It Was Warm

inhumane for a human

is this world

 ~

at the blizzards flash freeze north pole

we were

 ~

winds whipping lashes of leather strips

stripped faces

stripped legs

my blood pooled center

fingers throbbed to null

 ~

thick panic of raw scarred blood choking in my dry throat

air that was anorexic

brought a sensation of drowning

clutching at my eyes

scratching at my neck

 ~

in darkness

the sun did not rise

half of the year

a perpetual graveyard

full of howling ghosts –

’twas always midnight

 ~

in pup tents

canvas flapping ne’er stopped

deafening

a demon howled white noise whale wind

that threatened to push us

further and further away

from where we did not belong

 ~

fire seemed a miracle

often sought

for blueing fingers and pots of beans

nature’s cruel denial

hungry we are again tonight

 ~

our stomachs gnawing

keeling us over

added to unrelenting pain

fighting back

gritting teeth

 ~

not paying attention cost me in pain

what seemed a phantom

pushed me into thick water

not quite ice

but an acid slurry

burning and paralyzing

pulling

down, down, down

like the siren’s lust

into

the most beautiful blue

i might never see again

 ~

yet surviving that

white sheets of snow were

our blankets when weary

burying us till the waking hour

gasping for emergence

 ~

up, up!

breath, breathing!

where art thou?

 ~

talk of missiles

of secret bases –

yet only desertion

and hunger

such acid bile stung my tonsils

but killing was easy here

 ~

the unexpected rape of

the cold frozen dagger

the clotted crystals

of blood –

the blood of someone i knew

dag into my spine

 ~

my assassin i did not know

i suspect the demon whispered to him

the cannibals call

all i knew before the black

and the icy disembowelment

on butchers cold stainless greedy slab

was relief

 ~

“it was warm”

Two Days After the Berlin Wall

Overcast morning – Gray clouds
Berlin Wall fell two days ago now

– such adrenaline …

Oh how easy to love a Russian girl
Even without her young sister
and the Borscht
Even without floats of ther souring cream

~

I stared at the ceiling fan — dead, dusty

Contemplative — like Stephen King on a book jacket — dyslexic?

But nude — I am
I light a cigarette – crinkle and glows

What now?
That’s what I want to know

~

The girl stirs in light slumber
Nestling her sharp angled nose into my left rib
Her arms clinging to me

As she had clung to Lenin — yet a limp malnourished — tentative clinging
Feeling the cement divide — cold, impregnable …
Would outlive it

~

Scratchy pubic hair grated
‘Gainst my thigh, up and down
Itchy scratchy — lovely steel wool
But forgiven for the smooth wet
Slit
Whose thick lips parted
Hot and syrupy warm
Hungry and salivating on my thigh in this nestle

For the rationing was still
And I was the black market ham

~

Stirring and sleep talk mumbled
Russian play girl kisses
Her thumb rubbing
The egg nog white cream
Into the shaft neath
My head

~

She batted a lazy eyelid
A becoming smile
A smile that could be a lie?

“I …” she began

~

“Shhh… Don’t cheapen it with words”

We’ve Only Just Begun

I thank and cherish every reader who stops by, whether you follow me or not. I am very flattered that 200 people are following me. Thanks for being a part of my life and letting me be a part of yours!

Writing Bigger Than Myself

i’ve gotta write some crap

some crap i’ve gotta write

about my life, about love

make pretend i am some guru

or some french resistance pen held loose

smoking filtered cigarettes and looking through your soul

~

truth is i’m a plain old fellow

never made too many pennies by putting on airs

but i suppose that’s got to be okay

~

but when

yes, when

did i turn into a statician

and feel pain at dwindling counts

and when did the pennies start to matter

i guess i just wanted to write something

bigger than myself

Stimulants at Midnight

Sweet sugar
Too sweet it stings
Crystalline granules flying through red veins

~

Nicotine lightning
Encompass all grey matter
Faster, faster
Spins around
Tribal medicine gone mad

~

Caffeine serum
Tarry black
Coasts like waves
Shake and tremble
Fingers miss their aim
Keen eyes, wearing out at speed

~

Where is the balance?
Where is the ease?
Exhaustion or gripping the roller coaster hand bar

~

You can’t just be nothing
You can’t be it all either
The measured step
Will find thee peace

How Did Life Screw Me Over

“It just did.”
Midnight whispers to no one.

