I will always think fondly
Of the park bench
Near the sad man’s statue
Whose beard of stone
Was sloppily painted
By a bunch of overenthusiastic pigeons

That silly park bench
Where we first kissed
And had our first public argument
About nothing at all
And at the same time
About everything we thought we had

At first our memories
Turned the grass greener
And the skies bluer
And sometimes it seemed
That sad man smiled
Though it might have been an malevolent grin

But soon it became tainted
A symbol of fleeting love
Of passion’s mortality
Its habit of swiftly disappearing
Like cagey, distrustful pigeons
And illusions fuelled by sentimentality

Now I understand the sad man
And consider his faith to be cruel
To want and crave and hope
Yet to be sentenced
His life writ in stone
Near an empty, broken bench

Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds.  I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass.  I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me.  My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie.  The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you bestbe going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!

Late night at the Bar,
The neon sign said time to go,
Funny, when I got there it was all
Welcoming and overenthusiastic,
Garish, like a parade of clowns
With balloons that just got lost
Loosed, to the winds.  I had a few—
Too many and wrote a broke poem,
All alone surrounded by the clank
Of wood from a pole and clicks of levers
As the glistening 'patrons' shimmied their
Tithes to the used machines of *****
Pinned and the green tables pooled
And the women, who desperately looked
At only you, after you looked at them
And the indifferent, tallish Barman,
Who kept pouring smallish dreams
In a shot glass.  I stumbled, swirled out
And kissed the tar as was my want,
Every newcomer slogging in
Simply ran with not even noticing,
As I laid on the ground, they knew
That their time was soon coming.
That's called simpatico, or is it
Solidarity, maybe, whatever?
Anywho, I dusted my self off
And hightailed it back home
Before the broad, my old lady,
Jezebel, caught me on the sly.
The 'Queen of Sheba' was already
There— prostrated on our bed
Waiting to nail me.  My only excuse,
The muses— she wasn't buying,
I said baby, 'I ain't tryin' to sell
You no lie.  The words, they come
And they go, like a train that never stops
But you best be going, you best be jump in'
On that steel Goliath and ride that son to the gates
Of pearl and peace, them goldilock rays and then I said,
Hush, my little 'rock-a-bye' lady, you shush now,
My fresh night moon of Lilly flower, we's gonna
Make like nubile creatures, all naked and free,
There ain't no clocks little darling, there's
Just you an' me and all the rest of herstory,'
She bought that line!

The phone rings
at 3 am.
followed by a half-awake, "Hello?",
a muffled conversation,
and knuckles barely making contact with
my door.
She can't bring herself to wake me up
from a quiet sleep and the daydream that has been my life.
But I'm already awake.
And deep down I already know.

Fast forward an hour later.
I hear the out of rhythm steps
of your boots making their way up the stairs
and finally into the house.
We meet in the kitchen.
The wall of Smirnoff and beer
greets me like an overenthusiastic child.
Then I see your body,
a shape I almost don’t recognize;
your eyes look right past me
like you are talking to someone in the next room.
“I don’t know what will happen” you said,
as mom explained to me what was going on.
“I don’t know what will happen” you said
as you leaned on me like a crutch on our way to your bedroom.
“I don’t know what will happen” you said
when I left you to sort this out,
to put the pieces back together,
to sober up.
I crawled back under the covers,
painfully aware the ache that
has found its way to the pit of my stomach.

I hear another knock on my door,
not so gentle this time.
The door opens and I'm
greeted by a wobbly hand
wrapped around the barrel of a gun.
“I don’t know what will happen” you say,
as you place the gun in my hand.

I want to drop to the ground;
to curl into a ball and
let my tears lull me to sleep,
Only to wake up tomorrow
and have this all be a dream.
But this moment is as solid, and real
As the gun now under my pillow.
My heart races as it tries to outrun
someone else’s demons.
I don’t sleep that night.

Eight thousand puzzle-piece
butterflies
fill the memory carded banks
of discarded blank
cyberspace Alzheimers.

An empty room with silhouetted views,
creating illusion imitating
hallucinations
of a promise to reinstall the words lost
to safety proof
false parachutes.

Without canvas-sized,
indestructible evidence
or ink-based remembrance -
only erasable by flames,
flood or
unsigned credentials
fallen hand in glove
into
overenthusiastic forgetfulness.

there remains to be seen
a virus immune to tonic,
vaccine,
or innocent naive dreams
capable of murdering,
erasing,
and deleting every letter
conceived by keyboard finger-*******.

Here sits a love sick ******
with his head in the clouds
which would rain purple-hazed
words on the handful around;
those who remain concrete laced
flat on the ground in silence
while the sky promises rain -
yet only delivers clouds thundering sounds
of yesterday's romantic morose cries.

