I had this dream where you were a large skeleton. You still had organs and a face, but I only saw your bones. Just like the world still had grass and trees but the only thing that mattered was the moon. Perhaps it was too dim to notice anything other than stark white or maybe that is all that needed to be paid attention to. It was more a matter of what was happening than any of these surface details.
You walked with me, like any skeleton would, and we didn't say a word for a very long time. Finally when words came, it was music and images. Light dancing across fields in places we had never been, wind traveling in trees we wanted to climb. I do not remember where we were, but that we weren't going anywhere special. What we would find did not surprise us, but reached into us and fed us life. I couldn't hear anything but your bleached thoughts and I don't remember how I looked. Perhaps I was just as naked as you were. I only know that when we touched it was like fire and when you held me there was nothing but the heat from the furnace inside your chest.
It will be a long winter if I don't see you again.
Originally performed 10/21/10
Originally written on 10/7/08
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Encounter.
when the muse comes for you, you will know:
she is not a kind lover,
but she IS beautiful.
her breasts, despite the cliches of mountains,
are but sleek river banks---soft and warm,
but before you rest your bones,
she will find a flood
and drown all your comfort.
when you look into her eyes,
you will see not stars or lakes
or pools of ethereal light
but vast deserts---you will see
where oceans have missed the land
and you will learn
of desire beyond your physical body.
the type of ache that
stretches for miles and eons.
she will appear in the shroud of twilight,
just as the sun is escaping the sky
and the opposite horizon echos a purple hue.
at first, especially if you're not paying attention,
she will seem to be an old maid,
bent over with a cane to support her wilting frame.
but as your eyes learn of her image,
you will see the waterfalls of hair
flowing down her back
and a face that tells fortunes for a smile.
when the muse comes for you, you will know:
she is not a kind lover,
but she IS beautiful.
remember not to run as you see her.
at first she is frightening,
and as you look on,
she will only become more so.
don't pretend that you are brave,
just let your fear wash over you.
though her gnashing teeth may make you falter,
and her claws seem sharp and angry,
her hips are built to rock you
her skin sewn together to fulfill every wish.
when the muse comes for you,
put down everything else you are doing
and run to her side.
she is not here to comfort you,
but she will show you things you've never seen
before and could never see without her.
Originally performed on open mic 10/14/10
Originally written on 10/12/10
she is not a kind lover,
but she IS beautiful.
her breasts, despite the cliches of mountains,
are but sleek river banks---soft and warm,
but before you rest your bones,
she will find a flood
and drown all your comfort.
when you look into her eyes,
you will see not stars or lakes
or pools of ethereal light
but vast deserts---you will see
where oceans have missed the land
and you will learn
of desire beyond your physical body.
the type of ache that
stretches for miles and eons.
she will appear in the shroud of twilight,
just as the sun is escaping the sky
and the opposite horizon echos a purple hue.
at first, especially if you're not paying attention,
she will seem to be an old maid,
bent over with a cane to support her wilting frame.
but as your eyes learn of her image,
you will see the waterfalls of hair
flowing down her back
and a face that tells fortunes for a smile.
when the muse comes for you, you will know:
she is not a kind lover,
but she IS beautiful.
remember not to run as you see her.
at first she is frightening,
and as you look on,
she will only become more so.
don't pretend that you are brave,
just let your fear wash over you.
though her gnashing teeth may make you falter,
and her claws seem sharp and angry,
her hips are built to rock you
her skin sewn together to fulfill every wish.
when the muse comes for you,
put down everything else you are doing
and run to her side.
she is not here to comfort you,
but she will show you things you've never seen
before and could never see without her.
Originally performed on open mic 10/14/10
Originally written on 10/12/10
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Dawn.
Quick note: the following is an unedited prose piece I started on a little while ago. I would like to work with it a bit more, but I feel I just need it to be looked at by another pair of eyes. Let me know what you think. (Likes, dislikes, changes, elaborations, etc.)
I woke up and stretched. My fists reached toward the ceiling and I let out a yawn that made lions a little worried. This morning felt different from the previous ones. I didn't linger under the covers imagining you were holding me in your arms. I pushed my feet to the floor and didn't check the pillow for where your head might have been. I wiped the sleep from my eyelids and not once did my blink lengthen to welcome a thought of your presence.
Something felt loose, but not out of place. In fact, something felt like it had finally been put back, returned to its rightful owner. I waltzed into bathroom, lighter than when I had gone to sleep somehow. "What was it?" I blandly thought to myself. Whatever it was that wasn't there, it had taken the pit from my stomach with it.
I thought about nothing and my body understood that I needed to get to work at a certain time. In my mind, I sat back and relaxed in an open field of tall grass. I squinted at the sun until noon. I got up and chased the squirrels and the butterflies and the pollen in the air. In my imaginary world, I was just me and having the fun that I wanted to have.
