Return to the Bottom

I want to lay down and sleep
Forever dreaming of the days I woke to your smile
The heady aroma of everything you are
Keeping me on the highest cloud
I want to return to the days
When I lived in your heart
Because I don't know where to go from here
In the world of today where "alone" is just as abstract as "dream"
And I don't think I remember who I was before I was yours
So
I want to lay down and sleep
Because I remember the view from the bottom
Where the floor needed vacuuming
And the old show under the bed was a comforting friend
The thing is
The bottom is up from where I am now
And above that is the dream of the memory of
You
I want to lay down and sleep
Because falling so far after rising so high
Feels like jumping off a bridge and not dying
I need to lay down and sleep
Before I start to fight the instinct to survive
And dreams become the reality of sleeping forever

What's the Endgame?

I've been doing this a long time. Feeling the feels and then explaining them with all the words in the lexicon at my command. The problem is, words can't explain feels. You can't apply logic to the beauty of a sunrise. Talking about love is like dancing about architecture yet I can build an empire and defend all the lands in my dominion with the very same words.

Acting like I'm in control, watching it all meander through my wispy consciousness. It rises from my head like the steam from the first cup of coffee in the morning. Bitter and sweet and keeping me alert at all times. Take it in, tasting all of its acidic truth; the seduction of its arresting intensity an elegant testament to the subtle art of bullshit.

I set out upon the road less traveled; a trip to ease the pain. Driving so fast and far away I forgot what I'm running from, blasting music and lyrics so loud I can't hear the voices in my head anymore. A trip to ease the pain, I can laugh at the sad clown in the corner and I can cry for the Harlequin waiting in the room for the happy ending that will never come.

Reaching in my chest I pull out a patchwork heart; every stitch tells a story. A tale for the heartbroken and a happy ending for the heartbreaker. Its cracked and scarred surface recounting endless nights alone wondering which turn was the wrong one. Every handicapped beat pumping the last drops of hope into the chasm of loneliness that can never be filled.

Yeah, I've been doing this a long time. I've stepped on fuzzy landmines, I've laughed through bottomless pits and pratfalls that make it all look like well choreographed slapstick. Never forgetting to make them laugh and keep them guessing, because the truth is boring and just a little bit wrapped up in itself. This clown demands applause at his show.

So I lay here, bleeding, battered and bruised; and all I can think is what an awesome alliteration that really is. I can't move but dammit I'm poetic! I experiment with the words, shape them into my armor and wear them to hide it all away. Meanwhile, I bleed out all the aspirations of yesterday, drowning in my own sin, sinking to the Great Below.

The truth is, my shoulders hurt from carrying the weight of the world and every wrong laid at my feet; building a cage around my heart. There's this post-traumatic thing, letting all the coldness of honesty seep through the cracks of the foundation; but I've always said the truth is best when spoken brutally. Look at the teeth that want to bite the hand that feeds; they're in a pool of blood on the floor.

Timing is everything and this time was all wrong. A clock-faced mirror showing a raw, open wound draining blackened puss onto my head for no reason other than, "I don't know." The reflection clouded by the power of a breaking heart, hidden by all the bad intentions I'm guilty of. A defining humiliation that knocks at the door demanding attention.

I dare not ask why all I see are barbs and wire inside of me. Surrounded by monsters of my own design, shedding tears of joy at the beauty of their torment. Here in this room built with my own two minds; walls both old and wise in a hiding place where I can never hide. Still I'll walk against the wind resisting the temptation to give up changing all that resists giving into change.

Arriving at last, the devil's face in front of this sad man; are the tears a sad goodbye or a happy arrival to the inevitable hell being built all these years? I couldn't reveal the point if I'd written it myself. This is not a way to ease the pain; a sad man with hands in a bloody sink. The flip side of sanity is to play this game to its end. Declare the winner. I've been doing this a long time.

