Life Poems
Hit by the Bus Back
(1995)Grim nixon,
Vagaries long distracted
my haggard anger
had me
took strips to my eyes
spilling flame
flayed me back
Acid born of sockets
bruising flower
wear-away holes
in silence left standing
shadowing
shudder
shut.
Another Crappy Metaphor
(1995)There's a ten dollar pound
of substance unstable
clanking and steaming
chambering, combusting
I carry around like a fool
Radiation burns and luddite concerns,
still, I
just can't set it down
(My kids, all three,
got caught in the grinding,
or maybe they built it, I'm not sure)
Take care of the beast
rods, gears and winches
coz no one else will. . .The demon that drives is blind
cloven hoof caught on the brake.
Malice went before Dark
he said
"Son, we got to have words."
And I nodded
yep
"Son, what's your problem?
Son, what's the deal?
Son, where's the pay off?"
like fireflies, these words over the bar
I smiled my best,
my sleeve sucked up beer,
and I nodded
uh-huh
"We know,
friend,
about your backyard.
About your dug-up
bone-littered back yard.
About your sharp shovel,
about the nights and the moon.
But. . ."
And Dark a gleam smile in the mirror
". . . We want some results."
"Or the piper, baby,
is gonna come to call."
I shiver every evening.
I tremble towards dawn.
index
My love lies sleeping across the way
in the arms of another
My love lies sleeping very close to me
Waiting for my arms to comfort her
My love sits here writing
Waiting for God to punish him
But I know it's just me, just me
allofitcanonlybeme.
The band was full of dread
but they pulled the strings taut
and scraped a note together
their violins
countered my passive spine and
I trembled to a stand, opened
the doors, began to dance
I turn, bowed and stumbled,
the bass shuddering my soles
and I twirled, dived and clutched
(a fog twisted, wraithed around my ankles)
closed my eyes to mystery and lost you by touch
sweat ran salty and my hand in hair rent
wet gaps for caring breezes
carrying more of the mist in their
whistling babysweet arms
holding me at the waist
and eddying as I spun
the drummers glanced askew
but the flute took hold and played
heedless of the greying hall
and I danced on slide
along slide along
I moved two steps away
dancing in the fog
bowed again, this to no one
and moved on dancing
sliding minstrel stirring muse
slide along, along
dancing in the fog
with eyes closed
hands in front of face
unaware of mists curling
under, settling over
my tousling head like a
smoke snake of femaline attention
I didn't notice the drowning
for the music
and the dancing
slide along, slide along
but you knew and struck quick
and struck deep
you pressed it
twisted
and snapped the handle off
leaving your gift irreperably inside me
the violins stopped with a squeal
of breaks
the drums tittered off-time
the flute pierced my ear then cracked
I, eyes wide and gasping,
spun, balanceless top,
floundered and collapsed
spreading myself all over the hall
under the mist
which
tore itself to pieces trying to drink my blood.
Less than solid,
heavier than the glass
I'm holding in my left hand,
bachelors couldn't hold me
debutantes couldn't stop me.
Turn an ear to the tune
Slow leaden crystal turnings
slipping through echoing mazes
drawn by the muse of my mind
those dark and tumbling waves
On the flattened sea.
.
.
I'm dancing alone, again
My partners all gone home
But the band
At least the drummer
Is willing to play slow
Sad songs of my past
dances and dancehalls
And crowns
The crows are watching now
And turning in disapproval
Of the humming, dancing man
who's only standing still.
You're only as young as you feel
And
right about now I feel
that if you were to touch me
you could write your name
in the dust I leave behind
A shattering, a shadowing
a grasping hand in the night.
Dark and Malice
went window shopping
in my soul
and they said
"Hmmmm, baby
that's some mighty nice
merchandise
you got there.
Now, lessee here
you hand on over
a little bit o' that
sweet and firm thing,
that nice rock you been hidin',
and we,
bein' the gennimen we are,
will give you
a bright and shining
mirror.
Now what you think about that?"
I had,
er,
hit a bad patch;
set a slight spell
in the No Luck Losers Bar and Grill
So whiskey twenty hours a day
with gin breaks every six
had me turning to Dark glassily.
He let the smile cut his face.
"See, kid, we got your number.
And we're dialin' direct ‘cause,
I tell you,
you have what we want.
Honest,
I'm wettin' my lips just,
just thinking about
those roomy accomodations
and capital views.
But this ain't one-sided
Just give us what we're looking for, honey
and we'll make sure
you never
want again."
Dark and Malice
talked a smooth one
and they bought the next round, too.
