*

Debussy-Clair de lune:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKd0VII-l3A

poems from the bin

when the sun

fails to fall

and the rain

is the only call

the patter

on the wall

blood soaked

in glorious roses

i saw too

the beauty

in too much light

in mother's blue sky

the night enfolded

it's mistrust

of all earthly lust

and i became

just another

lost cause
alone

and

gray

slipped

away

into

a dried black

that i attempt

to erase away

with

the blue blood

of my veins

stuck

poked

with

the pain

of needles

trying

to find a pulse

where

the night engulfed

the last time

i heard

my mother's laughter

i turned away

heard

Letterman say

something

so delightful

it made

her laughter

through

her impending

suicide

doom

feel

even

more frightful

i cannot find me

until i free

what's left

of the empty swing

the old tire

on the lonesome

willow tree

my child

beside me

the three of us

blended

in the old

black

and

white

photograph

of mother

in pigtails

my grandmother's

soft hands

contrasted

her worried eyes

wrapped tight

her arms

around my

mother

all pigtailed

and

blonde

a happy face

the human disgrace

that comes

with the solitude

and loneliness

that only great grief

can overcome

such lapses in faith

i have my doubts

i'll ever

make

this race

to the finish line

my potato head smile

turned upside down

into a silly

half smile frown

as i drown

in the glory

the morning peonies

pink

red

the

tulips

wrapped with foil

the innocence

the bird

that fell

from the tree

he picked it up for me
where is he?

where is he now?

when i need him the most?

mercy me
God, brother

and all philosophy

all spread

little wild bird seed

scattered

earthly desire
embalmed

in full tilt

behind me

my childhood

arises

in my cries

still

ours

sown together

blended

through

the bonds

of somehow

never carefree

hardly the innocent

lost half

free

little blonde girl

running field

first orange lily

a ditch flower

forever etched

orange

warm

as the sun

always seems

brighter

when young

bicycle wrecked brothers

on racing machines

we

happy then

time changes

the once

warm embrace

now

the mencacing

mocking

face of the world

twirling

a wrong

reflection

in a shattered

mirror

a picture

the only

reminder

of time's

gratitude

and grace

otherwise

forgotten

with the

shame

of the new

pain

that

erased

the child

from

the

light

heart

nothing

permanent

yet

i

am

marked

as

i embark

on the rest

of my

dutiful

days

of

doom

there

is

a

room

waiting

*

the tragic years:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPswzL7RDuk

poems from the bin

where can it go?

all of this

pain

and

sorrow

where did it all go?

the life i once knew

my empty cup

was once so fluid

full with love done

where do the dead go

when the love

no longer knows

the bonds of reproach?

sorrow

here to stay

cry and pray

to God

my father

why?

why?

