Friday, October 24, 2014

So, this is where we've ended up?

these halls are rare everyday halls
wielding pitchfork meant to stick
in our backs,
                     they draw hot, pink blood,
birth flashes and implant false memories.

this is all you
will ever be
it has been
decided.

be quick on your feet,
we operate in pockets of
immateriality drowning
each moment,

"society is dependent on
ego-protection," she
said to me, as she walked
off the platform into
oncoming trains,

the officer at the scene
told me not to think too
much about it, grasping
my wrist, doctors offered
me pills, wrote my
visions down before
devouring them.

I wiped my shoes at the front door,
faint sounds and echoes in the red brick
alleyway adjacent,
                              murmurs without time or place,
 crumpled soldiers returning from imaginary wars.

Thursday, October 23, 2014

Climbing

I.
A short
rainbow sprinkled
madness

run from
the drone
of hallucination

spy the mountaineer
in high wool socks,
shibuya boots lined
in red, heavy pack,
red bandanna,
leaning forward
peers over edge
one foot raised to peak,

"it's in your head,
 this vision."

II.
a falling pebble
clacks on cliff side
drops 7000 feet

where it lands
where it came from

there's no difference

life is life.

III.
thoughts
gouge out
circles in your
mind

indifferent glances
toward the ground

there are rocks
in your gut
emitting light

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Spam in Spam Alley

THese Are THe SPam
poems
sent directly to your
recycling bin
UNread

SOmetimes
there's a man standing
in the rain
on cold fall nights
his wife is hurling
curses, indistinguishable
words, unattainable
promises,

I wonder what it
takes to sit and type
those emails all day, or
what computer program
randomly generates
them,

a lifeless
bent shadow heads
down the alleyway
shifts suddenly, almost
sadly, disappears,

I type a hurried
response, send
without signing
my name,

a female voice drones on
into the night,
no returning footsteps,
only emptiness,
the vacuumed
spaces in between,
and no ears but mine
listening,

[Error: Mail could not be delivered]

Watch television on your phone

screens lined up,
they pace behind,
dressed in army
fatigues threads
of net neutrality,
listen! Hammer
pulled back,
click of old rusted
metal (we forget how
reality feels) slam,
a sickening life-like
sound, gun--shatters
over mute settings,
ringing fiber-
optic nightmare
one by one prisoners
lurch forward
brain matter anti-matter
spilling on granny
elevator floors,
a million tv audiences
cry out and silence,
sound travels slowly
so we all type out--

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

they've got models
living in camera-ed rooms
filling screen time,
Hollywoodland time,
reality mojo,
through inner-tube
highways broadcasting
their life force across
miles and cityscapes into
your unlit living room
everyone showing
white sad walls,

you can't help
thinking is that how
we live

but you
can't think it,

it's not allowed,
it's just sex and I'm the star she
says before she takes
out her dick
and before you realize
you've made it to the
wrong room,
made it with the wrong girl,
she's got the gun out
from behind her
cybernetic overcoat
and this window
is gone too,

the virus has evolved
language and pictures
aren't safe

the global village is a lie

it's an execution
of the soul

7,000,000,000 views
7,000,000,000 likes

click to view.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

How I intended it

all words die
on books never opened
in darkened corners
covered in cobwebs,
damp with mildew,
spilling worms,

all writers are 
meant to be
forgotten,
obscured by
anonymity 
or in fame,
poverty or
riches--

to be the 
only thing that
remains, or
to be nothing--

words 
scrawled 
on grave
stones,
slowly 
eroding
like the 
body
like the 
mind
desperately
fading,
failing

black ink,
abyss,
oblivion.

Plum St.

I've think about it,
going back there,
turning left at the house
with the teal shingles,
walking down that quiet street
and finding that little
duplex and its square parking lot
in back, stuck between single homes,
I imagine I'd stand at the
edge of the grass on the front
lawn and look up to the second floor,
into those windows I can't quite
remember, fearful of taking another
step and slipping back there
into childhood and the past,

I can see the little circular kitchen table,
at the end of yellowed tile,
wood box tv set in the corner where
my dad hid a toy he'd gotten me
in a paper bag, the tweed couch facing
it,

my big orange cat shuffles
down the hallway, the same one
he'd run so fast through that
he'd take a few steps along
the wall,

Mom is everywhere, I can't
manage one single memory
but that the whole house was
her,

I'd turn from the house,
never touching one blade of
grass and head to the park at
end of street where once I'd hit
a lightning bug with a baseball
bat, swinging and watching
his light and life trail off into
the darkness,

I am still cursed, I have
still not forgiven--

then I'd sit there maybe,
sit there alone, I'm not sure
what else I'd do, what
else I'd see,

I've grown old,
I've gone away,
I can't even hold onto memories.

