Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Do you?

I dont belong here
its all the same
the game you play
the things you say
its not for me.
all the passion lost
the cost of us together
the way i used to be
when i was actually, me.
I want you to notice
I want you to care that im not there
maybe a nod
a smile
some kind of sighn
i want you to be mine.
and finally see that you dont care.

Get. Here. (away)

Long roads of darkness
paked in an empty lot.
clueless
sobing
praying no one comes along
my escape
dont be late
i want you to see my life
look at me
cant you see?
that i want to get away.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

the unjust epiphanies of heroes

You pull eyelids like covers, underneath and warmer. And honey, sweetie, angel. You don't look like you used to. I've been beside myself with your grief. I left years in your hands. And you clasped them to your chest like they were yours. We were raincoats and windshield wipers. Remember? Summer breezes in open bars. Feathers of smoke over neon skies. The cellphone that rang when you kissed my neck. All the answers in our pockets. Folded in fourths. And I made myself relive it so that I could send you a letter I had hoped would save you. And you sent it back. And I sent it back. And you sent it back. And I sent it back. And the mailman said he wouldn't support civil war. But this isn't another Gettysburg. I'm fighting here for the sake of a past that should replace the present. So I got a job at the postal service just to find out where my letter ended up. And then I took the truck with an eagle painted on the side and got a map. And now I'm looking at you with my letter in your hand. Where you've just about given up. And honey, sweetie, angel. I didn't drive across the country to just let you let you go again.
He hands me back the letter. Mentions something about Potomac. I guess I am Robert E. Lee.
"You can't save me."
That is the sad line that made me quit the mail business. Made me quit the writing business. Made me quit the business of being. If you'll pardon the melodrama.

sept peches mortels

couldn't speak to you when i walked right past. looked at my shoes on the pavement and pretended like we didn't know eachother's names.

took one too many cookies out of the cabinet today. then chocolates, then fruit. then some more.

thought my heart was going to explode, seeing you so nonchalant. do you know what that does to a girl?

heard my name under your breath. i wanted to put you in your place, or rather the place you came from. i will be on your level.

almost shoved you in the other room. wanted to tell you where your hand actually belonged. not on that desk, sweetheart.

got too excited when i opened that box. i opened yours too, and theirs. a diamond!? what else can i open?

i'll admit, i did not want to face the lies. so i stuck them in my ears. i didn't do anything.

Colors of Love

These tears won’t stop falling down my face,
falling
faster
and
faster,
gathering in an ocean at my feet.
I know I’m not the one to blame for them,
It’s you,
Or is it me?
So many words left unsaid,
drowning in my silenced words,
I’m trying ever so desperately to tread.
I glance over at you,
hoping to catch your gaze,
Your eyes are so easy to get lost in,
They make me want to lose myself forever.
Could my eyes do the same for you?
Because in all these tears cascading down my face,
I could certainly get lost too.
If I could describe what I’m feeling in just one hue,
Why it would be red…
No…black…
Wait!…Blue…
Red is a color of passion and strength,
Black is the unknown, a mystery, and a lying fate.
Blue is a color that speaks the truth,
Calmness, happiness – what I feel when I’m with you.
So I guess it’s a reddish-blackish-blueish kind of hue.
But I’d be lying if I didn’t include the color green.
The terrible, monstrous color of my envy.
The only thing I want for you is to be happy,
And you are.
So why do I feel this way?
Why am I jealous?
Why am I filled with all this……greenness?
I know what it is,
I’m just scared to say it,
Though I so desperately want to scream and shout it.
I’ve fallen.
Not over something,
But I’ve fallen for you.
However, you don’t seem to notice,
You seem to be blind,
Something is blocking your view from these feelings of mine.
All this pain that I’m feeling,
I know my love is true,
But I can’t handle it anymore,
Please…
Tell me there’s a way
I can fall out of love with you.

Monday, February 26, 2007

What change have you noticed lately about yourself?

The alarm clock rings, I don’t want to wake up. I throw a pillow at it, but that’s like searching for a hidden stop watch that’s going off…and throwing things around the room is not going to stop the horrible beeping…A half an hour of hitting the infamous snooze button goes by and slowly I start to roll out of bed. Walking out of my room, nearly half asleep, I run into to the drying rack that is protruding out from where it’s supposed to be. Recovering from the sudden surprise I scream, “Are you kidding me!?” I finally made it to my first destination in my morning routine. Now that I am nice and clean, I gaze into the foggy mirror and what do I see? I see a girl I don’t know staring straight back at me. Eyes barely open and dark circles underneath, all my days have been filled with lack of sleep. Staying up til all hours of the night, I can’t seem to calm my storming mind. So many things going on that I can’t control…but I want to…you see, I want to solve it all. Tossing and turning – it’s called wide awake exhaustion. At the end of the day, I am so tired, but I have so many things on my mind that keep me wide awake even though I am extremely exhausted. Mirror, mirror on the wall, please tell me why you won’t let me see the girl I wish to be? Don’t fog up the reflection of me. I am who I am. End of argument, so don’t try to distort the me I see. Off to school like any other day, the only difference is, the girl I used to be is in my past to stay.

Name something about which you feel deeply and describe why you feel that way.

My voice has always been a huge part of my life, from expressing my anger through ear splitting screams to the soft gentle hums during my morning shower. As the years have passed, I have lost friends because of fights and loved ones to illnesses. Everyday I wake up still and continue to move on. Through out the day I use my voice to its full extent. There is never a dull moment when I’m using my voice. Whether it’s cracking from the newest cold or the uncontrollable stuttering I get when I talk to fast, my voice is always there. My favorite part about my voice would have to be when I close my eyes and open my mouth and let the notes and words flow out of my mouth like a mountain stream on a sunny day. The notes encircle my body and soul and put a smile on my face. A feeling of warmth and comfort create the notion of a true friend giving a needed hug. As long as the notes are flowing out of my mouth and bouncing off the surrounding walls all my worries drain out. Whether I’m singing on key in the choir or attempting so sing along with my blaring stereo my heart is still full. I feel so strongly about singing because I know that everyday I will wake up with my voice. Although it will change over the years I will still carry that worry free happiness in my heart. The day I sing in Blue in high school and the day I soothe my child to sleep with a faint lullaby will be the same only because I’m using my voice.

Rubix Cube Part Two

there's a part one.



the broken glass in the air did stall
i can recall, when Autumn did fall
we walked along a lonesome hall
telling each other of the things we loved
how much we enjoyed the things that used to be coy
our lost mission on this planet was to dissect the story
losing ourselves on that long lonesome trek
finding the roots to be the bean stalk
we climbed and climbed until we parted
lost in the clouds, never looking back at where we started
we fell to the abyss and were surrounded by darkness
lights entailed the things she displayed as envious
daily routines formed the battle scenes
a midnight kiss inclined the twist
the words said were nothing at best
i should have died, but i survived
living in the shadow of the past
i told her i loved her, it didn't last
her jigsaw tendencies were a gasp for air
drowning in the things, she acted like she cared
this was the last time i gave her the stare
became a loyal puppy to the life she entailed
frustrated in the moment, shaving it off with Nair
it was then, thinking in the shower, that i gave myself power
impressed was the least to say at her ability to make me cry
looking through the glass told me i needed to be fair
but destroying her life wasn't resting in the chair
television screens cracked the day when i fell to the ground
i told her i was done, her tongue shaped like a gun
bullets tore into my flesh as i escaped her hot breath
whirlwinds took the sands and broke the hour glass
weeks had gone by before she passed
I'm standing at our grave
attempting to be brave, the day is stated grey
past the age of eighty and looking headfirst and angry
plowing these fields since she left me a broken window in the sky
laced green, with red pinstripes on my pane
cutting and lashing until i screamed
i dropped
and that was when she examined my cough
the doctor was in, gave me the cheap talk
asked me to fall from the top
so i entered the realm of the flock
i head they ran wild
taking breaths that fell mild
lying in bed pretending to contend
when it was over i rolled to the other side
i grabbed for the sheets, fell back into the ride
sleep sank so deep i couldn't taste my teeth
this was the day i woke up with no sheets
this was the day the Rubix cube used her feet
i watched from afar realizing i wasn't the distant lover
that's what we once were, we became old friends
dying to save our innocence
long distance love extenuating condolences
i turned her in the directions
she was sick of my affections
i broke the glass laced with isolated coincidences.


~Long Lost Long Distance Lovers, find methods of jealousy easy.

Love,
Digress.

Best friends or maybe something more

You’ve been my best friend since the first grade, your eyes open wide; you were always the last one to hate. We were so carefree; we had no worries in life, we thought life was grand, we were always together, side by side. By the sixth grade, I had come to like you more than a friend, more than anyone before. When it was brought up, I just denied it. I was too scared of what everyone would think. Life moved on, next to come: middle school. We stayed close friends, laughing and having fun, little did we know what was to become. Highschool came sooner than ever, you went there, I went somewhere else. We occasionally talked, but it wasn’t like before. We were missing out on each other’s lives. We were growing apart, and we were letting it slide. Sixteen years of my life is what we were celebrating, I wanted you there because ten of those years were spent with you, and all you did was care. The night was grand. I had a blast. A lifetime is how long I wanted it to last. The night finally ended, everyone went home. Everyone except you, you were the last one to go. The signs were so clear on that night, but I guess I chose not to realize it. You told me good night and happy birthday. I nodded and told you the same, brushing it off as a simple good bye, not knowing what I had just blown. You wouldn’t talk to me for days, days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Months later I realized what I had done. I was so caught up in me, me, me, that I didn’t take time to notice how you were truly feeling. I called you up to ask just how bad you were hurt. You said you were fine, you sounded ok, things were back to the way they were before my sixteenth birthday. Finally, now that we’re at the same school, I thought we’d become better friends, but I was only a fool. It wasn’t til junior year was almost over, that I wondered why we weren’t together. So much in common, so much done together, you knew all about my past, you held no grudges, and our friendship would undoubtedly last. But still, I can’t quite grasp…why I feel this way. I never saw it coming, I never thought I would say, I fell for my best friend, and I can’t imagine the price I’ll pay. Over the years of our friendship I have come to see what a great guy you are, but you won’t give me the chance, and so you will never see, that you are the only one who can kindle my broken heart. I want you to know, I want you to see, just how much you mean to me. For now I’ve fallen so deeply in love with the someone who I mistakenly let go.

un-edited

sometimes i wanna know what it feels like to fall apart, to lose control, to just let go and fly, high above the world. like a kite. i wanna look out at this world and see more than a self-pitying, pathetic, angry human race. i want a saving grace. i wanna touch, smell, taste, hear everything there is to enlighten and excite my sensations. i wanna break a heart, i wanna hold a hand, i wanna stop a fall, i wanna kiss a cheek. sometimes i need more than just words to support my weight, sometimes i need to see what is actually meant by 'this' and 'that' and....please, please tell me how to feel...

Sunday, February 25, 2007

She was the perfect Rubix cube

Black hair and blue eyes
she spoke to me in nothing but lies
she told me she'd hold me
but gave me nothing homely
i was broken glass and she was the jaw
rebirth seemed to be her ominous curse
telling me the things about far dreams
i was lost in the lies she tried to feed
confused in the back room
while she searched for her vacuum
void filling the gaps between her eyes
peach fuzz grew on my sides
while she told me stores of olden days
and how very far she'd moved away
these lenghty conversations died
we broke rings and burned the ties
close relatives looked with greedy eyes
a southern wind gave us another reason
taking trips to escape the hurt full season
false hope given in solid ropes
chains that flinch gave us a glimpse
while i choked her with my clumsy lips
vocal chords tallied up our fighting words
teardrops that filled cups with sores
we didn't talk so we circled our relationship in chalk
on the broken concrete of the street the people walk
looking back into the future it was a terrible sight
same mundane routine every night
the future planning was our insight
introspective about our delight
she told me stories, acted like i was the other boys
gave me reason to use her mind like a toy
evaluate the things i never did
and pretend like i gave her, let give
religious in a sense of missing hints
a clue she buried in my belly
saw the light of day eventually
how much she loved me
she was serious about the hunting
shaving my face, becoming a new race
looking for goods in corners she built
she didn't intend to use her skills
i was enthralled in the way she threw pills
affection sickness cured with her diction
age limits on pain pill prescriptions
love sick for the new found afflictions
this life was too complicated
like a world of letters newly dictated
interrupted by the uneasy decay
this was another shade of grey
giving me green flowers on the date
future tense were the only words passed
we fell like leaves to the sinking of our knees
sulking in the foyer for the last known disease
infected by the affection that we decided was relief
giving me shiny things, distracting eyes of disbelief
pampered
but loves were better for the wetness
directed to the conclusion of this
she tossed me on a rock and gave me a hard place
told me what i needed to win the race
so now i can keep my own pace
I'll never forget that she hated his name
when she called me it she turned me to flame
burning in the back yard, another fight will give another scar
bossy like the buildings that scrape the sky
life woven with mishandled fallacy
now reduced to rubble, right in front of my eye
my inward looking eye, i was just another guy
i was just a shattered window in the sky
laced green with red pinstripes to distract the city lights

~Makes me crumble to see her like that

Love,
Digress.

(maybe it will do me good)

come the weekend.
we'll be long gone, baby.
just like the old days.
let in the world,
flow through me.
just a parasite in the lines
smokin' killin' the time.
along the piece of the twine,
what use is sympathy?

from here you can almost see the sea.

if you would hold still,
you'd make a clean incision.
we could sit back,
watch the demolition.
little puppy dog in the box
somebody's pickin' the locks.
must wander down from the socks,
here comes the calvalry.

from here you can almost see the sea.

just another fool in line.
i dream of high tide,
flush with the light of day break.
i wanna dive in,
the water's so cold it makes your bones ache.
fingers, knees and knuckles scraped.
all of the rubbish heaped,
the piece of cup all taped up with the bedroom window
paint we used to be.

from here you can almost,
from here you can almost see the sea.

i saw a film once.
but all the air horns, frozen.
killer whales swam,
under the blue ice
to the hearthstone.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Grope for the Best.

it was long lost before it began
taken time to breathe before she ran
i took a look into the depths of man
and realized i wasn't able to withstand
my breath is cold as it exits my mouth
inhaling a new breed of infantile clout
warm and inhibited, cold and inebriated
bottles of water in front of me
and broken glass within me
a new attempt to exempt the sea
telling this world goodbye for the first time
whisper my name in the passing lane
light candles for the moderately sane
escaping the twisted burning that is the pain
taking the visions and erasing the missions
planning a new day to draw up the liquids
paper writes and ink bleeds
for the time we reached the sea
future hope for things we dreamed
broken in the pathways
sealed in the last page
tales were unveiled in the photos
captains failed when they attacked the hopefuls
set sail at dawn, she's escaping the pain pills
a boat made for drifting in seas high of misery
pails of vomit collide on the honest
pouring the regurgitated thoughts of the taunted
one step closer, one way to be better
team building relationship sinking
it was easy when i found out i was fishing
i cast out my line, but never got a bite
reeling in the catch, it wasn't more than a branch
a novel made of match sticks, telling me to fall into a trance
ignited when she sped read the titles to finance
failed attempts drown the sorrow of slow dances
hovering above like the ghoulish gargoyles
the taste of love is chewing tin foil
empty bottles trap the fairies in daily toil
feeling exempt from her previous regret
telling myself it was all just a test
another one to grope the best
calling it hope and seeing the mess
it was something she didn't digest
just saw the pain and took it with strain
looking back now, i realize i was an ass
my faults were isolated in a flask
adults consumed beverages while i recorded vestiges
missing identity in the electric storm of matching sets
thunder struck from the words that stuck
waking up in banana bins of incidents
a heap full of trouble, ground better control
holy kittens took back the whole
surrounded by dark, enthralled in light
shining like a new form of delight
dead to the world, she's another lost girl
sobbing in the corners of distant Urals
Russians took time to obsess the oppression
dictators took time to point out the lesson
crawling on the wall, and dancing as if they were fencing
FALLING asking for redemption
praying for a pension
ideas trapped in ink sticks
she was immaculate in that she didn't practice this
writing flaws a human being
coming and going, as though it were a season
all i need now is a reason
tell her I'll be leaving
tell her I'll be leaving
calm her, she'll be screaming

~...pssst... sometimes... i think i'm crazy.

Love,
Digress.

Realization

To realize the value of a sister,
Ask someone who doesn't have one.
To realize the value of ten years,
Ask a newly divorced couple.
To realize the value of four years,
Ask a graduate.
To realize the value of one year,
Ask a student who has failed a final exam.
To realize the value of nin months,
Ask a mother who has given birth to a still born.
To realize the value of one month,
Ask a mother who has given birth to a premature baby.
To realize the value of one week,
Ask an editor of a weekly newspaper.
To realize the value of one hour,
Ask the lovers who are waiting to meet.
To realize the value of one minute,
Ask a person who has missed the train, bus, or plane.
To realize the value of one second,
Ask a person who has survived an accident.
To realize the value of one millisecond,
Ask the person who has won a silver medal in the Olympics.
To realize the value of a friend,
Lose one.
Time waits for no one,
We must treasure every moment we have,
We take everything for granted,
And it's actually quite sad.
Before we know it,
Time flies by,
And all we can do,
Is ask ouselves why.

