Posts Tagged ‘Dark’

Working Title

Posted: May 8, 1991 in Poetry
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I want to stand naked on a rooftop in the lightning
like Shelley and tell the world that we are gods
and god is nothing, let me be
my own god, my own master. I am only
my own, naked, standing, hit by lightning,
drugged, dying, depressed, damned
but all this so I choose.

I will fall when the universe breaks
the subatomic clockwork monotone.
embracing the light, welcoming the darkness,
thinking to myself of Disneyland
to allay my fears of falling and falling down,
the cross behind you unsupportive,
catch me, Shelley, catch me, opium,
follow me, Byron, kill me, poetry.

my dreams are made from sand
as my flesh, as the mind is dimensioned.
the skull is an appropriate sieve
for the ashes, the ashes, the ashes
we all fall down. the wind turns circles
in the dust, draws the face of a clock with one hand.
drip castles; elephants; lightning again.
my cheek is pressed against the cold rainy windowpane.

Questions to be Asked of the Closet

Posted: February 11, 1991 in Poetry
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it’s dark and she giggles
then tentatively whispers my name;
I stand silent
breathing hard
but oh so quiet,
covered in the blankets of darkness.
again she stretches
to call out my name,
question marks solidifying,
echoing away.
I know exactly where she is,
six inches away;
she’s reaching for me,
asking, yielding.
I could seize her throat
and crush her breath
with a lazy hand;
I could kiss her
here in the dark
and tell her that I love her.
ask the closet.

D-light

Posted: January 22, 1991 in Poetry
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O fiberglass D-light:
chase away the ugly night
with your comfy orange pool
staining my lonely sheets.
I think of you in the dark

O wonderfully crosshatched D-light;
I’m certainly crawly-cold from shiv’ry fright.
the black palms are far too cool
springing down the streets;
the mongrels howling in the park.

Mind Shaft

Posted: January 18, 1991 in Poetry
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he didn’t need to be shown how to do
things; he was good at figuring
them out – taking them apart and
putting them back together. he read a
lot when he was innocent and
believed too much for his own good.
too many times he became impatient
and cursed himself for imagined
wrongs, blaming his insensitivity for
his lack of social standing. he tried so
hard he made himself sick with lies
and falsehoods, having to artificially calm
the turbulence of his stomach with
deadened-nerves ignorance. he knew,
or rather hoped (he didn’t allow himself
the luxury of self-confidence) that someday
he would be given the chance to show
another human being what he thought
love was. it was too big, too heady, too
encompassing to try to contain within the
bars of paper and ink, but he knew
exactly what it was and how he would
go about making it work and dreamed
handsome times and admirable occasions.
love would turn some special girl’s eyes
to his if only he had the patience to
hang on to the blades of grass growing
in the cracks of the snail-track laden
sidewalk. he secretly prayed to a god
he honestly doubted and looked for
some reason besides cowardice to not
get life over with and found that he had
matches of distraction at the bottom of
his dismal mind shaft. every time he went
into the dark and felt the slimy pitch
of the terror of being alone, he could find
another match to sputter and flicker
in the cold depths to keep his faith until
someone would come along to crank up
the bucket form the bottom of the well.

Shop Talk

Posted: October 25, 1990 in Poetry
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I ran and ran. Barefoot and naked from that
House I ran through alleyways I don’t remember
But in the scariest corners of opiate dreams.
The horror that grew and relentlessly
Followed me from that accursed house
Blacked out the stars in the midnight sky;
Ink spilling across the heavens. My
Feet flayed by flinders of stone, my
Breath ragged and acidic with smog,
The darkness roiling turbulent
Seemed welcome and horrifying.
Collapsing on the wet grass of the
Public park I shivered for the cold
And the anticipation of being
Filed away in another straitjacket.

But I Missed

Posted: June 23, 1987 in Poetry
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I’ll cry for her
I’ll die for her
Yet she sits there, deep in thought.
How dear she is
How near she is
But it’s all…it’s all for naught.
I can see the rain
Streak the windowpane
Like the tears glistening in her eyes
Anything I say
Makes her turn away
As she stolidly, silently cries.