Friday, October 17, 2014

Your leg resting on mine

I am awake

watching the
shadow of
blinds
stretched
elongated
deformed
spread
across
ceiling

I see an idea
in its pale
existence,
its almost-
never-there
shape,

the night is on to something,
in streaks and bleary
light, in reflections
catch the rain,

it's
moving in the
right
direction.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

Evermore, Everlasting

is there such a thing?
                                  you grind your teeth as
                                         you fall asleep
                                         a foot under cover
                                         a foot out
or nothing?
                     I am naked beside you
                             hands under chest
                             on my stomach
                             eyes facing you
will it ever end?
                          milky way spiral big dipper
                                     sound in the night
                                     dark and restless angel
                                     of the far gone away
or is there never ever?
                                     holding a torch for you
                                                  burning at the edge
                                                  unburdened by space
                                                  untouched by time    

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

The Blue Line

watch blue line
on map move like
marker 'cross
cuts and daggers
ridges of stone,

tan/yellow/green
moves around
gray/red/blue
impassable objects,

line swings down
and takes in the
grand old mysterious
south, foggy in our
child's eye,

oh, those places we
haven't been!

that golden sun
bakes the earth
that dark, dark night
of my dreams,

what's out there, hey?

what's there left to find?

where the wheels go next
my body follows

down
down

ah, great abyss,

falling
falling

650 pages

the
collected
works
of
Tom
Pescatore
an
obscure
and
relatively
ignored
poet
who
wrote
in
the
early
21st
century.

He
published
nothing
of
merit
or
of
literary
importance
or
 relevance
and
died
unknown.

His
impact
on
American
poetry
is
still
up
for
debate
though
most
scholars
seem
to
agree
that
he
had
none.

Monday, October 13, 2014

you can never go home, but everyone goes home in October

there, a
black furred squirrel
finds the right
side of the street,
twists up for sale sign,

rain falls in drizzles

not really touching
ground,

scent of
pumpkin patches
and wet clothes

gray sky
gray cars
little girl with
gray eyes
gray memories

in a coffee cup
mimics the sky

and clouds drift
cough float heavy
above the earth

gray bodies
gray minds

there's something
reassuring in it's
bleakness

something real.

Listen, Listen

voices

from the street

invisible bodies

whisper
under half-moon
shadow
of three-pronged
tower
memorial

rustle of hands
objects
sounds on inside
of car
leather seats

door slams

engine turns

foot steps on concrete
creaking metal
door swings
car swings into gear

muted sounds
of the hallway
fading sounds
of tires crunching

now silence

for a moment

too short,
broken by roar
of plane

followed by another
and another

grumbling and shaking
the night--

This poem is finished

scroll up

dear god

my toenails are
growing too fast
too brittle
aged

not yellowed yet

I can't think of disfigurement
of any kind--

I vomited in doctors
office thinking of
throat cancer, eyes
tearing stomach raging,

it was only
tonsillitis,

cleared up with
steroids rest gatorade--

 think of growing old
skin wrinkled
eyes grayed with cataracts,
back bent
body leaning on cane
deep black and blue bruises
true bruises that reach to
bone, dying bones
old bones,

mind roams

pain pushed into
every life seeping corner,

I must remain
now
and never go

remind myself not
to lose my body
my image of it,

weeks go by and
I am different,
hair growing
knees sore,
mind slower,

what is next,
I don't know,

maybe I've already begun
to misplace it,

fuck,

I can't even think of
the word,

I scroll up but
the poems finished--

Arrow to the 'eart

Here

am
     I
       as
           a
           babe in the
                             woods
           with fog roll
           in
        as
      I
am

Here

sunk to the bone
powder
white
decay

these sounds won't cease!

jet rumble
faraway floods

Here

I
  am
        someone else
        someone lost
   am
I

ever going to see it?
through
thick
orange
dust

gawking

the sound of night
shatters the earth

floating pearls pierce
my window screen

I see myself reflected
in globe of the world

I
  am
       naked
       truth.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

CRYING OUT!

our CHILD is with ME

SINKing in my GUT

he is words and phrases

IDEAs personified

a last HOPE for manKIND

I can carry him
into the future

wretch and bleed

SPIT HIM OUT

he will crawl on
concrete islands
listen to ivory bones

I can learn without HIM

I am a shuttle
carrying light
to its destination

BLEAR-ing out
unspoken stars

what will it look like
on the HORIZON?

my death--

what will be seen
and unseen--

tell me,

I am choking

tears seek floor
from tired eyes

I have walked too FAR

there is me
with nothing left
ahead,

I watch ALL THIS
EXISTENCE
and
CRY out!

it is morning
only morning
blue sky BLUE SKY

a child GROWing
ALONE

GRAY eyes
vibrating VISIONS

we are thoughts
thrown before us
stretching deep into the
past

DO YOU
REMEMBER
MILKY WAY?

how we got here?

my stomach erupts
puss piss blood guts goo

crawl from me!

take that STEP

be BORN

screaming into GREAT ABYSS

it is LIFE! KNOW!

IT
IS
LIFE!