Less Than Three

I can give myself to you

Body, soul and spirit

I can stand between sky and Earth

Grounding the Heavens for you to claim

I can summon Anu, Bel and Ea

Professing devotion to your beauty

Because it’s less than three

I can bring you light and heat and life

Through every atom of existence

I can protect you from mother, maiden and crone

Guiding you on the path of the warrior

I can protect you from seductions of lust, wealth and profanation

To keep your aura pure

Because it’s less than three

I can build your houses in all the realms

For you to make a home of hell, Earth and sky

I can create beauty in your name

Capturing essence in matter; the spirit of Godlike visage

I can offer laughter in grace and games for play

All to share in the joy of your being

Because it’s less than three

I can write verses

Symbolic, allegorical and esoteric

I can stand in the currents of life, sound and light

A conduit for all you desire

I can share devotion

From Druid and Poet to Soothsayer

Because it’s less than three

I can dedicate a sacrament

Thought, word and deed

I can live outside of time

Unrestrained in past, present or future

I can supplicate
Before the Creator, Preserver and Destroyer

Because it’s less than three

I can manifest reality

Length, breadth and depth

I can join magic, intuition and fertility

To bear the fruit of your invention

I can bring order

Combining power, wisdom and love

Because it’s less than three

I can capture treasures untold

Mirror, sword and jewel

I can claim armies for your rule

In the name of truth, courage and compassion

I can give myself to you

Birth, life and death

Because it’s <3

I Belong

The sun shines
The weather is clement
Yet nature's beauty is separate
Hidden behind walls that
Hold captive an animal
How I long for the taste of honey wine
Passed to me from sweet lips
How I long to lounge in the shade of a tree
A meditation on my belonging
Here as a part of your nature
There as a part of His energy
Everywhere and nowhere at once
I belong.

Music plays
A joyful tune to mellow
A savage beast
Falls upon mine ears
Deafened by cannon blasts from
Wars long fought and hard won
How I long for the sound of the pipes
Shared from the breath of Gods and Kings
How I long to dance
A movement of my perfection
Here as a part of your melody
Everywhere and nowhere at once
I belong.

Fire burns
An inferno worthy of Dante
Yet cold in my belly
Embers dampened in
Tears shed long ago and far away
How I long for the burning passion
Shared when reverent lips touch mine
How I long to knot together body, mind and soul
Becoming one perfect, holy gift
An offering of sensual salaciousness
Here joined together, One!
Everywhere and nowhere at once
I belong.

Gardens grow
Reaping the seeds that were sown
A bountiful feast
To quell the hunger inside
Which cannot fill this stomach
That has no taste for such ceremony
How I long for the thrill of the hunt
Baptized in freshly spilt blood
How I long for the smell of the fire
Musky in its seduction
Here wrapped in its warmth
Everywhere and nowhere at once
I belong.

Cognitive Dissonance

The plains of the north

Sown from seed sprinkled

In dawn’s dew

Grows in the language

Of poetry

Hungarian snow

Blown across

The Western horizon

A good-bye kiss to a leaving lover

That lingers just a little too long

So I move across the sea

Humbled in my discovery

Separating from parentage the original sin

My laws are all of attraction

Staring, wide-eyed into the moon

I come alive

Giddy in the night

Flying straight through

This curtain of every color

Into Heaven’s gate

Back to my nest

Besotten of Human Condition

Sprinkled in sensitive discernment

Clear-eyes see things anew

Sight expanded by callings from beyond

The Will of Pan (Ode to Pan)

Evening mists
That creep and crawl
Must give way
To the Summer sun
Grasses drenched
In sodden dew
Will glisten in
The caustic hues of afternoon

Such is the will of Pan.

Flaming skirts
Of autumn leaves
Orange, and red, and gold
Dance upon
The zephyr of twilight
Falling silently
To sleep
Upon His domain

Such is the will of Pan.

Winter's breath
Upon my neck.
Icebound lips of blue,
They do kiss the snow
Before blowing away
Lost to the evening's
Befrosted paths
Lighting the way to the unknown

Such is the will of Pan.

The soft
Grass born of the
Frigid night
Returns to the light
The grandeur of Day
While trees bow
Gracefully in their homage
To the birth of all life.

Such is the will of Pan.

Offering

I've come here to sing your praises
To lay prostrate at your feet
The newest disciple of a dogma
Long since turned to dust.

I've come here to offer myself
Once again on the blank page
Piously offering words and verse
Ignoble is my reverence.

The words are all I have.
The words are all I am.
And I offer them to you.

I've come here basking in your beauty
To offer faith in perpetuity
Professing a love I've not felt
For what love can a mortal offer a God?

