Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Insomnia

I'm choosing my muse, the one I’m ready to abuse.
And running mad confused left me staring straight at you.
Accusing my shoes for the heart break that ensues.
And beating in a bruise for the hope that renews.
Dreaming of sleep,
but your scent stains my sheets,
And I’m trying to leave,
but your kiss makes me weak.
It competes with the grief of my downfall,
repeat.
And holding you in dreams,
finding time to delete.
Its defeat to discrete to be regarded as complete.
Staring at my feet and the concrete that they meet.
chalk up one more victory for trying to pretend.
it’s a shadow fading fast of what we all want to defend
In the end we'll make amends, and pour sand in our sheets,
To take us to that beach so we can finally fall asleep.
It's not that our dreams are haunted by our memories,
but that morning light is blaring
And it's breaking our integrity.

First draft, you'll see this again

Monday, March 23, 2009

Oh, How You Could

Oh,
how
you
could
think
that
certain
people
have
it
so
rough
that
you
would
never
be
able
to
live
one
mile
in
their
shoes
with
their
problems
is
beyond
me
.

Oh,
how
you
could
constantly
fail
to
recognise
the
tragedy
building
up
inside
us
at
every
turn
of
the
way,
at
every
tick
and
tock
of
the
timer
is
beyond
me
.

Oh,
how
you
could
forget
that
every
life
is
an
alarm
clock
set
and
waiting
to
pounce
spring-loaded
on
the
very
peaceful
sleep
of
life
.
.
.



~Lightning last night, burnt grasses this morning.

Love,
Digress.

Evidence.

pain in my pockets, agony in my shoes
another crucifixion of the abused
painful remorse seeking discourse
and i can't really grasp the course
navigation breakdown of the source
mental maps folded into aeroplanes
sitting on the ducts of totally sane
back in the bottle neck alleviating pain
leaving me bruised but still the same
quietly arranged, and quickly perplexed
not the sort of comment easy to interject
another foul play line drive up the middle
putting the unaware in the reigns of the saddle
portion size has grown beyond balance
fat communist cats running scared countries
harmonising contrapuntally with the disease
we've travelled east to west
protecting more hearts than brains in our chests
another victim of a jerry-built gerrymander
taxing society looking to someone to pander
another axe handle cherry chopping session
picking up pitch-black forks for this dimension
free men forced to bring knives to gun fights
blue men on the prowl to knock out lights
of bronze shining from sea to sea at night
it's a Lazarus of a task
stand up with your Guy Fawkes mask.




~Magna Carta, Parliment, 5 November 1605.

Love,
Digress.


Saturday, March 21, 2009

Modus Operandi

waking up on a back road
broken glass breaks with a sad note
we had to try to get out of this mess
we forget that once we reach success

and pain is in the closet
the victims sit inside my pocket
high and tight, low and loose
another sorry person with a sorry excuse

writing letters in return
my fans will never be concerned
until i take the last step
and that's under the breath

waiting for intelligence
receiving no benevolence 
another tragedy at the hands of insolence
stepping to the cowardice

the earth shudders with complacency 
while humans destroy freedom with policy
we're sitting in the stew of social cacophony 
just another human tragedy.

~Here comes my friend.

Love,
Digress.

Friday, March 20, 2009

I Found Me Today.

Relationships.
What an utterance.
Mostly an affirmance.
This guy was dynamic,
insanely panoramic.
A cheater though,
A big boaster.
Promising Love?
Undreamed Of.
It was intense;
But thats past tense.
So I moved forth,
Improved, you could say.
This guy was older,
Never gave me the cold shoulder.
Driving down the street,
There I was complete.
Talked for hours;
Sitting through April showers.
Sound chilche?
Only in a heart felt way.
This guy was sensitive,
Not at all envasive.
Only on the inside;
though he always denied it.
Two years?
It disappeared.
Who am I now?
It was like taking a final exam.
Now, this one;
He was unpredictable,
Yet achiveable.
He said unforgetable words,
Asorbable.
Trust issues existed,
we never resisted.
Always consisted of..
Something, one thing;
Passion and desire,
like a line of fire.
It never really ended,
which isn't what I intended.
I stand here today,
Nothing works ones way.
But I found myself,
releived myself.
And i'm here to stay,
Without any delay,
Say hello to me, a woman;
It's a desire.
Here I Am,
Bold and confident for any man.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

I Met Bukowski In The Mirror This Morning.


