Tag Archives: unbalanced friendship

High In The Sky You Look Down

Long goddamn car ride, late at night, not even the radio.

We could talk. We talk a lot. But only certain things you hear.

I watch the moon as we drive dark country roads, one little light.

I let it’s bone dry luminescence wash away unshed tears.

The world is spinning into death, but you put the blame on victims.

High in the sky you look down, just jerk telling me I have it coming.

The good times, the times when I’m glad we are friends are fading,

as more and more you tell me the knife to my throat is a kiss from God.

But the moon is a woman, faithful and bright, the real eye of paradise.

Angels fucked off elsewhere, and demons all to intimate in your dreams.

And friends become uncaring, strangers who are only there to preach.

But the moon is bright, even as she fades, even as friendship burns to ashes.

Naked and Flightless

Alaska, a girl, naked and flightless, feet not touching the ground.

               I worship with silver and sacred paper and all the shots collected.

               The graven altar of softness and warmth, like the sacred,

               Cannot be touched or measured, only weighed in blue iris blackened.

               The songs are not sweet in communal passion and utmost darkness

               And the bitter marks of life are unseen, neon conceals death and holiness.

               Eyes lock, the only light stars shine in a windowless cell and frustrum kiss.

               Stars blue as the ocean of which Demiurge came to spoil all love and flesh.

               Take it in hand and it will be extinguished completely by force of arms.

               It’s a light, and youth is hard as the sun in it’s cruel throne and bed of silver.

               I orbit the light now, even having drawn another veil to wrap it like a child.

               Light and stars and some hope of some other place, promised but cannot be awarded.

               Silver and sacred paper are the prayers given, time and the weight of milk returned.

               So goes the show, and the cold winter outside, the hand of the gloved moon repentant,

               Vowing to return to it’s shame in the stars beguiled and deathlike in a mistreated love.