Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

The poem is a pied piper for the rats in my mind

the sunday times 12.9.18

nowhere near

 

ghosts of chance

rattle with inquiry

as new circumstances

slowly roll

 

anxious sleep

or none at all

 

the days wait well enough

easing out of the shadows

into this brand new light

 

easy and undemanding

far off in the safe distance

of not needing to know

what to expect.

*

dare to breathe

 

realms of abandonment

scarred walls of solace

 

redemption held in askance

 

thru a thousand darknesses

the heart will find its light

 

fires in the belly of emptiness

casting shadows on the black sails

of the psyche

 

mapless and aged upon

the lost roads of youth

 

we find out where we are

once we let go of where we’ve been.

*

mining the hollow

 

an infinite finality looms

vague definitions demand clarity

 

a copy of a copy

of a ghost of a whisper

 

forever will always be never

until time tells otherwise

 

all the wastes of space

taking up place after place

 

this here and now

is already there and gone

 

fear is a liar

endurance is hope

 

and the truth

will always be

found.

*

back to life

 

nothing like before

ever after again

 

over we try

and turn and fail

and try

 

until our bones

begin to show

 

and the clockworks of the heart

slow to a crawl…

 

until we know death

like a friend

 

we can never be

as fearless as our

dreams demand.

***

“We watched the seasons pass,

we were as crystalline as snow

and melted gently into newer forms

as stars spun round our heads.”

  • Lenore Kandel
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the sunday times 12.2.18

what have we here

 

…and though it’s been awhile

time still turns as it will

 

hours clogged with nonsense

finding moments now and then

 

to sift and sing thru

whatever there is to be

 

even if it’s only

to hide behind the light for now

 

and simply appreciate

the warmth of its presence.

*

crux of hollow

 

left wide open

for the crushing blow

 

forever braced

and worthy of need

 

no matter

the stance

or reach

 

there will always be sorrow

there will always be joy

 

be with it

 

or forever struggle

with the groundlessness

of existence.

*

fortress

 

long lines of faded grace

agony and redemption abide

 

cities of the mind

burn thru the night

 

as the days

rise from ruin

 

to find a better way

to keep the innermost

citadel alight

 

without setting

the whole goddamned

structure ablaze.

*

angles of uncertainty

 

bends and whispers

around and overheard

 

lost in the fog of translation

 

solid ground eludes when

strayed too far ahead

 

to know better now

than what’s to come

 

is enough to get us

where we need to be.

*

persistence of illusion

 

memory touched

by the slant of the mind

 

how things are remembered

are an extremely personal summation

of events transpired

 

beyond this

piqued emotion attaches

depending on our vantage

 

search for middle ground

that balances and pitches forward

 

deeper than the actuality of occurrence

 

for the value of relations

need be what guides us

 

to carry the good parts with us

for the best possible reasons.

***

“nothing matters but the quality

of the affection –

in the end – that has carved the trace

in the mind.”

  • Ezra Pound

the sunday times 11.25.18

singularity

 

lines bordered

along terms conditioned

 

heartward down

into the last of it

 

all ghosts thru

departure and arrival

 

well-worn turns

of fate and falter

 

ever to remind

we are only here

until we go.

*

burn in

 

root deep

released and

reserved

 

scraped away until

only scar remains

 

lifted

from depths

beyond

 

with lightness of

lessons learned

 

to welcome the clouds

as well as the sun

 

knowing they soon

will pass.

*

down with the ship

 

mind full of broken windows

as the rusted scenery rattles passed

 

all the lights

of life gone on

 

converged and spun

in the blink of a blinded eye

 

around again

until love breaks in

 

opened and bleeding

crawling and clawed

 

completely engulfed in flame

 

and although you know

she cannot be saved

 

it never stops you

from trying.

*

unconquered

 

here where leaving left me

somewhere in another night

almost blue

 

nothing so special lost

but it’s the something i miss

 

the someone else

besides me

to be with

 

the other eyes

other arms

other legs

and all the rest

 

the softness between

the concrete walls of life

 

the evidence of the heart

found in the ashes of ruin

 

washed away

in one last kiss

 

gone missing

for what always seems like

forever.

***

““I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be

happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel

alone.”

― Daniel Keyes

the sunday times 11.18.18

ungodly hours

 

faster than nowhere

down in a dying sleep

 

neon burns

drop by drop

 

from wounds crossed

and unstitched

 

from somewhere deeper than the heart

these words are nothing but sounds from a dark well

 

reflections from a cracked black mirror

faceless thru time.

*

stillburn

 

distance removed

struck by timeless arrows

 

wakes left to crash

as they will

 

onto the next future ruins of the heart

 

black sheets of night torn

to reveal an even darker shade…

 

and away

we go.

*

as it fades

 

reminders cross

the burning fields

of vision

 

lodged in the periphery

before shaken loose

 

all without end

until every hammer

falls.

