Freedom…Just another word for nothing left to lose.
-J.Joplin
Born on an Overcast Day
Vanishing in 89
Vanishing back in ’89
Casualties of ’89
A conductor’s timepiece…
doing time
A clockwork of technicolor breakdowns
And, races to the finish smeared with red tape
Cheers of holding on, discoveries that came much too late..
Vanishing in ’89
Family values of a primitive kind
No matter how white the snow may currently be
it has no choice to soil itself down
It is in the deficient nature of the beast
Running down in ’89
With no importance of the finish line
Can a new reality be forged
Can we allow tainted walls closer to
the heart…
Can yesterday beckon a seasoned start
Vanishing and gone… back in ’89
Closer, closer, closer to fine
No matter how secluded those that were dear
No matter how sequestered they appear
Beastly bones are nothing more than a…
Handed down meaningless antique
Vanishing in ’89
I wonder back to the screeching night
and
where to draw the darkest of fine lines
Be chivalrously autonomic
Being intimately private to true bone
Being in internal love, one but not alone
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Pine and Oak
I look and lock down these stairs to the catacombs.
I understand as a stumble, there will never be freedom.
The intertwined pine and oak…lamented before me alludes to a place ‘never to be.’
Hatred and swinging leather belts.
Love mixed with skin pelts.
I write shortly of incidents others have felt.
Thus, I donate my life to disrepair.
To tiled and titled adults without a care.
Tell me now,
how polyester made life light?
Why the campfire of want…became hell?
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Tracing the Formica
The Formica traced a trail of ruddy tears…to an unnamed room.
Deep inside the tomb…
my oblique glasses held visions of dull switch blades.
Daggers dancing through the corners of my soul like,
bloody sugar canes sent to alleviate my decay.
Sliding between the ceramic maze…
a hell to be razed.
Alas, the vow,
little do your tiny demons know,
it was written long ago,
upon a wall made of cork…
‘straight jackets cannot subdue the heart.’
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Mum
Hurt has turned ghosts to gold
Newborns into antiquated entities
I come and go from the waters, time and time again
Yet, I cannot walk on
Questions to my state of mind
Part and particle of the disease…not the cure