But I love her so much that it hurts sometimes
For within my life she’s like a jewel that shines
And feel so useless when I see her this way
I wish there was something that I could say

Against the wall
Doing nothing at all
Thinking of her, alone in her chair
Never ending stints
Of vigilance
How much about us does she care?
What twist of fate
Does she contemplate
At times like this, that course is so easy
It must be hell
Locked up in that cell
Lost in the dark in such misery.

I’m awake all night because I love her so much
But now she cringes from the slightest touch
Oh let me guide her through these stormy seas
Let me help her, hold her, please

I will always love her
And I shall cover
My face so she can’t see my pain
She is so grim
Filled to the brim
With agony that drives her insane
She’s taken abuse
That’s much too profuse
For anybody in this world to take
And I’m not reassured
That it’s now up to her
‘Cause she has a decision to make

Won’t someone help her, don’t pass her by
This wonderful girl with the gleam in her eye
I would give up my life if hers I could save
But it’s no use putting lilies on her grave

She’s going, going, away on the sea
And I’ll never know if she ever loved me
That laughter I loved, those lips that I kissed
I tried to catch her fall
…but I missed.

Sub-Conscious or Look Into My Brain

Posted: May 27, 1987 in Poetry
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Dredged up from the foul slimy pits of the unconscious
Come the compost and seedlings of these poems.
The sunless quagmires of my nether regions
Unseen, unheard of, unpure, unwanted, unknown.
Grey sludge wends its way through towering pillars
Stalagmites, remains of what could have been.
Unwholesome creatures populating the pseudo-real
Slither between murky bog and decaying fen.
Oozing questionabilities of the sanity ungrasped.
Psychedelicity is achieved in shades of black.
A changed and twisted depressed mentality.
Phrases and ideas flit, cohesion to they lack.
Through my pen does the putridescence spill forth
But most is caught in the mesh of conscious mind.
In festering forests seen in a lurid light.
What hideous secret can I find?
Dripping, oozing monsters, bereft of sight.
Unearthly being composed of gangrene.
Grotesque mockeries within the fetid swamp
Shinily glisten with a wet, mucal sheen.
Ambulatory fungi, frothing with saliva.
Sporadic slurries of viscosity.
Living monstrosities of decomposing humus.
Warped aspects of mental perspicuity.
Anerobic things with myriads of legs
Accompanied by multitudes of gelatinous eyes.
A virtual abyss is present and evident
A rift unbridged, for its size.
Slavering ghouls armed with wicked talons,
Bubbling pools of superheated mud.
Toweringly infinitesimal gaps of pure voidness.
Cascades and rains of syrupy blood.
Sticky strands of cosmic material
Form webs to clog rusty machines.
Blurry images fade in and out.
So many extraordinary ideas, yet without the means
A chasm of despair and of morbidity
Makes up the majority of my soul.
Sorrow and idiocy rest heavy burdens
Upon a subconscious as black as coal.
Upwellings from a depth of a boundless water
Birth new ideas to multiply and flourish
But sightless, flapping, contorting myconids
Swoop in to ravage and demolish.
Flinching in terror, cowering in fright
Screams and shrieks fill the alien atmosphere,
For individual thoughts see their comrades die
And spend their short lives in fear.
Writhing their way out of the primordial soup
Flopping upon sunless shores of sand,
Rooting and grunting beneath moldering canopies
Agonized ululations echo across the land.
The stench of death, of rotting corpses
Permeates my mind and lingers there.
Insubstantial casualties form endless pyres;
Smoke and dust reek to fill the air.
Paroxymal tremors shake unsteady foundations.
The erosion and decomposition grows with each quake.
Whimpering and gurgling, vicious things strike
The supports of sanity – that’s what is at stake.
Stupendous castles built of flesh and bone,
Towers of veined sinew and gristle.
Flashes of inspiration silhouette these forms
Quenched as the armaments of darkness bristle.
A sodden mist lays over my broken mind
Soundless arachnids spin their silken webs.
Glistening foam glides through hazy eddies
Over clouded water, all consciousness ebbs.
Within these sluggish, merciless swamps
Contained in this subconscious of mine
Raves a maddened, gibbering, repressed waif
“Tween wits and madness, thin partitions align.

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