I get home and sit down. I wonder what's missing as though my life were a children's puzzle. I ask myself, "What used to be here that isn't anymore?" But really, the answer always comes in the form of another question: "What was there before that was replaced by what is now missing?"
I come to see that I live in a series of replacements. And that when I lost one central part of my life, another came to take it's place. So when I lost my sanity, I found you. And when you left, I found a void filled with endless sadness and pain and suffering. And suddenly, today, that void has finally been replaced with life again; a forest of life grown over the smoldering ruins of a dark fantasy world. I'll admit, I still remember why that hole was made, but I think it even more amazing and awesome that the patch has grown so full in one night.
I anticipate what else I get to weave into this great pattern of waking fresh and new at the end.
I woke up and stretched. My fists reached toward the ceiling and I let out a yawn that made lions a little worried. This morning felt different from the previous ones. I didn't linger under the covers imagining you were holding me in your arms. I pushed my feet to the floor and didn't check the pillow for where your head might have been. I wiped the sleep from my eyelids and not once did my blink lengthen to welcome a thought of your presence.
Something felt loose, but not out of place. In fact, something felt like it had finally been put back, returned to its rightful owner. I waltzed into bathroom, lighter than when I had gone to sleep somehow. "What was it?" I blandly thought to myself. Whatever it was that wasn't there, it had taken the pit from my stomach with it.
I thought about nothing and my body understood that I needed to get to work at a certain time. In my mind, I sat back and relaxed in an open field of tall grass. I squinted at the sun until noon. I got up and chased the squirrels and the butterflies and the pollen in the air. In my imaginary world, I was just me and having the fun that I wanted to have.
I get home and sit down. I wonder what's missing as though my life were a children's puzzle. I ask myself, "What used to be here that isn't anymore?" But really, the answer always comes in the form of another question: "What was there before that was replaced by what is now missing?"
I come to see that I live in a series of replacements. And that when I lost one central part of my life, another came to take it's place. So when I lost my sanity, I found you. And when you left, I found a void filled with endless sadness and pain and suffering. And suddenly, today, that void has finally been replaced with life again; a forest of life grown over the smoldering ruins of a dark fantasy world. I'll admit, I still remember why that hole was made, but I think it even more amazing and awesome that the patch has grown so full in one night.
I anticipate what else I get to weave into this great pattern of waking fresh and new at the end.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The Diner Waitress
No one could ever say she wasn’t faithful. She was beautiful and powerful. We were a team. Speeding down highways, running from the cops, keeping my friends safe... And now, atop of this hill, she finally gave out. It was here that Betty’s engine coughed to an oily, steaming halt.
It is important to note, and mostly for sheer amusement, that Betty was my first beloved car. And while we never ran from the cops together, she did die in a rather dramatic fashion. We had also decided that if she were ever to be personified, she'd be that scummy diner's waitress---the one with reallllyyyy thick makeup on and a raspy voice from all that smoking over the years. The waitress that called everyone "hon" or "sweetie" and half the time didn't reat you like she meant it that way. She wears pink tennis shoes and drinks her coffee black. Probably owns a rifle. Or is terrified of them. Either could kick your ass or is the first to die. That was Betty.
It is important to note, and mostly for sheer amusement, that Betty was my first beloved car. And while we never ran from the cops together, she did die in a rather dramatic fashion. We had also decided that if she were ever to be personified, she'd be that scummy diner's waitress---the one with reallllyyyy thick makeup on and a raspy voice from all that smoking over the years. The waitress that called everyone "hon" or "sweetie" and half the time didn't reat you like she meant it that way. She wears pink tennis shoes and drinks her coffee black. Probably owns a rifle. Or is terrified of them. Either could kick your ass or is the first to die. That was Betty.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Sixty words
It was beautiful: too early for runners or fishermen, just late enough for a sunrise.
We parked the car next to the pier.
I opened the trunk and began to lift.
I thought to myself, “It’s been too long since I worked out.”
One, two, THREE!
The body floated hesitantly then slipped under leaving only a trail of bubbles behind.
We parked the car next to the pier.
I opened the trunk and began to lift.
I thought to myself, “It’s been too long since I worked out.”
One, two, THREE!
The body floated hesitantly then slipped under leaving only a trail of bubbles behind.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
"Under an '88 Cavalier I go..."
It feels like it's been days since yesterday.
So much has happened without a lot happening.
So little crazy with so much thought.
I'm de-cluttering things.
It feels so good to look forward.
So much has happened without a lot happening.
So little crazy with so much thought.
I'm de-cluttering things.
It feels so good to look forward.
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