Watering the Concrete
Gazing down at my feet
As they drag me
On my way...
The feeling has
Long since relinquished
And I wonder as I stray
Far off from the center,
Or is it nearer
To the middle?...
I've been walking
On these piles of clay
Since I was very little...
Malm, that is the sacred
Chalk material
The lowly brick
That makes
Myself a house
Fast, bound
From the wind
Of wolves...
Their breath upon my livelihood
That rises through
The cracks and chimney stacks
Aloft as every earthly thought
Crumbles and falls
At these relic
Foot prints
That I've pissed off
Pounding at the plates
And streaks
Of the lines
That branch out
Every which
Until they chip away
At my small reserve of
Steel intent
Until my tennis shoes
Lift off
And leave this gravel bed
Behind
And I suffer no more
Hard edged thoughts...
Only discord with the night...
Floating like a Chinese lantern...
Losing time
Like a car
Leaves a hitchhiker
Frozen in the rearview,
Disappearing til she's only
A cold dot upon the horizon...
Mavia &
Bunny Villaire
3/27/24
Wednesday’s song
On a rainy Wednesday, I decide to go for a walk. I grab my umbrella and don my headphones, considering them an essential outdoor accessory. I float through the quiet residential town, barely acknowledging the houses and storefronts and fully committing my consciousness to the ebb and flow of my music.
However, in the limbo between one song’s end and another’s beginning, I notice the timid sound of raindrops knocking on the borders of my mind. Intrigued, I remove my headphones and listen.
Children’s unbothered laughter weaves through the droplets. A hurried cyclist rushes past me, and the gentle whoosh of her bike tires enters the chorus. An elderly man trudges by, and my brows furrow at the squelching of his rain-sodden shoes. I cannot help but smile as my own breath joins the afternoon’s symphony.
Upon returning home, the song does not end. Instead, it shifts to a cozy melody, interlaced with whistling teapots, rooftop-tappings, and soothing silence. I close my eyes and invite the moment’s dynamic composition into my heart. With a content sigh, I realize, I should listen to the day’s song more often.
White Wall
I purchased some
thumb tacks today
to hang
my fractions
of time
Attached by
thick red
string
and blood
soaked
cadmium
Inspired by
true crime
and Goya
Raygun
snapshots of
this life
deconstructed
and dismantled
until the victims
all look the same
a collage of
emotional
Man Ray
a psychological
mural of
Monet
Mind Mine
I see you over there
with those hypno eyes
Thinkin' I'm someone
you can mesmerize
Lucky for you
You caught me in a mood
Come over to my playground
Give me something to do
Dreams are my speciality
In this world of mine
Bring me your fantasy
And I'll see what I can devise.
Get up
right next
to me
Let me look
at what's been
sent for me
I always need
a little mystery
a novel occultism,
a place to explore in,
a magic that no one can
explain to me.
Demon Inside Of My Soul
Hellfire calls me
I know where I’m bound
I know the feeling of Perdition
And I know the sound
A dark empty void
Where the beast makes his home
Where he watches and waits
To snatch me up when I roam
Too far astray
From the rules that he’s set
That I disobey
And come to regret
You see him when I’m angry
He answers to my name
Then he disappears
Leaving me alone with the blame
There’s no way to stop it
At least that’s how it feels
I’m always on edge
Missing the moments he steals
No angel to save me
No god to care
Just another casualty
In this celestial affair
I have to wonder
If this is my lot
Should I just play this role
Why the fuck not
If my struggle is unseen
If this is how I go
If there’s no one who’ll intervene
Should I just do what I know
Let it all go
And just let him win
Let him take over
And just drown in the sin
I don’t want to do that
I’m trying to hold out
Trying to be seen
Trying to shout
There has to be a light
Somewhere in this abyss
An end to this plight
Just a moment of bliss
I keep struggling with the current
It’s pulling me down
I don’t know how much longer
I have ’til I drown
I’ll just keep treading water
For as long as I can
Another lamb to the slaughter
Another life lost to “his plan”
Is that all I am
Another fool fallen victim to the celestial scam
Just another man designed to lose control
To the demon inside of my soul
If you got ’em
There's an awkwardness that my parents used to fill with smoking. Not sure what to do with your hands? Light up. Finished a good meal? Burn one. Need a break? Step outside, shake out a menthol (mom) or a Basic-light (dad).
I say an awkwardness, but I'm not sure. Maybe they weren't awkward at all. Maybe they just didn't know what to say. We never really discussed politics, religion, or anything important. I'd get asked about school, but I never had much to share.