~Treasure every moment and every friend because we never know when life will decide to take us by surprise.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Locked Doors












It was early morning
hadn't yet opened the touring sedan
but i had a plan
i was gonna bowl better than beforehand
on the way to the ally
took time driving avoiding hazards
approached the green light
looked around in sight
rolled out to the middle of the intersection
a whack and rumble approached my direction
i spun in an inappropriate section
this was not the what i had intended
i searched the interior for clues
and found the airbags had been removed
still humming properly
and smoking incessantly
i took time to jiggle the keys
motor shut off obediently
put the car into park
couldn't get it further than reverse
i fumbled with the door
jammed closed, tried again same results
the answer is to UN-LOCK
so i shouldered the door til it popped
took time to inhale and examine the damage
walking this asphalt were the memories that insult
a fellow traveler asked if everything was okay?
i told her 'i hope so' and walked from my door
across the walk, to where he parked
escaped his auto and grasped his head like handles
told me he was upset, and i told him i did regret
phone calls were made
didn't give direction that would fill a page
traffic filed slowly as the sunlight became holy
waiting for the blue and red lights
to approach this precarious sight
happened just before first light
i don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight
many tales told, but only one will be sold
honesty was expelled to constables
a ticket was issued, clean up was pursued
and on life moved
and on life moved
no time for locked doors
but quick enough to escape horrors
and on life moved
and on life moved

~Traumatized at the loss of a cherished VEHICLE

Love,
Digress.

taboo

Let me be honest for just a moment. Only a moment is what I need and then I'll regret that I, somehow, for some reason, always seem to admit what it is I don't want to feel.
Something real.
Something with sex appeal.
Something to seal a deal with the devil inside
that I've tried to hide
...from.
No no pretty girl, slap your hand
this is one thing you don't understand
it's something...can't be planned
it gives you a label; a red hot brand.
I am big, strong, defiant
I am fierce...I am a giant.

...in soul

Late Night Drive (a song)

Late night roads so dark
Following the pathways of life
Turn by turn, into space
Late night drives
Take me away

Destination unknown
following the stars alone
blade in hand to comfort me
turn by turn your facing me
destination unknown
chasing the stars again

why dont you take me away
flyin fast through darkness
clinging to life
adrenaline pumping fast through my veins

Destination unknown
following the stars alone
blade in hand to comfort me
turn by turn your facing me
destination unknown
chasing the stars again

Dream chasing
finding shadows over me
late night drives
why cant you see
screaming out the agony
drawing down the stars
can you see?

oh, destination unknown
take me to your
oh, take me to your
destination unknown....

Love

I’m about to give up, they’re all the same. Every single one of them. They tell you what you want to hear. “You’re beautiful,” “You’re the one and I want this to last.” They keep on telling you that until they get what they want or they realize you won’t give them what they want. Can’t a guy look for more in a girl? Past the looks, and social status, look deep into her soul, and see her true feelings and share her passions? Help her through the rough times in life, and not run away. Hold her hand through both happiness and strife. One who won’t care about your past or what you dealt with. One that won’t judge you, no matter what. One that whispers he loves you, and sincerely means it. Those three words aren’t meant to be tossed around, because one might be stupid enough to believe them. They’ve all said it, each and every one, but they all ended up leaving, turns out they didn’t truly mean it, and I was the stupid one to actually believe them. With every guy a girl dates, she loses a piece of her heart. She gives her heart away, gets it stomped on, and returned with part of it missing. After a while, it just gets old, the same things keep happening. “You’ll find someone . . . just wait,” is what I’m told. I’m waiting . . . I’ve been waiting, but I can’t wait forever. I want my prince charming to come, my knight in shining armor, but who am I kidding? This isn’t a fairy tale, and all I’ve had are losers in aluminum foil: Fakes. Lying their way to get into my heart, they make it in, then rip it apart. I want one guy, that’s all I ask. One guy to show me that this is all worth it, that not every guy is the same, that there’s someone out there who will treat me right. I want that - passionate, out of this world, head over heels, butterflies in the stomach, out of the ballpark homerun - kind of love. A love that is true. A love I’ve never had.

On writing, we will call this a start

It’s been so long since I set my pen to paper
I can barely smell the vapor,
of the last time my words hit the line.
I stuck them in a corner of my mind.
Till late at night, where they tend to shine.
And now they bind me to the man that taught me to rhyme,
the one I never tried to find.

And if I may digress,
I may confess,
that is one evening I will not forget,
cause I do not regret,
I will admit.

A million lights in front of my eyes,
most of them lies,
holding their own ties,
but not the one in my mind.
The one that I made shine.
I say “It doesn’t have to rhyme? Just come from inside?”.

Make it real.
Make it what you want to feel.
Make time stand still, get that chill.
And you know I will,
cause your reading this still.
I let my heart spill.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Penalty for Disobedience

A beautiful young teen with honey hazel eyes:
She stares and hesitates for a moment, not wanting the man to know she is there.
She is playing a game . . . . . . a desperate game that decides the outcome of her life.
She has played this game a thousand times,
Day by day she learns the ever more complex rules.
She is trapped by it . . . pulled into its grasp, trapped by her own fear.
The man turns.

The girl freezes . . . . . She’s been seen.

“What are you doing, *Melanie?”

His voice seems to be neutral, but is coated with a syrupy-sweetness that screams of near punishment.

*Melanie blinks, thinking hard. . . .The truth, or a lie? Which will bring her less pain? She swallows.

The man is suspicious . . . . . He thinks. He knows what she is going to do. She’d given herself away.

If only she had stopped further back.

“*Melanie, I asked you a question. Answer me.”

She takes a breath, “Going to Laura’s, Dad.”

The man’s face changes slightly with displeasure.

The girl is afraid . . . She gave the wrong answer.

“What have I told you about that girl, *Melanie? I don’t want you two to be friends.”

“I’m sorry” . . . . . She feels the prickles of fear that creep into her voice and crack it. For a moment, she is so angry with herself that it overwhelms her fear. She drops her head to avoid showing the tears that threaten to fall, bringing sadness along with them.

“Come here.”

She bites her lip and swallows hard, then takes careful, measured steps towards the man. All too soon the gap between the two of them closes and she is standing, looking up at her father. The man glares down at her.

*Melanie holds her breath.

The man moves, and she sees the back of a hand just before it makes contact. Then . . . there is only pain.

She opens her eyes, hyperventilating from the tears that just won’t stop cascading down her face. She struggles to get up at the man’s demanding yells, but staggers from another blow before she can balance herself. She falls again. The man screams for her to be quiet. *Melanie clamps her teeth shut, but cannot stop the whimpers.

Quiet . . . she thinks . . . I must be silent.

Her cheeks feel raw. Her eye is unquestionably bruised. How will she explain this to her teachers and her friends?

The man stares at her.

*Melanie does not move.

She has managed to stop whimpering.

The man shakes his head. “Next time, you’ll know not to disobey me.”

Then he walks out of the room.

Monday, February 19, 2007

chantpleure

Paul Shepherd addressed the great masses of nobody from the veranda on the edge of town. It once belonged to a house, which once belonged to a man, who was once a boy with big blue eyes that most ladies found endearing. That man is now dead. Nobody noticed, as mostly everyone else was dead, too. The ones that were not spent the day foraging, and nitpicking, and digging great graves for happened-upon bodies. Such is life.

He spoke great words unto the air. They were big and commanding and powerful, and he liked the way they resonated deeply over the great valleys and forges that once was town. The remains of the city were a giant, steel spider's web. The spider had long gone. Tiny limbs and faces and other such human paraphernalia stuck out at queer little angles from the mess of rivets and girders. There was a children's book that told the story of a teddy bear that finds a cat in a tree. Somewhere in there was the twisted lips of a mother that was reading it aloud in a pleasant soprano to her drooling, wild little baby, but was cut off quite abruptly by the faint whistle of incoming bombs. She, too, was dead. So was her baby, and the baby's brother, and their neighbors, and the priest and his congregation. Everybody was locked up tight in the grip of the great spider's web, and nobody was going anywhere. Such is life.

Meanwhile, a sermon of words and feelings filled the air. It was Paul, of course. He made great big constructs of sentences. He liked the way his voice sounded ghoulish and ghostly in the hollows of the spider web. A thousand divorced little hands clapped silently in the breeze as he threw his arms high up in great gusto; he was the pinnacle of righteousness in the great aftermath of the world.

He said:

"We stand now upon the dawning of a new era--an era in which all men are truly created equal and precious and divine. The great disaster from the skies has delivered unto us a chance of redemption. A chance to smile against the great travesties of mankind, and show to God that we, His lowly servants, are deserving of this most precious gift..."

And so on, all the while pumping his fists enthusiastically. He excited himself with this passionate discourse. A stale wind blew through the spider web tangle, and the open hands clapped in their hollow, silent little ways. Paul heard a thunderous applause, saw a great field of brightly colored faces cheering him on, agreeing with each and every word that fell out of his clumsy lips.

A group of passersby carrying their children in a wheelbarrow stopped to listen. The father rested his weight upon the burned out husk of a tree, jumped a little as it began to crumble under his gaunt frame. His wife lingered vacantly behind him. Her face was a primrose. She seemed neither concerned nor bothered by the theatrics on the veranda above her. Instead, her eyes darted daftly from this to that, never really stopping or focusing. Her pallid, shriveled little lips formed heavy words that didn't go anywhere. She was a sight, with her rolling eyes and her chattery lips. Nobody could hear her, not even her husband, who was quite enthralled by the magnificent spectacle above him. Had he been listening, he would have heard her singing
"Once there was a way to get back homeward, once there was a way to get back home..."

It was the only thing that made sense to her, and that was okay.

Meanwhile, the raving speaker continued.

"...and hereupon this field of battle, where once a great city stood in testament to the greatness of man, a great rubble sleeps. Beneath this mound of dust and rock and bone there lies the heart of mankind, that undying soul of the world, fingers and teeth and eyeballs and hair, all of it magnificent and sad and brilliant. A myriad display of The Creator's great design, laid to waste by itself in that sad discourse which is war, that rampant, unnecessary flash of cannonade and swan cry of the bugler..."

And again the breeze blew, and again the thousand myriad hands that stuck out of the great spider's web clapped, and clapped. The man with the barrow looked up pathetically from his vantage on the dull, gray earth.

"Shut up, you twat," he cried up to the lunatic on the veranda. He took his wife by her skinny little wrist. Paul couldn't see it from way up there, but the man's own bony fingers fit like a bracelet, and the whole parade of skin and bones wheeled off like a sigh across the burned out prairie.

Paul's arms pumped emphatically to the rhythm of his own crazy cadence. In his mind, the great congregation stood before him, wet-eyed and beautiful. The women fanned themselves with ornate fans, and held their children close to their bosoms in that way that women seldom did. The Holy Ghost was alight atop each pathetic, miserable human being amassed there. Everyone was a perfect angle, tongues of flame and long white robes. He preached about that great kingdom that is heaven. He clapped his hands for effect. The man and his bony wife and his skeletal babies heaped up like timber were rambling away, the only living souls beside the madman in the pulpit. The poor lady looked back as they sauntered away, teary-eyed at the bleak pile of rubble that once was home, and comfort; now only a pile of metal and mortar and brick and a thousand hands clapping to the wind and the maniac preacher.

As they disappeared, a squad of soldiers arrived in the back of a jeep. They climbed out of their vehicle and surveyed the sad display of architecture so mercilessly rearranged before them. The man with the most stripes said "Tsk-tsk," and the man with the gold on his shoulders told him to cork it promptly. He did so. After gawking, the man with the golden shoulders determined there was nothing they could do here, that there was nobody worth saving at all, and piled back into the jeep. The man with the stripes pointed at Paul, way up on his veranda. He had a face that asked "What about that one?" The officer shook his head in that simple way that says, "No, that man is a lunatic, and he's better off here than with us." Such is life.

The sun set on the spider web. It glittered blithely in the evening sun. Evening dew began to settle on the joints and rivets and junctures of steel and flesh. The hands stopped clapping; the wind had changed direction.

Only Paul remained, atop his great Veranda. His arms still moved passionately up and down, side to side. He seemed to be sweeping away the ghost of death with his great sermon. Paul looked like a miracle man, spouting and preaching and praying and lifting his seraphic voice up to God. This was the great chantepleure of Paul Shepherd. The great hymnal of man.

All the tracks led out of town, away from Paul and the clapping hands and the storybooks and the mothers. This was not the place for haunting; it had ghosts enough. There was only Paul, and his words, and the bones and the steel, and the great choral swell of the cicadas as they emerged from the soil. A thousand voices crying out at once:

"What the hell was all that?"

Sunday, February 18, 2007

west side story

i'm sorry i caused you fear. i'm sorry that when i was four i told you your legs were fat. i'm sorry i threw a shoe at you last summer, and i'm sorry i wrecked your car. i'm sorry i flushed your earring down the toilet. i'm sorry i thought you were okay when you really couldn't stop crying. i'm sorry i push you away. i'm sorry you had to bandage me up. i'm sorry i drank too much that night and i'm sorry i lied.

a little piece of me died last night when she told me what you used to do.
you just seemed so strong, so together.
you never falter.
only when i'm not around.
and i'm sorry for making you doubt your ability.
west side story.

grass stains

new mind frames
are current forms of grass stains
my out of body experiences are something so intricate
i can't begin to find words to explain
its a recurrence of sounds, things split in the fit
the tussle, and the hustle, the bustle of moonlight fright
we ran from that awful sight, the woman glowing in the night
telling me that she was alright, but that was just her scary side
looking back at the grass stains that i had on my pants
after i fell, running from that income tax
finding spirits that were lifted
finding people that were gifted
we were just little kids, sitting in tire swings with big dreams
not to understand that there were evil money schemes
hunting down the past that was shattering
forced through the disconnected Internet connections
left on the ground for things that we rhymed
it was a simple time, egos dropped and fate was cast
we had nothing but the reminiscing of the past
taking back thousand word pictures
recounting the reverb inside the searches
taking time off, never felt so wrong
i called in to work, told them i was hurt
they never made a question just fired me first
asked questions once they took the test
i told them i set my friendships to rest
resting in pieces of my mirrored images
masking my fate with the infant memories i digest
something resting on my chest
cinder blocks are the heaviest
throwing things into the youthful breast
my time hath come, lost faith in young
new words scattering over my leaky water beds
talking words way over audiences' heads
need to meet those intellectuals
need to meet those individuals
need to meet ones accepting wake up calls
talking to ones who can spell
taking myself into a self made hell
kicking pails of limp sails
political progression quick as snails
giving you things to think about
never felt like a devout
but thoughts that did re-rout
I'm missing time, running down the line
train tracks of isolated confidence
derailed trains of my instance
new hunts, new scents for skunks
running down the hills
stumbling
taking breath (I'm still hunting)
breathing deep (still searching)
sliding on the grass (looking for innocence)
green grass stains my past (washing my past)
washing my past
looking in my soul, to try to fill the holes
looking in my soul, trying to fill the holes
looking in my soul, where's the concrete?

~looking forward to future friends and listening to ridiculous amounts of Sage Francis

Love,
Digress.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Oh so lost

I can't find the words anymore. Maybe I'm crushed. Maybe my soul just gave up the will to live. But no, if that was the case my heart wouldn't smile every time i think of you. Maybe I'm just comfortably stagnant, content with just floating by. But then how could i want so much to change? I know that tons of people that read this can understand what I'm going through, and are willing to give me words of encouragement, but that doesn't help when i can't even understand what I'm going through.

More than anything i believe my writing has been shocked into submission. I had one of those moments that you can't prepare for. As much as i told myself that it would happen one day, i still felt like a dagger pierced me out of no where when it did. I stood against the wall, pretending i didn't give a care in the world, when really i felt my world collapsing. Your dad is the guy that would kick someones ass if they hit you when you were learning to ski, and would hold you and tell you its alright when you lose a grandparent. And what do you say when your rock is broken? Watching my dad cry, completely defenseless, i was more lost than i have ever been. I tried to stream of consciousness rhyme about it.

"Damn dad, sorry your mad, i wish you could be glad, you loved me sense I've been a lad".

Nothing.

I didn't sit down to write about it that, but maybe it is the block in my stream. I wish i could break past it so i could focus on other things, but when i try to write it always just comes back to this. A circle that i don't know how to get out of.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Restrictions

I don’t understand
Why you do these things,
Yeah, because you love me,
But I know there are other reasons.

You seem to find something wrong
In every little thing I do,
Whether it be the friends I chose,
Or the music that I listen to.

You say that my best friend
Is a bad person
and isn’t worthy of knowing me,
You say that my music
Is repulsive and unclean.

Everything seems
to be going along just great,
then you surprise me,
in your unexpected, unpleasant ways.

I am in your network of
Unreasonable, no, irrational, restrictions,
You chose to believe
That the life I’m leading is fiction.

Well it’s not!
It’s as real as the sun and the moon,
And if you don’t like it,
Well then too bad for you.

The friends I chose,
And the music I listen to,
Those are the things
That make me…me,
Not you.

You can tell me who
I can and can’t hang out with,
You can tell me that
I can’t listen to songs with “bad” words.

Put more restrictions on me,
See what that’ll do,
You can’t take away what makes me – me,
Because, you see, I’m not you.

With all these restrictions,
You think you’re protecting me?
Please, give me a break!
For God’s sake I’m 18!

Let me chose my own friends,
And the music I listen to,
Because sooner or later,
That’s what you’re going to have to do.

When I’m up at college,
You can’t tell me who to be-friend,
What not to listen to,
And what not to wear,
Yeah I’ll make mistakes,
And some bad decisions here and there,
But hey! We’re all human,
And that’s the one burden that we share.