I've come here to feel again,
The sanctuary of your embrace
The solace offered by your smile
The pleasure of your penetration


The words are all I have.
The words are all I am.
And I offer them to you.

Awakened from your love
Forever changed by your touch
Cast down from Olympus
With a piece of heaven to share

Alive in your shadow

Fertility as divine copulation
Born of an ancient one's seed
What have I to give in return?

The words are all I have.
The words are all I am.
And I offer them to you.

Life is But a Dream (Draft)

I can feel my heart thudding in my chest
I don't know if it's the drugs or the passion;
Either way it burns in my chest and pulses in my ears like bass at a rave
Sitting here now, with full intent to write it all down, get it all out,
Exploding in familiar loquacious ejaculation making the mind
As spent as the body
Sitting here now, the words won't come because the cum already came
So I write uncensored and unfettered
Far above your mortgage
and your car
and your bank
and your politics
and your chemicals
and your your war
and your death
Floating on a stream of consciousness

Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily
Life is but a dream

The Champion, The Prince and The Adonis

The lowly poet.
Locked in contest with a Dark God, A Shadow Prince and the Potential of What's to Come. Each vying for the heart of a muse; a God of fiery conviction who's eyes pierce the soul.
"The heart is infinite," says he, "With waters warm and calm. Come inside my loves, be safe and feel loved."
His promise, a bold commitment, befitting his bold gladiators. Locked in combat with one another and themselves, he addresses one and all.
"My Shadowy Prince, come inside." he says, with arms open.
The Shadow Prince vanishes; enveloped, merged with another darkness until his unique beauty is diluted and he can hear the God no more.
"My Dark Adonis, come to me and rule with love, by my side always."
The Adonis turns away, unable to see through his own dark visions to the light of the love he's being offered.
His Conviction still fiery, yet his eyes now masked with the sadness of loss, he turns next to the poet.
"What of you, my lowly poet?" he asks, "I can see your heart and it is empty and broken. Will you come to me and accept this gift I have offered?"
"My God, I am humbled by your offer. Such is your beauty that I could write a million verses speaking its value and not yet be worthy of it. What place have I, amongst Dark Adonises and Shadow Princes?" says he, eyes cast to the dirt.
"Come to me then, my love," he beckons him, "Come and be my champion of the Broken Hearted. A Champion must surely deserve the same as Dark Adonises and Shadow Princes."
"My God, I bow before your generosity, but I fear that I am but a plaything to one as beautiful as you. A contrived distraction to be enjoyed until you grow weary of my artist's heart." came the soft reply.
"My Champion," she says, "Your words hurt me. The heart is infinite. As you can create a million verses, so can I find a million ways to love you, a dark God and a Shadow Prince; all equally, each never replacing the other."
"God, I am humbled to be at your side and I feel safe and complete with my artist's heart inside yours."
Joining with the God, as Champion, this Lowly Poet looks down on a Dark Adonis blinded by the night and a Shadow Prince lost to the dark. In the milieau of pain and loss, what can be seen now, is the potential of What's to Come for the Champion and the God.
"What of that?" the Champion says, pointing toward new Potential.
The God only smiles.
"Come to me," he beckons it, "The heart is infinite"

Pictures

He sent me his picture today
All virile and beautiful
Sultry, sensual sexuality
A familiar tightening below the belt
Tells me I want him.
Laid before me,
Him.
Breath in short gasps
As I memorize every line, every muscle
And as I have in my dreams 1,000 times
I unwrap him like a present
And beneath the surface
Before I take him inside
There is something
Under the skin
There is a light
In his eyes there is desire
Coexisting with a scar that will never heal
As my fingertips trace his lips
I can feel the memory of a life left behind
All for this moment in time
Here.
With me.
I massage his strong legs
Feeling the tension of climbing and re-climbing a ladder
Growing beyond pain and fear
Looking in his eyes
I am ashamed and afraid
Awed and oh so in love
And I'm trembling
While my hands continue to map his masculinity with purpose
Changed through self-awareness
Can we make love?
He sent me his picture today
All his love, made with a camera lens
Mine with a pen