The dreams and visions of publicized ambition
dead
to files of hard-drive suicide -
by pornographic escapism,
prism-shaped with temporary reflection
of a soul due to expire.
Teadless and tired
in need of eternal service with supervision
by technology and savvy technicians -
mechanics of the afterlife,
while sighs of a Leonard Cohen existence
drown out the cries
of a bad cup of immortality.

Red-eyed mornings with deleted history
control-shift-n
and go go incognito
of a different kind.
free of decision or any conscious mind -
without a driver at the wheel
deciding the turns,
for any burning yearning sensation to stay,
go, hop-off and arrive.

The destination won't be seen alive.
Even as stains of lead will remain after death
with every orchestrated fable and tale
told by its grey-eyed author immortal,
while multidimensional gurus of ancient fires have stories and songs
done wrong by sins
of broken-telephone
though burning in hearts, souls,
and every orifice available to spark -
still end up with the scent of unholy ****.

The blank void of all memory is all that remains
throughout every special momentous occasion with hard-copy refection
or recollection of that holy time and spiritual place -
I await judgement and punishment
or divine rejection,
for falling in love and forgetting to save.

So it seems that the very things that seem to make me tick are like the secrets that keep me sick. The breeze is blowing but the tide is coming in quick. You think I give a **** if you heard my lighter click. I am a perfect **** up I am ****** up perfection What can I say in the mirror I do not recognize my own reflection. Then again upon further inspection I can almost spot the deception. Why oh why did I take my day to day for granted. I feel as if there is something shady going on that's down right underhanded here in this far a way land where I am now stranded a land that they say is enchanted.
These age old habits have pretty much grown to be quite automatic I am very much still active and very much still an addict and now I just have to have it. Heart full of snow head filled with static not to be so **** dramatic but everyday life has become so problematic is it not truly tragic. This God ****** so called drug abuse has me using any and every excuse it's just like a crutch I use while waiting for these demons to turn me loose. Why am I still pursuing something that I doubt that I ever find I know that I am a little bit outside my rabbit *** mind searching for my very grand design spitting out pieces of this broken luck of mine Just don't go and get **** all twisted up because I'm telling you that I still do not give a flying ****. We don't have that kind of luxe so out here in the lightning storm like a sitting duck attempting to get thunderstruck, that is until it's time to once again. Self destruct. Twinkle twinkle little stars so far a way that I wish I might I wish I may one day actually change my ways and end up with much brighter days I see the clearest when it is the darkest part of night I'm so far left that I will never get right. I don't see with my eyes I've been gifted with a different kind of sight. Hell no what would ever make you think that I'm ok I climb high to get myself higher than the trees that back and fourth sway so I don't have to hold these demons at bay I am **** sure not the person you seem to think I protray
The pain I feel inside I do hide I masked it like somehow I had gotten passed it. Perhaps I am a little overenthusiastic over this tale I'm trying to tell that is sounding rather fantastic. No brag no fact just fabricated fiction meant to entertain I find it difficult to try to explain just how I actually maintain. Every word I wrote is explicit and profane. I just do not feel right unless I am doing something wrong like staying up all night long staring off into nothing as I hit the **** blowing out thick clouds because I tend to smoke strong Instead of feeling alive I feel like I am pretty much dead. Decency I haven't a single shred. There's already been way too much blood shed did you happen to see in the distance eyes glowing blood red? When I storm like I am about to pour down rain can you see my eyes get cloudy the music and the beat rattles around in my skull quite loudly sometimes I can't help it I have to get rowdy but still I stand my ground proudly go ahead I have no a single doubt that if you keep ******* around you will find out that I am no where close to being a girl scout I just cannot seem to go that route I am a walking talking catastrophe a natural disaster and I keep on flying faster and faster while I go crazy the night sky echoing with laughter running from the things I once was after. Ask me no more questions and no lies will I sell these stories of different worlds that are somehow parallel tales to tell of nightmares and fairy tales right as I jump my *** off of this **** carousel now I bid the a fond fare the well as right back into my yesterday I fell. Crushed underneath the weight of the pending doom that keeps any ray of light from cutting though the gloom tainted light shining in the window brightly from the neon moon I'm all animated you know drawn out like a cartoon so don't assume that the toxic fumes aren't as colorful as a peacock's plume I challenge you to a duele at high noon. I am going to find a way out of here soon. These diseased minds really did some substantial damage and now I feel as if I am at some sort of disadvantage so like a sleeping savage I have no choice but to rise up and start reeking havoc ripping the space and time continuum just like fabric. I have gone way up into the stratosphere the best way that I know to just disappear. So hold close all you hold dear and try not to cry not one more tear.