So that's why, dear,
my strong arms cannot hold you,
not like they could.
I'm mad with ice.
Whence goes a man
when dreams are dust?
Believe and ye shall find
dreams burn
stoked and white-hot tongues
vasty crucible, molten thought
Burn and ye shall find
thoughts captured still
set in black/white cages
Which came first?
As the Judge
said to the Whore
when her child was in dispute.
Doused, drowned
held fast by disappointment,
I'm still.
Very still.
Can you see me,
widened eyes?
Is there more to me
than words and dust?
I cannot speak my name
as languages have crumbled
and you, who have new books,
will not set fire to paper,
so,
mute,
we stare across stacks.
D'ja ever feel the sky was too close?
It took a while to decide,
but I thought I'd put it away.
See, when you lock something,
and I mean,
it's not like this is a new thought,
you lock something in,
and you lock you out.
Those tumblers don't know
the steel don't care
the iron marks the boundary, like,
but there ain't no "in" to it.
So I'm thinking of this grey day
and the cold, and my closed eyes
See, there are locks that have keys,
and locks that have codes,
and locks that you spin the dial
but none are tight, right?
So why is it so cold?
And is there anyone in here with me?
No Peace for the Wicked
(1995)All day long I sit there
Doing it to myself
wrapping my warm hands around poetry
Ignoring nagging coughs, dry timber
My healthy fascination with disease
as some have called it
has me here staring at screens
until I go blind.
Or so they say.
The friction of word gainst word
I think more outweighs
their frigid worries, what?
The slow glide of syllables
soon sets me upright
bolt still in my chair
smiling at my symphony of screams
Daring, dragging from within the buttery
Hot biscuit dreams that baked for
years and years
Pulling and clutching for visions excelled
teasing up a drop of memory to taste
Until there, just there
words on the page
that I will show to no one.
Passion Plays 94-95 (Censor Not The Dreamer Mix)
I.
Keys and keyboards marveling still I work the world of
miracles I am a cup unfilled Wrack and draw and stay my
hands unstoppable I'll play and make and kill your notions
douse your pride feel my ire eyes gone wide I press and
push and drink from you the notions needed.
II.
This dream undone by ragged mothers and fights unfought
by ragged brothers my son my son I am forsaken you my
dream and laughs have taken but then we see see see the
past is broken and what for this realm unbroken kill me
drink me wash my tears grandfiller kill miller wasted years.
III.
Counting still is my Keeper Keep still my counting Leaper
my friend my fiends you genius martyr you broken boy of
unsung daughters Pierce the signpost mostly when we
laugh The laugh that cages ruin of ages but get paid a
servant's wages my banner trusting fetter busting machine
lusting lines lines lines that's all sanguinary singing Time
and time again time and crime they blend.
IV.
Screaming Queen My Petty Scene my lovely dream What
know you of ways and means when all is dust and killers
trust the diamond in the rough and what the hay and who
the hay and rooga round and rally You see my smile and
there it lies an opera opus magnum size. The hole goes
round the gators bait and do we wait? Masturbate.
V.
Iamthegodoflove I am the god of love I am the god of love
cry mercy I am the god of the love I am the god of love cry
pain I am the god of love I am the god of love I am the god
of love cry tears I am the god of love I am the god of love I
am the god of love cry out I am the god I am the god I am
the go go go.index
Old man, bluesuited to charm
slow leaves setting each foot down
slow and known, each step surety
rushing blasting boy
screaming towards unsufferable light
One More Pint of Bitter
(1995)You should know, mate
that I've never had this much
I'm full to gills
You've set me up good
with clear ones and brown ones
and matched me for every drop
So afore you go
and I won't try to stop you again
afore you go, can you
put your hand on shoulder,
call me mate,
and help us down the way?
Two listing drunkards
whistling wet night
a comfort to my bed.
Okay
Let's talk about the Sun...
That hot high motherfucker
gonna kill us all someday,
I swear.
Innocent
we all, even th' immortals
gotta burn
when she blows her top.
The Alchemy of Angry Fish
(1995)Jumbled motion and ragged ringing
Killable smiles, unraveling lessons
I blue, I was dreamt
A massacre waiting to snap
A wish on rye, with side order of rye
dreaming of drowning
hoping of reaping
solitary, my mind says solitary
but independent makers of renegade quakers
know the proof is in the putting
Slash the tire of god's tricycle
burn the sea in love
damage my carriage
selling the song, singing the soul
Meaning is no fighter
trifles, truffles
Chroma-king sez:
I just saw this on TV.
