marathons over sharks teeth
Category: Writing and Poetry

i was young once
yet the clock kept ticking
and now i am here

the same heap of bones
and skin and muscles and sinew


somehow a little worse for age
having run through marathons of life
through pedophile deserts and human forests

like running marathons barefoot on
roads of sharks teeth
we don't notice the damage
until later,and we don't admit to
being damaged until much later after that

i am no ones flesh and blood
human once but my fluids drained away
and my husk hardened like too many shrouds of leather
piled upon each other saddle like no horse to fit myself onto

no escape
from this world
that crafted us from people who were once young
once human into these things whatever we are

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call them confessions or atrophy
Category: Writing and Poetry

open to interpretation
these Rorschach tests of scattered thoughts
and junk trails having dripped from my arm
think whatever you want
give whatever name you want to my confession
call it atrophy

this inability to hold in such cauldron of
black-magic weakness inside my ribcage kettle
call it illness

my obviously being broken and weakened by my afflictions
with a desire to spread it on
my words my confessions meant as virus

take my life ,my patchwork quilt of scars
my long road of bad trips taken
this 27 years of disease
this,my pet virus
the only thing thats stays with me
and take it however you want

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a favorite subject
Category: Writing and Poetry

i am afraid that
i have no more poems
to write at least no more
good ones

but i still have lots
of writing
thats begins with and is filled with
"I"
a favorite subject

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a minute to identify
Category: Writing and Poetry

wait one minute longer
so i can identify myself
i am one person from the same territory
this area close enough
to hell
that it warms embryo tic carcasses of poetry
into a thaw ,birthing words that
want to be heard that want to be
able to identify

3:25 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

heart squatting
Category: Writing and Poetry

life,time
i am caught between the two
split between them both
and it is easy to wonder
if there are any spots left just for myself

3:24 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

lost in the house of fathers
Category: Writing and Poetry

lost in this house
that is not our own
i used to pray
so much and so often
now i never bow my head
because what i believe is above is only
the sky no hell below us
like John and Yoko
wanted us to imagine and its hard to abandon
things that were investments
to fill the aching voids
i had but i grew older
and my new sense of logic
forced me to
tear down the chapels
where my heart should have rested
and so now
like some direction less moth
my mind swarms around what little is still
there, lumber and rubble
ground that is not sacred
though much is buried there

3:23 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

don’t let them see us
Category: Writing and Poetry

dreaming
of something and finding that the reality to such things are hidden in our sandcastle skulls
waiting for the waves to come and so we can name them god something we are waiting to destroy us
to give us some kind of relief from this rowing back and forth through oceans of garbage
as we watch people drown...dear god, let there be one clean wave in here somewhere

as the world is a descending, ever descending raincloud filled with a black pollen of all its own wasted potential
such a title bestowed on it by us ,who helped it get that way there is no darkness in my words
though people with often interpret truths as some kind of darkness
ask the poets the ones called confessional are always dubbed dark so it is obvious that those who are afraid of the dark want the world of words
to be strewn with flowers and the hopes of their world to be populated with fairies
i am left with no choice but to shake my head knowing their world,small in empty universe of their skull
is just as polluted as any that i have been invited to tread through

as invitations and hearing of quantum structures come with the opening of heart and psyche
with the turning of pages and one more ugly universe is exposed coming from one i trust most
as one opens these areas airlocks of this soul unsealed and out comes a dimension of ghosts birthed here
on this cruel earth and left in the center of his tormented psyche to lift themselves from seeds to saplings to fully grown dysfunctions
baring fruit that will give him more chances to bare more ghost seeds against his will
and all we say is "so much potential"

we mustn't let other people know we survived so well,as we take these words we know as testament to survival in the eyes and ears of others they are misinterpreted as songs of death don't let there be any rising from graves these testaments speaking of the human desire leave us at risk of being considered monsters playing back from that side we are not to come back from and in the name of well intentioned poetry i have seen hordes of the undead flocking in droves with split open corpses strewn in their wake we must be fed this journey to the land of the living nearly made us more dead

don't let them see us
we can't be victims again we say as we stumble through dark worlds filled with bright strobe lights under which we had been punctured with needles and bound in white jackets and asked how we "REALLY" felt about all of these things
it has taken us all these years after to answer