Ease up a little,
Try to understand,
That the music that
I listen to,
Isn’t bad,
And neither are my friends.

Ease up on all the rest
Of the restrictions put on me,
My life is no fiction that
You make it out to be,
And I hope that maybe one day,
You’ll open your eyes and see.

love is...

Love is...
Looking into a person's eyes and seeing their soul,
Longing to talk with them to take away the pain,
Offering them your everything, hoping they'll understand,
Wishing for that day, clinging to the few hopes that still remain.
And love is…
Wanting nothing but the best for them,
And crying yourself to sleep knowing it might not be,
Longing to open wide your heart to them,
In hopes that one day they'll understand and see.
Love is...
Those words you whisper as you lay yourself to sleep,
And smiling as you think of them, knowing they're by your side,
Those lonely tears that fall from your eyes,
Knowing there is no longer anywhere to hide.
And Love is…
Confessing every feeling that lays buried deep within,
And fully knowing no words could describe how you truly feel,
The pain and hurt you feel, knowing it means nothing,
To you, these deep emotions I hold, will never truly be real.
Love is…
Willing to give all you have for one small chance
Staking your life on its uncertainty,
Laying your heart open freely before their searching eyes,
Loosing this deep powerful feelings ...letting your soul free.

My Imaginary Friend

let me tell you about my imaginary friend
spending most of his time holding a pen
he sits at a desk
writing to lift weight off his chest
he keeps a pen at his breast
searching dictionaries for words at best
learning new writes, listening for his mess
scribbled down when there was no less
he's an open jar, he's got battle scars
no lid, but an accused in-VA-lid
from the things he did
grew up in the forties
aged in the eighties
flirted with tragedy in the two thousands
experienced mind wanderings
his out of body sate, goes to school to learn the date
comes home to tamper with ink cartridge fate
created on a day so baked
never found his way home
but the ingredients were very close
he paused; looked left; turned right
found paper pens with ink to be his new fight
correct with his scheme
never lost sight of his team
he was always battling
defined as an ink fiend
hearts that pump words in ink
paper is the template for him to think
he always sees from lack of routine
straying away from the things done daily
oh yes, my imaginary friend is DIGRESS

I AM

I am your Juliet
I am the penny on the floor of the bank
I am the flesh to break your fall
I am your favorite song, stuck in your head
I am the book that took weeks to read
I am the fireworks that go off in your heart when I walk through the door
I am the directions to your destination
I am the bird soaring through the air
I am all of your possessions. You love every one of them. [me]
I am the voice telling you to stay
I am the rock in your shoe
I am your favorite blanket, covering you every night
I am the proud award on the shelf, collecting dust
I am the secret, everyone knows
I am the art piece that you show
I am so, not that girl
I am the shadow at night, by your side.
I am the little girl that loves to hide.
I am the ink of your pen
I am the one you miss, every time you blink.
I am kink in the brand new sports car
I am your thoughts, when you are at the bar
I am the one you love, too far away.

Vocabulary Atraphy.

wondering
about things that are unseen
the strange scenes
of picturesque dancing
a perfect choreograph
that speaks all about geography
telling me things you don't see
words have three meanings
words have three beings
words are three entities
we've got twenty one sevens
and seven one elevens
where's the money at?
where's the Z's at?
where's the Yo's at?
it that what you're about?
pop hits by hypocrites
encouraging babies to be illigeit
the radio doesn't know
but it tells you so
listen to things you can't see
even with naked eye balls, sex does sell
what do the words tell
about riches, and quick fling misses
sitting on cracks, breaking mamma's back
was mama breaking her back
when she gave birth to something so whack?
the mother of hip hop, pop top, a black art
a white world, and blue oceans
read blood, sensual motions
inebriated by the potions
love sickness is my every excuse
I've got eyes shaking from the abuse
missing love while making love mistakes
nine months down tracks that hold fetus
a brave new world, a brave new score
players holding on by ropes
ropes that hang and choke
ropes that prod and poke
ropes that are intertwined
new material had new zeal
television was an unacceptable sin
bunny ears cutting off reception years
little kids growing up in the pain
the suffering, the upliftment of humanity
it escaped the hip hop generating
this feeling of acceptance by smoking
by tokin', by jokin', and jockin'
we've been mackin' the wrong woman
now lost in this lust for trust
no trust, taught not, by the hip to the HOP
give me a potato sack, i need to attack the whack
go ahead and strike back, nothing that you can pack
will polish this chrome, and kill this Cadillac
confessing to crimes involving a little green sack
where was the dignity, where was the misery?
when did hip hop become a commercial scheme?
was it back when Run DMC made things so Easy E?
was it when we reped our city, like that E-40?
or was it splitting dollars in two with Fifty?
they know what it is to get the money
but along with it comes the jewelery
jewels bring thieves that stalk the ritzy
we've got a funny thing inside our hearts that loves misery
so sit back and let hip hop go back
to what it started out to be
the upliftment of humanity
an escape from reality
not the bragging on T.V.
about dirty women, and dirty money

~Digress is Disgusted

Love,
Digress.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Valentine Dreams

I look out my window only to see
that it's snowing outside.
The blanket of snow covering the streets,
makes it seem like there's no sign of life.
It's 6am,
though it seems like it's still night,
It's dark out,
And the corner street lamp
gives off the only light.
I continue to follow
my normal morning routine,
I'm so tired,
I'm dragging,
It feels like I'm in a dream.
As I start to walk down the stairs,
I look down at my feet,
Rose petals line the staircase,
I wonder who did this?
HOW SWEET!
Rose petals continue as I turn the corner.
Are there any more surprises?
Could there be more?
There's a card
with Hershey's kisses all around,
"My beautiful girl,
You're the one I adore,
I love you so much,
How I'm with you,
must be sheer dumb luck.
Happy Valentines Day,
My dear!", it so sweetly read.
I look to the left,
and there is a white envelope,
Curious,
I open it up.
Tickets to my favorite band
that is coming into town.
I am so happy!
Nothing can bring me down!
BEEP!
BEEP!
BEEP!
My alarm clock rings.
I look out the window into reality.
A white blanket on the ground,
Gross brown slush in the streets.
Last night it snowed,
just like it has for weeks.
What a wonderful dream!
Too bad it wasn't real.
Another Valentine's Day to begin,
to me, just another Wednesday,
of the 2007 school year.

phobe

The hebephrenic world exalts beneath the solace of winter sun. Big, deep blue seas and chunks of land, anonymous from the dizzying heights of the moon, all smiling and floating and growing closer and farther—we stand upon a new continent, we name her Ebb. Beneath us is the sea, and she is Flow. Around us are a thousand myriad specks of birds and barren trees, where in years golden we were gorillas and space men. I fell in love first in the place where a duplex now stands. A 40 watt bulb illuminates the corner of the earth where I, thirteen and stalwart, hit my very first—alas, my very last—home-run in the corn field behind the cemetery. Spin goes the world—‘round and ‘round ad nauseam. Above it all, a choir of Seraphim lift their heavy hymnals upward and raise their timeless voices—oh, and those voices! interwoven little tapestries; each a part of a whole in that anatman agglomeration of sound and bliss!—to Whomever, they sing:

"Faster, faster, we need another master…"

Some days I wake up some place where I wasn’t when I fell asleep. Sometimes I get lost on the way to the door. I blame tectonic shifts, or light refraction. I get dizzy lying down. Thinking back to times incongruent. Something about leaving my bike unattended in the rain and those rusty brakes breaking hard on a hill, and how silly things looked in the slow-motion spin as I rode the air in two small flips over the handlebars. Coming-to lopsided and scatterbodied in the poor lady-with-the-apron’s front yard, and how she tsk-tsk’d beneath her breath while my bundle of papers lingered uselessly around that twisted clump of metal, and my big old loose-tooth smile as I said “thanks, ma’am, but I ought be going home” seemed so disproportionate.

I caught tadpoles where they put a townhouse. I fell in that puddle twice—once after a first kiss, and once after breaking up, oh, you cyclic baptismal mudwater font!—and now a bastard and his car are idling there and looking at skin magazines and talking about the girl in 44B; I threw a milkshake at her house once, after a night of feeling shitty about myself. Now there’s a privacy fence. The neighbors complained after T. ran over the Virgin Mary with his mountain bike. We mostly laughed despite ourselves on the hill where they put a parking lot. They cut down the dogwood in our old side yard and put up a billboard. I picked blackberries in the summer of ’96 with a friend I lost in the fall of ’04, and read The Classics under a deck that has succumbed to time. I live in the country that once was lost, but now is…

Our yard was so much greener when we jumped off the roof, hand in hand, as fearless as lemmings, saved by the tightly-stretched tarp—still warm with Summer—that refracted us like sunlight. One high, one low, all in the shadow of the Great Blue Mountain, until sunset came and the lightning bugs emerged, and we looked at stars through the crooked lens of an age-old telescope. A herd of comets roamed the prairie sky. Two ante-meridian and frigid, wrapped in our bear blanket with hot cocoa and toast. They took down the sky and put up a mirror. Here's us. Pinpoint and fractal. Here's us. The burned out light of stars long gone.

