrrrrrrl? Y'got yer 'goodies' out!" "Ain't that what we're all about?" She said there was no need to shout. "All y'had to do was ask." I simply smiled and said, "mah ass" before she shut my door.
by serenity blaze on September 22nd, 2008, 6:48 am
She thought of her next cigarette before the one held in her mouth was less than halfway down the mark of the point of the burn out.
It was said she liked "camel" but truth be told it's animals that she held so dear to heart... she didn't give a damn about Ayn Rand or philo-spout that drooling stuff that bought her drink.
"I'll pay ya on next Tuesday..." nod she got that from the cartoons they spouted off in place of doubt. "Loan me a beer" in brilliancy "I'll catch ya on the next one"
"I'm a bride", she said to me. Her pin said more, implicitly.
Her teeth were bad and she was sad. She smelled of urine but she had
she was so sweet
She talked of lost love and her ducks and interspersed luck with less luck than your average luckless lush as her elbow held the plush that once upon a time there was bent in habit like a nun in place of common happenstance as her eyes revealed her lust for a man who wasn't there.
Ruthie wore the gown and danced for cigarettes and cups of beer dressed in a bride's gown and we're lesser for the pain of laughs
accountable expense of her her eyes were sad her eyes were burst as she blushed her story sweet
She wore a sign upon her chest. I don't believe that she chose that. But it got her cigarettes so she wore it proud and bled:
"F*ck off and Die" is what it said. I don't believe that she meant that. I don't believe she understood. I think she was a girl born good... and tossed to circumstance.
I think she was misunderstood. I loved that she wore rollerskates. I wish that I could be as free As Ruthie was upon her knees dancing there
in Johnny White's:
"Play a tune for me..."
with her bad front tooth in black and the other quite missing:
by serenity blaze on September 24th, 2008, 7:25 pm
She placed a scarf around her neck, trying several styles of knots. Her shaking hand held a lipstick something she had found in the thrift-store purse she bought at fifty cents on a discount last Tuesday's senior citizen day for old folk to get out...
She smiled revealing fuschia flecks on her yellow teeth. She winced at sparce and brittle hair not quite gray but colorless and touched her fragile paper skin before she smeared two dots on it-- a memory of blush.
She took a tissue from the box and then she wiped the lipstick off as she wet the metal comb and patted her unrulies down before she took the orange scarf and placed it where her pride once was upon her head in auburn's place it used to bounce and frame her face...
When she was young, she owned the name now she simply prayed for days her emerald eyes could see again-- and today was one of them-- she touched the mirror and she thought: