I found the most reckless line in your diary. “I know you can’t remember, all I can feel are the tears of September.” l was mesmerized by the details of the most piercing moments until I realized I was the subject. I was perplexed and the inner light began to fade. I found a line that shredded my heart into pieces.”You are the avalanche I could not see, you won’t be awake when I leave.” I glanced through the suffering and the realization is settling that you see me as a self absorbed monster.
You drank lukewarm coffee with a ballad crying in your head, rearranging the lyrics, forgetting all the things I said. You replaced conversation with an awkward silence and grand expectations. Perhaps you and I sat on quicksand, never making a solid foundation. You wanted me to crawl inside your mind, sit indian style, and look for your missing smile. You never mentioned, you craved endless attention and you didn’t get what you deserved. If I didn’t love you, can you tell me why I’m so hurt.
I found your latest entry in your book of fiction. “I know you forgot about my horrendous childhood, feeling lost and misunderstood.” I was fascinated with your chilling imagination with minutia painted with your fingertips. I was bewildered and the answers began to become in focus. I found a line that cracked the outer shell of my soul. “You are the villain in this horrific tale, because of you I have failed.” I am done tasting this bitter and water down concoction.
You drank lukewarm coffee with complaints, criticism, and tirades surrounding your silent skeleton. You are the playwright, weeping dramatist, and the author of colorful exaggerations. You are the puzzle, desiring me to put you together, believing in the everlasting, wishing for forever. You are numb from the waist down, with your feet barely touching the ground. You blame me for that earth shattering tragedy. I will love you until the end of time despite the fact you are no longer in love with me.
I’ve kissed your mysteries with amplified eyes I’ve kissed your dead secrets with bloodshot lipstick “And now the love story takes a curve, seeing I won’t be the last and was never the first” I’ve kissed your metaphors with agony in my throat I’ve kissed your afternoons with scalding black coffee brewing “And the now the love story cuts me deep, I’m not myself and see you in my sleep” I’ve kissed your tragedies with a sea of glitter covering up your sins I’ve kissed your lying mouth with my ignorance sealed “And now the love story is coming to an end, now my life can truly begin” I’ve kissed your piano concerto with whispers fluttering in my ears I’ve kissed your villain with accusations stripped and shredded “And now the love story fades into my past, no longer do my tears have your autograph”
Seven O’clock drifts vaudeville inauguration, tranquil introduction A breeze of pleasantries and greetings center stage, sponge like audience mixed congregation sipping on souls connecting with unbiased strangers nervously releasing free verse on a axis “I placed a chunk of the run down moon deep in my threadbare pocket no longer glistening or luminous cemented in a tuberculosis celestial sphere over a twelve thousand acre of soil filled with sulking predators, non stopping vixens, and smirking baby-kissers With a plethora of fear I packed my cobalt suitcase and changed my landscape Arrived in a view with miracles and lilies dancing around a bonfire with a beam glaring at her sunset daydreams head over heels, star striking overture forgotten piece of the crescent tumbling for love forevermore” sewn chapter left my lips with a joyful taste
America two dollars and twentyseven cents January 17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don’t feel good don’t bother me.
I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I’m sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don’t think he’ll come back it’s sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I’m trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I’m doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven’t read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid I’m not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there’s going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I’m perfectly right.
I won’t say the Lord’s Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven’t told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia.
I’m addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I’m obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It’s always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybody’s serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven’t got a chinaman’s chance.
I’d better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable private literature that jetplanes 1400 miles an hour and twentyfive-thousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underprivileged who live in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I’m a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles more so they’re all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor the Silk-strikers’ Ewig-Weibliche made me cry I once saw the Yiddish orator Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have been a spy.
America you don’t really want to go to war.
America its them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia’s power mad. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader’s Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him make Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers. Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I’d better get right down to the job.
