5 AM, Monday Morning, the end of summer.
She sits in boxers and tank top on the balcony,
smoking a long thin French cigarette, dreading it all.
Her big black mutt lays sleeping at her feet, content.
She takes a measure of peace from his calm and love.
Today, Sophomore year begins, back to college, and noise.
The sun rises slowly, slicing the night away, strip by bloody strip.
The strips pulling away, another one goes, closer to class time.
Time to get dressed, time to prepare her mind, time to face the world.
She puts out the spent cigarette, gets up and goes inside to get ready.
The people and chatter and the traffic and hot and merciless sun.
But there’s somewhere she wants to be, so walks through fire and noise.
In her dark clothes, backpack over her shoulder, hair under bandana,
she says goodbye to her dog, who whimpers after her at the door,
and walks out into a still cool morning, knowing the peace will not last.
Feeling like it was just a dream I wasn’t awake for.
Feeling like it was missing time in the daylight hours.
I walk into a bar, loud and dark and full of cigarette smoke.
I sit at the first empty place, and look up onto the stage.
A young woman, thin and wispy as the cigarette smoke,
and as angelic as that girl who first stole your heart,
when you were still innocent and free.
She sings of lost love and broken hearts and paradise.
She sings above the deathless noise of the world.
I love her; she reminds of something precious that was lost.
I love her; her soft and wild beauty makes me feel alive.
I love her; but I look away as the song ends,
and she says goodnight, and I am alone again,
with all the things in my head I can’t heal or silence.
Tomorrow all day, all of it mine.
Unexpected day off, gifted time.
World’s Fair Park, watching others.
Downtown lunch, and a movie.
Then go to a bar and drink G’n’Ts.
I’ll watch the pretty woman, dream.
I’ll watch friends and lovers laugh.
I’ll watch the world pass me by.
Drunk, at the end of it, I’ll go home.
Turn on love lorn music, and sleep.
Another day gone by, useless and lost.
Came to St Thomas because I am a doubter,
and the graves are left wild and untended.
The ramshackle farmhouse were I wait for
the death angel and the mother goddess.
The house is empty but for ghosts and fears.
The house is full with the bad shit in my head.
I sit on the rotted porch, as the sun falls down.
Death and life the knots that feed the light.
The dead are rising, the grave spits them out.
Or maybe they are not cold nor hot but lukewarm.
Death came before it became a shambling curse.
Death came when I drew breath, and was left broken.
Maybe the sun will go black cloth, the moon red as blood,
and the seals and tribulations follow down with wormwood.
Maybe I’ll get the destruction I’ve courted all these long years.
The death angel and the mother goddess is coming through,
in black, in armor, with an assualt rifle at the ready.
Death is death is undeath and black as the emptiest heart.
She may save me, she may slay me. Either will deliver me.
Death angel gives me the sword to save the sun.
Mother goddess give me a kiss on my chapped lips.
She goes inside as the night come down full dark and starless.
There is no light to guide us. There is no cuts upon the moon.
500 miles to DC, from this death burned town, this empty plain.
The wind with the creep of winter, the bitter snows and darkness.
Me and my daughter running through the day, hiding in the night.
Me and my daughter trying to find someplace safe, to rest, to live again.
The rich cities, the places of power, the lords of the air hide apart.
All others left behind, not even slaves or cannon fodder, just tossed aside.
The dead walk, the world broke, and me and her are even on the run.
Winter is on it’s way, and there’s nowhere to find solace from the cold.
Hiding in a tree house as night falls and we hear those damned howls.
I hold her close, and rock her and sing to her, some sad ballad of paradise.
I always promised her a tree house, and here we are, but it’s all changed.
Finally, we both drift to sleep, to someplace upon in the stars, beyond death.
Emperor screams out of the laptop. Videos of girls surfing flickering on the screen.
The sea is far, far from this golden plain, but death is right outside my window.