Here's us; a million years ago.

The world spins on, despite it all. It spins on dharma axis and resolves itself daily with the stroke of a clock, the beep-beep-beep that brings me to the place where once I’m sure somebody did something, and this mirror is haunted with ghosts. From way up, though, it’s all a big mottled kaleidoscope train wreck, the Earth. But from way down here, we are all microscopes.

I Read It

I read it. I can’t believe I opened it and read it. It wasn’t directly to me but I read it. You said it. I can’t believe you typed it and you posted it. On a day I’ll never forget, a day that’s suppose to be filled with love, you said it. It has been a year and now, again, you have to say it. Say it to everyone. You have tried to move on but you still remember it. I don’t want to remember it. I don’t want you to put things where you know I will read it. I don’t want you to talk about me in such a way. I don’t want you to remember me. I don’t want to know you. I don’t want to see you. But as it sits there and as I sit there knowing exactly what is inside, I open it, I read it, and I miss you.

something from a true human mind

You want it, you got it, yeah okay.
I'll drop it
I'm a word, a song, a dare
that flare that makes you come back
can't stay away, say what you only wanna pray
you want my inspiration, my conversation, my annotation
on your pages like you were a book.
pause, rewind, stop to find that I'm trapped in your mind
can't forget, can't regret, you only want what you can't get
you're so lost you can't come back, you'll sell your soul for any cost
for a minute of fame you'll throw a game, for stupid pride you'd stay on your side
Wait, wait, I'm stuck...
...
like a tongue to a pole, like a joint that you roll, like a stomach never full
I'm dissatisfied, detached, dismayed and defeated
I'm tired, I'm trying, I'm TRYING! but my rhymes
just keep dying
they give way to lemon limes and bigger times and greater minds
I won't quit but I'll accept defeat
...sit back and wait for the judgement seat

it's a laxative for your mind..

it's been so dry, the stream has ceased for months now. she can't grasp it, press her lips upon it or sink her head into the desert. so jimi takes over..

manic depression's touching my soul,
i know what i want,
but i just don't know how to go about getting it.
feeling, sweet feeling
drops from my fingers, fingers
manic depression's captured my soul.
woman so willing the sweet cause in vain,
you make love,
you break love,
it's all the same when it's...
when it's over.
music sweet music,
i wish i could caress, caress, caress.
manic depression's a frustrating mess.
well, i think i'll go turn myself off and go on down.
really ain't no use me hanging around.
oh, i gotta see you.


tell me, have you ever been experienced? well, i have.

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

On Teaching A Wishlist

I swear it was a simple list
a list of wishes
things I dream
what I want
like blowin on twenty birthday cakes
and I was nearly cussin sons of cousins
and now my head aches
make a list and put in some pictures
it’s simple we ain’t writin scriptures
give me a vision let the words make decisions
just show and don’t tell cuz tell day blows always was always will
I need words that show
like tongues stained from rainbow suckers
and not made up words like deluxer
and then comb the wishlist
with a fine tooth
and 86 the cliché
cuz those are now gone and illegal
our new words are paintings that bounce off purple walls
sounding so regal
and then change it again so it says I AM
Yeah, I Said Change It

Damn Leyba you’re killin me shifting my flow what the hell do you know? My wishes was shiny and slippery as fishes and now you want I AM?
I’ll tell you who I am
I am word a stained tongue
I am the skin of the young
I am the shame after losing the game
I am the dropped jaw after hearing the blame
I am lemon lime rhyme sour with power
Words are my ingredients like sugar and flour
Baking you
Involuntarily taking you
to the image I want
I am the writer

Yeah, like that
Just trust me

I Am

I am the unseen shadows of the night,
I am a stereotype - my own - I am me.
I am the good role model that my little brother looks up to,
I am the 4.0 that I'm constantly compared to.

I am all the lies that I've so thoughtlessly told,
I am the tear drop, falling from my blue eyes,
releasing all that is untold.
I am the rain drop falling to the ground
with no fears or second thoughts,
I am the water cascading out of the faucet,
cleansing all that I touch.

I am the memory of all that is soon to be forgotten,
I am in a movie-it's called my life - and it has plenty of action.
I am the survivor of a fatal heart attack,
I am good karma, bad karma, and the ever so popular payback.

I am the apology accepted by the one who killed my own blood,
I am the heart that is strong, resistant, and completely unbreakable.
I am all the scars from my past that make me - me,
I am the all star athlete - Olympian soon to be.

I am a bright 'n' shiny sports car
not the beat up car that I appear to be,
I am the fish that, I know, is really afraid of me.
I am the one and only person that can fly,
soaring over the lands and into sky,
Above the mountains I am lifted,
I am all the things that are on my wish list.

I am what I am,
I am me.

red, white, blue

go ahead cut me off one more time,
you crazy old man,
you tree huggin,
mj smokin,
crazy ahole.
take some pride in you country.
cuz get this,
boy i bleed
red
white
and
blue.
me,
who i could careless,
tell me again,
take off your stickers old man.
s***.
dont be hatin
because you aint me.
take your hippie ways,
get them out of my face.
remember this name,
because b****,
i b l e e d,
red
white,
and blue.
so bro get a clue.
wake up,
dont shake up,
what you cant take up.
have some pride.
or ride outta here.

Let the Game Begin

Game on, rhyme on, smack on, tag I'm it, well s*it.
Challenge accepted, digested, only partially neglected.
I'll bring it, I'll bring it with style, state something worthwhile, mile after mile.
Magnetic and majestic, these words come though,
stick like glue and define who's who.
Time to rhyme my mimes.
Oh, I got wit, I'll spit it, hit it, out bid it, I just did it, and I'll stick wit it.
I'll rhyme to your heart's desire, go ahead, take it down to the wire,
I ain't scared cuz I'm on fire.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Son God

i was sitting conflicted
looking for a new mission
when i noticed a pen
i took time to sit on the fence
my grass was always green
i looked over and saw a serene scene
it was mystical and rather obscene
the dream team of scavenger schemes
looking at me, as though i were mean
i sat back and laughed at the fact
that they attempted to attack
when they all acted whack
sitting on my alcove of lost hope
my fence, gave me quotes
i spoke and realized it wasn't dope
it was imagery, a common fallacy
my heavy breath sat with discontent
while i attempted to find, i took a strides
stepping up and choking, gasping for air
i slit ropes with heavy fists of unborn kids
the brains in my cranium is a new wave of sanitation
she gave me means for master-racism
she was the devil in her majesty
holding scepters of prestigious entity
the carnivores look forward to the hoard
when we can sit back and play bored games
the devil and i got along fine
after we decided to change sides
we looked back at the mystery climbs
and rusted ladder rungs to the memories we decide
that's when god came to realize
every piece of mischiefed is winterized
inverted in this holding cell, we found it to be hell
finding an escape rout, as we looked out for the devout
this wooden floor keeps me board
waiting for the memories i contorted
waking up to find another man went blind
looking for an exit out of the love hate that begs for it
another control freak, looking for vestiges that seek
hair to slick back and wait for the dream team to speak
shining on the tiles, reflecting all the miles
the faces of the well traveled followed my child's hideouts
sitting in the vision, looking for my diction
reading my own wishes, holding this interest
seeking my missions
trying to find god in a world so full of fake faith
trying to disprove god in a world so full of hate
trying to live life, without embracing my fate
I'm still alive, I'm not done on this planet
I'm still alive, I'm not done with this handout
see, life is like a worksheet, busy work and discouraging
if its easy then we've stuck to the routine
sitting back with something toothy
i do believe in god, but i don't believe in prophets
i do believe in prophets, but i don't believe in hypocrites
find something more common in humans than lies
and you've found the missing link
looking for the chain that thinks
searching for the weakest link.

-One of my favorite poets/musicans once stated in a song, "i don't have a god complex, you've got a simple god."

~Thinking a lot lately.

Love,
Digress

Game On again

Yo,
that post that slipped down page
thats spits in two
was written for you
Game on means bring IT
TWICE
So start spittin
SamSwaBoogieBlue & Gobbler
2

baby boy

its not that i dont feel for you.
for i know i have sinned.
how wonderful it was to stand before you.
only to honor me with your presences.
to bless me with your smilel.
life is too short.
our moments short and sweet.
only for a short while did we know,
our paths would cross.
light brought to your eyes.
our worlds devine.
you are the one we have hoped for.
not a follower.
but a leader.
memories float out of all of us,
stright to heaven.
your wings built my smiles,
happy tears.
their baby boy.
their most missed memories.
our friend.
our caller.
the one stands for all.

handle it.

ahh.
i finally confessed to you.
all you said to me was dude.
gee thanks.
its true though.
we are just friends.
if thats all i can get.
thats all i will take.
rather then not having you.
i would rather, be your,
dare i say it.
it comes close to mind.
always going to be there.
never to let me down.
tell me its okay.
reasure me im the s***.
always touching my stuff.
stealing my pens.
its true,
you are my friend.

