a list of things to lie about today

it’s not that i’ve gone away

from the dark streets of decay

i’ve just changed the way i stay

 

i no longer drink

throw up in sinks

i no longer smoke

i’m almost a dweeb with half a joke

except that i live on edibles

high all the time

 

it’s cold tonight with wet surfaces

but i’m feeling fine

walking

i love my romance with the night

 

i did try to change my perspective

thinking somehow it would be corrective

but this world i drew for the chosen few

reveals all the clues

for even a dimwitted detective

 

and so i’m walking

the homeless are coughing

black is the distant sky

and i write on this wet autumn night,

 

“a summer ago

in the heart of the city

a homeless man died

in a world without pity”

 

and i continue to walk

steadfast in my belief

of no relief

not even a mortal

curtains and portal

pretending to be

the oracle of oz

giving guidance to gullible

 

i give no point of view its due

hope does not spring eternal

nothing more around

than what you already see

no chance at liberty

because your reality

is merely perceived

 

and so i am focused

on me where i am

without reason to be

i don’t give a damn

 

there is no cure for the human condition

 

there just is

and then there isn’t

and that’s all there ever was

 

***

 

 

 

 

the corsets of consciousness

the grave i dug was deep and wide

room for two, a view of the sky

but i was buried alone, just flesh and bone

the coffin was covered with dirt and stones

 

some people prayed, some tears were shed

the coffin contained me and claimed me as dead

the morals and lessons of my life and my death

were freely discussed by those with a breath

 

sometimes when i start a poem in my head

the words that are green are seen as red

but distant novembers can never compare

to spring time in autumn deceiving the air

 

the corsets of consciousness close down the mind

mother is waiting and always unkind

i’m reaching the reason i started this poem

was it the seasons or phrases i’ve coined?

 

or is this another stream of consciousness poem

no reason for writing, just words i have joined

 

***

 

 

the conundrum of consciousness

some say forgiveness is the cure

for tarnishing of what was pure

my therapist says don’t forgive

my parents for the things they did

they don’t deserve this act of love

or any resemblance thereof

 

forgiveness though it seems to me

reeks of spirituality

where faith for me’s a fruitless tree

that’s barren even in the spring

my writing soothes the ugly scars

but never seems to take me far

 

from this cell that’s holding me

so small that any self-esteem

has no room to dwell there-in

i’m hair and teeth and nails and skin

i’m nothing more than gathered cells

there’s nothing else to tip the scales

 

and so this freedom that i seek

day after day, week after week

is nothing but a state of mind

that google maps can’t seem to find

i roam like dust within the wind

when the wind dies the story ends

 

so how does one without belief

pave a pathway of relief

quantum mechanics has no why

and all perception is a lie

i build on things that will decay

all indifference holding sway

 

gravity guides and forces form

there is no shelter from the storm

where atoms make up molecules

without decree from divine rule

i don’t see things as absolute

on this i’m very resolute

 

and so i stumble in the dark

ignoring every single spark

that could ignite and be the light

and might make everything alright

for i believe we’re nothing more

than beings that need some kind of score

 

to justify what came before

as motion that is something more

then time and place that we are in

a reason for the now and then

but i don’t build upon that ground

and in the pointlessness i’ve found

 

can only let this me be me

cause nothing’s gonna set me free

for i see cold as being cold

and nothing else can we behold

at least that’s how i look at things

you can’t take flight without the wings

if there’s a key that fits this cell

i’ve nothing with which to post bail

 

***

 

 

 

 

meaning and exactitude

the things that i have written beneath the sheltering sky

like when i have been smitten by the twinkle in her eye

wherein the softest kitten is the thing that makes her sigh

and days unfurl within the swirl of everything sublime

 

the mantle and the centerpiece, a house is not a home

wooden frames on streets with names are nothing but a clone

the hand that trims the christmas tree is where the heart will roam

a heartfelt hug, a fit that’s snug outweighs a weighty tome

 

where being blue in missing you is evidence of love

the artists and their artistry become the mourning dove

where meaning and exactitude become the lesson learned

the verdict read, juries dismissed and court has been adjourned

a tender touch can mean so much when all but this has burned

and love becomes the rainbow’s end that's just around the turn

 

***

 

i wish that which has made me stronger had just killed me

there’s nothing in this atmosphere that i would want to breathe

the atmosphere surrounding here has only made me seethe

paradise lost became the cost in milton’s memory

the final meal before the chair is complimentary

 

and walking fast i find the past still present in its tense

my memories slay and lose their way as a just recompense

and like the atoms in my cells that formed my outer skin

the things my parents did to me has found a way to win

 

and work its way into the fray of everything i am

where i feel my appearance here is nothing more than spam

the things i’ve done the things i do and that which soon will be

has been me searching for the love my folks did not agree

i could deserve without a curve when they assigned a grade

i’m scared of my own shadow so i stay within the shade

 

***

 

 

 

fondling the fabric of non-existence

the fragrance of forgetfulness is floating in my mind

i disappear and all the years are farther than behind

i plant the seed and watch the weeds create in-fertile ground

the happenstance of circumstance will fall without a sound

 

and i will be the only me that i can ever be

i master the illusion of a spring time blossom tree

i weigh the words that i have heard but never tip the scale

a vampire bite is impolite and worthy to impale

 

a gentle touch is still a touch to those of us abused

we flinch and lean upon our crutch and all the things we use

to get us by the lows and highs that dance within a day

we see a myriad of paths but always are afraid

 

and those which have escaped the rape of body, soul and mind

cannot see the fear in me that nothing can unwind

to worship at the feet of gods who love you like a son

will never resonate with me with what my father’s done

 

mother mary quite contrary a virgin and a queen

never taught my mother love at least not what i’ve seen

unless i’m wrong and all along the things my parents did

is how the gods above show love to each and every kid

 

but either way the things i say will not change who i am

the waters urge with every surge but cannot break the dam

that holds it there against its will with an un-yielding force

and laughs at my captivity knowing it is the source

that makes me fear the far and near and all that’s in-between

their words and welts that i have felt my mind will never wean

 

***