Pleasant Mountain

Whatwhatwhat is there to say when the mp is out of reach, and the  mics are off? While the instrumental plays over in the car stereo speakers that are hooked into your ears drums, bangin like Africa around the fire. The villagers look on as you pause in hesitation. Wars coming, and you missed out on your training. Now what’s left is the blood from raining memories desolved into lonliness.  Rising down, finding the roots and following them to the center of the earth. And back. Skylines transform into grassy parking lots where trees loom over a ground that has no where to go. And I have nowhere to flow, so I’ll evaporate into the clouds. River dancing is for the stage, and I’m in the audience still. The curtain is curdled with the singe of soy, unsettled and sticking to my stomach. Broomstick dreams, and bed knobs turn for her. She’s welcom where I sleep, and where death sneaks in. The lesson plan is jaded, and fear is all but faded. 

Long Distance Love

Bullshit. 
Stubbornness. 
Insensitivity. 
Miscommunication. 
Digital argumentation. 
Confrontation calls. 
Misleading words and phrases messages missed.
Green is suppressing the color in my anger. 
Sleep escapes me to paradises unknown, while patience goes unrewarded. 
Paradise is paradox. 
Paradigm shift, overload of emotion drove through bedroom window. Slipped in between the rain drops out towards the lake. 
Senseless. 
Square immges on top of my desk, visualize my attacker. See my help in front of me. Barbeques and family differences, nice words lost to tart tongues.
Interface malfunction. 
Brickwalls before we can see whats behind door number 2. 
Passionate? Hardly? Unless you count all the time sickness creeps into the mouse hole and burrows out. His cheese will be eaten by the other one waiting for him to look away at the right moment.
Underline the point in red, then I’ll know what to spell check. 
I had a pretty good time actually. 
Translation denied, call refused. 
All about the sanyo slayer, the sanyo slayings this weekend made headlines. In print on every corner and newsstand. 
Another one bites the dust. 
But we’ll read it and forget. Keep on ordering lunch specials. 
The time it took to look over the bar at the screen wasn’t long enough to make a meal. 
Back to coffee, and waking with disgruntled countenace. 
Same day the same way. Same pay. 
The delightful reassurance that we know we can get over the long distance. Love.Lon

Requiem Wordsong

What really is this lament of mine? 

I think it’s the fear in my heart. The stuff that’s not suppose to be there. Those pesky feelings of limitations. Oh hindrances. 

Of the inevitable authority trying to regulate my creativity.  They want to lock me down. And you too. I lament about that.

 I cry for all the love this life will never experience, that this flesh will never feel fresh against itself. For all the waterfalls I’ll never dive off, or under.  Those meeting places with only one some there. 

For the ringing in my ear, the siren piercing constant sound of madness? Of control!? Of foreign concepts and theories the likes of which my mind cannot yet grasp!?!? It plays steady now, and even steadier still! As if to remind me of something. Varying slightly only like a relocation of an itch, and inch over. Just, still there. 

I clench my fist at that. I arm myself for them. 

Yet I can’t seem to keep my weapon drawn on you. Atleast not long enough to capture your true beauty  splattered against papyrus full with intent to receive it’s image of you.

 All the songs, are gone. Sunrise 626 was one calling back to it's lost kindred. 

Our souls will chase each other out the window. I weep for the unpleasant landings. And for the pain the unpleasantries won’t have to feel, won’t even welcome. 

Scars are crown. Stregnth and resilience are royal sensibilities that we shall aquire on this, our journey to the other side of the game. 

Why is what I have for winners and losers. For you and I, and everyone like me and us.  

For the shadow behind my reflection.

 For the lonely lines looming over me. 

For you. 

For your eyes, like prisms of passion. I’d just as surely bathe in your tears, like the cleanse warm waters of  a pure pain. For leisure. 

I weep for the security of  the world inside my bedroom, where from platforms of darkness I helm these calls out to you. For the echos that don’t make it back. For the breathe that fails my refrain. 

For the smiles I’ll never see on yours or their faces. For the tools that will gather dust in corners, rather than  build and bridge and boast. 

For the sinful moments of my riotus humanity trying to better itself, and not succeeding.  

I do want you, however, to cry for me.

 Perhaps I could be your lament, perhaps I could be your pausing concern. Perhaps there is reason to be afraid after all. 

After all.

 After all. 

After all. 

While three plays again 

and again, 

and again. 

My lament of love is for that.

 Is for her. 

Is for you.

 Is for me. 

Is for them.