~

Lay out my broke back on a broke bed
Pain, yes pain.
Addicted,
And my feet get restless
Shuffling against each other,
Hours on end.
Sleep it away — I think
But no, the nightmares just tell worse stories
Of what waking wants me to know.

~

Here I am:
No nice clothes:
Hand me down polo shirt pajama
Holes in boxer briefs…

~

No emo hair to fawn over
Who would I fuss over it for?
No piercing or singular part of me
Quirky enough to be sexy
To anyone

~

Trying to impress myself
That I’m cool or wise
Or becoming a good writer
But I’m not becoming anything

~

It’s as though I dream of the day
When like a fluffy dandelion
A wind will come
And I’ll be free
I’ll be gone
A million tiny dust particles
That can never be brought back to a whole
And I’ve started not to care
Where I am going
More so, how to get there sooner
And with as little pain as possible

~

But it’s all a sham
Writing these words in desperation
I need a coffee, a burger, a smoke
But more than practical nurture
I just need to be held
By true beloved

~

I am alone
That last line clutched my throat
And even in revision my eyes warm with tears
And so I end this

~

How did life screw me over?
Midnight whispers:
“It just did…”

Poem – Being The Notch

Being The Notch

tis a broken heart i harbor day in / day out

memoirs and lost postcards fading balms

it wasn’t fun, twas always a noble search

all my notches were seeking love

~

for most i was not lovable

just a skilled performer for their plays

what i looked for and saw in them, i remember

but to them i was just a ne’er loved goldfish

~

i do claim a hunger so gnawing, yes

one that can’t or won’t die — not yet

i shall always be a seeker

dodging the scorpions of a desert world

cringing from alcohol doused onto wounds

~

how many times did i fall under a spell?

how many times was my heart broken!

does anyone even remember me?

sigh, they had no inclination of prolonged heart

~

i’m jaded knowing all too well

the impermanence behind thin words of most

the motivations of pressing flesh that does not love back

but one cannot stop searching

even if i end up being the notch

Dear Novel

DEAR NOVEL

I smile,

the last smile you will bring me:

dear Novel.

I finished your very last page

wishing it wasn’t so,

feeling lost that there is nothing further

but the back cover –

I run my finger down your spine –

nostalgic

~

We had some good times

Didn’t we?

late nights –

boring afternoons –

~

You put up with my habitual chain smoking,

with my endless interruptions and bookmarks,

to make more tea

~

And when I’d come back

You’d be there,

happy to see me –

happy I remembered you today

and you’d burst like a happy grape –

and start telling me the story

where we last left off

~

Thank you, dear Novel

on my prize shelf you now go –

Perhaps,

in time,

we shall meet again

God Give Me Ramen

God Give Me Ramen Love

 

 

all the ramen is gone, dear

the rice has bugs from china in the bag

no sugar for a teabag used so many times

it’s turning to compost

 ~

one small thing, god

you know it’s kind of hard

to deal with a heart that desires

satiating

~

when my hunger grew for you

it never died

and never will

call me hopelessly, a fool

but it’s a badge of honour

to some

~

and each midnight

your voice echoes

as i seek out the ghosts

and i talk to the divine

~

gray cloud skies

wondering

wanting

ditches are vantage points

at the road side

of path

path with heart

Punk Rock Queen

 

 

yes. we smoked honey oil hash and cigarettes.

bathed in plumbs of 90′s basement rock

haze. with dreams and dreads

and your black lip stick

eye liner

choker chain.

yes. yes.

you once

a punk rock queen

 

~

 

eye mascara.

rich and thick

chipped. painted nails

that screamed. so much

“SEX!!”

but was understated so –

and a la mode.

from thrift stores cheap

army boots. laces fray

tread and stomp.

you girls would kiss with tongue. each other

sexy:  gay .. gay .. gay ..

 

~ 

 

though now a days we’ve got degrees on the walls

curt kobain and billy corgan moved down the hall

and only once in a while

in the magic of the full moon come

when you hear my guitar

yes, yes,

you’re a punk rock queen

 

 

 

 

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