all this

endless

suffering

and

sorrow

fuel

the empty grief

inside the shells

of walking zombies

shuffling down halls

in seroquel

mad night hats

remron night dreams

day falls

screaming daylight

and noone talks

risperdal hell halls

hailing echo

i second

the rotten hand

that feeds the mouth

the spilled out pills

i refuse to kill

my soul

with rubber gels

wrapped around

a depakote night gold

sweat

salt water

Plath

near drowning

the mess of lives

gone awry

somewhere

so it seems

someone

should care

where the blind go

when the light dims

and

the blink brinks

the seams

shake and bend

the leaves

crumble in hand

tremble the man

can't hold on

for shaking

in his false

vision

a night reamed

with scheming

drag queens

on ice

one drinks

the coffee

the other man

can't hold

he shakes

in his

semi-awakeness

a tumor

on his soul

a wreaked havoc

of hell

waiting

in his home

the heart

that is

short of shattered

yet refuses

to be unborn

we are shell shocked

beyond our belief system

no longer

an escape route

no safety net

no superman

no superfly

spiderman

mother's arms

grandmother's

soft hands

gone

black bible cry

angelic

hell

comes too quick

for those sick

who wish

for love

to stay alive

in the heart

for all time

the dream died

somewhere

in back time

someone lied

in a torn out

picture book

of nursery rhyme

now

a bed

of dry

red

sea

blood

split

cracked

china

sold

in a

kitchen

convenience store

after a survey

plate after plate

of offerings

too little

too late

with no place

to take them

anymore

like a lost dove

crying for

it's better half,

the eagle

has it's nest

and never

rests

until

it's young

spring from

sprouts

of it's blood
only then

will the mother fly

fly, mother fly

this current

breakdown

my recent

tour of duty

make it

to the finish line

one more time

wave the arms

open wide

blue sky

rain purple parade

roses broken

pedal pushing

mamas puking

on father again

he can't get in

for getting out

either

we are stuck

in a time share

bad luck

four walled clover

keep going over

the events

leading up to

the blood

stained

berber

white

on pale

skin

mother

death

rubbed

soaked

in

my skin

the end

the end

of my

earthly

existence

too

i felt

the blue

hue

when

you did

mother

we went

one sacrifice

one stay

one child

to live

this life

for

all

of us

to find

joy

and

a

sweet

rapture

in the

early bird's

first worm

my life

slips

into the sand

and i

quickly

fell in

stranded

hand

raised

still

no

answer

we stare

too long

at the same

bad dream

too mean

for anyone

to know

such evil

to exist

i can't

conceive

in my heart

the darkness

this world

continues

to impart

on my life

like bark

that falls

from empty

leaved trees

in summer

savagry

i

shed my skin

over

and

over

again,

like a stale

snake curling

in a corner

of the grass

where the mower

couldn't get past

the killing

god,it's all dying

i stop trying

to make

it mend

i defend

my child's

honor

till my death

betrays

my own

troubled

soul

and still

i begin again

to feel

the

same pain

though

the rain

is different

i gain

new ground

a holy sound

in my ear

i beg to differ

i want it nearer,
but the more

i listen for it

the less

i feel it

and there he is

the mad hatter

bugle boy

bungling up

my bad dream

once again

the trumpet

sounding

mean machine

i swear

on heaven's

stack of books

of life

that i once

had love full
my cup

spilled

into my lap

filled

with

glorious joys

of laughter

not a sound

worth not hearing

mother's music
the bluest flutist

played the song

for me

that sunday

mourning

when the heat

was lost

in deep freeze

coffee grinds

peeled back blinds

i defined

my life

when

she died

i became

a noone

a blank stare

a slate wiped clear

i declared war

on my soul

and life became

my whole mode

for survival

the tiny flutist

played the mother's

death dance trance

we pranced

on the graves

of other's

and delicately

waved the cross

across

the stone

of my mother's

cold

pieceless

seemingly

meaningless

now

to everyone

but me

i

the

lonely

child

always

scarred

a bit

too harsh

this life

on what's

left

of the scar

on the

dotted

heart

stained

with

wine

and

crumpets

from

the

church

i sank

when

i hurt

the most

when we

laugh

we cry

inside

now

noone knows

how to love

but for

the sake of money

and where

can you bake

that cake

in that kind

of ridiculed rain

that stained

my white

baptismal dress

with the wrought

iron blood

of mother

stained heart

beat nought

for noone

at dark

a heat of passion

declared

reaction

a cheap infatuation

with a whore

on the dance

floor

of every bar

lay it out to dry

and scan

the dead

sky

until

mother's

other

eye

opens

an ash

in

my

mouth

from

her

last

winston

a scream

wildlike

a lone wolf

crying for hell

and heaven

at the same

instant glance

my last chance

for an opera

an ending

where

the dearly

departed

never

stops

singing

now,

a deafness

that only

the masses

can sound out

in a city

so loud

you block out

the very

sound,

so bad

and by doing so

you no longer

hear the glad

the goodness

what little

left

in this

tired

land

the ice cream man

pedals

up the hill

ringing

his tired bell

and still,

noone

comes out

to play

anymore

that's not

what

streets

are for

now

the hangover

the smell

of blood

of

the new love

hurting

so much

the pedal

she mushed

the melted

heart

bled

all over

the bed

and

the roses

turned black

and i hold

the purple cross

in my hand

and will carve it

on my wrist

where i scarred

the marks

where

the twin dualities

met that night

of fitful

fright

when

even

God

could no

longer

intervene

an eve

of despair

a night

an air

that felt

like an eternity

alone in hell

ring the bell

stain the fringes

the dying

have a refuge

in the empty

part of my heart

that glances

at the sorrow

in the star

and sees

no more

of the

hopeful

dreams

of youthful

tomorrows

the good

bearing son

the soul

that

the bugle boy

stole

from

the

tiny flutist

with wings of gold

shown

like lamp light

the only path

to a home

that never lasts

only

in eternic

waves

of past wraths

forgiven

we part ways

the soul

and

i

crave

the joy

i once knew

somehow

in me and you

there must

be a way

to counter invent

a new happiness

to overflow

upon

my tattered

bloodied bows

murderous

always

in multiple disguise

the lie

the purple rose

told that night

in such

deathly scorn

such

a

cold

frozen

ice

unthawable

unfallible

thorny delight

a sight

so

silent

a sound

so

undefiant

a vibe

from

the

cello

the

angel's

blue

halo

i

will

never

again

be

frightened

in

this

life

*

isotopic gene pool error

purplefly