Dispatches from the Suicide Hours of Immortality

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

the sunday times 10.15.17

change not an end

 

low slung in the lazy early day

slightly perturbed as always

 

new corners turned

putting practice into purpose

in skewed hours of anomalous routine

 

here in places different

bruised by memory

 

bleeding new blood

into the same old river of madness.

*

what hearts have wrought

 

the difference is familiar

the emptiness is full

 

around in secret

stung like the wind

 

hard fought

with nothing

to show

 

still progress persists

no reason otherwise

 

somewhere

in the simple instinct of nature

lies the purpose of our presence.

*

slow night

 

unsettled

in the heavy light

of gold and darkness

 

elsewhere shines

a truth to be known

 

smeared unholy

with euphoric depravity

 

as memory serves

to enslave the heart

with longing

 

for times

when nothing

mattered.

*

every way out

 

shadows of scars

 

stations left leaving

from dusk to dying day

 

always a woman

always a war

 

love stained

and battle bread

 

into the fire

we fall.

*

beast and flower

 

lightness returned

from wake and wither

here in static

 

sounds and movement alike

the same difference abides

 

the past drifts back

remaining in touch

 

thru line of time and dream

drawn in succession

 

the present drifts forward

coercing coincidence

into future holds

 

parallel crossings destined

to the greater light of obscurity

 

soothed by the unfathomable patterns

of randomness and definition.

***

“The day goes out, the city

lights up, remote and near.

Weightless hour. I breathe

the moment, empty and eternal.”

  • Octavio Paz
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the sunday times 10.8.17

good riddance

 

learned ways lessen not

the weight of harsher truth

 

all in our time

from crowns to cruelty

 

the light betrays the end

 

and a new day begins.

*

gone and back

 

long without

 

longing within

 

the ache

and

the pull

 

turned away

at every turn

 

lost

and

leaving

 

until

the only thing

that seems to be missing

 

is me.

*

for lack

 

still this vacancy

save for the clouds

keeping loneliness company

 

in thru the days

out thru the nights

 

as hope

hopes against

all hope

 

for a beginning

or an end

 

to everything

*

reachable light

 

far off in every direction

and somewhere in between

 

forward thru every fire

remedy and compassion maintained

 

opened and bled

for better ends

than before

 

scored and settled

burned and brighter

 

brokenness freed

from corners and cracks

 

to simply float away

into the smolder of dusk.

*

as we fall

 

surfacing thru consequence

unweighted and leveled from the fray

 

still

the shaken ground

heaves forth

 

as pummel the hammers of persistence

at the walls beyond foreshadows’ measure

 

chancing fate

we reach and retreat

 

games of rule and chaos commence

turning callous in blink or wave

 

electricity determined

chemistry denied

 

the sky to kiss

the ground to hit

 

lest we forget

every pleasure

has its poison.

***

Wherever you walk tonight,

 I wish you the best of everything in the world.

And honey I hope you found whatever you were looking for..”

  • Tom Petty

 

 

the sunday times 10.1.17

song of you

 

for this i burn

in the winters

of the mind

 

ground beneath the heels

of your clumsy attire

 

wrapped in scarves

and sunglasses

 

as you cross my heart again

 

leaving no trace

of who you are

 

only a faint and barely familiar melody

that i can’t quite place.

*

cautious reserves

 

habits formed

and torn in turn

 

the day for the night

gone for away

 

fear suffers the moments at hand

 

now without then

is the necessity

of imperfect progression

 

as is the realization

that the best we can ever be

 

is human.

*

arrows

 

damned letters

of turning leaves

 

pages of useless chatter

to quiet the storm

 

fire in the night

bellows from the

lungs of hell

 

shaken white with hopeless fear

in the darkest haven of solace

 

obsidian focus needed

to endure and evolve

 

hindsight devalued

in any wake

 

outside of time

an unrelenting release

will overcome the sorrow

 

let no suffering

be denied its purpose.

*

blood and veil

 

a bit of the devil

in the air these nights

 

torn from past pages

pinned to crooked crosses

of exile and innocence

 

in the rotted beams

of steeples hallowed

 

above the symphony

of rust and silence.

*

trip away

 

guided godlessly

toward voids of divinity

 

passionate impressions

left gouged in the psyche

 

at peace to roam the scape of dreams

untattered in thought and being

 

held as a promise

in the heart of embrace

 

we turn

from stone

to dust

to star.

***

“Let my history then

be a gate unfastened

to a new life

and not a barrier

to my becoming.”

  • David Whyte

the sunday times 9.24.17

we are not here

 

void of timelines

and context

 

chasing non-linear parallels

of dream and wake

 

trains with no stations

commiserating silence

in negative space

 

years together

long gone

before the after

 

right now

as the past

begins

 

never the same river twice

 

but always

everywhere

at once.

