Contemptuous Contrasts
Written January 1996
Rail spikes in my eyes as I drive toward my final resting place.
The old familiar feeling, that annoying fly that always seemsto pull me from my frothy, sleepy comatized slumber.
The pain, red-hot nails in my shins, makes me sit up and growl, eyes flashing, soul glowing.
Yet...
She's so far away, my beautiful woman
Like an untupped doe and all I want
all I really want to be
is her buck.
Not a free fuck.
No complaints, no pretending
in the end we're all alone,
but now I know I won't die uncared for.
Grab My Handle
Written January 1996
Screaming Banshees trying to invade my mind,
rend me apart and scoff at my struggle.
The rain at my doorstep, pounding man's possessions soulfully into the dirt.
My mind struggles to shrug off the droning effects of the screaming oppression.
It makes me want to rush into madness, to run until my heart bursts.
One step away from an absence of thought, only pure sweating, unbridled instinct.
I want to run to a cliff, my gait is loping and swift as my muscles bunch and release in an explosive staccato rhythm.
I feel myself losing control.
My life...my energy, my boundless soul are all within my grasp.
But I have no hand.
Cobwebs on My Mind
Written April 2, 1996
These translucent cataracts we infuse upon our eyes
seeing partial truth but not the whole gestalt.
Gazing at the world with infant eyes
not yet attuned to the post-womb experience.
How quick these riot-shields drop when danger encroaches,
approaches with no heed to our defense.
The dying soldier on the battlefield screams "Mother"
as he eats a bullet and dies.
Yet his voice travels not beyond his trench.
Are You Lonely Tonight?
Written April 3, 1996
I'm so cold wet and lonely here.
Are you wanting me?
I'm gasping for breath in this smoky room.
Do you feel the same?
All these damn hands are pulling me down.
Lend me a leg-up?
Maybe it's just my foolishness and stupidity;
all alone with nowhere to go.
Will you stand by my side when the shit comes down?
You offer solace and love, and I'll take you up on it.
But I miss you.
Your Meat Pie is Deceased
Written April 3, 1996
It's the silent killer that'll get you,
a wasting away at your mind and body
and even yet, your will to drive on.
"Give my bus some more gas Sir,
I've got a pile of roads to try."
Lick My Gum Off the Seat
Written April 3, 1996
You'll not want it,
yet you'll take it.
Even with this cancer of yours,
enough will never be enough.
I have your chi in one hand,
in the other is your family.
Choose which gets enslaved.
Cutting them down would be so easy.
My hand will always be holding your Key,
making escape a wetback dream.
A Christian Martyrdom
Written May 10, 1996
I hear the cries of the forsaken, the forlorn, the four-times fucked. The mother whose baby grows inside her tender belly and is pulled out with that rusty coathanger. His cries shrill and weak, before he is put in that water bucket, already forgotten.
I hear the whimpers and rantings of the wicked, alone with their cruel demons. Demons who taunt them with childhood names and crooked fingers. "No mommy, please don't hit me. I'll be good. NOOOOOOOOOOOOO. It hurts mommy."
The victims and the rapists, the crucifixtionists and the murderers, the killers and the slayers of old men and young girls. I hear them all, they are all a part of me.
I have felt pain. I was with her when they removed her living, breathing, disease-ridden leg. When they irradiated her entire body and shot her up with poisons on the scale of madam-widow spider, acid coursing through her veins like Wildfire on a slow day. I was there when she ran her hands through her luxurious locks and came away with a handful of thick black scull adornments.
I know pain, I know her suffering.
I know...
I can only guess.
Please Lord, if you hear me, I'll be good.
Ode to Her. 10 Bucks Hence.
Written June 10, 1996
Two women, what's to say?
I want to, but I will not play.
Try as I might, I cannot stop,
loving Jen as I know I do.
But you are so alluring,
with the body of a sinner
and the face of an angel.
You make me want to do bad, bad things.
Anything to gain your pleasure.
Yet I know in my heart of hearts
that you love another.
Woman, you lay me low with your feminine mystique
I know you well, my love-lost Nique .
Self? Imposed
Written April 1996
The city reminds me of my dirty mind,
as an old man reaching for young girls.
I've been down hard and long,
laid low by her.
With the power to control men's minds
with her feminine mystique.
This woman I trust,
this woman, Nique.
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