Tragedy and Comedy

As I walk
Through dreams left abandoned
I remember so much
So many days and nights
Lying wide awake
Through the sound of
Rain pouring from my soul
I ache to live
I yearn to die
I need to share
Words that paint the picture
Every cut
Every scar
Every drop of blood
I need to be seen
And I can't explain why
The story exists in the telling
The art lives in the poetry
Sometimes it hurts
Yet the stories still come
Told and retold
Walking through dreams left abandoned
A ghost town
Full of myriad images
That might have been
Scattered to the winds
Along with the ashes of the future
Once so vibrant
Now putrid and unlivable
Tattooed on my heart
Until finally ... Life
Cuts away, clearing the scars
Bleeding out the person left behind
I break the ties that bind
And I'm finally happy
Through so many day and nights
Lying wide awake
Through the sound of
Rain pouring from my soul
I'm alive in dreams newly born
And I die in the fear of pain's return
I need to share
Every hope
Every whispered nothing
Every kiss
The art lives in the poetry
Sometimes its beautiful
And the stories come
Told to be retold
Full of promises and what might yet be
Scattered to the winds
As I close my eyes
And I make a wish
To walk through my dreams
To tell the stories
Good and bad
I need to share
The tragedy and comedy

Weep Not for Roads Untravelled

-1-

"Officer? ... O-officer?"

"Yes? How can I help you?"

The voices couldn't have been more opposite. The first, asking for the officer's help was frantic, and gave an almost nasal whine to the words; the second, a deeper voice with a gravelly quality, oozed confidence. 

"My name's Jonny. Jonny Kalamata ... like the Olives. I, uh ... I need some help I think." 

"What sort of help?" the officer asked, his tag gleamed the name Ford and he held his hands close to the buckle of his belt as Jonny approached him. 

"Well, that's just it. I can't really explain, it's more like I have to show you." and he stepped into the light. Officer Ford could see clearly that he wore a black t-shirt that was sticking to his wiry, muscular frame; the boy was clearly soaked.

"That's close enough," Ford said, easing one hand to the flashlight in his belt. 

"What's that all over your shirt?"

"It's part of the reason I need help. See I was with my ex and-"

"Is that blood on your shirt?" Ford asked, shining the light on the young man. 

"Yes sir, it is." Jonny said.

"I think you'd better just stand right there and start at the beginning, son." Ford said, gently moving his other hand to his firearm.

"Yes sir." Jonny said, almost dutifully, and began talking almost immediately.

I broke up with my girlfriend about six months ago. It wasn't anything bad, just time to move on, ya know? Well, we tried to be friends and still hang out but that wasn't going to well. I went over to her house on a Monday night, right after the break up and had dinner. That's when it really started. Dinner was pretty normal, I guess. Spaghetti, but I didn't eat much because I had this weird paranoia that she was going to poison me. Anyway, we ate dinner and then sat down to watch the news; just like we did when we were together. The news was filled with all these stories about zombies in North Carolina. I thought it was just the bath salts thing happening again, but she was always scared of zombies and watching the tv that night she was white as a sheet.

"Didn't you live in North Carlina?" I asked her.

"Yeah for just under a year." she said, still ashen.

"I wonder what caused it," I said, kind of absently.

"Mind if I get a drink?" 

"No. Not at all." she said.

I walked into the kitchen and made myself a mojito. 

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, and because I wasn't paying attention I cut my hand open on the lime I was putting in the drink.

"Ow! Shit!" I wasn't really hurt, mind you, I was just more like, pissed off because I'd been stupid. And because blood was dripping on my ex's floor. 

 "You have any paper towels?" I yelled. No answer though. I didn't care, really, I was used to her not talking to me. I found the paper towels, made my drink and got back to the news. She was still white as a sheet when I sat down.

"You okay?" I asked. I was feeling awkward so I was ready to use this as an excuse to leave. She didn't answer me though. She actually didn't move besides her eyes blinking every so often while she watched the news. 

"I bet this is all a hoax." I said. It just seemed too surreal, ya know? Zombies? In North Carolina of all places? What the fuck? Anyway, it was around then that I noticed a sort of growling. I looked over at my ex, and she had turned and was looking at my hand where the cut was, and the growling was coming from her.

