The Poison that Cures

8.5.1987

⸻⸻

8.5.2016

The reasons as to why I’m here is anyone’s guess.

I choose to keep it a secret for my own sake and for the rest.

I’m glad I didn’t wear my boots and left them in the house

since they’re a valuable item to have to lose.

It’s not like I didn’t see this coming,

I knew it was bunt to get to me eventually,

yet I wasn’t expecting

to bring anyone else down with me.

With an acid-washed reputation and bone white fear,

I find myself lost and alone and broken and child-like here.

I let the shadows wash over me

even though I see the light,

the tunnel schisms, urging me to go left,

but I defy myself and lunge into the right.

I was not honest

nor am I sure

if I can last here long enough

for me to find and accept a cure.

A ghost comes to me in the waking sleep of my life,

telling me to keep moving on and continue trekking through the night.

A new dawn will arrive, but trials must be set.

I know I can see the end of this plight, but I am not there yet.

I watched the birds fly

far above my head

in a space I am no longer a part of

despite being separated by the thickness of a blockhead.

I can taste it and feel it, see it and breathe it,

but it is still a whole different world.

A different life in a different time,

all the clockwork blurs by, inside my head, it twirled.

I once learned how to love and in turn had forgotten how to cry,

as my love held me in her arms and her ever comforting sigh.

She was the firstborn daughter of the heavens,

forever the reason for my smile.

She took away my mystery, became my lover,

and turned my world into hers for more than a while.

Everything had been so wild

and everywhere we ran.

She woke up one day in a Lotus form

with the culmination of our love in her hands.

So where did I go wrong or was I ever right in the first place?

The elusive answer keeps me up at night, leaving my dreams in disgrace.

At the gates of my questions, answers laying behind them, I stand.

Pounding upon the doors through the idle hours with my idle hands,

hoping someone someday will hear my calls,

but all I have in return are the echoes

rebounding off the hollow chambers of my heart,

slipping through the verses of my prose.

So I ran from the light

and cast my love to the wind,

praying that it may land with someone

who would bring it in.

And I raced to the edge of my world,

looking out upon the endless sea.

Waves of knowledge and wisdom crashing upon

the cliffs I’ve raised up so stubbornly.

With arms wide open,

begging for mercy and forgiveness,

I leapt into the waters below,

into the inky depths and murky leagues,

into the whirlpools and maelstroms,

into the undertows and overflows,

into the flotsams and jetsams,

into the tidal waves of Nirvana and nothingness,

drifting in the currents of truth in all things.

But did I bring enough rope?

It is long enough so I can haul myself back?

Is the price for this rebirth

worth everything I now lack?

In the blue sea, I drift eternal —

until the winds blew, see?

Carrying those who had received my love,

liberating me from this open captivity.

Holding on to the Ropes of Salvation,

carried by the Wings of Redemption,

we soared through the Skies of Resurrection,

before setting down upon the Land of Meditation.

And thus I cast off my old self

like a withered cocoon,

a new life eagerly reborn

in the glory of a New Moon.

Embraced by all that I know and all who took a stand.

Holding on to them tightly, hand in hand in hand in hand.

Then I placed a bouquet of roses upon my old self

as it surrendered to the ground,

and from this grave, a new future is born in a garden of life

rejoicing with every sound.

•

My last three matches,

purifying, cleansing heat;

performed a necropsy.

Sometimes gruesome.

I tried not to giggle.

•

Book on Buddhism:

it’s five hundred pages long.

Two words: go away!

•

So relaxing.

Enjoying the space.

Everything is cool.

It’s getting a little squirrely.

A little too noodly.

So noodly.

•

Hallucinating in high-definition;

visualizing things beyond recognition.

•

Education is not only for the elite,

it is for all those who seek

knowledge and wisdom, things that inspire,

a work of a lifetime, full of will and desire.

•

If children were wishes

then I put all of mine into you…

•

I’ve got the Dreamer’s Disease

the product of a youth in a global nation.

The stars lied to me

but there’s still time for you.

In these trying times,

even angels deserve to die.

A fleeting glimpse upon the tempest,

swirling around in the confines of my eye.

•

Take all these pieces, fallen and crumbled,

and put them back into place,

before they fly off in the torrential winds,

swept away by the flood of time,

lost to the past.

Going in cycles, spinning in circles,

going nowhere inside and out.

I want you to take me away from here,

away from the premature ending,

telling, yelling, shouting for everyone to stop.

•

For twenty-eight months I was gone;

for twenty-eight months I couldn’t be a dad,

but that doesn’t mean I stopped being one.