Monday, February 12, 2007

on watching a herd of children run in a mall promenade

Oppositely charged neutrons unleashed at odd intervals; the red-headed one with the berserk chocolate stains dribbled down her shirt front is static electric and sticks to the floor. She is up for steps, but only a few, then down and crawling and squealing and gibbering in that way that babies do. All of them run in dizzy tiny circles and orbit each other cautiously, their eyeballs rollin in those big big heads of theirs, hair and tongues and four queer teeth pokin out funny behind those smilin lips. All the parents sit stupified and distant and look at their nails and check their watches and the one in the black yaks on her cell-phone like a religion, dominus vobiscum and those goofy little footsteps, double-knotted and sizes too big or too small pound switchfoot rhythms all over the floor, morse code gospel et cum spiritu tuo. These ersatz little people and their wild flinging hair, and their shakey little legs and their wild inspiration, gleaning all that stellar cosmic sunlight like smiles from Nirvana, all of em pinging off each other and running around and looking at mother and father. All of them wide-eyed and slobbery and jellied in the knees, screaming out loud gee-ooh-shee-da-da-da-da et al, all this gibberish nonsense that means nothing to anybody except for maybe them, cause every incoherent little syllable makes one or the other smile big, point a silly little finger this way or that. Sometimes up at the silvery light of midday coming through the big round atrium, crooked little tiny fingers and perfect round little pinkpale nails, terribly small. I am scared at how small, all of them, tiny people with big old lives and this one is a carpenter in training pants, this one is a soldier and this one, this one in the corner is the poet and he says his ga-ga-ga incessently, and suddenly Mother decides she needs to have a browse about the shoe store, and Father needs a new pair of slacks, and one by one they get picked up and toted off, little tiny spheres of influence, all assimilated and bye-bye, waving to each other in their goopy language with their salivacious faces wrought in tiny little smiles, ephemereal little whispers of something, bye bye.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

My Missing Pieces

Hold up. Stick your nose up. Smell the air, try to compare to how it was back there. When we knew. Knew what was true. Knew what to do. When we had nothing to lose. But now it’s gone and it’s been so long, and I miss hanging out with you and your mom, but you still look so strong. Like me you see, we still try to be what they want us to be. But before, we could ignore, we could be free to be who we wanted to be, just you and me. And now I can’t see were those moments could be. We built up these walls, to tall to call to each other when we miss one another. You called me a brother. And we put my A’s on your fridge as a bridge to each other. But the bridge has been broken, and this is my token, to you my friend, who still can’t comprehend, how I brake and you bend, and I tried to make amends, but we’re both hurt again. I miss you.

promise something happy next time :)

maybe we'll go too far, we just don't care

a string tugged on my collar bone, pulling me towards the door. i listened for any noise, heard the hum of the dishwasher and opened my eyes wide as if i had just drank a venti. my shaky hands found my glasses and i slowly opened my door and listened for noise again. it was one of those urges, my midnight snack. couple steps down the hall, i grabbed for my vice. my chocolate, my potato chips, my licorice. the strings pulled up to prepare for the snack i had been craving from earlier that day. before when i couldn't feel your insults or misunderstanding. now it was dripping onto my skin, staining everything in sight. my eyes closed for the first time as i savored the sweet flavor. i wiped up the creation and the strings pulled everything down. my urge now replaced with the sting of salt and binging. i take my glasses off and lay down. i'll clean up in the morning.

my happiness

I want to rhyme about this but I can't seem to find it appropriate. Because, well, it seems like it should be something soft, something fragile, something sweet and, honestly, I can't really find the right words to express it. There are no words to express that grin that spreads across my face no matter my mood when he calls me that nickname and calls me "his." Or, I can't explain how giddy it makes me when I tickle him and he giggles like a little kid and squirms to get away. I just can't quite tell how or why it is that when he hugs me and I'm wrapped up in his arms, I feel safe and even though it's cold outside I'm warm and I just don't wanna move. And when we walk side by side and I see our shadows (he never notices me looking) it makes me smile and he thinks I'm crazy because I giggle for no reason. Some people might think I'm moving on too fast but...I never want to look back and say "what if...?" Everybody gets one life to do with what they want. Me, I want to be in love and be loved, uninhibited and in complete bliss. This is my opportunity, and I'm gonna take it.

A Wish

If I could ask god for one thing, I would ask him for a day like tomorrow that would never really happen. I mean, I would ask him to let me wake up one day, and just live like I wish I could. Not be afraid to tell people what I truly feel about them, or to speak my mind. I would ask him to give me that chance, to leave my fears behind. I would ask him that when that day was over, I would go to sleep, and wake up, and the day would have never happened. It would just be a dream in my memory. Just so I could know, know if putting it all on the table would make me the happiest I've ever been, or if it would just mess everything up. Would I go to sleep on that day, and tell god, "thanks for letting me know that you cant always be accepted and happy with your true self", or would I tell him "you know, you could forget about my wish, and just let this day be, cause if you take it away, I would just live it the same again tomorrow". What would that day teach me? And here comes a question I am too scared to ask… why don't I make that day tomorrow? What if tomorrow night I could pray and say, "This is how I want to live everyday". Take god out of it. What if I went into tomorrow, and lived it like I tell my self I want to. Do the things I tell myself I'm gonna do just before I fall asleep? You see, what I'm starting to believe is that the risks involved in living your days like that aren't really that big of risks at all, they are more like opportunities.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

listening

I've been hearing these hideous things
the words that you've been comiserating
the pop culture overture is boring
its now in my words i'm storing
on this internet blog
at four in the morning
if i could escape the touring
i'd run away from this fate
but its been following me, labled "HATE"
so i turned around and accepted it message
and heard the things it said
it made no sense when it resorted to this
@#$% the clairty, and enter the misery
of your simple petty reminding
would you like to go on pining?
or just wondering where your life is winding?
i've got wind under my heels, and holes in my sails
i've been on this ocean for a decade
waiting for rescue ships to cascade on my parade
throwing parties in my basement
sent the mini-market to a new department
my sanity is in a television screen that i don't watch
while my ego is encased in the glass words of i am
so take my hand and enter this constant sand
the aparture of new apartment lands
light escaping the hate they brew
the beer and football overflows out windows
while white trash holds its hands in the glow
fire burned in the simple lands of kurds
destruction was a new induction
seduced by the things they introduced
the songs were so groovy
and the sounds we so moody
take my hand and take this plan
we've got a new era ahead of us
but i'm strangling to establish
paralax of introduction tracks
my fake facade is a description of the pod
this underground milligram pill came in to prod
productions and prophalatic tours
holding back the composers scores
wondering about the unwritten overtures
my mind is bothered, sitting here alone
its just me, just that, just him, just alone
just told, just sold, just broken bones
just a song, just a poem, just words
just a blog, just an expression
just a face, just a direction
so whats that called? APATHY
apathy is my greatest friendly
its the one that holds me, i've got no empathy
or at least, that they can see.
so remember when i talk about milligram sanity.

~keeping chilled
Love,
Digress.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Something Light?

You said you wanted something light--light like Love. Since when has Love been light? Light things blow away in the wind, they break easily, and leave little impressions. That doesn't sound anything like Love. Love is that incredible feeling within your chest, like a huge breath of living air that keeps on coming, something alive, a fire, and a brilliant, radiant light shining out from inside. Love is the life and spirit of you jumping out. Love is what causes the sides of your mouth to curl uncontrollably, for you to dance for no reason, and what allows you to see the world as a better place. Love makes us better people--it results in spontaneous giving, undying compassion, selfless sacrifice, and unbridled happiness. Love is the most powerful and awe-inspiring condition within the human heart. Love is the driving force behind all that we wish to be as people. Love is what allows us to thrive.
You call that light?

Author's Note: Thanks to Maya Angelou for some inspiration

Game on

Singsong wordalong tagyour IT!
Connecttwo spitin doubletime Wham
PhiSlamma wordto yourgrandma Smack!
Multisyllabicelectrostatic armhair risinup Thud
Holdinbreath writinfaster whosthe masterblaster POOF!
Aintno thangrabbitt hitit spitit yeahyou getit sonow giveit Shhhooot
Wordhop Skotchjumpin JacksUp myeyes andmind readindrhyme indouble timeYo!
PeasOut!

I want a window...

