Hallowe'en

Dark footsteps scour and scratch a path over the far horizon of dusk, as shadows unfold and take their stand at the threshold of All Hallows’ eve...

white noise

an open letter to the Lord of the Manor...

please
take a moment
to look out
look down on the people
toiling in the world below
creating the isolated paradise you enjoy
they've been building your ivory tower
with their bones

and when they seek shelter
from the burning acid rain
beneath your holy folds
you retire inside
to a satisfied sleep
warm dreams
in a golden bed

and the wet get wetter
the cold get colder
the sick get sicker
but the old don't get older
they just die.


so dig into the white noise
with your silver spoon
into the soft insulation surrounding your life
take a taste take a scoop
taste what you've been avoiding
taste what you've missed

dig through the white noise
take a look through
at the unwashed masses of humanity
have a listen hear the agony
hear what you've been missing
hear what you missed

Silence

Burnt hands pointed at the dashboard
Fingernails torn to shreds
Tapping the dials with anticipation
Almost tasting desperation...

Caught in a downward spiral
She's dropping altitude
Down through the atmosphere
Like night time curtains
At the matinee.

Beads of perspiration
Ran down his face
As he fought the shaking brake handle
To slow his white-knuckle ride to the dirt below.

Gravity was once his friend
Keeping his feet secure
Now it was the enemy it seemed
Even after the chaos he endured...
The trip to Hell and back
Didn't change shit
Didn't amount to a hill of beans.

He'd rather strap in tighter
Than bail and chute out
Go down with the ship they said
That's the way
He wanted to go.

As the outer layers of steel skin peeled away
He threw himself into childhood again
Wrapping his cold burnt body in warm memories
Riding bikes, building forts, climbing trees.

As the wiring sparked and first systems failed
He thought of his first plane ride home
The music that played
The soundtrack of those years
Ringing louder in his ears
Than the alarms
The stressed metal
The popping seams.

Gravity was once his friend
Keeping his feet secure
Now it was the enemy it seemed
Even after the chaos he endured...
The trip to Hell and back
Nothing more than a preflight check to him now...

Everything bright went brighter
Everything dark got darker
The loudness got louder
Then silence.

the monster

his clouds storm in
bringing waves
warm soft blankets of pure fear
to suffocate the living
and raise the deceased
to eternally walk
the other side of death.

all empty and void of hope
not a chance in Hell
of rising to the surface
to escape
and tell
to warn the townfolk
that the monster is coming.

in league with the Devil himself
dark strength within his iron fist
wielding mind control
the power to capture
the body
the mind
the very soul.

the weak and the sick
even the strong and the purest of heart
all fall like hollow dead trees
in a hurricane
splintered
evaporating
into dust
as he tramples through.

laughing at destruction
dancing in the blood
funeral fires
corpses ablaze
burning flesh
snapping bones
crushed
into the red sucking mud.

moving past
horizons west
new lands to destroy
he carries the disease
onto foreign shores
gray ash rivers
black sand lakes
coal dark cities
a new dead earth.

the summit calls

solid rock rises high
punches the sky
slick
smooth
gray brown tall
rough
jagged green walls...

unforgiving
unyielding
always beckoning--
and the summit calls.

lasso the moon
climb aboard
in your dreams at night
the elusive satellite...

your daydreams
follow close behind
a hand grip here
a toehold there--
oh the summit calls.

dirt under your feet
earth below your soles
gravity
trees
fall away
tendons
muscles
straining--
the summit still calls.

pulling
gritting
fingertips
powdered and dry
forehead wet
one more breath
wedging
rubber slips
over the under
hangs
one more meter--
hear the summit call.

wind at your back
pushing
swinging
steady last ten steps
cool on your skin
the valley below
heaven.

the trip back
afterwards--
the summit answered.

