forget-me-nots

Everything floated in my mind. I watched ghosts of mysteries flood the sky. Climbing from rocks and beds and fires, to tease the clouds with loose fingers and cracks of smiles. I wasn’t alone and I wanted to be.

The devils, though, they had meaning as they moved. Fluttering chills of shudders to the air. Subtly dancing with the wind. Resisting nothing as everything was something. They were foul. Breaths at best, they were spirits with old, faded bodies. Former faces. And history.

They were history.

It was the crawl on my arm where I found the devils best. Whispering sweet sweeps of evil. Swaying my innocence. Guides to the Dark Walks, I found friends in the shadows. And they had me.

And I went.

“Do you miss your skin, boy?”

‘I do not.’

“Then I’d say, you’ve come far.”

‘And I’d say, I want more.’

Walking through the too tall trees, I lost little. I had been here. A thousand times deeper. And I felt it soft. Felt it weak. Scratch the scars, I was looking for blood. And I’d find it.

And I did.

Wrapping backward through the halls of my head, I saw double. Passed on calm to catch wither. Seized the wicked eyes in mine. Making slaves of devils, I was knighted. Given charge of the crawl, the night, the shadows. And fear.

I was fear.

‘Do you know me as The Maker?’

“I see Master of the Sky.”

‘Then I’d say, you’re not looking.’

“And I’d say, I’m not blind.”

The devils, they showed their teeth; grins of simile in light. I did shiver and quiver with thoughts of deceit. Watched the ghosts again. Wisps of faces over back-glanced shoulders. I wasn’t alone and I wanted to be.

the word is fire

Power line shadows

And scrawlings on the earth

I was passed out

Satin on the dream sync

Vying for attention

Against an unwelcome sunrise

We lack discipline

We lack resistance

Framed in essence

By the age old sky

I weakened

Failing my hold on blankets

On purpose; on reason

I spilled myself out

Catching unfriendly stares

From where I used to rest my head

I lack civility

I lack consequence

With me, rise

Undone for the night

Only aprons get the mess

But we are fair

Seeing hands at transistors

Locking fingers in the cover

Of power line shadows

And scrawlings on the earth

night

I split my vision with a line of smoke. Started with insecurity and painted backward through my veins, a history I'd like to color someday. I was alone when I turned to the sky. A star played through the clouds and gave me wonder:

Where's your identity?

Don't you mean "who?"

Aye, no. You're much beyond who. When was the last time you breathed?

I...I don't keep track, I guess.

You should, don't you think?

I was blank. I watched darkness puddle sideways in the night and carried myself a little higher-- chin still tucked under my head. I was nowhere, yet. A stream of idiot dreams and unconscious busyness. I thought of the morning I'd lost myself, how I'd gain again tomorrow, and how now it was everything-- I had to think to keep breathing.

Forgetting the star, I was finished for wake. Inside there were sleep and misery and inaudible moans. I was out of clock, but the gleam, it kept on:

Shoulder it or shrug it off, you've got to get somewhere.

And where is that?

It's beyond the levels. It's occurrence in the light. You're a mess at the moment. You must get where you're going and stop the stalls.

Fine.

When was the last time you dreamed?

To memory? ...I can't think.

Beg for it, then. And see time as a palette. You'll not remember yourself without work.

I am strong.

So be it.

At this, I saw the others waving their glow. The clouds apart, I was sparked by deities at my back. They were for me. Every one. And I had someplace to find.

superstition

I scoffed when they fabled me. Fictionalized and unstable. Inconclusive is the evidence and I remain the song of souls.

Riddled again, I missed my mark. Or the men, they missed me, as I traveled with my eyes open. Buying time for forgiveness and sanctity. Giving in at the end.

Hot headed fathers. The work to be done. I'm fine lined and weak for the future. My time coming once, and again, I dread the mission at hand. All the villainy in white collars. The soft touch in dirty fingers. I'm alone. And you can't come with me.

Try by fire to see wisps of something intimate. The kissed backhands of truth. Mired sweetness in mourning. I am alive, you know? Fury at my side. Lies in the tongues at your cheeks. Serenity in smiles. A trouble here and you'll learn failure. An answer there and you learn nothing.

Come lesson with a bad blade, and teach goodwill. I need fighters, not yes men. I need options of reality.

stylized knives

she coughed on diamonds
aging gracefully
captured in the outgoing
pitch perfect grins
and huddled sad masses

these are gravestones
these are old endings

marker
edge the board
increase the dose
stutter
and calm

they called these swords once
they called these words

i forget myself
shivering instincts
heeding the violent bland brands
for status
and sanctity

utter another and sharpen the wit
utter another and see what you get

bliss

When it starts, we're in trouble. We can't do this. Or that. They tell us what to eat. Dress us. Bathe us. Put us to bed when they say. They must hate us, parents. They simply must.

Then, there we are in school struggling to give even a piece of effort or drive or anything but apathy. And we're angry. Because once we can talk; think; walk on our own, what necessity are parents? Food, sure. Maybe shelter. But we have new visions of the world that are wasted by the school time spent. What of math? Who needs to know the equal of x? We are breathing now. With our own heartbeat and hands to feed ourselves. We want everything that no one wants from us. And we'll have it. We'll try it. And we're infallible. Writing, two words or two-hundred, it's busy work. Always, we are wasting everything. Where do we play? Where do we challenge imagination? When do we succeed?

I am tired of the books of classrooms; the mindless equations. I've become numb to knowledge and do not care. Outside the walls stands society and I can conquer it. A little more time out there, I'd be king. You'd see me with skyward fists. Crowns of gold atop my head. I'd be given parades if I just had the chance.

But how will you know? How can you be sure of achieving greatness until you understand that which you wish to conquer? How can you understand the laws of physics and by that process, understand reactions that occur in nature; in the society you claim to call your future kingdom? How can you see the importance of opinions and the different perceptions of this reaity? Or the next one? If there is one...

How can you find importance in the violent altercations of the young and restless hearts that are as empty as the minds they react with? How can you believe your own importance above all that which you do not know? How can you communicate with anyone, anyway? Where are your letters, boy? Where are your words?

I am rebellion. I am hellish fury. I burn brighter. I am a unique and perfect bouquet with a challenge to the mass markets of the world. I roar loud and will continue. Until the cage becomes freedom.

And what will you do then with your freedom? You will find touch. You will only find small connections- weak ones- with this person and that one. You will find you are small. You will find that your love for yourself is greater than any other. You will see the devil and not know how to tame him. You will see diamonds and never truly claim them. You will never see this trap. Or that one. You will never know a pitfall until you stumble into it.

I have passion. I have certainty. I know I know the truth.

Then cultivate it. And know success.