3:28 PM - 1 Comments - 3 Kudos - Add Comment

creeping sensation of aging poorly
Category: Writing and Poetry

contemplation over ones own restlessness when attempting sleep

brings us death when we pretend to be rooted in waking life

though we barely contemplate it at all

and more comes when we rest without sleep

this creeping sensation of aging poorly

without the conquests or growths or acquisitions expected

and so we're sleepless in these expanding nights that sink teeth into skies that hold us

into a brutal earth filled with these identical to the being i always find myself with

i always find myself alone

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after sad declarations
Category: Writing and Poetry

living .. we have declared ourselves dead
such a worn out goal it is to see ourselves
and have to remind ourselves we aren't out of the woods or the game yet

3:26 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

28
Category: Writing and Poetry

TWO THINGS HAVE STRUCK ME ODD LATELY
REALIZATIONS OF MYSELF AND FRIENDS FINALLY GOING FORWARD
IN ARTISTIC AREAS AFTER MANY YEARS OF OF THE STOMPING THROUGH NOTHINGNESS
THAT WANNABE CREATIVE TYPES DO
MYSELF,THE FRIENDS I STARTED WITH,ALL WITH A HANDFUL OF ACCOMPLISHMENTS
ACCUMULATING INTO A LITTLE MORE
PUBLISHED HERE AND THERE
SIGNING CONTRACTS HERE AND THERE
DOING LECTURES HERE AND THERE

WE HAVE BEEN DOING THIS FOR YEARS
MYSELF,ALMOST SEVEN YEARS
THE LOST CONFUSED NEWLY SOBER NEWLY RELEASED FROM INSTITUTION
QUASI-REDNECK QUASI-LITERATI 21 YEAR OLD
WITH DENIM JACKET AND COW SHIT JEANS AND KURT COBAIN T-SHIRT
NEEDING OF WILL TO LIVE,JOB , AND NEW HEROES

I AM A SCORPIO THE SATURN RETURN AGE IS COMING UPON ME
WAS TALKING WITH A FRIEND THAT THIS IS THE AGE OF BLOOMING
FOR MANY OF MY FRIENDS,THOSE WHO WALLOWED IN THE POETIC MUD
BUT NOW THERE IS SOMETHING ELSE IN THE POETIC MUD, SOMETHING OLDER
SOMETHING THAT SOMEHOW FEELS LESS WORTHY
MOST OF THE NEW POETS WHO HAVE ARRIVED IN THE LAST THREE YEARS HAVE BEEN
OVER 30,NOT WELL READ (SELF PROCLAIMED IN THIS ) ESPECIALLY NOT IN POETRY
THE FACT THAT THEY KEEP COMING IS TO SPIT IN THE FACES OF THOSE OF US WITH ANY LEVEL OF SELF RESPECT
WE KNOW TO ABSORB AS MUCH KNOWLEDGE OF POETRY AS POSSIBLE IF WE ARE GOING TO CALL OURSELVES POETS
I PICKED EVERY BOOK BY EVERY WRITER RECOMMENDED BY MY NEW FRIENDS WHEN I ARRIVED IN TOWN THOSE YEARS BACK
NOW I GO THROUGH READINGS WIPING AWAY TIDAL WAVES OF SPIT BECAUSE I HAVE A FULL BOOKSHELF AT HOME


THIS SCENE IS FILLED WITH 30-SOMETHING TO 40 SOMETHING POTBELLIED BESPECKLED LAZY RETARDS
TRYING TO PASS THEMSELVES OFF AS BAD ASSES
ONE NIGHT I SKIPPED A POETRY READING TO CATCH DARK KNIGHT ,HEATH LEDGERS JOKER, HIS LISPING NERVOUS BOMBASTIC VOICE
REMINDED ME OF PORTLAND POETRY'S OWN GENIUS TERRORIST CLOWN, THE EXACT SAME VOICE
MORGAN, LARGE LUNKY PERPETUALLY UNCOMBED HAIR UNABLE TO WALK IN A STRAIGHT LINE
MANIC ENERGY, ALWAYS STUBBLE FACED BOUNCER AT DANTE'S SINFERNO POET
DIED AT 28 OF COURSE;HEROIN ADDICT
MY FIRST FIGHT AT POETRY READING SIX SKINHEADS COME INTO THE BAR WHERE OUR READING IS
ONE DOING HIS ONSTAGE HATE SPIEL ANOTHER, GIVING BRENDA THE BARTENDER A HARD TIME
SAYING "HEY, I'LL LET YOU HAVE THIS ONE IF I CAN BREAST FEED IT OUT"
MORGAN SMILING THAT JOKER SMILE, KNEW WORLD WAR THREE WAS ABOUT TO HAPPEN AS HE PUTS HAND OVER SKINHEADS BEER GLASS
SAYING "I GOT A BETTER IDEA, HOW BOUT I DRINK IT AND I'LL LET YOU SUCK IT OUTTA MY COCK"
FOUR POETS VERSUS SIX SKINHEADS, WITH ME AND ANOTHER RIGHT BESIDE MORGAN
ALL SIDES GETTING THEIR ASSES KICKED
THE LAST POET FIGHT I SAW AMONG THE PAMPERED 30SOMETHINGS WAS WHEN AN OLD DRUNK CONFUSED POET KEPT INTERRUPTING THEM
THEY SCREAMED HIM AWAY, THEN ALL OF THEM HI-FIVED THEMSELVES ON HOW WELL THE 15 OR SO OF THEM TOOK ON THE 64 YEAR OLD GAY MAN;THIS IS CONSIDERED VICTORY AMONG THE POT BELLIES