The Pen-tab Composition Book
(1992)
There's a book I haven't opened
since I leftI'm thinking
since you left
whatever
what's been festering there
requires a mite more
than these garden tongs,
forged for different times
I'll only need them of course
if I can pull back the lead,
acid-etched with hieroglyphics,
I riveted all around.
You understand;
Radiation shields, defenses, Gas
masks
goggles for fear.
But I think it's time.
And I think I'll take it slow.
I use the claw hammer.
that first crack
a careless flare
the black circle in my eye
sphincters down;
hush.
I blink and begin in earnest.
wedging, scraping, bending
wrestling with the ragged edges
stamping out sparks and breathing
faster as though that will soothe
my arms and chest.
But I will breach it
for better or worse
and then we'll see
what kind of a man
is a man without hope.
Aries Wearing Zips on a Slow Afternoon
(1992)he's out there playing.
the driveway is dirt.
the backyard is sand.
he's playing on his birthday.
he's in the sand,
pushing it around,
making up piles and
writing his name,
again and again.
he's taking down piles
or moving them aside.
there's a white house with a black roof
not too far away,
but he's going to play in the sand first
before they call him in.
he knows about the party,
never been stupid,
could always hear the cars.
but he's going to play
in the sand with no box
and act surprised
when they call him in.
but even then
he might not go.
his memory isn't much;
but the sand is fun,
he thinks,
and it's always there.
You can't write it out of you
slit your wrists and bleed ink
pain all over the paper
no
because it sits there, see
you get it rubbed on
overhandle the thing you wanted riddance of
stain yourself
wallow unromantically in what should be past
the thing to do is go fast
take it to the desert
run your engine and burn the tar out
race the inside curve the blast furnace flatland
and rip it all out there
leave it dancing debris by the road
cast aside along a thousand miles
everything you would put in poems
discard the presence: purify
and emerge with nearly all of you intact
you'll grow new skin, baby
you'll need it.
Something in the sea
the warm red bathing
drifting over the neck swamping
out the priors drowning
the day hot salt drying,
washed over, hydrating
dragon roar human hum
swallowing ocean blood
click
lower dive drop past eyes
sonorous
clatter
winch; drain; breeze
pushing ripples, rising
returning the grey world
scrape
out of depth
pulling back
surfacing for lack
of inattention
shudder
is someone at my door?
best to, hurm, look
maybe find a friend
scrunch and squeak
uppity
shake -
smack
hesitation?
quicker kick boot
ow, hand on knob
ghast, gasp, light
on my door
as focus comes:
SEE? I
and motion: swinging pen.
in peripheral sight,
a human being, but
it ran, trotted, broke away
around the corner
so I moved the door
raised an eyebrow to my alonesome face
and went to bed again.
There's A First Time For Everything (Slide Box Mix)
(1992)
AAAAnnnh dire need of killing speed a hofsbrau in my fragile eyes
nervousness cruising rigid undoing rapidfire pressure undone
undresser this this this this kilflicker lovekisser jack in the hole jack
in the saddle jackanocontrol foetus incisors femaline scissors hazard a
feeling spinal cord unreeling char char char char charge. Word.
got your poles in many ponds, brother dear
but you pull them out
before the carps get hooked.
Don't wanna get caught yourself, dig?
index
A Lesson In Symbolic Logic
(1992)When Philosophers,
those bald and bearded heroes,
want something to exist
they say it !
God!
Evil!
The Paradox
is evident
as is the excitement
it elicits.
Look over there
No, there.
See? Right behind the glass.
Here's your lizard.
Motionless
got these eyes
And that rock underneath
as still as he
for a long
long
time.
Then the green bastard shits
greasy white that
splatters and spatters
that warming rock
cracks and stains and crusting over time
but
the lump keeps heating.
Just taking it
and never shorting out.
The lizard
emotionless
got these eyes
blinks
scrabbles with too long claws
and believes it's always summer.
my little brother pitching forward
from the chair our shared parent set you in
rocking and rocketing
it says more about me
that I wish you
would fly sooner
before they could catch you
before they put the straps on
even if it cracks your head.
Relying on the Kindness of Friends
(1992)If a tree goes off
in the forest
and there's no one but you
to hear it
then everyone tells you
to shut up
stop complaining about
your ringing ears
especially those who felled the damn thing.
Wax on my left hand
Sangria on my right
I know which way the wind is blowing
and who'll make it home
by midnight.
Descartes sat
I lounged
languidtripping
by the fire.by the terminal.
he heldI grasped
a sliver of wax.a pen that flew.
all around
a huminousa multitoned
silence
in Renee's den.in Ken's office.