•

Circular prisms

forming in my sight; my eyes;

eye-lash reflections.

•

I wait on the phone

waiting for you to hopefully pick up,

so I may hear your voice again.

I know I don’t call as often,

things are easy, yet tough,

there, yet missed.

Connections that are made,

but rarely come through.

The waiting music is soothing,

but is nothing like the chorus

of your words.

•

Walking on wind-swept snow piles,

crushing delicate structures of ice

under my heel;

it makes me powerful and strong,

but the cold reveals my weakness

as my shivers unveil my fears.

•

The Minotaurs of Conscience

It has been said that the Devil

has the broadest perspectives on God.

Perspectives that are always jotted down

upon silent sheets of paper;

paper which puts up with anything

that is written upon it.

Perspectives from the eyes

that pulse with the poetry of the Universe;

Full of lines and words too great

for simple minds;

but not meant to ever be remembered.

Words that have a history

and yet no past.

By virtue of some virtue

I have become the effect,

and every effect resulted

in a shallow breath,

and every breath I drew was “hallelujah.”

Said after,

whispered after,

praised after us: an extravagant honesty!

As if! What if‽

Who knows?

Who cares?

These days, everyone has a memo,

but no one has a memory.

Memory usually yields to pride

and pride comes before the fall.

It’s a vicious cycle

and a vicious cycle made by God;

or maybe God is a vicious cycle;

or maybe the cycle is a vicious God –

As if, what if –

who knows? WHO CARES‽

This is how you will die:

in whispers that you will not hear.

It’s not that the Universe doesn’t care,

it’s merely indifferent –

but why?

Maybe it is better to have questions

that cannot be answered

than to have answers

that cannot be questioned.

Said after,

whispered after,

praised after us: an extravagant honesty!

We all have our hearts

but my heart is no good,

for what occurs in the light

goes on in the dark

where no one can see my wounds,

for I am neither a god or a master,

but that doesn’t mean I am not in control.

The Devil may hold my wings

and God may hold my tongue,

I still have hope

and true hope flies on swift wings.

Unsettling winds

settle down upon my lap

leaving me helpless

but far from hopeless.

Still, some days you end up breaking your finger

trying to gain the upper hand.

Said after,

whispered after,

praised after us: an extravagant honesty!

•

What a world we live in:

a brave man takes a stand

by taking a knee.

The world is drowning, six feet under

a blazing and unreasonable fire.

•

With eyes as black as holes in the sky

and a love that is lost like a prayer,

I sometimes feel like I’m coming up

on the business end

of a losing streak…

the ugly side of a bad drawing.

•

The days that I forget

that I am in a prison

are the hardest on my soul.

•

You can call this person freely…

as long as you have sufficient funds.

“Freedom isn’t free!”

Motto of the powerful.

But freedom is all around.

•

Constipated by darkness,

one man’s trick

becomes another man’s torture.

•

Do you laugh with those who cry?

Come, watch me crucify the ego with the insincere

and follow me into the future

where I’ll bury my bane

deep within your children

who will betray you in my name.

•

Stonecaster

You speak as one who is so enlightened,

that you alone know exactly how

it will all end.

You act as if you are the only one

who can rightfully cast down

the very first stone.

•

Falling like a silent sheet of paper,

the same kind of paper

that will put up with anything

that is written upon it.

•

…And I still believe that I cannot be saved;

I’m just a lazy cat living in a dog-eat-dog world;

too busy catching dreams as we navigate the seas of our discontent;

the seas have a history, but like my muse, have no past;

mirrors are her torturers;

she’ll always pucker up and kiss you like a Glock.

•

Stuck with a devil on my wings

and an angel

holding back my tongue.

•

Was God Himself an accident

of Cultivation and Discipline?

•

To be God-intoxicated

or addicted to divination;

a divine alcoholic —

going out and going up.

•

Between the moon and you

the angels get a better view —

let me beat into your heart again,

for you’re the closest to Heaven

that I’ll get to be;

I just want to hold you

at home right now.

•

We must think about the greater good,

the needs of the many

over the needs of the few

with our limited resources…

but must it be that way?

•

Don’t be afraid of everything,

there’s no need for it;

it’s alright to fear everything,

fear is irrational.

•

A Politick Haiku

Donald Trump hates sharks;

you would think he would love them —

some are “great” and “white.”

•

You gave me something to believe.

I believe in nothing.

Beliefs are dangerous.

Give me something to hold,

cause love’s in control —

I’ll die if I let go.

You gave me something to feel,

to feel for myself,

to feel for everything dear.

Give me a stone of reason

and I’ll gladly deliver the very first blow.

