pawnhouse
blaring rage and the rub down
standing at the inlet
full view as the
scratching post
for those wounded by boredom
and
lacking skills of grace
weeping under camouflage
dripping on intoxicated gut
soaked
and they come to wring it out
getting nothing but
and earful
an eye show
a push down or
a hand up
giving nothing but
an aftermath
a slanted forecast
a let down or
a bottled up mess
it's a narrow place and narrowing
hollow and wide yet all gets stuck
20 jun 98
downstairs
empieza la luz
i am back to getting used to it and
soon i will be home.
at home again in that room
containing
the bare neccesities i require to get by.
a dim light to read by,
implements with which to forge my message,
and time.
enormous amounts of time created
from the hours i wasted returning love.
i no longer have to do that for
there is no longer that heat directed at me.
no expectations of me.
only time and space to amend my message and
strengthen its point.
i'll live with that as i have before.
inspired, housed, and bulletproof.
20 jul 99
night's ring sweet and slow (a traveling song)
there were no answers where i questioned
nor ability to meet demands
only a borrowed sense of contentment
that i'll return to those who understand
a decision to ride upon the current
in the wake created by the unknown
when you've lost that compass of direction
it doesn't matter where you want to go
lifelong traveling companions have shown temporary
when you become an obstacle set in the way
and the path to another is unwanted
until clearly seen by light of day
that's when you find only shadows
in the night's ring sweet and slow
a music only heard by those in the solitude
reminding me it is time to go
pictures taken as reminders
turn to clutter and grow expendable
then the day comes to again take out the camera
and you find that the exposures are full
so you open your eyes to the outside
and the wide world there ahead
to look for much wanted resurrection
of a heart once thought cold and dead
time comes to seek a safe harbor
and rest from the long chase
running from what you created
each baring your own face
when you find only shadows
in the night's ring sweet and slow
a music only heard by those in the solitude
reminding me it is time to go
21 may 99
talents and facial gestures
games with no intended outcomes
played against self and
time.
glances
unthought, daring and
never finished.
art for the sake of warming,
the gut pulls...
the mad push
like children making a face
and it stays that way
just as mother said it would
3 aug 99
damaged hand
there will be static and lost vocations
thorn in the sides of any signs of virtues
waits will come without hints of warning
and water will now wash away nothing
there will be trials involving no opposition
visions missed from factors inside the confines
words with intention lacking modes of direction
souls engaged for no apparent purpose
wounds on the hands
of a battered body
reaching out but the feeling is gone
the poison i drank turned out to be medicine
the prescription was...my own
there will be laughs in the comedies of drama
lapses in emotion not made up by perception
days will come when it is the concrete i swim in
tugs on the heart from those that mean little
there will be solutions that bare confrontation
levity worn as unnecessary costumes
open eyes at the means of others
and strength gained from their blinded weakness
wounds on the hands
of a fortified being
scratching the scabs until the feeling is gone
the poison i drank turned out to be medicine
the dilemna is all...your own
26 may 99
summer capture
i can taste it on the evening breeze
here and now,
facing the street.
unaccompanied but not feeling alone in this moment.
sometimes, and only sometimes,
that is good enough.
at ease and content,
lifted from burden that i've found no longer matters.
20 jul 99
there is no such thing
there are these moments
moments inbetween sleep (which doesn't seem
to happen much anymore),
reading, diving into social pools, and
fending off ill attempst by others to
make me feel better.
they aren't doing it right.
moments when breathing is labored.
anxiety, no, panic takes over
and all i can think about is how much
i miss her.
i want relief...i really do.
anodyne.
i want love, but no one believes that.
i want to give my soul, but no one
likes the brand of happiness
i have to offer.
i'll keep waiting for lack of alternatives.
23 jun 99
begging for the limp
feathers stuck together
render her unable to fly
and i have water,
and i have clarity
to free her body
from a weighted spirit.
she will take the air again.
23 jun 99
projects
put out and
no graces put upon my methods.
once again
placid and infinite.
here i am forced into the
straight line,
stretched out without end.
a model for imcompletion.
longing to be bent,
shaped,
curved as i once was;
half of a ring.
efforts to distort
this linear existance are
met by impossibility and
self-opposition.
requiring the likewise,
an inverted polarity
to meet me halfway.
middleground, contentment;
completion
and balance. put out where
sought and found are contradictory.
28 jun 99
he dragonpawn returns
he breathes fire amongst those
unfamiliar.
flames before those that
wield no swords to rip through
the armor and take sight
of organs and importance
engulfing those that come at
him
unprepared and naive.
they, who before ertain demise,
only witness the scales,
the stinging tongue,
the cold eyes.
he, in all of his aesthetic wonder,
lays in wait allowing them to close
in.
body clenced in ruthlessness.
no challenge!!! and they perish
in the intensity of the attack.
only to return to his lair,
awaiting those brave enough to
bear blades...to lie before them
and offer no resistance.
20 jul 99
