Lunar Eclipse

12/20/10

It only happens every 400 years or so

(but that's what they always say).

Tonight I gazed at a face who lost its light,

whose color turned red with nothing to reflect.

No bright white shining down on me.

The Earth got in the way,

an orb born to be realistic.

To ground dreams and wishes.

To say "no" at a last whisper.

To block heroes from their keepers.

Tonight I saw the stars outshine the moon

because the sun was eclipsed by horrid truth.

The Earth haughtily proving wrong

the dreams of a satellite to be something more

than a rock enslaved by invisible chains

to a goddess of saltwater and dirt.

Makes 400 years seem all to soon.

Glad I wont be around.

Reminds me too much of you.

Weightless

11/16/10

...when out of the corner of my eye

I noticed the sidewalk signal man had become an astronaut,

taunting that even if I make it past this stratosphere

the air wont let me breathe.

Fuck you Buzz-Walk-On.

Fuck you.

Biting the Bullet

12/8/10

I'm coming home.

It's a place filled high with shadowed eyes,

a place I beat to death 12 too many times.

The place my soul got buried with a dancer's song,

where an assassin twisted up my right and wrong.

I tried to leave it, tried to wash my hands-

You said they used to be clean but they've been bloody as hell.

Never felt like the move really changed a thing,

just made my tie a little straighter,

made my words sound sweet.

Pause for a second to remember the facts.

Recall the hearts I've broken, the busted backs

of people trying to haul my weight like they have a shot.

Should've told them long ago that I'm just circling the block.

That this city isn't holding me

that these changes aren't real

that a stranger with messy hair and a leather belt

will wash away the white out covering up my sins

That home is calling me

let the heartache begin.

You might not believe it, that this cuts me deeper than you.

I'm pouring whiskey on the gash but the pains coming through

So I'll bite the bullet, bear it, and let the course be run

Just wish I could have told you sooner

Bur what's done is done.

Your Karma Ran Over My Dogma

11/19/10

I've been toying with the notion of Buddhism.

Other than bald statues and monks, I've never learned much

of its philosophies.But when imagining me,

reincarnated,

I started playing out what I'm aiming for.

The first thought is to come back as a deer.

That way when you run me over next time

it'll cost you a shitload.

Maybe the sight of so much damage will make

you think twice about leaving,

about driving so fast on back roads.

Bambi's blood on your steel toes.

The second thought is to come back as a skunk.

The more subtle choice, this invokes the populations rage

on you each time they drive through

the crime scene.

I'm in between of whether that's punishment enough,

might get tough, making a stink for that long.

I've never liked complaining.

The third thought is to come back as a dog.

Yellow lab. 8 months old.

All smiles and tail wags with fur of gold,

already house trained, obeys commands,

and as for games fetch is a must.

Would that hurt you enough?

To drive over a pup like that, feel his life explode under your tire

and his bones crack like logs on a fire,

a whimper right as you hit it head on

Fuck the damage of a deer and the month long

consequence of a skunk,

the guilt of a dog killing is 8 times as much fun

for me at least.

Knowing leaving will finally be something you regret,

grieving the innocence lost, the death of a pet.

Come to think of it, a reincarnation as a dog

won't make much of a difference.

See as I sit I can feel this collar start itching...

Guess its back to the drawing board.

Got any suggestions?

Buried

10/28/10

Snakes, snails, and puppy dog tails

would you know them

if they were yours?

As they wiggle, would you feel them slither

in your bones?

Maybe that's the creeping chill,

the shiver born

from creatures all to obvious to see.

Even now as I say it... as I ask...

you feel them acting up trying to

bury deeper and lie low.

But it's too late,

because now,

you know.

We Bypassed Blackmail in the Womb

10/25/10

Fetal syndrome worse than alcohol

(which would come later),

but we gave it a good shot.

Sobriety just ain't for everyone

and I, well I'm one of the lucky ones.

So fill it up, fuck it, just give me the bottle

to suckle til my inner toddler shuts the fuck up,

whining about mean sisters and

missing fathers

while pissing on itself trying to

bury the problems.

Yes the burning in my throat is the closest thing to

the yearning I feel in my stomach as its contents

rush up

braver than me for admitting their defeat.

But me? Make it another double

cuz that dance floor's calling sweet

and God knows the lights can take

me to a universe filled with better things

than this,

the bass pounding out something

in my chest that's the closest I'll get

to a heartbeat.

But this magic trick only works with

two things:

a mind soaked in substance

and my skin soaked with you

Whoever "you" may be.

Never matters,

only comes to show me where

I'm lacking and how good a job I've done

sewing up the gaps and patching up

the vomit stains....

you'd never recognize the

one in this mirror and the

one in that ultrasound

as the same...

with a missing father...

I'm one of the lucky ones.

I've Got Words Too

11/16/10

I'm worth sticking around for.

And though your body lets you have me again then again,

you protest.

You protest now that it hurts, and now that it stings

but just Friday you let me SING to you on those steps

said it filled you past the tears, past the regrets,

asked me to dance and I was already 3 steps ahead.

laughing, reaching, scared, but THERE and now...

now its no good?

now its sour?

so you leave?

You think that'll bring me to your gate, begging for a fence?

Well you better think again.

Maybe I'm just that hard to read

but you're pretty perceptive and should realize

threats send me further, push me past affection

and into protection.

I've been left.

I've been left.

See these handles in my right side? They belong to daggers, thrust there

by hands I thought loved me.

hands who opened my eyes

forced my smile

wiped my tears...

Now the puss from unscabbed wounds drips onto the linoleum covering

your kitchen floor,

I ignore your reasons.

They sound too much like:

"You're not enough.

You're not worth it.

You're not one I'de fight for.

You're close to perfect, but just not enough of a gift."

The handles twist and I stifle my shrieks

cuz I refuse to cry for you.

You can walk away, nice and dry.

Keep your umbrella closed up this time.

Ill never dream of burdening one whose back is so frail.

So go on...I hope those bright lights deceive you less than i did, but just

remember - I'm worth sticking around for.

This war is worth this.