*

for someone, somewhere

 

i only want this

and nothing more

 

in dreamy alcoves

of fractured light

 

love has me walking into walls

and screaming in my sleep

 

staring into the space i’m lost within

 

the dog-eared days of another’s touch

are few and far

 

hardly enough to remember

but far too much to forget.

*

if looks could kill, there’s a dead man in the mirror

 

ways out

only lead

back in

 

not knowing what helps

from what hurts

we go on

regardless

 

better to let it go

watch from a distance

like a fire or a car wreck

 

slow down, maybe get a quick glimpse

then on to the next bit

 

as we search for small anchors

in the pummeling waves of minutiae

 

no matter how many times it all goes wrong

no matter how long it’s been since the last time

 

sometimes nothing works

 

not poetry

not politics

not anything in the medicine cabinet

or the liquor store

 

sometimes love dies horrible deaths

while stupidity and cowardice linger on

 

sometimes it seems

that’s all you really know for sure

 

and sometimes you know better

 

like now.

*

approximation of disorder

 

bright rooms of dim thought

 

morning bled

into afternoon’s ease

 

fixing fault and further disruptions

 

beyond these doors

the world burns away

 

no matter

in this mind

 

we all come

we all go

 

and nothing

ever really

ends.

***

“Can our dreams ever blur the intransigent lines

which draw the shape that shuts us in?”

  • Sylvia Plath

the sunday times 9.17.17

groundwork

 

wired broken

in missing peace

 

darkness an anchor

chained to the heart

 

mission critical

reaching critical mass

 

onward asunder

in summer’s last light.

*

gone away

 

back to this haunt

stuck in the walls

of stranger mind

 

turned from what was

to what cannot be

 

simple as a breath

deep as a scream

 

here at the scene

of love’s lasting crime

 

as every day

forgets her name.

*

silver and stone

 

creeping edges

 

the ledge saved

for redemption

 

now back to squares of one

hardly alone in lonely rooms

 

always a ghost or two

to rustle the blinds

or dim the lights

 

to scrape the last bits

of sorrow, anger, and joy

from the falling night

 

to lay upon the page

like slivers of lost treasure

exhumed.

*

rapture of the blue rose

 

conclusions denied

 

we are hiding in plain sight

without clue or cover

 

hanged by a thread

of the tapestry unraveling

 

screams of steam

escape the apparatus

 

coaxing the riddle of infinity

toward further obfuscation

 

home is a hole in the ground

somewhere in the red forest

of sycamore and silence.

*

in it

 

small change

slight returns

 

echoes of nothing

thru vacant chambers

of wells and wishes

 

up from the earth

scream the angels of elsewhere

 

each with a hell

all their own.

***

“There’s an ocean of consciousness inside each of us,

and it’s an ocean of solutions. When you dive into

that ocean, you enliven it.”

  • David Lynch

 

the sunday times 9.10.17

the weight of the nothing

 

down from rafters

of useless sanctuary

 

the boarded attics

of storm and emotion

 

rays escape from the darkened tomb

where the bones of love repose

 

lying in wait

for the day

that never comes.

*

too close

 

another night

lit and burning down

 

slowly

like a dream

with twice the confusion

 

the hours subtract

from the waste of

the heart

 

given up

on giving up

 

back to the game

more thorns than roses

 

sometimes different

but always the same.

*

the desired effect

 

we are ghosts in the machine of death

skulking around filled with mad laughter

 

nothing we know is anything at all

 

from static to ether

passing back and forth

 

no lines

of time

or dream

 

each the other

and far beyond

 

bones and armor

dust and myth

 

no thought but thought

 

and all the other words

that fall away when defined.

*

neverness

 

adrift in silvery solitude

pondering wounds

of hidden significance

 

scouring the niches of former joys

to overwrite the deeply profound vacancy

that haunts this somewhere place

between losing and lost

 

uncovering the fear

at its very root;

 

what is to be

without this darkness

to clip my wings

 

without this deep-down hollow

 

what is to be

when this longing is solved

when her mornings are mine

 

when the people look like flowers

 

when the worst is outshined

and overshadowed

 

when i lay down to her smile

upon my pillow

 

how will i go on

 

how will i go on.

***

“Solitude, as I understand it,

does not signify an unhappy state,

but rather secret royalty, profound incommunicability

yet a more or less obscure knowledge

of an invulnerable singularity.”

– Jean Genet

 

 

the sunday times 9.3.17

clouds in the sun

 

dusting the ravine

dragging the river

 

unearthed and exposed to the elements

liberated from myth and shadow

 

abundantly clear

in the presence of light

 

obscured or in absentia

 

upon arrival or departure

the truth is our only hope.

*

as it were

 

old words

folded

torn

stained

 

different from now

but much the same

 

better views of nothing

 

everything still burns

but brighter and more beautiful now

 

with certain elements subtracted

new equations abound

 

as do their solutions.

