Sunday, February 23, 2014

Tombstone Suggestion

there. in the deep of sea, i encountered all that is dark in me.


Another rolling wave that ushers every detailed ulcer,
some poison who toiled with me in hope I would be gentle.
Let us switch now, from the first to our famous third person:

"I'm happy," said a human being in the environment. "I'm happy to be
out and about. Feeling the breeze, the salts in air, how wonderful!"
Small whirlwind appears next to this cheerful person's foot, a grin of wind.

We're still in the third person, and that grin is accumulating mischief.
Mischief, mind, not malice. Type of thing who would rather tap on your head
and allow pigeons to crash into it, than totally bash it in.

"What if you just dove off?" suggested this little, naughty wind, causing a pause.
They were at a cliff, upon which an enterprising man had seen fit to supply coconuts
chopped clean from their tops and prodded with huge plastic straws out of proportion.

"I'm getting coconuts," she said, absent of mind and further infuriating the evil wind.
Her body began to float toward the businessman. Twas all a daemon could do to keep up.
"You are getting coconuts?" said the wind. "This is a poem about death and suicide, you're getting bloody coconuts?"

The human stopped and smiled at the wind. Then, why just smile, but also let out a beautiful laugh?
Tried to gather the wind and hug it close to her, but could not, since it was, well, wind.
"You were going to make some kind of proposition?" she said, pushing cash from her wallet

and pulling the coconut in. The wind watched this activity with great distaste.
"Suddenly you're a woman, now. We started with you being androgynous."
"And then your puny mind projected all your thoughts and beliefs about a girl you once met

upon that flavorless template. See how your little mind works? Now come on," she said approaching the edge.
"That man had only one coconut. Who sets up a whole business like that, to sell one coconut at the cliff?"
From there, in their depths, you could see the waves crashing in earnest. "Come now. You said you had something to say."

It was getting really hot, the wind. Seeing those crashey waves was doing something to it,
changing it, making it whistle in strange and uncertain ways. "I did," said the wind, "I did,"
the girth from its eye of hope was narrowing, and the cyclone was fermenting illustriously its smile.

Then just quietness. No sounds. Nothing, really. The wind had to text her in order to keep the conversation going.
"I was going to tell you to just jump off" it texted.
She furiously typed back on the phone: "WTF???!!!?? WTF wtf WTF???!!!"

He furiously typed back, reborn and with a greater sense of clarity: "Listen!
I was going to ask you to jump off, indeed. But only so that I could actuate,
only that in your darkest slice of time, I'd rally and be there for you, lifting you gently to the shore."

They both laughed horrendously. It was terrible, their sound.
"You are a stupid and vain little man," she said.
"I know," said the wind. "All mischief and no malice."

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Mind, body, soul. And gravy.

I once fell in love with someone.
Fell very deep. Type of thing was
between us, an energy of joined state.

I'm not talking physically
(don't get me wrong, there was physical stuff)
I'm talking about soul, about awareness.
About two entities melting into one.

It wasn't a pedestrian love.
You know, like some couples, sure,
maybe they might know each other so well
that they can even complete each others' sentences.

The one person knows exactly what the other is thinking.
But this was greater than that.
We were creating our own vocabularies,
our own languages! A deep regret is never having composed a dictionary!

Therein lies the rub. Maybe if there had been a dictionary
for this level of entanglement, we could have both read slowly together.
Known about any mistakes (all of them were by me) and pulled out a clean eraser
and rub them off. Together. My hand in her hand.

And if that had been the case, maybe we could finally smile at each other again.

But the truth is that I lost her. I mean, like, literally.
I don't know where she is, who she is or what she does anymore.
I fell into this deep psychosis where I'd start establishing a repertoire
and be famous at restaurants for ordering two plates.

The first I would eat normally.
And then the second...fuck. This is extremely difficult to write.
The second plate, I would eat also, but pretending to be her.
But where was she, really? What had I done so terrible

That she might disappear from the entire world?

Okay. Okay. Gonna stop here. Think I've shared too much.

Have a nice Sunday.

Friday, February 7, 2014

title to be disclosed at end of poem

The very best weavers were ushered, nay,
fed fried mars bars, crème brûlées, and wealthy toffee,
into the moot of all mooters. Pedestrians held sidewalk coupons of promise.

There was a history to the dungeon of missives locked and piquantly chained below,
some held by mysteries merely in sponge, or hay, too, bundled well.
And yes, nobody challenged the rubber bands.

This was not to be a hastily concocted deceit.
Furriers, across the globe, had been covertly juggled for wizened woolliers
of cotton candy, clearly an operation by military snipers of elderly persuasion with steady gaze.

All this, of course just His sweetening, or apéritif, for when His finale entrance from the glorious gates
finally did transpire--all those sugary seams loosened. Chocolate shells blistered,
oozing that caramel promised to for everyone to eat.

All His Candy Clothes Fell Apart And Around The City Streets Did He Dance To The Beat. <-- at="" be="" end="" i="" it="" of="" oh...sheeit="" poem="" span="" thought="" title="" to="" unclothed="">

Smarter than he thought or just lucky bastard?