Lockjaw

The spinning compass, 

Pointing directly into the eye of the storm; 

No dancing around it only sweet submission. 

The mind churns, 

The bubbling stew, 

A rat’s maze inside a boiling potato. 

The right and wrong are found in the trivial, 

In that simple action you revealed your heart. 

Hurling words into the void, 

Your thoughts are like vomit they are better out than in. 

Those born without sight are not troubled by the dreams of the blinded. 

Constant vigilance for dark intentions spring from their own soil. 

The shallow mind breaks hard against the rocks of reality; 

Eat tragedy like one does the elephant. 

One must scrub hard to remove the stains that build up over time, 

Let only the clean be seen. 

A life spent fighting never ends it only becomes more adept at delivering cunning blows meant to break what threads of will you have remaining. 

A dozen times a day or more your ghost comes to caress or torment me. 

Given the chance I would have wished for more, 

To few words with so much more that should have been said. 

Endings always sprout beginnings, 

But the poisoned seed grows twisted and mangled, 

Mutilating its own inner truth. 

Yesterdays are always gone, 

Tomorow is never here, 

And now gets eaten by your own cowardice. 

Hope is the broken map that gives you the feeling that all is well just before you drive off the cliff. 

In the end it’s the gravestones that take the albatross’s place around the neck.

intense

Your words ring hard even from the grave; like a leopard I move without change. I do not know how to be anything more than what I am. I have never spoken human very well; the meanings always twist as the words come out. You were built for me; I was never built for you. Should have kissed away the tears not used a Kleenex, could have turned away and toward but instead transfixed in the headlights of the empty future. That moment when you should reply I remain silent; instead speaking out of turn saying what no one wants to hear. I live in those awkward silences and the words that had been better off left unsaid. You were the only one to ever truly understand me, you saw past it all, you saw the meaning behind every word, the thought in back of each action. You came from nowhere and my life changed. So fierce, never timid, always the lady, perfect grace. Your kindness is so missed. I walk the desert alone again now with the heat of your undead love traveling along. I am still yet to determine if it gives or takes, it’s all I have left so that recognition matters little. I don’t know where I am going anymore. I can’t go backward, spending my weekends in your grave is hard enough. I can’t keep it in, it escapes no matter how high the walls. Even the wounded animal will recoil in fear. I don’t know where I stopped, and you began. Nothing left but the poison. 

Stasis Treaty

Its Father Frank’s living purgatory 

The long day that seems to never end. 

Unable to get out of your own way, 

The crowded Neitherworld waiting room with no shrunken heads or witty discourse 

Just the cold embrace of the truth and the mirror staring back at you. 

Lost are the gentile days of long mornings and easy talks. 

Swallowed and regurgitated, 

The endless cycle with too many parts in the coward to find the easy way out. 

The mind tears itself in two when it eats itself, 

Holding thoughts in diametric opposition that crush all others under its weight. 

The grime of yesterday never gets clean, 

Its slow movements spreading across your thoughts touching each in turn. 

The quite voices pick once again, 

To many years in the darkness has left them hungry, 

A life of feeding the wrong wolf.  

Feelings don’t become words they are clobbered into submission and in the cross analysis do not stand up to scrutiny. 

The counterbalance to logic is relentless, 

Needing no sustenance, it feeds of itself only growing stronger off your weakness. 

Enduring hopes lock ever opens; 

It has no key only apparitions pointing to lonely roads. 

I envy the ability in some to surrender to life, 

But that learned behavior dies quick under the boot of years of conditioning. 

What is the future 

When the present is the past 

And the past is a nightmare.