*

trial, error, and execution

 

sideways down

from where we are

 

past crutches burned

in the low and last light

of some summer gone

 

forcing useless triggers

 

down and diving deeper

 

inside the living dream of presence

awash in color and emotion

 

better ways to brighter places

 

and what it all comes down to

is what’s left

after it all comes down.

*

like this

 

now and again

and again and again

 

sadness

like a gray storm

hovering

 

tempting the heart to darken

 

as the days

hopelessly pass

 

but fight it will

 

for love

it must.

*

solid

 

there was a rock in my chest

that pounded day and night

 

i had dreams of turning to stone

 

there was a darkness behind these eyes

that could not be navigated

 

there were walls

around the walls

around my heart

 

and then

there was her

 

whoever she may be.

***

“for want of something to do

we keep slaying our small dragons

while the big one waits.”

– Charles Bukowski

 

 

the sunday times 8.27.17

done and done

 

words failing

mind to follow

 

paper ladders

from burning skies

 

faster than nowhere we flee

 

identity mistaken

in the flawed façade

of jumped guns

 

seen only thru the fog of love

its dying flowers reflect

our deepest sorrow.

*

somewhere else

 

turning in time

keyed in to purpose

and uncertainty

 

as the nights escape

to the page

 

and my words

reach out for her love

in the darkness.

*

the sun, the moon, and the truth

 

opened air

the gleam of stars

and consequence

 

disheveled in dim rooms

of useless sanctuary

 

saints shot thru

with morphine and

immortality

 

off-chord psalms

of latchkey kings

 

so heavy this thud

of other days upon us

 

visions of demolition

and connectivity

 

prayer circles circling prey

 

animal and anima locked in stare

between madness, magic

and dementia.

*

fields of stone

 

marked for escape

fury rents the core

 

loosed the magma of existence

scorching the land beneath which

we bury the dead

 

projections distorted

by boundless authority

 

the blind leading the blinder

 

hold fast

hold close

and hold the fuck on…

 

go outside

smile

love someone

breathe

 

nothing is easy

but very few things

are easier than that.

***

“If we behave like those on the other side,

then we are the other side.

Instead of changing the world,

all we’ll achieve is a reflection

of the ones we want to destroy.”

– Jean Genet

 

 

 

the sunday times 8.20.17

blood of summer

 

birds of mourning

taking flight in darkness

from the light of solid things

 

cloudless in the burning eye

 

across the fallen cities of the heart

to the place where every dream begins.

*

low hum of sadness on a lonely sunday morning in august

 

long these last few years

of better ways and brighter things

 

still

this empty

space

 

this glaring omission

in the heart of matters

remains.

*

past away

 

in return for what is lost

the bloodrush of presence clear

 

the redemption of trust unveiled

 

corners turned

demons still avail

in scream and secret

 

burning gold in the depths of the valley

gates tarnished in the dark air of loss

 

held aloft in shadow

by statues armed with hyacinths

 

choked on the ashes

of suffering’s intent

 

until a breath

returns the soul

to light.

*

where ghosts gather

 

infinite rust

merged in mist

and dreamless scar

 

dark sky mind

weighted with anchors of memory

 

flashed in currents

of alternating charge

 

losing balance

in grace and sorrow

 

atom split

mayhem ensues

 

entrails of ash and dementia

blinding sands of experimental decay

 

solely for the sake of death

beauty becomes the martyr

 

as the thorn slaughters the rose.

***

“I whispered to you

because I was afraid

you would hear.”

  • Sondra Anice Barnes

 

the sunday times 8.13.17

good and gone

 

first and foremost

the feeding and the purge

 

the difference of walls

between our minds

 

separated bodies

from splendid apparitions

 

we are nothing

borne of nothing

 

so highly perched

without reason

 

with only love

to break our fall.

*

nights like this

 

elsewhere drifting

closer to farther away

 

from keys and clocks

and cages of light

 

a wingless prayer

as deaf as the ether

in which it burns

 

static and memory

a snake uncoiled

 

a finger lifted

a finger dropped

 

letter after letter

word after word

poem after poem;

 

i always thought

there would be more.

*

glass and fire

 

some things

are nothing

 

in better possible ways

than our slim definitions can harbor

 

bones to dust

and still we dream

in the mourning

of our hearts

 

as the mountains

ease the sky

 

always keeping open

the eye of the mind.

*

brink and teeter

 

nominal approach

amidst the expected disarray

 

empty vessels

side by side

 

softly into the heavy night

as blank screens stare back wide

and beauty seems beyond reach

in the blue darkness of our lost ways

 

all the ways up

and more to fall

 

these walls climb my dreams

 

down from mountains

the sky released

 

as all beneath is washed away

and we sing with laughter.

***

“…I can explain it all

by tilting back my head

and opening my mouth to the rain…”

  • Thomas Lux