night sequence

by choice, you and me, we came in together on the back of big city adrenaline rush. we had a fight, you got upset and turned your back on me. i got lost like i did in those days, running away from all i knew, on purpose. a magnet for manipulation. surreptitiously hunted by strangers. most of what i had with me would be stolen, especially my pride. threatened and blamed and treated with derision. magically thinking, i wished for you to appear on any corner. some girl had a mind to show me compassion, but even she turned and twisted the knife, being skeptical and not buying my incredible story. lost and no obvious avenue home. no money, no phone, no friends. those I turned to for help could not help me for they were all too embedded in their ways. became convinced i was less so. how quickly one can go from respectable citizen to¬† vagrant. if anyone decides to hunt you and rough you up, for kicks, you’re a goner. that night, like many before and after, i got myself into such a world, so deeply, i almost did not make it out. why i was such a lost soul for so long, i may never fully understand; there were always my identities and sorting them out. now i get to wake up and thank god i’m no longer insane, for these are only night sequences, bubbling up from the depths of traumatic memory, and the unconscious. i’m okay with who i am.

draw near the dark melody

Out toward the center of the lake, august summer nights, the water dead calm. the atmosphere uninterrupted, both surface and air. they could not see one another and could no longer hear all the commotion on every shore. a loon gets lonely, too.

and there despair was born. made it’s way up the long and slender throats. the necks pointed to the sky, and curves of beak parted, opening throats to air. the saddest melody filled the lonely night with sound. echoes in every cove.

we were young and holding hands. snuck out with flashlights to walk the banks to the painted bridge. hidden in the deepest shadows of the canopy, on a new moon night. drawn together out on the island, waiting. long winter a distant memory.

listen… the aching pain of solitude is calling! before i only heard your sweet voice. so small we are… touching your soft warm palm with mine… feeling your breath on my face… i may never feel so close to you again.

city and the music of noise

was america was
chicago was life worth

working for ina cross

road. you and me and any one

fought through the seasons

the vocals the

exhaust

the steam of whistling

industry

i could feel the touch
the warmth beneath your voice

in a cold world
you could shout you could scream

you would have to

to be heard

then the aftermath the streets

the faces ina diner

ina hard won heartfelt

part of town
mocha skin tones made by

sun and genes
cream and sugar and
coffee black

where noise is music

toasting broken hearts and

dishes and bottles. you woke me up
i can feel you today thousands

of miles away
i can laugh
i can cry ona dime ina city

and the music of

noise

i was and wasn’t

there

borderline

borderline felt fenced in again and jumped from side to side. she took the bridge to nowhere and climaxed @ 100 in her ride. finally she could breathe. the tears got blown off the side into gray sky and fell to darker waters. the contrast was kindness to her eyes. guns was on the radio. a kiss from axl rose to make it better. she found a wild flower on the river bank and wove it into locks. kicked some rocks and walked back to her car. the radiator fan still blowing out the heat. when the rains began to hit the pavement, well, she liked to believe she started all that storm.

trouble

trouble pushed a curse off the edge of a busted lip. didn’t care. got home after lights out. escaped into comic books when bliss blew up again. was secretly oversensitive and cried himself to sleep. only little sister knew. courage was taking the brown glass, pushing skateboard through alleys to the vacant lot. smashing bottles on the old brick wall. broken feels so good. all was left of home. all the necessary rules lying there in liquid and why not? culture never did nothing. some day with little sister’s help he would write a letter. hitchhike outta here. find a paper route and a giant wave to surf. santa cruz will do.

8 less 8 was none

the composition shifts a degree

the whole world

dissolves

 

the fires far east lick the earth

suffocate the seaweed

paper tongue

 

2 air-conditioned hearts

tokyo rising sun

4 chamber orchestra reflects

the sea

 

sails stretch out for perth

 

eight less eight

makes none