You can see
it in his
eyes that he 
has walked a 
few miles and
taken a few
lives;
had a few 
promises
broken
. His shoes are 
worn down and 
his face grown 
out;
starts every
day with a
hefty bit 
of pain so 
he smiles in 
a wince and 
stands with a
crooked back
. He can't sink
or swim he's 
not looking
to begin
just searching
for a way
to pack it
up today
. His here and
now is gone
with the
whisper of
the tongue
and beating
of a drum
clocked out
and stone cold
these are the
streets he roams
drunk and with
no home
. Beaten down
and out of
breath he tries
to repent
but his idea
of god never
gave him the
laude
. Nietzsche told
him this and
Nietzsche told 
him that
nothing was
ever good
enough to
attract
so he tried
to keep out
and tried to
be aware
of the kooks
hiding in
crannies
behind the
infamy
. Aware of
the defeat,
a dirtbike
on the street,
a social
submarine
sinking with
the dream 
. Where humans
had failed, he
would observe
from quite the
distance so
as not to
get perturbed
sitting still
with glass in
tow
. And I'm sure
that he could
have been my 
dad.



~Good-night Milwaukee. good-night Bukowski--you'll never need to understand.

Love,
Digress.


Wednesday, March 18, 2009

"graduation."

We thought this year would be everything we asked for,
and just a little bit more.
But what we have come to see,
Is that was nothing more than false reality.
Our hops, our dreams, are slipping away,
Leaving us all in complete and utter dismay.
So where do we go from here?
I guess we will have perserve.
They say good-byes' are the hardest part,
I think they forgot about having to restart.
Because this is what we've grown to love,
Without having to question all of the above.
We try to say this isn't the end,
But what about 'graduation' do we not comprehend.
Going back, what would you change?
Other than everything.

Monday, March 16, 2009

An Open Letter.


Feeling like the bad guy
for wanting it to be right
a stupid issue
from a stupid mouth
up at night because of a stupid choice
sleeping easy in the next room
it's easy
to play that defensive tune
that's why
he finds the
melodies so sweet
bringing to him that
kind of
relief

i feel broken in the back yard
stabbed by my right hand
slicing thoughts with a shard
broke something grand

and looking in the mirror
i get disgusted
thinking of my potential
i hope it's enough
to keep me
from that dug hole
living like he does must be nice
no more ability than
what will suffice
i've been suffering in the back yard
of my mind
thinking of an admirable time
few come alive
and many less built around a lie
a man in charge
who can't sever ties of dependency
hypocrisy explicit 
flowing in veins
of redundancy
it's like the same uneasy sentence again
like the same uneasy sentence again
same uneasy sentence again
and then the same uneasy sentence again
but what can we do
when you didn't commit to a vision?

broken floor tile
arguments unfounded
so give me a smile
stupidity compounded

victim of his gerrymandering
but thinks he is pandering
only to himself
never puts a new book
on that shelf
every time
i try to be myself
he grabs hold of the ideas on
my shelf
and my questions are too painful
and passing judgement is so useful
an informed decision
he thinks it's all motive
for unnecessary competition
but what is that within?
failure to want to begin?
i am painfully distraught
when he acts like
i fought
with
deadly intentions
i become a broken fence
around a bed of
severed heads

melodrama queen
get back in your limousine

painful to write
painful to fight
no sword nor pen in your sight
gentrified but lost sight

and i'm afraid to follow suit
and i'm afraid to follow you
i don't know
am i being a good one?
have i been a good ...?
even if i'm mad
i'm sorry ...



~It is personal.

Love, 
Digress




Thursday, March 12, 2009

And I know you don't feel right when I'm leaving.

I will never forget blue in your eyes.
Hazel, without a doubt, but those blue rings around the inside
hidden to most, but I always seemed to find them.
I will never forget night swimming
sneaking in through the padlocked gate
diving through the knats and the evening's humidity
kissing hard and long and intertwining our bodies and 
then dunking you and swimming away as fast 
as my size 5 feet would paddle
as you "quickly" chased after me.
I will never forget the scruff on your face.
After three days it formed around your proud jawlines
scratching me every time you would kiss the edges of my mouth.
I will never forget the way you got angry.
Eyes wide, sarcastic grin, words that sliced
that soft part of my heart.
The part I kept for you.
I will never forget the pet names
the starlight nights, getting buzzed off our cheap wine
spooning cause we fit so easily together.
I will never forget your giggle.
Your snide little comments, your teases, your taunts
but I laughed just as hard cause you were just kidding.
And come on, I was easy to pick on.
I will never forget our restaurant
our spot, our table, our dinner
no matter how angry we were, that place sealed up the hurt.
I will never forget the crinkles in your smile, 
little imperfections in the imperfect grin that was absolutely perfect to me.
I will never forget the way you ate that grilled cheese
that didn't cook all the way through
and the bread was butter soaked and burnt
the cheese was cold
but you ate it
all
because I made it for you.
I will never forget the way you cried
too tough to break in front of anyone
but me.
The way your face scrunched and 
your eyes filled with the fattest tears
and no matter how mad I was 
I had no choice but to wipe them, kiss them, take them away from you.
Because you were everything.
You are everything.

This might be for the best.
Who knew heartbreak could shatter the most protected of souls.



Fully Alive.

Fully alive. I wish I could find that point. I figure it's a moment in your life when your whole body fills up with what seems like air. But it's not air, or it could be because it makes you squeal and smile and swell up and feel high and cover you and envelope you and fill you and make you feel whole. And whatever triggers you to this balloon-like state, you never let it go. Ever. Sure there's always going to be that depression where you think it has left for good. But one you find that spot and that moment, and that catalyst, you know you have been, and are, and will be and can be alive. So you hold on to it. Cause after it drifts away, you still hold on to, remember, recall, reach for, desire, long for, crave, need that most wonderful, magical, life changing hot air balloon high. And you know it is always possible for you to feel like that again. I can't wait for the day that I feel fully alive.

Monday, March 09, 2009

Freedom to Gain.

martyrdom for freedom what's the true price?
when they install a liberty-killing device
address the congress: they don't take advice
it's three A.M.: answer the call
the picket line will soon be wall to wall
no time to trust: reserves have gone bust
falling short in the long term 
quickly we are concerned 
at the way everything has turned 
it's a fairness doctrine 
another curtail of talkin' 
plain speech will now breech 
the securities of those in reach 
no more 1st amendments 
our government are the parents 
a nation of children 
cut loose from the building  
lowering the glass ceiling 
seditious acts that are crippling 
to think freely and speak the same 
blood tainted in the vein 
we've got to stop being constrained 
it should be, simple, clear, and plain
standing up leaves only freedom to gain.

it's up to our dignity to restore liberty
harass the vigilante: it is the authority
we must speak out with clarity
get past the gravity

we keep destruction on the tip of tongues
another government guided without guns
the people won't stand up
but they'll kneel on knees for luck
it's another let-down
freedoms being stolen without sound
and now I'm choking, addressing the whole town
we choose not to fight
because police will read the Mirada right
we forget they work for us
taxes pay the pension of those who are 'just'
political action figurines
on sale, next to our values and intrigues
when do we draw the line of command
just another castle in the sand
falling with the tide
telling us to abide
no questions as to how we came to unite
not a one party system
but an angry dream in the vision
revolution is required
for us to achieve what we desire
by hook or by crook
revolution we will cook
in the kitchen of anarchy
another capitalist vision, not insanity
free to form to the vision of fore-fathers
step up to the plate and let us protect our daughters
fight fire with fire and don't slip the desire
earned in blood, an earned empire
of free thought, it's inequality we fought
address discrepancy, forgive the vanity
approach with caution, the ever-lasting right
to bear speech with freedom and arms with might
fascism blind-sides like accidents of plain sight
we've got to renovate
stand up against what they eviscerate
we've got to contemplate:
what is the politician's plate?
another way to confiscate expression
is what they envision
when did the bill of rights become a privilege?
when did freedom revert to a vision?
why are we so docile?
why aren't we hostile?
revolutions happen in a curious way
there's one objective to obtain


~History and timing are important. So are the bill of rights.

Love,
Digress.





yEStERYEar