Category Archives: Uncategorized

All Night and Day

Headed west in a pink Mercury Capri, that used to belong to star.

The desert is fading, becoming the green of the mountain meadows.

Up in the heights it’s becoming green, wildflowers blooming for spring.

The radio plays the news, all night and day, of the war that’s finally come.

 

I don’t know what I hope to find. I might just want to move and move.

Restless nights spent driving, out running demons, but never The Devil.

The wild flowers bow their heads in cool winds, almost as if in prayer.

The radio plays the news, all night and day, of the war that’s finally come.

 

I’ll stay in the mountains, maybe head north to Canada, and thick forests.

The cold rivers where maybe baptism will finally take, make we whole, clean.

It’s just me, and I run and run, and I want love, but always run out on it.

The radio plays the news, all night and day, of the war that’s finally come.

 

One stop, outside of Denver, in a little suburban town, a garden of martyrs.

I sit at the foot of her cross, the one that saved me for a time, brought the light.

I weep, for I seem to fall and break an hate, while she is still an angel in this world.

Back in the car, I know this war is the end, no future for the children, or our kind.

 

Armageddon that we brought on ourselves, The Devil laughing, victorious again.

Blonde and Eerie

Sushi restaurant, Farragut on a Saturday night.

I feel exposed behind the all glass front, the light

making me blind to anything outside, but making

me clear to anyone outside.

 

You are coming. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust, at all.

You are coming with kind words, and you say “Love”,

but your righteous kind take love away so easily,

so quickly draw the knives.

 

I look at the wallpaper on my phone, as I eat, wait.

A fashion model, blond and eerie and eyes unquiet.

Her smile hides the demons that eat her every thought.

Rich, poor, the demons devour us, and take our hearts.

 

5 minutes until you said you’d be here. 5 minutes more.

Your brethren in the faith make the qualms about killing.

You laugh it off. You say they are not of the faith or real.

You are silent to drawn knives.

 

Exposed to the world, in the light in a night full of people,

I eat, I look at the model on my phone, I know you’re empty.

I make my plan to walk to the hills above the city, and watch,

as the light of man fails, and the stars make us weep for all.

Waves of Fortune

Blue and white,

sand and sky.

Blue and white,

eyes and skin.

Blue and white,

her bathing suit.

 

Summer soft

and waves cold.

Summer hot

and shivering hands

holding tight.

Waves of fortune.

 

Mermaid once,

she’s still sweet.

The roar of fire

and the lost days

are mine alone.

Listen for death.

 

Blue and white,

her colors now

as she swims free,

and I watch,

not the boy I was,

but a ghost.

All These Ghosts

I drive late at night, no music or radio, the window down, the nights finally cool.

I drive to the all night diner where a friend works overnight, and I am so restless.

I wished I dreamed of the sea, or empty galaxies, anything but the things I live with.

 

Garish and bright in the darkness, the diner is bright and beaconing, all these ghosts.

I sit at a booth, and she sees me, and, without having to ask, brings me unsweet iced tea.

We chat, make small talk. I order breakfast. She smiles, her face always sad and distant.

 

We won’t talk much. Not crowded, but she’ll do side work, or go outside for a smoke.

She’ll keep the teas coming, and I’ll try to read I book I brought, before going over to

my smartphone, and try to find something funny, or spooky, or soothing to insomnia.

 

I always stay awhile after my meal. She’s working, we can’t talk much, but I love her,

and we find comfort nonetheless in each other’s company, sharing something I can’t

put a name to, but lives in us both and these cursed hours, sadness, distance from all.

 

The light blocks the darkness outside the windows, glares away the stars and emptiness.

The light that offers nothing more than illumination, no golden hue, no warmth, no hope.

She’s rolling up silverware into napkins, binding them, and I don’t want to be alone, now.

Mercy

Nineteen in the dead of winter. Nineteen when she passed away.

Blood on her lungs. Fever on her pale brow. Slipped to the reaper.

In a velvet lined box, in a pretty white gown, she was laid to rest.

The snow fell that day, fat wet flakes, and the crow let a hungry cry.

 

Brother, still ill, and falling paler and feverish, fading away, slipping.

Baby Edith already gone like her big sister. Papa starting to spit blood.

What unquiet spirits had fallen? What demons had come? What curse?

In the little town, in this grand house, the reaper was coming for his claim.

 

They dug up Mercy, up from the cold earth, opened that opulent casket.

Her skin pale as the fresh snow, her lips blood red, flesh still soft, pristine.

Silver tears had flown from her closed eyes, cut trails on fair, chalk cheeks.

They tore out her heart. They tore out her liver. Burned them upon the rock.

 

And the ashes in water they made her brother drink, to break a vampire’s spell.

He drank her ashes, the flesh destroyed to be made clean, to free them of curses,

to pull brother and Papa out of the reaper’s hand, be here when spring sun returned.

But brother and Papa still slipped away, the reaper came away with his bitter claim.

 

And the sexton still says, her remembers Mercy’s cold, dead body, still pristine and pale.

The smooth skin as pale as the fresh snow that night, without the moon above them.

The red lips, red as blood, red as life, and with a sorrow on their remnant smile.

The sexton still remembers, the cry when they cut out her heart, the cry of deathly rage.

Long Hair Let Down

The young women, in blue, and green, and orange bikini’s,

behind the wire, behind the trees, laughing in the desert sun.

The young women, with long hair let free, honeyed or dark.

Long hair let down behind the wire, behind the trees, in the sun.

 

The pool is blue and clear, like the wide open desert sky above.

One young woman floats and looks into that big, eternal eye.

The pool is blue and clear, and her eyes see the angels weeping.

One young woman floats in the clear, blue water, softly dreaming.

 

A jet, one of ours, flies high above, and screams the howl of dragonfire.

The young women don’t look up, behind the wire, inured to it’s call now.

A jet, one of ours, flies high above, an angel for us who will soon weep.

The young women don’t look up, the sky is open and clear and blue today.

 

The young woman floats in the pool, water hot, skin drying, her eyes dazzled.

The jet, the angel, flown on, and she hears the rumble of a demon past the wire.

The young woman floats in the pool, it’s so hot, the sun bright, her eyes dazzled.

The jet, the angel, flown on, and hears the hunger of a demons past the wire.

 

And then, all is white and bright and at an end.

A White Sky and a White World

I hope for snow this winter. Fat, wet flakes, covering everything in white.

A white sky and a white world. Still and quiet. A veil made to silence it all.

 

Wake up one morning, to the world held in an orb of clouded glass, unseen.

Not have to go to work. Not to have to rush and fret. Just let the sky close in.

 

Build a fire, pull my navy blue comforter over my legs, and read a book of

angels, the ones who rebelled, those who were faithful, and those whispering.

 

I might even allow myself to pine, like a young man. for a love that almost was.

A love long gone from my life. That dark, dark hair. Those eyes of clouded glass.

 

And as night falls on a still world, the stars unrevealed and the moon turned away,

I might stand in my door, and look into the shadows, and believe, no demon waits.

All The Drama Geeks Grow Up Someday

All the Drama Geeks grow up someday,

All those youthful dreams and enthusiasms

Pass on.

 

So excited for a new song, so in love with

Someone, like they were the moon itself,

So wrapped in dreams.

 

So pure in our lust and perversion,

So pure in our wicked little hearts

And in our madness.

 

The world was a wonder, a dream,

And our tinsel stages, our little Eden

Was all we needed.

 

All the Drama Geeks grow up,

And grow cold, and lose the light,

And lose ourselves.

 

Those days are never coming back again.

We will never be innocent again.

The world will never dream us, now we’re awake.

Maryville

I once thought the road led somewhere.

I’ve stayed in this town forever, forever more.

Hypnotic sirens whose poison song dispels hope.

My enemies are here forever more, too.

 

I could not find the angel, so I scorned sanctuary.

In my home, the soft and sad songs replace her voice.

I make up worlds staring models and actresses so pretty.

In my head no one talks over me, or is flippant.

 

I can’t find what I want here. It’s only in my restlessness.

There was one angel who came in February, in a tourist town.

There was one angel who came down, and who touched my face.

There will be no others. One will last until the end of time.

 

 

 

 

Blossoms and Thorns

She wears a flower crown of blossoms and thorns.

Her man has an angel’s light, and not Satan’s horns.

Thorns prick little points of blood upon her fair brow.

Sorrow and beauty, loss in grace, in her sacred bough.

 

She wears a simple and splendid dress, takes his hand.

They dance, Children of God, of this bright, golden land.

Hymns they have song, of summer eternal, endless blue.

Where all are reunited and comforted if they lived true.

 

He touches her face, kisses her cheek, she closes her eyes.

The warmth of another, tenderness, a wished for surprise.

When they wed, crown gone, but blossoms, thorns remain.

Love stays, but angels and demons still watch in the cold rain.

 

She kisses his lips, they will wed tomorrow, they will be one.

Her crown floated in the water, candle bright, taken by that son.

The thorns in her brow, the color in the blossoms, the blood shed.

The vows of two souls, and the sharp swords, when two become wed.