My grandfather smoked a pipe, but sometimes he liked a Tampa Nugget. That was rare. Mostly, he was packing the bowl with Carter Hall. I don't ever remember him smoking it in a restaurant, though.
I tried it, but the habit didn't take. I found the pipe too rough and the cigarettes unfulfilling. All they did was leave me tasting ashtrays and wondering where my money went.
I used to always carry a Zippo in college, though. Some of the jobs I worked, I'd hang out with the smokers. They were an overall affable bunch, friendly, chatty. They appreciated that I always had a light. A girl asked me once where my smokes were, and I just grinned. "I save them for bed," I cracked wise.
She was disappointed to learn that was a lie, when she came over later.
I'd be lying if I said that was her only disappointment, but we can't win 'em all.
I have no idea where that Zippo is now. Maybe I found it not long ago when I did some cleanup of my storage building, but I likely tossed it right back into the box with all her old loveletters.
All of them.
I smelled her perfume in that cheap plastic tub as soon as I lifted the lid.
She flirted with smoking for a short while, but gave it up pretty quickly.
She flirted with marrying me for a while, but gave up that idea pretty quickly, too.
My parents don't smoke anymore. My dad, because he's dead. My mom, because I told her one of the reasons I didn't visit was because I had to wear dirty clothes to her house and wash them while I took a shower just as soon as I got home. That was a long time ago, when we lived in the same town.
I remember that conversation when I look over at the dry erase calendar on my wall and realize I don't have a visit scheduled in the foreseeable.
I should change that, but there's an awkwardness that my parents used to fill with smoking, and I don't know how to fill it anymore.
Untitled
Words, rhythm and rhyme, music of the soul..,
Nursing the spirit.
Uplifting, haunting...,
Being not only our conscious but our soul.
Yet, untitled, is it a wayward child?
Unwanted, uncared for, lost and alone
With no one to call it's own.
Unnamed is it anything more
Than a passing thought searching for it's home.
Untitled sometimes a number instead of a name..,
As if it were only a frame lost in time,
But neither yours nor mine.
Unnamed, only empty words
Of rhythm, rhyme and prose…
Just more music of the soul
Never named and seldom heard.
Used to Be
Used to be I'll sing for you...
All the songs that you want me to...
But the times have changed it's not the same.
The only thing we share is a common name.
You love me, I love you,
But it's only a memory we are being true to.
Used to be I'll sing for you...
All my hopes, my dreams too,
But now that's gone,
I guess I'll just wander on.
I loved you, you loved me,
Two strangers, that's all we ever be,
We failed to see the forest for the trees,
Too busy dealing with our dreams
To share our common reality...
Used to be, used to be.
purify me
I counted myself in bruises
I counted myself in scars
touching myself like a rough sketch
dented and pressed in
by the cursive lines
of your blazing, deep-scorched love
callused fingers
imprinting themselves
in the tattooed road map of my spine
these flames of yours
branding stars into my skin
( ash-colored freckles that you like so much on me )
I get so lost on you
turning greedily into dust
only to find myself
as my fire consumes everything in its reach
demolish me, love
purify my sins
cleans the dirt from under my bones
speak to me in fire
in light
in the language of all our past lives
A First...
I grew up in a small neighborhood. My two brothers, three sisters, and my mom lived in a housing project in the middle of Denver, CO. Some of the other kids were cool, but most of them were trouble so I stayed away and read books in my room.
Deep into our 10 year residence there, we played sports, went to church, started backyard dance groups. It was a real groove even though in all ten years, I hadn't a single girlfriend.
Then one of my sister's friends started whispering in my ear while we all hung out.
I didn't know how to respond but it was... well, hot.
She would say two sweet words, and then linger there.
"Meet me."
This went on for a week or so. I finally asked here "where" one day.
She told me how to find her bedroom window.
The night I arrived, a caller was already present. I still climbed up.
When she saw me, the previous fellah was dismissed promptly. I later learned he had never actually had the pleasure.
With anyone. To this day.
But I digress.
She told me to stay quite, that sge had to keep her door open. Mother's rules.
I saw her rummage through her closet and she returned with a condom.
Her mouth helped it on.
Then I was to lie back.
There are no words to describe the first caress of a naked girl's thighs. Especially as her hips grinded and melted onto yours.
But we were cut short at the sound of mummy headed upstairs.
I had to leave.
But left my virginity behind.
fin