ONCE IN THE OLD DAYS MORGAN CAME DOWN TO THE READING WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT AFTER THE HOST HAD DRANK TIL HE TORE HIS STOMACH LINING I AM NURSING MY WASTED FRIEND HOLDING HIM ON COUCH MORGAN WALKING DOWN THE STAIRS YELLING "HOLA, BITCHES!" HE IS WEARING A SPIDER MAN MASK AND A MARIACHI HAT WHILE TALKING TO A STRIPPER OVER HIS CELL PHONE

TELLING ME AND THE HOST:
"I HAVE THIS KICK ASS PIECE I JUST WROTE THAT I HAVE TO READ ITS CALLED 'IF YOU SUCK MY DICK DOES THAT MAKE ME GAY?' ITS ALL ABOUT WHEN I WORKED AT THIS HOTEL AND ACROSS THE STREET THERE WAS THIS PORNO SHOP THATS WHERE I'D SPEND MY LUNCH BREAK AND THEN ONE DAY A CO-WORKER COMES IN AND STARTS TRYING TO BLOW ME AND I SAY "RICK, I'M NOT A QUEER,I'M NOT A QUEER' AND HE SAYS ' I KNOW MORGAN, NOW WILL YOU LET ME GET BACK TO SUCKING YOUR COCK?' "
THE WIFE OF THE HOST IS HOSTING, WE TELL HIM TO ASK HER...

MORGANS GREATEST ACHIEVEMENTS WERE AS A REPORTER WHICH LED TO HIS POTENTIAL GREATNESS HE, ASSIGNED TO INTERVIEW CHUCK PALLENUK INTERVIEW GOES WELL, MORGAN TELLS PALLENUK THATS HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN AN INSPIRATION TO HIM, OFF THE CUFF CHUCK ASKS MORGAN IF HE HAS ANY OF HIS WRITING WITH HIM MORGAN PULLS FROM HIS BAG TEN OR SO PIECES
CHUCK SAYS HE WANTS TO LOOK THEM OVER ASKS MORGANS CONTACT INFO, THE NEXT READING, MORGAN IS PRACTICALLY POLE VAULTING WITH EVERY STEP HE TAKES TELL PEOPLE THAT IF THIS LEADS IN A POSITIVE DIRECTION HE'S GOING TO TAKE YOU AND YOU AND YOU UP WITH HIM..
AND OF COURSE HE DIES TWO MONTS LATER, LIKE HEROIN POETS ARE AT RISK OF DOING..


YEARS LATER, WITH MORGAN DEAD AND HIS POETIC WINGS CLIPPED,AN OLD ANTHOLOGY HE WAS PUBLISHED IN RESURFACES
IN IT ARE TWO OF HIS POEMS , ONE A DARK METAPHOR COMPARING HIS ONGOING ADDICTION TO THE FALL OF CHRONOS WRITTEN IN THE GREEK METER THAT HOMER USED, THE OTHER WAS ABOUT HIS BALLS .. SOME HOST OF SOME READING I WAS AT DECIDES TO READ THE SECOND ONE..
IT FIGURES ,I SAY TO MYSELF..DOUBTING THAT THIS BLOATED BESPECTACLED RETARDED BADASS REDNECK WANNABE COULD EVEN PRONOUNCE CHRONOS

I AM PUSHING 28, WITH PUBLISHING CONTRACT AND LIVER DISEASE;I WILL LIKELY SEE MY 30'S UNLIKE GENIUS MORGAN I HAVE 2YEARS AND 2MONTHS TO SAVE MY DIGNITY AND STOP WRITING..

2:52 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment