Run, Fight, Evade

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you traversed like an escaped captive
through the long cosmic night
only to be greeted by dawn’s dense
early fog, but you took it on,
wading wearily through the pale smog,
battle torn but alive, at last,
piercing through to the other side,
arriving on that lonely island of
self-awareness, smiling ever so gloriously
into the mirror of eternity as you start
to lead life on your own terms, leaning
ever so barefaced in the direction
of your own legacy.

you broke through.

but on the horizon you see something,
you see the belligerent herd approaching,
and they’re closing in fast, and they’re
coming for blood. Continue reading

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Cut While Shaving

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5:03 am and it’s still dark outside.
I splash water on my face, lather it
up pretty good and then glide
the razor across.

who is this creature behind these green eyes I see?
who is this soul inside driving the vehicle of my body?
who is this heedless wayfarer in search of the unsearchable?
who is this demented wanderer looking back at me?

why am I conscious of it all, my past, my looming death? Continue reading

Violent Dawn

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fragments of a ravaged night
spiders across the sultry dread
as the lark harmonizes narcotic
hymns aloft the long time dead.

and there she is again
dancin’ barefoot in the
graveyard
with a bottle in hand,
gazing into the night
taking spontaneous pulls
to dilute the agony
of the dying light.

just look how stunningly mad she is.
look how she sways to the melody
of her own dark.

some say she made a pact with the devil
some say she has a fetish for the dead
some say she’s a witch, a whore,
a midnight tramp, a ‘crazy bitch’ adrift
inside her own shattered head.

maybe she’s all of them.
maybe she’s none.

but never could she lead
the kind of life like the rest –
masked, playing a part
untouched unscarred
cautiously intact
wretchedly dull
and oh so pathetically
predictable in their cutthroat
allegiance to the
white picket fence
monotony
of the so-called
American Dream.

there’s no thunder in their minds
no lightning in their veins
they love halfheartedly
they hate halfheartedly
they live halfheartedly
they lack the imagination
to question anything and
everything, particularly
the collective morality
that dictates their
brief little
inauthentic
lives.

unlike them
her soul throbs desperately
with the heart of the universe
oscillating
between rapture and rage
poetry and madness
life and death.

her internal living flame
glows like a lantern deep in the
caverns of a withering world
as the insipid moralizers
with apocalyptic eyes
look on from the threshold,
safe and sound, fearful of the sacred –
the kingdom within that only
the fearless come to know.

just a mere taste of her sensuality
ignites volcanoes of oxytocin –
sloshing splashing spraying
cascading into the bloodstream

and the great wars erupt
and the great empires crumble
and the great kings fall
and the world comes to an end.

with a ravenous hunger, she bites
forbidden fruit of serpent trees
in the luscious garden of unborn light.

in spite of her turmoil, in spite of her
desperate rage, she’s wildly alive,
unafraid, reborn daily into the night
out of a fierce suffering
as she dances in the divine dirt
trespassing in and out of time
under the swaying pines
above the forgotten bones
of a place beyond

forever nurturing her ardent dreams
never wasting the violent dawn.

Jehovah’s Witnesses At My Door

jehovah’s witnesses knocked on my front door the other day.

two old ladies, sweet and pleasant.

with styish southern hats
they were standing on my porch
smiling, as I opened the door.

my hair disheveled, shirtless,
my tattooed body staring
at them.

they greeted me with nervous eyes
as they talked to me about their god.

they smiled, made small talk, and
read their cherished scriptures
written by unknown authors.

soliciting their view of salvation.
the key to eternal life.

it took all I had not to expose
some of the great fallacies
in their belief system.

i wanted to tell them to never stop
searching, never stop asking, never
stop being curious. because that’s
where true salvation was found.

it took all I had not to remind them
that just because they were devoutly
passionate in their beliefs
doesn’t mean that their
beliefs were accurate.

i wanted to ask them if they
really thought that their god
treated the righteous man,
Job, fairly.

i wanted to ask them why
their god let himself get caught up
in a gamble with satan
at the expense
of a tortured innocent man.

i wanted to ask why their god
so often yielded to the evil one,
his first beautiful son.

but I was quiet. i let them read
and I politely took their pamphlet.
I gave them a thank you smile.

they had their mind made up.
their brain locked in,
conclusions forever imprinted
like a tattoo.

there’s no changing that.

as they left, i shut my door,
tossed the paper into the trash
and headed out back to my patio.

i sat beside the dead ferns
and the stale leaves
that had fallen from
my backyard oak.

i took a long pull from my whiskey,
and sucked in my version
of salvation
through a cheap cigar,
then slowly exhaled,
gazing, as the smoke
gently drifted up
to an empty sky.

and as I sat back,
trying to find my place
in the book I was reading,
my mind wandered and
i caught myself recklessly
bleeding
nonsensical thoughts
about fate, eternity
and immortality.

damn them sweet old ladies

they got
me.

you’re not gonna change it, darlin’

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the world is in disarray, darlin’,
and that’s the way it always has been
and always will be. this is its normal state,
it’s tragic and fascinating at the same time.

the vast fields of gold & honey
are encircled by raging rivers
of blood and tears.

you’re not going to change it, darlin’.