And by those tales, I’ll call it change

and devour everything irrational.

The truth will always be what it is

no matter its state of improbability;

rise on up and face every dear;

Face Everything And Rise.

So what’s the plan

when it comes to facing the unknown?

The light of thought will lead the way

into those black holes of memory.

•

Give me a vulnerable lie

something all my own;

something from outside,

and watch me go.

Hold me up to the sky,

into your life,

and watch me go.

Can you hear me?

Hear me screaming?

Echoing a thousand miles.

This thunder-call,

like bombs, fleeing,

explosions here going wild.

Can you hear me?

Hear me bleeding?

One last breath before I die.

•

She left her past just like a bullet leaves a gun.

With her marble skin and ruby lips,

she hopped up on that downtown train

and stumbled on through her destiny-denied trip.

Wherever you go, there’ll always be a record playing,

singing to you songs to hold on to,

songs that tell you it’ll be better someday.

And I called your name to help me sleep at night.

Come with me, let’s take a walk around the corner

for no good reason at all,

but to feel the raindrops on our faces

and to hold each other’s hand.

•

Orison

Dear God,

Can you help me?

I am in need of your assistance,

in need of your endless sympathy.

You see, I am troubled,

I ma broken, I am lost.

I feel violent and angry

and absolutely hateful,

yet I have no rhyme or reason

that I can find for that feeling.

I just want to be normal,

I just want to fit in

with everyone else.

I want to feel wanted again;

to be held again;

to be soothed to a peaceful sleep;

to just be loved.

You are all-powerful and can do all,

that’s why I’m reaching out to you, for mercy,

for forgiveness, for understanding.

I am trying to grab fate by the hand

and to ride upon its sails.

Can you help me?

Please?

“YOUR CALL WAS NOT ANSWERED. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER. GOODBYE!”

•

How lovely we must all seem

to the rest of the Universe.

Surrounded by, living within,

the most wonderous of creations:

creation itself.

We fight over lands;

we fight over clouds;

we fight over waters;

we fight over suns;

we fight over everything

and nothing at all.

•

Words are life,

but life is not just words.

Fill your life with words;

fill your life with life.

•

I’m losing myself,

the sounds of nothing is constricting my lungs

and filling them with a mourning’s air.

I’m trying to reach up,

trying to wrap my fingers around the sun —

I’d rather burn than drown.

The waves are heavy

and the void is crashing loudly, violently,

and I feel like there’s nothing I can do.

Mourning’s star is looking down upon me.

The start of the morning is begging me to stay,

but its light feels so cold.

I just want to feel your warmth,

the seas of yearning, that thing I’ve been waiting for,

and rise me, raise me, our of this mourning.

•

You’ve shown me a love so deep

that if you poured all of the oceans

and seas into it,

they would all run dry,

barely misting your love.

•

The angels smile

at the angles only made by humans.

So don’t stop,

everyone’s watching what you’ll do next.

•

Taking an inventory of my emotions

and of my belongings.

I am rich yet poor;

wealthy and needy;

both the have and the have-not.

All the potential and failure;

opportunity and chance;

but having no time for either.

•

Take my heart —

I don’t need it anymore.

It has led me to worry too many times.

It is, in fact, a dirty whore,

but even then,

it cannot carry all of the blame,

after all, I’m the one who gave it permission

to do what it does best:

defy all logic and reason.

•

A casket is so constricting

yet oddly liberating

through death and eternity.

•

I lost control,

the cost of living free,

but the truth will set you free,

but first, it’ll piss you off.

•

A heartache of stone:

this “nothing left to lose” freedom.

I am not free.

I have so much left to lose

and do not plan on losing it.

•

All my friends are cloud-like

don’t you know?

Taking their time,

taking it slow.

There’s no need for any sudden moves;

eventually, you’ll hear the news.

Welcome to the place where we all just float away,

but don’t fade away.

Throwing up our rain-dropped hand-grenades,

falling on your face,

all over the place.

No one really ever gets blown apart

by a filthy, little heart;

everything just washes away,

wasting away

as if infinity was all there ever was to waste.

All my friends are high clouds

filled with snow.

Blanketing the ground

with the cool wind blow.

Please understand that I’m not being cruel,

it’s just that they always speak the truth.

Here, they are coming to my defiance

or a much-needed offense.

Disarming them in the obvious way

doesn’t mean they’re unarmed;

that they cannot do you harm.

They’re not the ones who can just walk away;

they’re not the ones who can just sail away.

And after all is said,

who can forget —

All my friends are dreamers

don’t you know?

Tracing shapes in the clouds

and in the snow.

Please don’t make any sudden moves.

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