Before I knew it she lunged at me and she was on top of me. I was surprised because we were broken up and I didn't expect her to come on to me. Then she got really close to my face and that's when I noticed something was wrong. Her eyes weren't right, they were all sort of white and glazed over, and her mouth, she almost seemed feral. I looked at he TV and saw dozens of other people, dragging themselves all over the street. Some were crawling and some were growling like my ex, but all of them looked scarier than shit! I didn't know what to do so I shoved my knee into her chest, like right between her tits and pushed her back hard. She flew backwards into the television and the screen went dark and the room got quiet.  I still didn't know what to do, but I didn't really get time to make a plan. I didn't even have time to ask her if she was okay. She pulled herself up and looked at me. Still growling and still angrier than hell. I walked backwards into the ktchen. Not taking my eyes off her. She followed me, her face a grimace, and I really couldn't tell you she was the same person I'd dated for the last few years. 

When I got to the kitchen I grabbed her cast iron skillet off the stove and waited. I let her get close and then I hit her. As hard as I could across the face with the skillet. Her head flew back far as she was knocked into the wall. But she didn't stop. She kept coming at me and I stood there letting her get close and hitting her every time. Her face was covered in blood and I now for a fact her nose and cheeks were broken. Her face was sinking in a little bit and I just kept hitting her. Over and over. But she just kept coming. I didn't know what to do. So I just kept hitting her. 

That's not the really messed up part, though. 

The really messed up part happened about an hour later when she was still coming at me and I was still hitting her. By that point I had gotten the point that it wasn't going to end and that I would have to try something else in order to stop her. I looked around the kitchen and found what I was looking for, the knife block. I reached over and grabbed a carving knife. The next time she got close to me, I grabbed at her hair with my free hand and yanked her back. She was growling at me and snapping her jaws, but before she could do anything I pulled the knife across her throat and watched the blood spill out. I remember a sort of laughing sound. I laughed out loud, I think, when there were bubbles in the blood because she was still growling at me. She never really stopped trying to get at me, but when I threw her on the floor a few moments later she had stopped moving and the blood was just pooling on the floor under her.

-2-

"Now wait just a minute son," Officer Ford interjected.

"Are you trying to tell me that you killed someone? That this happened six months ago and that for some reason tonight you're covered in blood and you need police assistance."

Jonny scratched his head and looked at Officer Ford sheepishly.

"That's about the size of it, I suppose." he said. 

"She wasn't really dead though. I mean, she kept coming at me."

Officer Ford scratched his chin.

"It's true, things have been kind of up in the air since these Zombies showed up. Let's stick with tonight. How did you get covered in blood tonight?"

"Officer Ford, you'd better come with me for that one."

"I don't think so son, I think you'd better just tell me right now."

"I don't really know where to begin." Jonny said, and launched into more of his tale.

I felt bad leaving her there, but I couldn't just take her with me either. I watched her twitch for about an hour before she stopped moving. The creepy part, though, is that she didn't die. She should have. I mean, I sliced her throat and everything. But she didn't. The creepier part was that I felt so detached from it. She came at me like a zombie and I dropped her. The woman I'd loved for years and I dropped her like that, like it was nothing. I watched her bleed out, twitch until all the blood was gone and I just stood there like it was nothing. I couldn't tell you then and I can't tell you now if that was because of the adrenaline of having no choice, or if it was because I had genuinely come to hate that woman for what she'd done to me in our "relationship." It didn't really matter though, she was dead and that's really all I cared about. She was dead and I was standing.

I stepped around the blood, being careful not to get my shoes in it and noticed that when I moved her eyes moved with me. I got a bit closer to her and waited. She moved incredibly fast but incredibly clumsy. Her arm snaked out and her hand wrapped around my ankle. I didn't think, I brought the knife down hard and sliced into it. The knife wasn't sharp like you see in the movies, so I brought it down again. And again. Over and over, hacking and hacking until her arm came off. Then I backed away again, she followed me with those dead eyes and I watched her. 

I left her there. I didn't really know what else to do. I went back to the couch where the news was on and I finished my drink. The news was full of stories about these zombies. The whole thing was surreal. I looked at my clothes and realized I was covered in blood. I walked to the bathroom to clean myself off and catch my breath. What else was I going to do? I wasn't gone for more than five minutes but it was that five minutes that really counted.