He broughtI thought
his waxmy soul
closer to the flamewas nearby salvation
and it changed.
Lost the qualities,
the sweetness,
the solidity,
it once had.Renee
I
wrote a book.scribbled a note.
but
Nothing ever ends.
In The Slide, buzzing a tune, street shit rushes under with neon purpose
Let me show you now
A portrait of a sliding glass mirror
See him
night vision slips upsideless
See him
A close cut keen blade with silver and leather
and a quart can of grease
See him
Jackanape.
See him
puddled boots rain slick nightwashed, and slim katana tight to hip
looking updown, the rough black trade, the eyes that showed who was you
See him
"Gonna raz-raz tonight."
See him
"Iei, Wakarimasen, then
I bow to you, tomodachi."
See him
grow with the Slide and bury himselves
Jackanape, prince lightning music.
There's that boy sitting there
with a grin in hand
slowly revealing his mind. Spinning out
the spiders and leaving
only webs
Each neon strand shaded lighter
than brightest blue
cross-crissing hammocks suspending his
little soul above the tiny wasteland
so he can be
queen for a day
And lurking over his shoulders still
those three unctuous demons Pop, Snap and Crackle.
"It is said that, when in the Cathedral at Pisa, he observed a lamp swinging from the ceiling. He timed the swings by counting the beats of his own pulse and found that a single oscillation took the same time whether the lamp was swinging through a wide arc or a narrow." - F. Sherwood Taylor, Galileo and the Freedom of Thought
first, a shudder.
fish stripes crawl down his back and he's alone
into the nave he wades, pious lepers left aside
sinning selling clerical favors brusquely he ignores,
staring at the heights and watching the slim shaven boys with
hooks that reach out into the airy waste laden with myrrhic victory,
enter the great circle of light and haul on it.
he, too, grasps the chandelier, and with greater acumen
a piercing attention locks onto the motion of bodies
and the actions of men, for the acolytes have lit their charges
and allowed the sway to commence, that for which he waits
his right hand is slick and roughly wiped to prepare for the left
wrist that's thrumming with passionately vital
exacting regularity, the perfect man the perfect clock
a murmured hum is nothing to the man with attention
the gilded saints, their gelded lives lie static.
eyes follow left and right, hand clasps right on left
and the time and the time and the time that passes
seems to glide away in sophoric masses, but he knows
with quick hand on pulse, that from side to side is always the same.
none see his grin of triumph, but from high behind the marble altar
the side bleeds, the feet crack, the back sighs and the eyes look on
as he watches the heavens but looks past God.
Though I care little for corpses
I give you permission to rest me here
Let me lie low in this small and rugged country, where dirt sets covered by
the snowbanks cast up from a son's new truck
Solemn potholed highways twist between glaciers,
between home and Great-grandma's, tiers of ice span the miles
Elders flannel-shirted, comfortably wreathed in their warm breath
never dare to tell the visitors that spring will always come
Cold mountains of family understanding sown behind the backs
of the pines that rip and fall with each passing salt truck
Snow crashing in the slow forest, exposing darker greens and
boys growing up to the sound of chainsaws in their dads' hands
Where we never rebel against parents
we snowplow the dust off their graves.
We're really floating around here!
So don't hold on...
Count to seven,
jump
and giggle
wrap me in blonde hair
and teach me a new game.
"I say
'Barbie'
and then
you say
'On your mark, get set, go!'
That's the game."
Okay.
Let's Play.
Let's play until...
Well, I have to go soon.
But let's not stop.
OhI'm
not floating.
I should never
Carefully coalblacked myself
Since the first day I remember
So the first one to say
'Oh, you're made of diamonds.'
Got a quick turn
Shhh, keep your voice down
or everyone will want one.
That shut em up,
made em laugh.
I couldn't stand to hear it, see?
'cause then I'd take one out
to look at myself
Then I'd believe in them
and want to cash them in.
Eve
was sitting cross-legged
on the bed.
We'd built beds by then.
And I stretched out, longwise
like a lion, tawny and fresh
on the grass
She
"Look, we're all, uh,
deep down, y'know,
the snakes and bastards
got us all
we're crazy
and cruel and greedy
we're lying, lazy
killers
we're selfish-sex maniacs.
There's no need for you
to be different.
Cause you're not.
Do what you want,
for my sake, at least.
You have to let it out
or it'll swell.
And you'll be no fun at parties."
Me
I smiled.
Back to Behemoth...or back to The Castle.
Poetry © 1992-1996 Mark Anthony Masterson
Those who write can drop a line to misterdark@mail.geocities.com