I know your college professors have
plagued your mind with subversive ideas
of change; change at a cost of yielding
your essence to the false idol of “equality”,
but’s it’s a lie, darlin’, I promise you…
the unintended consequences will be far worse
than the evils you’re trying to eradicate.

you have animosity & rage
building up within you,
you’re becoming corrupted by your beliefs,
this sometimes happens
when a belief system is in doubt,
can’t you see it, darlin’?

can’t you see what you’re becoming?

instead of listening and pondering the rationale
of opposing voices, you want them silenced.
you routinely inject a dose of ad hominem
as a scapegoat to divert attention away
from the debate, you erect a strawman, lumping
your opponents into detestable groups
to muddy up their character instead of
dealing face to face with the argument.

this is what you’ve become.

they’ve molded you into an instrument
in someone else’s symphony. a pawn in
someone else’s game. refuse, darlin’
don’t lose yourself to some odious ideology
that breeds resentment towards the
hierarchical structure you find yourself in,
it’s a no-win situation.

I promise you, darlin’
you’re not going to smash the system
you’re not going to alter it
you’re not going to level it out.
your time & energy are too precious
to waste on such a futile endeavor.

because in truth, we’re all just thrown
into this chaotic catastrophe as lost
transients who take on a few
decades of its infinite expansion.

endless suffering, prejudices,
and inequity are part of the game
darlin’, they’re inescapable
in a world of duplicitous hearts,
where that fine line rifts between
good and evil.

so go ahead, clamor for more laws,
shun your neighbors and cling tighter
to your predictable politics, give up
a little more in exchange for the illusion
of security, write your congressman,
join the trendy campaign, hashtag
your way straight to utopia, darlin’

sermonize to us all on social media
like you do so well

keep it up

tell us the way of the world,
tell us what the philosophers
neglected to inform us
tell us our proper role
on this unforgiving planet
tell us your bland ideas
tell us your irrational fears
tell us your cunning pleas

however, darlin’, you’re not going
to change it, your groupthink,
herd-minded viewpoints are voiced
loud and clear, but it means nothing.

your resentment of the flourishing
makes you a victim of a deep-seated
nihilistic despair, and instead of trying
to rise through the muck, you yearn to bring
everyone down to your pathetic level.

you were taught this to be virtuous, noble,
you’ve come to despise the individual,
you’ve come to hate him, which is
why you mimic the masses and castoff
responsibility for your own miserable life.

you’ve been caught up in the cobwebs
of your culture, darlin’. you’re too weak
to push through. they’ve got you.

this is why you’re bitter and saturated
with an anti-realist belief system.
the way you perceive outer reality
is just a reflection of your inner world.

the only REAL thing you can do
is change who you are.

behave in little ways
to make yourself a
healthier, wiser
more creative
person.

you have to go at it alone, though.
the majority, the crowd, is never right.

think bigger, reflect deeper, speak truthfully,
take on a bigger load, put some skin
in the game. find out who you are,
fix your unlived, broken self
first, before you attempt
in some vain way
to save the
world.

it’s the only way.

Between the Voids

 

_DSC3294“I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke

Just imagine an endless void,
infinitely dark and bound by no space
and time. A perpetual midnight
with no stars or moons. An
eternal blackness.
Then a flash.
A light, a breath, a life.
Milliseconds later another flash.
The last gasp, darkness, death.

Back into it. Continue reading

old man, rage

he’s 86 years old.
frail and weak in a hospital gown
depleted of long-term hope,
settles for the paradise of tomorrow.

tomorrow, oh tomorrow, what a beautiful idea.
tomorrow, now scarce, has never been more
beloved by the old man. never really thought about.

it’s when things become limited
that they’re truly appreciated.

tap tap tap

the doctor, young, oh so young, and vibrant
walks in his room, puts the charts up
on the wall and begins.

he tells the old man that he has a leaky heart valve.
it needs to be fixed.
or he only has months to live.
the doctor tells him,
make no mistake, this surgery is high risk
due to its invasiveness and your age,
but I think it’s a risk that is worth taking.

it is up to you.

the old man, tired, tired of hospital visits, doctors, bad news,
just so tired, sits back and looks out the window.
it is a pleasant fall day. he watches the commotion
of life out there,
and it was beautiful. he pictured himself,
sitting under an oak in the shade of a sunlit day,
as he often loved to do, sipping his coffee
and smoking his cigar.

just one more day.

Oh, just to see those crazy squirrels
run all around and to hear those annoying birds.

just one more time.

just to watch one more ballgame or to
hear the beautiful voice of george jones.
that’s all he wanted. he was man with
nothing left but memories. and he lived in them,
fully, and only occasionally did he come back.
circumstances like this forced him back,
and he loathed it.

his sad, bloodshot eyes had seen the death of siblings,
two wives and a daughter. they’ve seen war and all its agony.
they’ve seen love and love lost.

he was an eyewitness during the
most tragically beautiful century in history,
in all its glory
and in all its depravity.

oh, how he had guts in youth.
in the hills of West Virginia,
the women, the drinking, life, the future.
he lives in these memories.
he was happy once.

and now he’s reduced to a choice. a hard one too.
risk dying now for a little longer life,
or take no risk now,
and take death on.

what a choice.

he’s a man who hadn’t taken many
risks in life. he was content with
the average, the routine.

and now,
after the risks were weighed and pondered.
the ultimate choice was finally decided.

the old man, sitting upright in the
hospital bed, sipping his coffee,
peeking out the window of eternity
chose not to go gently into
that good night. he chose to rage,
rage against the dying of the light.

there’s still a little more
coffee in that mug,
a little more smoke
left on that cigar.

rage. rage.

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