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We didn't prepare

He hung, wide eyed starry dynamo

                        out the window of the car

staring off into the deep dark sky

riddled with little specks of diamond glinting in the moon smile

waiting for the day when he would be free again

master of all that he touched

turning GOLD everything he reached for

but his own life

it was his curse to never

enjoy for himself, but

only that for others.


Eagles soar in the clouds,

but they are hidden in silver streaks

everything mighty is hidden

by the backdrops of our own mind

silhouettes of eagle cast upon the ground

cutouts from childhood memories

activities from gradeschool, making your own outline,

bleeding chalkboard outlines of lives lost.


Try so hard not to cry at the loss of childhood

on the reunion of his death,

struck by the car that you were flying.

Remembering it all

the grip of leather in your fingers

coffin hands clinging to daisies

the air, warm and stale, full of skunk

flavor that smelled of ashtrays in septic tank potpourri.

Every year, cursing nightmares of clawing nightmares

flooding your psyche with decay

a specter...never letting go, how much longer?

Lasting.


Big fish swimming through narrow streams, you try and

force the thoughts into opacity, met with transparency

clarity, in opposition, clearer and clearer, so near

    winds of the storm, picking up, little leaves spinning cyclones on the ground

    larger and larger__leaves, trunks, branches, family trees, chaos.

But then it is over, waking up in fields of green and placid lake,

calm and serenity float from thundered mountaines

easing you back into another pointless day

stuck in a job you do not want and stuck with a nightmare you do not want

    year after year, eternal recurrence.

"Please stray!" You scream 

into nothing as nothing lends to nothing and life goes on each day the same.


Like the ice freezes the surface of ponds in mid-winter

leaving fish to gather and fuck

and fuck in blue frigidity, stuck in frozen ponds unable to take a breath

adding to greys and bleaks and dismals in some sense of life we have.

Born into frozen depths of scum greeted with the cold hands of death

but their life has to have meaning. I have to tell myself that, that their life has meaning,

because, if it doesn't

if it doesn't, whose life does?

Stuck in their algal homes of sinking ice with nowhere to leave

only left with the option to fuck, and they still do.


Our own shattered skies are only dotted with ungraspable

diamonds sparkling in horizons always out of reach.

Grab one and place it in your pocket and carry on, 

always to have that memory that one day you got out of this place,

you transcended the bulls and goats that trod in their cud and you lived in the stars.

Magical entropy living, lost in stars, only to have one

souvenir burning bright cold in your hand, like an ember fresh

from the nitrogen, glowing red hot, except frozen all the same.

White piercing soothing in a smothering touch.


But there you are still, all this grist mill wheel of a mind and you seem almost...normal, functional

    staring at the wall, thinking with dynamo eyes, wide and lopsided,

    looking at two different things but all the same. Apple eyed and orange breathed,

what's the difference, it's all fruit?

Yet, there are no apples and there are no oranges. Places like this don't exist.

Everything watching for that one false move to belie reality and send you cascading into abyssmal oblivion.

This is where you come when you are ready to live again; this is where he has sent you when you are ready to quit dying.

HUSH

hush...hush 

the kids will hear us and then what? explain death to a child?!

no

no, that would never do, far too weakminded to ever think of things of that absurdity!

Not til they are older.


This one here

this one is for Anne-Marie

golden hipped by fountain locks, perfume permeates loss, shoes when you felt like wearing them and always a guitar hanging around. Your fingers moved supernaturally, plucking and strumming melodies to lift away the awful. To make us forget the news, forget confessions of a forged friend. What we had just seen walking down the road. The sounds came out of the golden Anne-Marie as magic, wrapping around and transporting to new realms. Always had a direction and always had a plan when here we boys were not men dancing after her like she was ordained to lure and enrapture. And I had coffee with her once, well...

tea.

Broken boys ask you to please take these tools

reach down and wipe it all up, all the hurt, all the melancholy, all the

it's all fucked up...

IT'S ALL FUCKED UP!

IT'S ALL FUCKED UP!

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