just a downslide when no hills exist
a deep troubling ending
for a life never begun.
I visit the oven’s open mouth
more often than not
Sylvia’s got nothing on me
I the deflated ball she never bounced.
Coward I bounce to a dead mirror
I’ve knotted the rope
but my hands disobey my heart
my mind forever tortured echoing coward.
Saw you last night walking the girders,
Golden Gate, not golden, not for you.
Metal diving board, a death trap for the sad,
I never knew and now my delusion comes true.
I am so sorry life has been cruel to you.
It’s been cruel to many before. I will never
feel those arms around me, those lips pressed
wetly against mine. What did you think I could do?
Did you see wings on my shoulders or sandals on my feet?
You’re gone, now I’m lost, I am sadder than you now.
Sad is the only word I can use, my eyes speak with my destiny.
Each morning it’s “off to work love.”
Each time I am lost, never could live without you,
pity me Lord, my body now frail
without a will to continue this trip
across the Milky Way, it’s just too much.
I can’t bear this loneliness, lungs struggling,
this heart’s dragging me here and there.
“Doing good Arty,” the nurse says somberly.
“You’ll be running about in no time.”
Where too, I wonder and to whom or what,
a gurney maybe rolling slowly to man’s self built hell,
sifting sands of my time on earth?
A hole no doubt, a wooden box where it’s ‘off to work love.”
Acne covered moon
would a clean night
clear your face
or are the scars
like scars of rape
if you see the pebbles
in my soul?
Nothing crystal in Altoona’s
railroad shops, I tried
to grow a flower there
but the bud blossomed inward
for no one’s eyes
an implosion of beauty.
Just now in afterthought
do I see the petals
and from whence they came?
Locomotives came and went
black dinosaurs feeding
on strength only men could give.
I’ve often wondered
about man’s power,
the power of rivets and hot flesh
wrapped in greasy denim
where flowers dare to grow.
The caustic bites of railroaders
exploding in sweat and fumes
but for just a moment you see
in retrospect no time was given
for healing balms,
just time for slinging spit and tales
of whores and pimps of yesteryear.
So how this flower grew
I’ll never know except
perhaps its roots ran deeper
than dust and acid smoke
down deep where dinosaurs
could never reach.
A silent part of me where maybe
not even I could reach.
In the cellar of my thoughts
you come creeping up the stairs
like nausea to surface
on my tongue, wagging farewells
behind you, those goodbyes
that hang like shingles
hinged to my lips
each time you walk away.
You and I sat cold by the tent
you were stoned
I didn’t know
could be so bone cracking cold.
We watched campers
moving in and out like ants
on a drop of sweet
it was a vinyl gypsy night
as campfires curled snake smoke
against a carbon ink sky.
The beach was stark empty
you needed friendship
I offered only silence
silence and a beer
you wanted neither.
We smiled as laughter
rolled from nearby tents,
love laughter, bare skin giggles.
No stars shined in a bleak darkness
just a gnawing void never leaving.
God I feel it again today.
Rain smothered my windshield as I turned on
Broadway heading west for no reason
just my mind wasting time in darkness.
Carole and James sang, quietly telling me
maybe you wouldn’t love me tomorrow,
maybe god is skipping this year’s festival.
Potholes vibrating my steering wheel and reminding me
my money is gone, six cigarettes waiting for a shaking hand.
Loneliness has never felt so sorrowful.
Windshield wipers streaking my life with each splash of light
cast by godawful sulfur leached yellow lamps.
I truly am the man of constant misery, stay your distance.
You said goodbye, but I didn’t hear.
I heard only what I wished for, what drove me.
You never complained until our pot boiled over.
Swish another splash of life pushed me away, far away.
I wish there was a wand to wave to bring you back,
back into my arms, but rain keeps falling and never calling.
The lantern cast shadows
like so many tentacles
reaching to each corner
in the dank dusty room.
An old woman stared sadly
a young man’s picture
framed and time yellowed
she once loved him fiercely.
Outside wind whispered life
through cracked windows
with eyes vacant
time robbed her of expression.
Secretly she kissed the picture
tucking it deep inside
her heart broken chest
and slowly began to die.
Death be kind,
be soft like a lover’s touch
be smooth like a lady’s silk
Go slow like loving nylon
before the dance.
Death be silent,
a knife through butter,
be quiet like cotton
or a peaceful morning pond.
I wait for you my friend
in stillness, a darkened room
in which I live,
my escape for a quiet sob.