When I went back downstairs, still covered in blood but none of it on my skin anymore I heard a sort of sickening crunching sound. After what had already happened I couldn't imagine things getting worse, that is until I went downstairs. The sounds were all I had to guide me as I walked into the kitchen, as slowly as I could. The crunching was louder and more defined and there was also a crying sound, but what was most disturbing, was the absence of other sounds. The growling had stopped, there were no sounds of movement and when I rounded the corner into the kitchen I understood why.

While I had been upstairs, the kids . . . my ex's two kids had gotten up and made their way down the stairs. More than anything else that happened that night or since then, I wish I could save them. They are 8 and 5 and I loved them like they were my own. I mean, I stayed as long as I did mostly because of them, but that . . . that's another story. The important thing is the sight that greeted me because it will stay with me until I die. The youngest was laying on the ground in the pool of blood, curled up next to what used to be his mother in a sickening parody of cuddling. She silently ate his face, tearing the flesh from his skull with her teeth and using her tongue to lap up the blood. Her eyes were empty and her silence betrayed that there was nothing left inside her of this boy's mother. She silently and ravenously ate him. The whimpering came from the corner where the other boy cowered. I called to him but he didn't respond, whether in shock or frightened beyond belief.

-3-

"Are you trying to get arrested son?" Officer Ford once again interjected.

"No sir. I told you I need help. You asked for the details."

"Son, you're telling me a story that happened six months ago. A story that, by rights, I should arrest you for. The thing is, though, the story, if you're telling the truth, seems like just wrong place wrong time. No matter what, though, I'm going to have to take you in." he approached Jonny with his handcuffs out.

"Wait!" Jonny exclaimed,

"Don't you want to know what happened tonight? How I got covered in blood?"

"Son, I've asked you twice to tell me that and you gave me this cock and bull nonsense about zombies from six months ago. Now, I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure that it doesn't take blood longer than six months to dry."

"You're right, sir, it doesn't. I tried to tell you that I need to show you but you wouldn't let me. That's why I told you the story. I figured that you'd either see that I needed police help or that you'd think I was crazy and want to follow me to the bodies."

"Bodies? What bodies?"

"I told you. My ex. And the baby she killed. They're just around the corner and I need help."

Officer Ford considered the other man for a moment before deciding. He drew his firearm and pointed it at Jonny's chest. Jonny reflexively put his hands in the air.

"Lead on, boy. But you keep those eyes in front and no funny business."

"No sir, officer." Jonny said, dutifully.

He began walking and, true to his word, after rounding the corner and walking less than two blocks a gray/blue house clearly became their destination. Jonny walked up to the front door and pulled a key from his pocket. He deftly opened the door, as if he'd lived there for years. Officer Ford brought up the rear, pausing slightly before entering behind Jonny.

The first thing that happened was the wretching. He hadn't been prepared for the stench that made its way through the house and into his nostrils. Doubling over, he vomited on a large area rug that was in the living room. To his right he noticed the television, broken as Jonny had described. Glancing to the kitchen, he thought he smelled the faint metallic odor of blood. Forcing himself up and toward the kitchen he realized that Jonny was no longer in his line of sight. He trained his gun toward the room in front of him, and as he approached, he identified the source of the smell.

Sprawled on the floor, covered in dried blood and quite obviously decomposing, was the body of a woman. Jonny's ex, Officer Ford assumed. Remarkably, she moved as he entered the room, her head straining to get closer to him. He swallowed back a wretch along with bile and more vomit and without thinking fired one shot into the creature's head. 

"Whoa!" Jonny said, appearing in a nearby doorway.

"Was that really necessary?"

"I don't know what's going on here, son, but you need to come out of there nice and easy and we'll get this sorted out."

"There's nothing to sort out." Jonny said, taking a step out of the doorway.

"No?" 

"No sir. See, that night, the end of the story was that I realized they wouldn't eat me. I don't even think they knew why because they kept getting close, but even when I gave up and decided to let them, all they did was get close enough to sniff me, run their teeth against my skin but they never bit, not once."

"They?" Officer Ford asked.

It was then that Jonny came out of the door fully. Behind him came a small form, a shock of red hair on his head. The boy had deadened, empty eyes and from his throat came a guttural growl.

"She only got to eat one of them. I wouldn't let her get the other. The problem was, he was already gone. I'm not really sure what caused all this. I just knew that with his mother gone I would have to look after him."

"What did you do?" Officer Ford breathed. 

"I've been feeding him. I didn't really know what else to do." 