*

marked

 

off and slight

 

unnumbered

in fearful flight

 

fight left

for better times

 

never the odds be even

ever the heart be an echo

 

an empty husk

of a conjured beast

 

imploding outward

from the void within.

*

this and nothing more

 

from darkness, light

 

the skull

beneath

the skin

 

solid and ghastly

 

chattering away

with nonsense

 

caged in bone

walled in stone

 

pounding the keys

until a symphony

takes shape;

 

hope is the fire

that burns us all

alive.

*

life on a dead planet

 

fire in the air

bullets in the wind

 

november in los angeles

 

nowhere in sight

thru the smoke of serenity

 

insignificance magnified

hearts tried and turned

 

down countless mountains

thru a thousand oaks

 

forever we fall

forever we rise

 

seasonless and resilient.

***

“We have to face the pain we have been running from.

In fact, we need to learn to rest in it and let its

searing power transform us.”

  • Charlotte Beck

the sunday times 11.11.18

maybe never

 

drawn back

countless threads traced

 

a destiny derailed

or simply an unaccepted fate

 

a callous turn of season

toward a darker time

 

solitude unravels

side by side

 

separate from

our parted ways

 

still the distance

in memory’s reach

 

emotion escapes

thru breached entry

 

well thought over

but the mind has a heart of its own

 

riddled with arrows

and bathed in the crimson hue

of the dying rose.

*

shadow recognition

 

past away

but not for long

 

down and returned

other than before

 

undetected in the open air

held beneath consciousness

 

forming dark undercurrents

that hinder the joy of weightlessness;

 

to truly know yourself

inside and out

 

is to never

give yourself away

too soon.

*

into the pit

 

what is it

that keeps me

circling back

to more than

what was

 

to deeper

than needs

to be gone

 

to grasping for

and clinging to

things let go

again and again

 

to this ache of emptiness

in the center of my being

 

to this connection

eternally lost…

 

it is the question

it is the answer

 

it is everything

in between and

all around

 

that’s

what

it

is.

*

something else

 

damned to drift

and anchor the dawn

with fleeting dreams

of missed fate

 

paper ships

on the burning sea

 

yes, i loved you

but the reason i long for you now

is much simpler than that

 

you

were the first

after the last

 

and the last

before the next.

*

no service

 

far from the damning gods of youth

somewhere west of everything else

 

low slung in the burning valley

astride the gray horse of mourning

 

nesting in the deep cut groove of Booker T

 

ever grateful for the bare necessities

that allow this soul shine.

***

“I’ve opened every window

But the house, the house is dark

It ain’t pretty, it ain’t subtle

What happens to the heart.”

  • Leonard Cohen

the sunday times 11.4.18

vice and vessel

 

ashes readied

in the shape

of my heart

 

another burning down

is in the offing

 

sooner or later

the inevitable

always wins

 

we bond

we break

we burn

 

leaving only

circles of dust

and trails of smoke.

*

something of note

 

echoes turn cold

vacancy resides

 

the walls remain at odds

the light is somewhere else

 

time gets low

the heart follows suit

 

hope hangs around

for lack of a better place to go…

 

or maybe

it just knows something

i’ve yet to figure out.

*

day gives way

 

bending away

outstretched toward

oblivion

 

pulled by a thought

like a thread unraveling

 

we fall apart

and put ourselves back together

on a daily basis

 

steal your pauses

 

seek the moments

to duck out and remain within

 

to breathe and be the beauty

you feel your life may lack

 

the power to take it back

is never not in your hands.

*

without me

 

it seemed like

the decision was made

long before i arrived

 

quick and impersonal

like acquaintances

rather than lovers

 

once the cats were caged

and your apartment was bare

 

it seemed my emptiness was final

and your life has just begun.

*

fall back

 

there in the breaking

the clearing withstood

 

where everything wanted

was nothing at all

 

killing hour after hour

hand in hand

arm in arm

 

for only a moment at a time

 

to save each other

from both euphoria

and oblivion.

***

“There are two great disappointments in life.

Not getting what you want, and getting it.”

  • George Bernard Shaw

the sunday times 10.28.18

down in love

 

still back

in some day beyond

 

the rain reminding the clouds

turning toward the storm

to ride its biting wind

 

conscious decisions

rendered irrefutably

 

drawn lines

staggered passed

 

in the meantime

there is no longer

and not yet

 

and a vague memory

of something that once

mattered.

*

climb inside

 

perceptual agreements preside

amidst the ether roamed

 

untouched we remain

until dissolved

 

a dawning unfolds

a desire void of vessel

 

nothing we believe

can ever be true

 

without knowing

that which we never can.

*

strange fiction

 

from crawling

to consummation

 

hell remains within

 

from corner

to corner

 

head to broken heart

 

the mind is a movie

on an endless loop

 

and we can never quite figure out

where we came in.

*

still life in mourning

 

spun gray

from thread

of blue

 

patterns

of strands

astray

 

fallen

like

burning

flowers

 

the nights

flash vacancy

 

neon red upon

the pitchest black

 

like a soul scarred remnant

of a memory unremembered.