Cleaning my AR-15 as the screaming music can’t quite drown out the undead.
The violent music brings peace, and those girls on see remind me of the light.
This one attic room, up in the tall old Victorian mansion, left for the undead,
the undead and those left to watch the world rot away, all we made ruined.
This one attic room, I’ve made a light in the dark, a place my own after all is lost.
I still dream here, even as the demons have won, and are laughing in heaven.
The old grocery store is almost out of canned goods, the reserves of fuel drying.
My little world will go dark, and what little I have left, music and vision and my words,
will be gone, unless we somehow beging again, on down the road, on down the line.
A girl surfs a blue and perfect wave. I remember, youth, freedom and fullness of hope.
Sunday clothes, white blouse, woolen skirt, Mary Jane shoes,
honeyed hair hanging down, around your neck a silken bow.
You wait to walk with me to church, as morning chill blows,
the seeds of paradise in the afternoon we carefully sow.
Parents are following later, we walk alone the ruttend lane,
carefully to keep our shoes out of the water and the mud.
Warm and sweet I feel, yet taught for this The Savior was slain,
and that our sweetness still calls for the tide of his blood.
You take my hand in yours, warm yet calloused, harsh like silk.
Our secret thing, our shared sin, to touch while out of sight.
God watches, but will he let it go, for this is our soul’s milk
and I feel so holy and sure, when she holds my hand so tight.
The little wooden church, white against the grey and blue sky.
The stonewall separates us from God, the sacred from the profane.
You let go my hand. You smile at me secretly. We are so sly!
I see only beauty and love in you, but God said there is always a stain.
We sit down on a pew together, as the sun pushes away the clouds.
The dim sanctuary becomes as honeyed as your long, silky hair.
The glow and light of the sacred words the holy books enshroud.
As church begins, we sing the hymns, our loving hearts a pure prayer.
The daylight slipped away, put to sleep for now
by the grey rain clouds pulling a blanket over it.
The air chilled me in my thin jacket, defenseless
against the cold that come with the day’s dreams.
In this city there is no damp, musty earth to remind
you of the dirt from which you once rose up, and will
return to again.
The train rattles the tracks with howling anger,
nearly shaking me off my feet. The cries of the
breaks howl it’s rage at the cold, wet world.
How envy it’s sounded fury against the world,
when I have to keep all my pain deep down inside.
There’s a suitcase at my feet, but none can carry a life.
My world is over here, and now I must begin again.
The city falls away to misty farmland and isolated
clusters of big, lush trees, the odd animal gazing back.
The rain keeps coming but nothing is ever cleaned again.
Nothing, not sacred blood, can wash our sins away.
If I sleep, I’ll dream, dream of things that hurt me now.
Maybe I’ll read about some happier person in another world.
Maybe I’ll manage to keep away the tears.
Dancing in a July afternoon, the sun veiled by a lazy white cloud,
casting gossamer shadows over your back, like the breath of angels.
Our swimsuits wet, our skin dry and flecked with white sand,
just as dancing to the wind and crashing waves, eternally restless.
Your head buried in my shoulder, my cheek, your hair silky soft.
I pull you tighter against me, as long as we’re alone, it’s alright.
July, almost gone, like the childhood that has sheltered us,
and the sweetness that made the mermaids sing to us.
Their is the crunch of gravel, the dull hum of an engine.
They’ve come home, the moment is over, I kiss your head.
The summer is turning gold and red.
There is a chill in the air.
The waters we walk by are silver, and still.
His hand is so warm in mine.
The day is moving towards night.
A nice little place by the sea.
Everyone’s gone home for the year.
A dinner by the eternally crashing sea.
We stay the night together, despite what’s taught.
I wish I could stay forever in his arms.
Morning, treacherous as always, has come.
In his uniform, with his bag, I don’t want to let go.
He’s been called and he must go.
One last kiss, and then he’s on the train for the front.
I weep quietly, for the boy I knew won’t come back.