There was new life once
In this old house
Which echos lonely footsteps
—silence rants and raves—
Trudging towards Nirvana
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A mother cries out for her loss
It’s a shouting match, Liberty song
It all depends whose side you’re on
An 80’s flick, a telethon
The donors can’t afford
A peaceful march is a riot for
The higher ups keeping score
A father dies, a baby’s born
To a family torn apart
A mother cries out for her loss.
A brother vows vengeance.
Humanity what have we done?
Another brothers grave is dug.
It’s a quick escape, getting drunk
Do what you can, never enough
It’s a 90’s jam, a slogan sung
To another civil war
It’s a house of cards, a hand of fate
A demonstration turns to hate
It’s a feeling I just cannot shake
It takes all I’ve got to watch
Wake me up when it’s all over.
That’s no longer good enough.
It’s getting harder to be sober.
With history books full of blood.
The quietness of failure
I never had the answer
for the question in my hand
I was told you just can’t stay here
so go collect your things
It must have felt like death there
long before he chose
The quietness of failure
in a house no longer home
I never asked for this hurt to be mine
I never felt more shameful by and by
I pushed it all away like it would disappear
I never knew a stranger who
I loved more dearly when he died.
My work it shall begin
We are safe because we want to feel safe
And afraid because we allow ourselves to fear
All throughout the life I’ve know I’ve accepted what was
Hardly ever asking myself the real question, that is
What exactly do you want to be
Do you want to be loved? Feared? Saved?
Am I making myself clear?
Like standing by the railing of a ferry boat adrift
Looking out into the fog of early mornings spent
Nervous though I was, a child full of dread
Patiently awaiting the comfort darkness fed
Full of all my longings, too scared to make a sound
Reeling for the guidance, waiting to be found
But it wasn’t until I spoke the words
Which have placed me here today
And I wouldn’t place the blame where there is nothing left to blame
I could have got out long before that house we knew burnt down
I could have run away, what’s more
I could have made a sound
Though fear and faith are binding
For a child guilt is hard
And safety commonly looks like
A smile from afar
But now I’m counting crows, who’ve eaten all the crumbs
And as for beanstalks stalking, I’ve cut down every one
To grandma’s house goes Red, she no longer has to run
The piglets in their cabin, I hear they’re having fun
Released into the willows are fairytales Grimm
Now safe my inner child’s sound
My work it shall begin
Put me in a coma
Put me in a coma
relieve me of this sense
Kill me with the karma
you use in your defense
In this life I’ve been lucky
as quiet as a mouse
The 9 I’ve since departed
like kitten’s claw a blouse
This pine scented aroma
of Hitchcock and suspense
Pawing at the dharma
crows circle in pretense
For once I thought the nut house
a home to mice and men
This state of being’s smartened
this boy’s escaped the pen.
With all stones cast
With all stones cast
There’s a pot still boiling
And a kettle left black
There’s a house still standing
With thinly cracked glass
There’s a kink in the line
With a reel still intact
There’s a spell in the ether
Waiting to be cast
With all stones thrown
There’s a hole full of flesh
There’s a crack in the arrow
There’s an angry protest
Each body a story, color, and time
Each arrow head sharpened, pristine, and divine
Each voice becomes voiceless, estranged, and unkind
With all stones turned
There lies not a soul
The truth is but squalor
Results are annulled
In a garden of daisies
Rest youthful and old
A graveyard of rubble
for silver and gold?
In the house I keep
In the house I keep each wall shall be
A coloring book for poetry
Where colors burst in harmony
Where war and peace succumb to paint.
In the house I keep each window sill
Shall only bear the daylight spill
Where succulents hang with free will
Where laughter’s never faint.
In the house I keep each lock will turn
With open ended thoughts to churn
Where no one line deserves to burn
Where honesty is quaint.
But when fear knocks in the house I keep
There will be no reason for which to weep
My hands dipped well within relief
Each wall we’ll finger paint.
In the house I keep my only wish
To deserve and serve this simple dish
Where forks and knives grow strong and rich
Where no wall goes untouched.
moving West
I flipped myself
like a coin
then flipped again
just to see
if heads or tails
would land twice
like a pollinating
honey bee
I figured if I had a
50/50 chance
I might as well
take a look see
and feel what lie on the
other side of dying
rather than spend another
long day trying
to convince myself
I’d be better off another house wife
crying
into coffee
or screaming into laundry
relying on the offerings
of innocent smiles
casting unintentional
shadows on my coffin
of denial
marred by my own
self loathing
which like a
preacher’s devotion
I took such pride
in approaching
solitude
like a potion
endlessly encroaching
on my own
well being
I admit I was broken
so I flipped that coin
heads
then I flipped myself
tails
and discovered
this notion
that
heads or tails I was going
Going
Gone
with the wind
not a rolling stone
or a tumbleweed
not a nickel or dime
not a honey bee
no I was a wreck
cast far out to sea
but that’s just the thing
it took all that to see
moving West wouldn’t be
all that easy for me
no nothing is lucky
nothing is free
except the glow of bonfire
in the dead of tree
where dancing shadows
take form and
I’m just
understandably me — hell
it’s already 1:03
and I’m hungry
but
I’ve got no food to eat —
so call it in the air
no
on second thought
I’ll just let this one be.
Rapid Eye Movement
You are an embarrassment
he said while picking my pockets
vacant I stared idle
in an undisclosed location
Danielle sat next to me
tenderly stroking the inside flesh
of my arm although
we’d only spoken a handful of times
back in grade school, he said again
Nobody likes you, you know
So I just agreed with him because
her fingers felt like grasshopper wings
fluttering through my mind, he
looked a deep sorrow longer
and that’s where he began to cry
I am sorry my friend, I said while he
cradled me like a new born lamb
only I was much bigger than him
so by the end of it it was I who was
more so doing the cradling, then
as he disappeared effortlessly
Danielle and I sat a long while
next to one another, her hair
long dark and full of whispers
while the room filled with necessary strangers
Holding hands for a while she said,
you aren’t that bad you know
he just really loves you is the point
and then too disappeared into a sea of snakes
which I could not swim
while the couch turned to an island
I sat sipping from my cup
the bitter dark liquid I had earlier poured.
heroine and Burroughs
Watch your soul.
I’d say tongue but I don’t harbor
the arrogance I once spewed.
Give me a break, like I dealt it
in cards, knowing you’d take the Ace.
I am only human, I have no other excuse.
I was scared of losing, most of all I was terrified that I could choose.
Does it feel good to see through me
like spotted glass, knowing your
windows are clean?
And why do I bother to even ask? It’s not you who hold the answer, I can see, it’s I who has stood
idle, waiting to turn the key.
So if you’re looking through the peephole, please don’t make a sound.
I can see your shadow quiver, mine quivers there too.
But I can’t turn that key with a lock full of gum.
Another way out then, ah, hum — there’s a pauper selling candy, eating pizza on 68th next to Sole — so I’m pretty sure we’ll meet again, like heroine and Burroughs.
Words Of An Average White Male 