*

instance and reprieve

 

always another

rattling down the tracks

 

some lost hope leading

toward a faster nowhere

 

be it love

or last light

 

forever burns

the flags of perished

thoughts

 

luck is a losing game

for fools and finer breeds alike

 

dark turns

await us all

 

better you learn this now

 

before it becomes far worse

than much too late.

***

“To live is to suffer,

to survive is to find some meaning

in the suffering.”

– Friedrich Nietzsche

the sunday times 10.21.18

this mourning

 

over the thrill

back to memory

and the mysteries

therein

 

forward in reverse

somewhere stuck inside

 

drifting back

every now and again

 

to where we were

where we could be

and where we never will.

*

down to dust

 

only places

gone and returned

 

never the same river

always the turning points

 

nothing here can stay

 

lines of time removed

as all else remains

forever changing.

*

pull

 

perturbed by ease

 

something off in

the way of the mind

 

and of the heart’s strange rule

 

bells and whistle’s delayed

as slow focus hones in

 

from the valley

thru the woods

 

over the hills

of not quite yet

 

maybe as it should be

 

and within this difference

lies the key.

*

waiting for the rain

 

heavy lids rest

upon the brow beating

 

down from never

came the promise

unspoken

 

relentlessly demanding

the sum of our part

 

as the candles of longing

harden like arteries

 

blood blackened

with the blue oxygen

of dying breath

 

we are nothing more

than everything we’ve

never been.

*

out from under

 

light crawls the settled dust of forgetting

panning for any gold that remains

 

any good that can be returned

to the heart for future use

 

this must always be the priority

when the shit hits the fan

 

find the shine

 

after the denial

after the anger

after the bargaining

after the darkness

after the acceptance

 

for there is nothing so painful

that cannot be used as fuel

for a brighter fire.

***

“There is a loneliness in this world so great

that you can see it in the slow movement

of the hands of a clock.”

  • Charles Bukowski

the sunday times 10.14.18

something different

 

all ways gone

or so thought

 

but light finds the heart

in the strangest places

 

new angles askew

 

over the mind

and all its matters

 

steady the course of stillness

 

from points of turn unseen

to everything here.

*

untrapped

 

holding anything too close

only secures its departure

 

last things last

good and gone for now

 

circles remain in motion

karmic and otherwise

 

until we can

catch our breath

and weep.

*

rise

 

early in the mind

 

day broken

and all too bright

 

sunlight streaming in

thru the crack of her smile

 

just enough

to bring love

the hope

it deserves.

*

chance and fodder

 

well deep

 

this different time around

 

the nature of winter

torn asunder

 

even here

in the valley

of the sun

 

over the hill

seems too long

a journey

 

but be things as they may

 

it’s much farther along

than i ever thought

i’d be.

*

breaking chains

 

tracing back the longing

that leads to the fixation

on substitute obsessions

 

the urge actions

the cultivation of

attention

 

nowhere outside this moment

is anything of need

 

love is here

in this freedom

 

and to keep its strength

we only need demand

 

nothing of others

but everything of

ourselves.

*

long shots in the dark

 

ending slow

in the off chance

of victory

 

last night of love gone

 

sadness never

a thing of the past

 

balance

weighs

a ton

 

and the heart

need be the strongest weapon

in our arsenal.

***

“We are lonesome animals and we

spend all life trying to be less lonesome.”

  • John Steinbeck

the sunday times 10.7.18

wills and ways

 

out from under

the weight of

broken pieces

 

sides traced to

different ends

 

parted and persistent

 

our time

come and gone

 

strangers again

to return to

who we are.

*

static eternity

 

existence shatters the light

 

glass stained

with blood

 

scraping thru

torn of skin and shelter

 

down to the bones

of beauty and brokenness

 

where the heart

of the world

is forever

blue.

*

the map is not the territory

 

abstracted by the senses

subtracted from immediate equations

 

nothing can be true

within the confines

of existence

 

except the truth

of our presence

beyond it

 

and as long as our delusion

fills in the blanks

 

we can never directly access

the rational space of our reality.

*

set the heart for the controls of the sun

 

secrets sustain their echo

 

strange in places of light

familiar in the dark

 

line after line gone awry

for the tortured reward

of forgetting

 

staring skulls back

into the mirror

 

primed and luminous

in the fog of the grave

 

we can finally return

to the life that awaits.

*

ain’t that right

 

even off

balance sways

 

turn and tide

remain at odds

 

behind these eyes, at least

 

answers only seem

to uncover deeper inquiries

 

problems develop complications

all of my own making

 

so i’m quite creative in that regard, i guess…

 

but all jokes aside,

 

if you can’t laugh at the darkness

every now and again

 

you’ve already lost.

***

“Only to the extent that a person exposes

themselves over and over again to

annihilation and loss can that which is indestructible

be found within them.”

  • Jack Kornfield