Candy Apples with Razor Blades

all these songs have been writ by my hand
taken to the utmost rooftop of this holocaustic graveyard
of molten rock and endless trash
and thrown from the tombstone etched edge
to plunge beyond the sidewalk
through the rotting stench
into the soft green milk below

where it sinks
groan and bubble
and stinks

where all the wormy bones rise up
picked clean and bright shining
ivory in the moonlight

were I to jump along with all my words
were I to fall upon engorged bowels
how long until the idea of me is eaten away?

how long until I sink
bubble and bloat
blister
and stink?

how long until I am nothing but a passing thought?

how long until the next body takes my place?

an october horror pome

Outside on the balcony where I had gone to think,
with the cool october air to gird me against morning sun
and the single tree rising leave-less into wisp-white blue sky,
looking out over the gray rail, over the gray highway divide,
beyond the shadow casting hi-rises, over shadowed sidewalks
and dim lit convenience stores,

I thought of nothing in particular, I sipped at coffee,
I peered down into the cup, out back over all I had looked before,

I thought of nothing but the decision to head back inside.

To understand is nothing

words make little hissing sounds pulled through
thick white painted air-vents screwed in thin white painted walls.

the multitude of signs carried through the void
                                                                             edged in red silver
boiling green lines spelling names out from forgotten hallways
symbols from a great lost past
                                                  all the entrances are marked
all the entrances are bloody exits

each footprint brings many things from the beyond
invisible deathlike strands built by invisible hands
invisibly moving through time
                                                  not a beginning not to end
the current state is simply misunderstanding
dreams are neither empty or rewarded

the bubbles are pulled through into the hall
                                                                      and gravid with idea
they sink to the carpet floors to be trampled
to be trampled

to wait for the paint to crack and the walls as they truly are
can be seen.

Autumnal Pome

gust of wind comes with Windsor Chimes,
dotted by dried brown oak leaves,
wet with the thin droplets of coming rain,
willows in grey fall breeze,

swirling descends October's face,
groaning bends the tireless oak trees,
red and expressionless the buildings on the square,
lit with warm, stagnant, yellow light,

heavy comes the storm unopposed,
washing, wiping, rushing summers memory away.

Was there ever?

you never broke my heart
but you ran away
you made me chase you through the summer snow
through my many memories of you
through meadows where white sheets hung to dry
though it rained and rained in daydreams
yet the sky stayed so blue so blue
though it was never so cold as it seemed
and I could only catch the sunlight off your sun drenched heels
as you turned your head as you turned away
brushing your fingers lightly on the seams of your hair
i remember then every day was spring or like fall
though there were many miles between
my bed and how many miles between yours
like years between each drop of rain
between each flowing ivory sheet
between each gust of wind tangled in your white dress
was there ever a time I cannot recall
when it was not you and me?

garbage disposal safe

i walked to the kitchen sink
over the soaked floor
bits of floating things between my toes
the slick tile floor
i walked up to the kitchen sink
overflowing it rim
dark water in dark night
i hadn't paused to flip the light on
there was another switch and the sink roared
above the tearing sound the puddles set still
i reached my hand into the inky black depths
what things what terrible leviathans there are
in the deepest bluest sea
i was only one man and knowing the morning would come
with or without me
i walked back to my bed to sleep to dream maybe
but to sleep
on my covers i gently wiped my feet
my bleeding knuckles my broken nails
my skeleton's grip.

those walks with you

when I was younger I would pick a direction and walk
until after a few hours I was lost somewhere new
cruching across the crabgrass everywhere new looked
                       everywhere old and the same in the suburbs
I would often follow cracks in cement winding streets
or slip through small wooded parks with rusting swings
                                              and clusters of silent trees
or step over flowered fences tramping through front yards
always the eyes would watch
                                                yet there were no fences
nothing to bar my path a few stones a welcome mat
the trash would be rotting on tuesdays and thursdays
there were never enough hours to escape the county
it just stretched on and on with cars following
cars being shuffled along a string forward and back
eventually I would start back attempting a different path
looking all the same and new and never strange back to my room
and my home looking never different always the same

sunday parking

no parking leaves idle cars
along unclaimed oft used track
empty lots with yellow weeds
sickly trees

the trek between shopping center and condo center

davis cvs arlington 395 on ramp 233
airport access run potomac avenue unnamed
clark no left

private property signs spray painted white
dumpsters rust blue block the right lane
blunt onto southbound
route 1

not many spots left untagged without hazard lights
under the marriot grey shade

trash litters the white lined walkway
ignorant green yellow red light stop sign spray
no sidewalk no crosswalk almost no street to walk across

it was ever real

around

the world moved

around the room

with windows     closed

discarded strawberry greens

a light left on without reason

slumping bodies

stationary in plastic bins

pens bleed out

around

the sun moved past

around the moon

yet to pass

the roads spun     in place

beneath parallel sheets

concrete and steel moue

around

the essential

around the missing piece

and a mistaken belief

written while walking

it doesn't go away

if it washes on by

those pillars of stone

your dress washed in white

eyes golden brown

may it might have rained that night

maybe might the sky be heavy gray

it doesn't go away

if it's gone on by

that long walk way

your silent steps

your golden pink lips

even as I dry

rains over money rains alike
rains over cold gray buildings
even as the day even as time

i crossed the street into the gray current
there was a group with yellow flyers
passing them down the gray line

rains over aluminum barriers
rains over thin gray stone
even as the footsteps even as the umbrella cries

i shuffled between the bodies into the gray light
under the open stretched glass doors
sifting through metal detecting ports

rains over 13 storeys rains on the floor
rains over cold gray eyes
even as the poor even as the poor

i sat for three hours i sit for many more
there once the clock hits four
passing through the same corridors came before

rains over me rains alighted
rains over my gray shirt
even as I walk even as I dry

even as I walk

even as I dry

might be long gone

around the spiral stair     it gets brighter as you go
toward the bottom floor

all laid out with white tile
following the pattern maintained on the floors above

                                     in a long switchback square
at the end          a line of black soled feet high and low
snaked about five chair columns in 6 rows

originating from the white desk beyond the white flat screen tv
behind

drip coffee lined          a million million dollars a head
where all the poor poor children go

and free coffee down down on down the line
on the plantation row a thousand miles away     and here

one steaming fee free double espresso.