"Son, you need to get down on your knees and put your head on your hands." 

Jonny complied, getting on his knees.

"Don't you want to see the bodies?" Jonny asked.

"Could get you a promotion I bet, taking out a scumbag like me."

"You stay right there." 

Jonny moved so swiftly that Officer Ford couldn't have seen it coming if he'd been fully prepared. Jonny threw one hand out from behind his head and from his jacket sleeve a small piece of metal glinted in the overhead light. The knife caught Officer Ford in the belly and stuck there. He immediately dropped the gun and fell forward, within reaching distance of the animated corpse on the floor. 

"Just a one inch blade. I just had to stop you shooting me. The rest will come in time. See, I couldn't leave him here. Not with her. I couldn't seem to kill her so I did the next best thing. I brought him food and let him eat."

Jonny moved the boy close enough to Officer Ford, then backed away as the boy and his undead mother devoured the man. Jonny winced slightly at the screams but he'd long since been desensitized to the sounds of death. He watched with pride until there was nothing left of Officer Ford but bone, then the cold panic hit him again. The feeling that accompanied the realization that he didn't know what to do. He ushered the boy back into the doorway where he'd been hidden and said softly,

"I'll be right back." before shutting the door on him. 

Then retrieving his knife and tucking it once more into his sleeve he walked back out into the night.

"I wonder who can help me now?" he said to himself. 

In the distance he saw headlights heading toward him. With a smile he moved into the middle of the road and waited.

Emotional Deja Vu

The waves crash over me
Like an emotional deja vu
The memories rise to the surface
Just to pull me under
Holding me down until I stop kicking

All I wanted out of life
Every failure
Every dream
Every triumph
Like a kick to my gut

While a new Empire rises
From the ashes that remain
After I burnt it all down
A God to none
And king to even fewer

The waters closing over my head
Like an emotional Deja Vu
I'm going under ...
The waves crashing over me
Beaten against the rocks

Open the Door

There's no wind left in my sails.
This reflection of a sad clown tells the same story
Over and over.
Perfect imperfection
I strive to be everything
Never acieving anything
Disfigured, deformed
I need so much
I give so much
Never enough to slake my thirst
What has gone before
Must pass away
Unlearn the learned
This denial of self must end
Give way; yield
To a spiritual awakening
the time has come
To walk alone
As the past floats away
A leaf on the wind
This is better?
This is enlightened?
Why do I feel broken?
So defective.
So isolated.

Falling

Have you ever heard a soul cry out in the night?
Falling through the dark into the unknown
Did I fall?
Did I jump, or
Was I pushed?
Always remember
The best laid plans of mice and men
Pave the path to hell
Where saints and sinners wear the same robes
And the rosebushes have thorns
While the thornbushes have roses
The urge to jump in
Where angels fear to tread
Shall surely be the death of man
Exploring the unknown with
Fight or flight's knowing guidance
We run into the night, embracing forever's possibility
With just a nudge
As light as a breeze
The course of entire lives change
For better or worse
Through thick and thin
It always comes there and back again
Time is the thief of memory
Did I fall?
Did I jump, or
Was I pushed?
Falling through the dark, into the unknown

View From the Bottom (Rough Draft)

The carpet needs vacuuming.
There's an old shoe under the bed
I should really keep my room a bit cleaner
But I can't find the strength to even stand
Because this is the view from the bottom and
All I can think of is why I'm here
How did I get here?
Because the view from the bottom,
Much like the view from the top,
Is a place where you can see a lot.
All the things left unsaid.
All the matters left unattended and
All the tiny details that were missed.
My bad genes match the dirty jeans balled up in the corner
And I laugh but it's a laugh full of irony
Empty of feeling and devoid of joy
Because this is the view from the bottom and
At the bottom even cockroaches are looking up at you, saying
"Damn brother, you need to pick yourself up!"
Only there is no picking up.
There is only laying still.
Watering the carpet with my tears that
Flow for no reason, or rather
Not any reason anyone "normal" would understand.
See, laying in the bottom is the safest place to be
When it hurts to move; when you know
That movement can and will mean something terrible.
Because this is the view from the bottom.
Looking up at the sun, so affirming and life giving
If only it would burn me to a cinder and stop all this
Give me a chance to give back the life I don't want
The pain I can't take and the drama I don't need.
If only I could muster up the strength to move
Fight this instinct to stay alive that keeps me laying
In the dirt of a floor that needs vacuumed because if I move
Just an inch
I know the view from the bottom will be the last thing I ever see.