westward

hank and willie's blastin as i crank the windows down
hit my face with warm spring wind
shakin off this town
the past is in my rear view mirror
push the pedal to the floor
california here i come
and you won't see me no more

draggin on an acid root freedom is my friend
miles of pavement rollin by
pacific coast's the end
pushin towards the sunset
i aint never lookin back
blue skies getting darker
as i shoot the railroad tracks


oh now i'm goin
i'm trippin westward
i'm travelin where i've wished i'd always been
you see i'm movin
i'm rollin westward
to the end


hear the wave's a crashin as i drive along the coast
clear my head and kiss my ears
with sound i love the most
park my ride above the beach
walk along the sand
i can't help but thank the Lord
i'm such a lucky man


oh now i'm goin
i'm trippin westward
i'm travelin where i've wished i'd always been
you see i'm movin
i'm rollin westward
where i wanna be
where i need to be
where i'm glad i am

into the ground

candles flicker in the breeze
on the windowsill by the magazines
a bucket of flowers sits close to the door
quietly yellow white and green
quietly aging
into the ground

underneath where the dirt is cold
under the porch where the baseball rolled
the worn tight white cowhide
turned muddy brown
even the stitching
has come unwound
into the ground

the downcast gablefront
with aluminum skin
peeling paint
and the rain-leaking mezzanine
leans more than it stands
into the ground

down the street
past the patchwork church
over the meadow
the hardware store burned down
five years ago last spring
into the ground

it seems like an ice age has passed
scouring the landscape
rocks trees and grass
are dead or dying
into the ground

the passing of time
crumbles the old town down
brick by plank
nail by tack
into the ground

applause

behind the wall
there's no curtain call
lights go up all across the hall

nothing but silence
downcast eyes
hands clutching raincoats
shuffling feet
heavy sighs

reaching way down
into my pack of lies
convinced if i tell a good one
it won't mean my demise

reaching down inside
winding up letting fly
if they feel what i reveal
they won't be surprised


i stand
for the cause
but not just because it's a cause
it's just cause it's the just thing to do

i understand
it's a plausable pause
if one takes a break
to feel the wake of applause
to embrace the grace
and taste the accolades


run out into the street
rain wet pavement greets
cold wind on my skin
through my clothes
soaking feet

i can hide from the people
the unforgiving audience
but can't from the tenancy
of my downtrodden conscience

the stain of the pain
is tattooed on my brain
entangled in the web
of my own electric fence

tapping in–my codices

sweet release, the inner turmoil
scribe what i see with my soul
my outward sight my inner gaze
what i choose to create or re-create
from regurgitated, regulated memories,
lift the burden
from the right side of my brain
resulting not in an opening of pandoras' box
but rolling more like sisyphus' rock.

a contextual textual stream
void of organic calligraphicality
spilling onto the parchment--oh! my codices;
like verbal vomit
soaking the blank page through
chunky dark and rough in spots
in others running clear as morning dew.

some find it divine
wanting to dive right in
immersing themselves in the messages no matter the mess,
others wouldn't touch it with the longest pole
they are intrigued by watching others read and react
such voyeuristic flies on a subway wall.

it's an outlet of verbal and conjugated meanderings
tapping into an underlying theme
sharing a little but not too much
essential elements of friendly information,
a little can go a long way in exposing vital tender areas
and nothing can take that back
that bird will have flown.

bring nonfictional happenings and real life tribulations
expose them in their subliminal corners
but inject some lighter fare
airing dirty laundry gets old
even if the wind is blowing in a different direction.

i'd rather be the conductor on a ride through my imagination
it's not that i have anything new to say
but even the same story told by two different people
can be two different tales
on the same day.

alphabet

friday afternoon
freely floating like a purple balloon
clouds above full of alphabet soup.

drag your feet
take a look
underneath the wisdom
draped in the fabric of royalty
stand crooked as you take a picture
reality fades with the clock
time passes away into the past.

block the sun
block everyone
if you're done you're done
the traffic noise might hide your ears.

block the sky
block my eyes
if you cry you cry
a touch of insanity might dry your tears.

monday morning
chained to the wall like a wild baboon
clouds above full of alphabet soup.

block the sun
block everyone
if you're done you're done
the traffic noise might hide your ears.

block the sky
block my eyes
if you cry you cry
a touch of insanity might dry your tears.

bubble fringe

living on the fringe
on that edge
the razor's edge
not on the shiny side
but on the dull.

ripping without cutting through
pinching without slicing true
puncturing the skin without piercing into...

glancing off the surface tension
biting pinching
without drawing
blood.

like a boy in a bubble
running round in place
never moves an inch but
he always runs out of space...

pushing the plastic envelope
thinking outside his rounded box
invisible fingers hold him back
his feet locked to the floor
coldly he stares at the walls
and the walls stare back
no words exchanged
nothing more than cruel intentions.

living on the fringe
on that edge
the razor's edge
not on the shiny side
but on the dull.

that man in his bubble
still running round in place
never moving an inch but
always running out of space...