Closed on Thursdays

I wrap my tired arms around your closed off flesh. Tried to beat into you - I love you,  I love!

You just shook it off and wiped it clean with a glove.

Can’t wait to see what happens next, god dam this living god dam this mess.

Shoe boxes full of laces and letters of bilk, razor blade apples and cyanide milk.

I stare at the ceiling but I can’t make it work. God dam this living god dam my soul its not that I want to I just can’t control.

I can see the end so clear don’t know why, you can’t see it too, there’s just so much everything and everything’s you.

Cigarette burns on the back of your hand, candy coated meth balls to make you subdued.

Jet fuel and ashes cover the earth, life is for living from day one of your birth but I just can’t stand it all the fuss and the shit, god dam this living I don’t see the worth

Sunshine and rain showers, snow storms and floods, black hoods and iron rods coming back all in blood. Why can’t they just let me be

God dam this living, it feels more like hell, needles and 2x4s do just as well to stop all the voices inside my head, time to stop screaming, time enough to be dead.

 God dam this living, god dam this mess, if it seems I’m unhappy it’s because of the dress,.. the dance.

There’s only escape in shadow and dust, kick off the bed sheets and roll in the crush of this 4 star traveling day dream peep show, the playgrounds on fire and the children all know.

God dam the sinners and saints meet there too, just an average night in the life of a muse, forgotten and broken in throw away shoes.

 The shallow rise and fall of the battered and broken make me feel so alive, I feel so unspoken of words that elude me again and again it’s late and I’m tired it’s time now to end.

A Letter to Myself

A Letter to Myself

Forgive me, my friend.  for I do not mean to make you feel sad - melancholy.  And it is with trepidation that I enter into this one sided dialogue but it is important, these things that I must tell you for the summers grow short.
Some things are obvious, like the changing of the seasons, each quarter year unique and yet comfortably familiar.  Almost lulling you into a kind of sublime rhetoric.  It is only wen you look back that you can truly see ahead.
For instance, you will probably type this and save it digitally on the computer.
1's and 0's
Don't fool yourself into thinking it is more real than pen and paper, the paper you leave behind as you are typing. This technology only came into existence in your lifetime, along with cell phones, remote keyless anything, hell TV for that matter. No good sir, nothing you take for granted now even mattered when the only thing that did was just letting you be.
How simple (pause) how simple it is to find the frame of reference in your mind and imagine the innocence and beauty of youth but impossible to find the tongue to speak of it.
Friends come and go along with the changing seasons, scatter like the fallen leaves of Autumn and grey like the mantle of fresh fallen snow.  On and on it goes......melting away into spring.  New generations to replace the last.
You will travel many miles in your life, physically and mentally and always will you have a place to call home but none so grand as the home you make for yourself in your heart.
So be good to  yourself and keep the heart of youth to carry as companion on your journey and always remember to remember.

rb)

Love, life and wine

     Admittedly I’m a little drunk so that could explain the nostalgic repose that I am feeling but I have to say that I’m also inspired.

     To think, to imagine, to dream of oneself within oneself out of time and space, are we created just too merely follow or is there more? An age old question –yes? Is there a higher purpose or are we just waiting for the end of our time. What a tragedy!

     If we are here to love, and I’m speaking more than in the simple architecture of civilization but to truly love, passion beyond understanding. Love in the beauty of all things is not in our nature but depending on whether you look at things from a selfish perspective or through the eyes of wonder then even death can be/is beautiful.

The sun in itself is a destructive force, even by its own nature it is destroying itself just to be. Can that not be said of us? We move forward and grow, but we are also move slowly to death. So therefore to be afraid of death is also to be afraid of life.

     What would you do if I said I love you? Wrapped my arms around you from behind and whispered shadows of a love fulfilled that only your ears could understand? Would all time and material things melt away into a mere backdrop and only then, only that moment mattered? Would you say you love me too? Out of nothing my heart exists only for you. If the ocean washes away an imprint left in the sand does that mean it never existed? In that time, the image lasts an eternity, as the image of you does for me.

If you never heard the words spoken softly from behind is it the same thing as the imprint in the sand? To me it is a sad thing that the ocean knows not of the image it captured the same as if love is never truly understood.

     A story then, something out of time and yet eternal like the words of love, just for you.