I want a window to see my future. I want to look out and about and see through, over, and beyond what there is to come. I want to look past the bright pink window panes and look at the grass, trees, streets and lights that resemble what is to come. I want to roll around in the sweet smell of fresh cut grass in the summer, resembling the thorns that poke you in the side every once in a while. I want to watch the cars pass by me, and wonder where they are in a hurry to get to and why there are always so many, every hour of the day. I want to warn them to slow down and enjoy life because you never know when you will have to slam on the breaks to avoid an accident. I want to stare directly into all the lights of the posts, headlights, and any other form that makes me wish there were none, so that all of us could look up -really look up- and see the stars. Wonder what they hold. What other people, like us, and maybe nothing like us, that are out there. I want to look at all the trees, some strong and some weak. Like a connection to us, that are waiting to be watered with the rain, and i want to borrow its limbs to climb, so i can be high, and i can see. I want a window to know. A window to wisdom and a window to knowledge. To be certain about things to greet me in a year, a day, a second, a minute, or 30 years. To make my conscience clear. To set the anger free. Someone. Set me free.

a response to your plea

Something light...something light...? Like, maybe the way it makes me feel when I wake up and the sun is just barely rising and I see those pink and purple and orange streaks in the sky? Or when I do 100 sit-ups and my abs hurt so bad but all I can do is laugh and laugh until it hurts so bad I wanna stop but I just can't? Or what about waking up from a nap with a smile on my face because I just had a dream about curling up in his arms and taking a nap? Hmm, I wonder if what you mean is (I suppose it might be) that first big drop of a roller coaster feeling, the one where your stomach rises to your throat or drops to your feet (I suppose it changes from person to person) and you scream and (hopefully) your mouth waters and that makes you drool and it hits you in the face...and you live in that single moment with its twists and turns and loopy loops and there's nowhere else you'd rather be. Maybe something light could be something dark...like a dark room with candles lit and roses (or tulips) on the table and her (or him) smiling across at you and sharing a piece of cheesecake. Or could it be something heavy? Like being unafraid to be completely vulnerable and honest and open and letting somebody know you, the real you, the you you are when you're alone. Something heavy like L-O-V-E.

oh lord...

Oh and the parked car, in the half light, the snow that haloed our heads. The muse of a knitted blanket; him and I. The long way home. Star swept over cattails. A seven hour summer drive. Sweat in sugary rivulets. Hands held like lips locked like eyelashes kissed. Swimming in thousands of footprints. And held, such as we were, in undeclared love. Waves of. Oh and the parked car, in the half light. I remember. A playground in setting suns. Shore sounds and cricket hums. I wonder if he ever misses us; all that was said and done.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Arms for oars

And where was God is what he is asking himself while he drives out West to be saved by his friends waiting at shore. They preach the religion of nautical residences, saying the Pacific has saved us, not knowing what he needs is a direction of his own. He has no reason not to be there and no reason to be anywhere else. But his @#$damn tires are @#$damn tired, the spare ain't there, he's on the wrong highway, and his map is full of crop circles from damp coffee mugs. As he leaves there are thoughts of his mother in Maine with her rosary palms, his sister in Baltimore with her neatly crossed arms, his brother in Boston with his stained glass knees, his dad buried under the Church of Saint Joseph's garden in New Jersey. He just wants out of the East. He turns up the car stereo. There's a song playing in the speakers and it sounds like this.

When he can't stand driving any longer he finds a motel to keep him in sleep. He dreams of streetlights telling ghost stories, ghosts telling secrets. He wakes up at dawn and starts out again. The pine trees and low sun remind him of this girl with curly cue curls, who kissed him square and steep on the bridge over Clover Creek, with her hands in her pockets before he took them out to hold, her eyes closed and ears cold, Fall just falling all over her shoulders. He's been out of love since she left, packed up and took his heart out of state. He might as well half admit he's looking for her, wherever out there she might be. He grips the steering wheel and tries to think of anyone else, anything else. There's a song playing in his head and it sounds like this.

He's off the highway following backroads, his map folded up and thrown from the window into a stretch of farms. Cattle eyes glare, like he doesn't belong, just aimless, as he is, sure and he's already yawning but determined to keep driving, over and down the backs of hills. A cadence starts swelling, rolling, pulling old thoughts out and leaving him empty. A sweet summer smell, grass and hay, sugary soil, comes to him as though through the open door of an oven. Wind shakes his cheeks and dries his mouth, which is open with something to sing but he doesn't know what. There's a song playing in your head and it sounds like this.

Looking around he remembers what his grandpa had told him about how he would be at home in the country, growing gardens and living off the land. Meanwhile his aunt had said he'd be better suited in the city, where his creative energy would flourish, and his social skills would soar, and his uncle said no, he should find the inbetween, the green of trees and the culture of marquees. Maybe some neon lights with sunflowers blooming. He's seen all of that and he's always stayed in the same place. East. He pulls over and opens the car door. Just a step of fiction short of storybook, he shouts into the cloudless sky. He removes his faith like a pair of sandals and leaves it at the side of the road. He shrugs with the motion of a wave traveling from one side of an ocean to the other. Five miles later he ends up where he's supposed to be.

I want a Window


My window is clean and when the light is just right my reflection is oh oh oh so lean.
My window ain’t to my soul cuz that crap is so old
if you want to look inside me then ask me hard questions
cuz I ain’t ascared.
My window distracts me and pleases me and brings outside into me. Intimately.
My window is a time lapse
a concentration relapse and I don’t think you’re ready for this mishaps.
My window is sunglasses and five minutes between classes
and it makes the clock hands move like molasses.
My window is a movie and people peer in cuz they never knew me
but they wanted to so they walk by the window and wonder what they wanna know.
I heard them talking.
My window is like life
some people look in
and
some people look out
and those of us inside here we know what it’s all about cuz our window gives meaning unlike that bad light from the ceiling
and we lookout together
and we write as a feeling.
My window is the feeling in my gut and the tight in my chest
and you get quiet when I let you look inside and see the unrest
but it’s honest and it’s clear
like a window you can’t see.
My window you hear.

Letting You Down

Innocent years,
Daddy’s little girl.
You’d pick me up in your arms, and give me a whirl.
Six years of you and me dances.
No worries about my future romances.
Sharing butterfly kisses.
Singing along to the song,
Little did we know
that the road ahead was long.
It all began when high school started.
My grades were slipping,
and you knew I was smarter.
Hanging out with the wrong crowd.
Doing stuff, that I knew wasn’t allowed.
You have your ways of finding it all out.
You’d give me lectures,
but I wouldn’t have heard it,
even if you shouted.
One mistake after the other.
You hated how I had no respect for my mother.
No matter how bad the consequences were,
I’d go back to my old habits,
My old ways.
Things got worse, I got in trouble with the law,
I had screwed up big time,
and was about to lose it all.
Disappointed in me;
I cost you five hundred bucks,
Once again the middle child screwed up.
You’d think I’d learn after so many times,
I pushed your last buttons, when you found the wine.
You decided to send me away to a new school.
You wanted me to get a fresh start,
and to not break the rules.
I thought, …ah what the heck?...
It might be good to start off fresh.
It wasn’t long til I got in trouble,
And this time, I cost you more than double.
On a cold October, Saturday night,
$2500 is what it cost this time.
Being this bad of a daughter,
should seriously be a crime.
I’ve caused you so much more pain
than you ever should’ve known.
All my chances to prove myself,
I have now blown.
I’m in debt to you, over my head.
I owe you nearly one grand times ten.
All I’ve ever done is let you down,
Make you waste money- on my stupid mistakes…
Money that you rightfully earned.
So many mistakes,
I’m always falling down,
I keep trying harder, but it’s in my tears
that I seem to have drowned.
All the lies I have told, and the promises unfulfilled,
Always letting you down,
it’s your heart I’ve probably killed.
That’s all I do, is let you down,
and cause you pain,
that you never should’ve known.
Everytime I try to do something right,
it always turns out wrong.
I guess it’s just my luck of the draw.
I want you to know that I’m trying-
I will from now on,
And that I’m very sorry that
I’m always letting you down.

because because because

I Don't Think You're Ready...

I don't think you're ready to know,
because, you see,
you are so full of yourself.
Everything always
has to revolve around you.
When I tell you that I have a problem,
you say you have two.
The way you act,
just pisses me off.
You are so rude to me
when all you do is scoff.
You're not ready
to know these feelings that I have,
because you would just
turn your back and laugh.

Window

Looking out my window, down on the streets, I want to see the guy of my dreams. I want a window with a window seat, where I can read and write, and feel the sun's heat. I want a window that opens like two ballroom doors, and gazes out onto the stars of the universe. Out my window, and into the stars, I can reach every one of my dreams. Through my window I see my life as it lays ahead and I realize that I'm no where near ready yet. My window will open up opportunities to help me through life. It would be so relaxing to have no worries and just gaze out. With no window, there are no dreams, and a broken window is nothing but yet another shattered dream. I want a window so I can clearly see whether it is raining or snowing. I want a window to gaze out of when I am aching. I want a window to gaze out of and into the sky, a place where I can forget everything and write.

yEStERYEar