Bury my Heart

Bury my heart
For the love has ceased to grow
Lay it to rest
Lest it become stone

Bury my heart
Before its time
Exsanguination slow and painful
Yet merciful expiration

Bury my heart
After its prime
Tried and failed to blossom
Beneath the salt in this wound

Bury my heart
Beneath the curse of love's eyes
Tame the quiet hope
Let it become stone.

After My House was Robbed

From the minute we're born
Our life as a statistic begins
255 babies born every minute and
Every step of our development from that point on
Is programmed and categorized
For easy comparison and reference
Apgar score, head circumference
Height, weight
How fast we grow . . . or how slow
From the minute we're born
We either fit in or we don't
We're either normal or abnormal
And every minute after realizing this
Is spent avoiding statistics
"I don't want to be a statistic" we shout, while
57 million Americans have mental Health disorders
      (and there are 55 Million registered republicans)
How quick can we say
"I'm not crazy" when
1 out of 2 people abuse alcohol
Let's drink to not being the one with the problem!
4 out of 5 of us do drugs
Well, pass the dutchie because I'm. Number. Four.
1 out 5 children witness domestic violence
So maybe that's why I still shake when someone wants to fight
3 million homes will be robbed
1 out of every 6 women will be raped
      (1 out of 10 men)
216 people will die while this poem is being read

The question is, Does that matter?

How many sunrises will be seen?
How many sunsets?
How many first kisses will be enjoyed and
How many last kisses will linger in memory?
How many job interviews will be nailed and
How many pink slips doled out?
When will success happen and
When will its relevance be questioned
How many books will be read?
How many poems written?
How much love will be fallen into and
How many dances will be danced?
     (In the rain?)

From the minute we're born
Our life as a statistic begins
And we remain one until we die
This is the way of things
Birth followed by death
The part in the middle?
That's called life and
Life is now and
Life  . . .
Is still to come.

The Audience I've Never Met

Lost!
On the road forever
     (or at least it feels like it)
Not arriving; False starts and detours
Roadblocks in the way
Like so many crumpled papers in a wastebasket
The problem is, I'm not writing for me
I'm writing for an audience I've never met
And what I want to say is so much more personal and
Not at all appropriate for polite conversation
immediately after introduction
I was inspired by the muse in the ether
Giving me the words when I've got nothing remotely interesting to say
Telling me to share my pain
Like a dirty needle in a back alley
Encouraging me to lay bare my angst
Like a catholic in a confessional
Demanding I convey what its like
To see the shame of every memory I never wanted
Reflected in your eyes
How much it hurts when your favorite poems
     (the ones that make you cry)
and the songs you sing the loudest are all echoing your pain
With the words you could never find on your own,
Bouncing off the walls of my soul
Shouting your hatred and loss
Until it becomes my own and
I live with my shame and your hatred as my neighbors
And then the words come
Hot and stinging
Painting an ugly picture that seems
Somehow hauntingly beautiful
I am equal parts excitement and fear
When I come to the Audience I've never met
As a supplicant
Begging for empathy
Pleading for understanding
From someone
Anyone who can say
You are not alone in this
Because I wonder
What would that be like?
So I relate my story through verse
Waiting for something, anything
And then I understand
I'm writing for myself  
Sharing with an audience I've never met
And if art, like beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder
Then it is my honor to share mine with
The Audience I've Never met

The Natural Consequence of Love

No matter what

Changes Change
And Pain is Pain

Summed up by strike and bruise

Not all scars are seen

Not all pain is clean

The brightest day

Becomes

The Blackest night

Which is

Darkest before the dawn

Life is metaphor

Simile and rhyme

No reason?

Beauty is reason

Love is treason

Accept is all with

Poise dignity and

Strength of birth

Right in the end

Wrong in the middle

Time’s arrow kills Cupid’s love

Discordant entropy is reality

The end of time’s beginning

Mystery

Solved the problem

Build the wall

Protect yourself

Protect your love

No

One gets in

All becomes one

Becomes none

The natural consequence

Of

Love.