It’s true I don’t want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts factories, I’m nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Indecisions hide like bats in the echoes of the cave Uncertainty sips from the acidic river Vinegar seeping between the crushed bones and sharp nerves Isolation and desolation are thumbs ripped from each hand And the rattle lingers in the corner of the ear drum
Dismay is tucked away behind a faded curtain Flaws stick to me like starving fleas Substance is the saliva dripping from the piranha’s teeth The equilibrium inside me wakes up the storm And the rattle parades in a rhythm that disturbs the haze
Symptoms of a nontransparent disease spread Inside the soliloquy the cage embraces the thunder Murmurs and grumbles tremble with fright Theology and myths walking in unison And the rattle pounds like a headache
Butchered insults and splinters drive three inches through my anger Crude laughs and vicious skies open up pouring sadness Exasperation drags my eyelids through the dirt Sorrow is a creek that I cleanse the silence And the rattle pierces my aching skin
And I lay here with the rattle in the cage soothing the emptiness
Forget me not, my sweet fears I found untouchable verses within my discomfort I found veracity within the crevices of the dark I found my reflection staring into my tattoo of courage I found emptiness deeper than this bottle
And my tears dry up and it’s time to stand up And my anxiety carries a heart beat And my passion bleeds forever more And my endless ink soars like a blackbird
“Take my hand, I can no longer do this alone. I can admit, I can no longer do this on my own”
Forget me not, my sweet fears I found my imagination spinning out of control I found my recklessness ripping me at the seams I found my identity buried in a grave with a bouquet of havoc on top I found my revelations reading scripture
And my tears dry up and it’s time to stand up And my anxiety carries a heart beat And my passion bleeds forever more And my endless ink soars like a blackbird
“Take my hand, I can no longer keep hurting myself, I can admit, something inside needs some help”
I threw a boomerang into the laced up moonlight and it didn’t return. I said I love you for the first time and she didn’t say a word. I became astray in my depth perception and lost myself within our connection. I turned my head and tried to forget what I just said. I memorized the look on her face and nothing ever could take its place.
I wrote a letter to forgiveness but it was returned to the sender. I want to erase the pain, draw a blank, throw away the last November. I said I deeply care, I know something special is there, all that was uttered “Life isn’t fair.” My heart wanted to shatter believing nothing else mattered. I could tell it was all a mistake, I could feel the tenderness break, and my hands begin to shake.
I tried to hold her hand, to make her understand, that everything changed. When I tried to move, I could feel all that I would lose and cried staring at the remains. I could feel the wind whip into another direction, leaving behind all the affection. Nothing felt right, I didn’t have the energy to fight and wanted to blame the laced up moonlight. I heard from a friend she passed away from a transparent disease. The sadness from the message left a numbing breeze. Never have I felt so isolated and in a pitch black space . The phrase “Life isn’t fair” left a shadow on my face.
I’ve been walking through an electric calm with a crucifix woven into my chest. I can barely breathe but can feel tranquility gripping to my veins. I can exhale all my errors while my shadows can caress my fears. I’m gasping for my curse to vanish. I’m suffering with a small taste of compassion.
I can hear the angels crooning in my equilibrium. “I’m done am crawling, falling, and stalling because I’m ready to run. I have a light that’s more brilliant than the sun. I am done trying, dying, and crying from the destruction of my past. I am a born again miracle, white glaring spherical, with clarity sparkling in my photographs.”
I’ve been stumbling through an electric calm with vibrations whispering on my tongue. I can barely speak but feel drops of grief sliding down my throat. I can inhale all the suffering while my spine carries my turmoil. I’m letting go of the affliction. I’m dreaming for you to forgive me.
I can hear the monsters growling in my blizzard of indecisions. “I’m digging you a grave, your hesitancy and damnation will become your slaves. I’m the chain on your lilac bones, watching your heart turn into stone. I will watch you choke and convulse with a grin, I will be your unblemished sin. You will continue to swallow your glass of emptiness and feel reckless.”
It’s 5am, I’m carrying those restless thoughts like a backpack over my shoulder. I’ve tumbled through an existence with my freudian slips, gray instincts, and coarse satire. I’ve been dripping misery on the edges of my inner shell. I’ve been playing with matches with ten foot flames higher than my self doubt. Take a long long look at me and you may see yourself. The only distinction is that I’m not afraid to seek for help.
I was the ghost that you were afraid at the age of five.Remember when I made you smile when you wanted to cry. I was there when your world caved and you couldn’t move. I was there when the doubters left and shouted “you have nothing to prove.” I was there when your scenery started to change. I was there when you took all the blame. Here we are, seeing nothing is the same. Where does the ghost go from here?
It’s 5am, I’ve got nonsensical riddles on display and the Gods are poking fun at the answers. I’ve been talking to myself with a straight jacket and heckling the clowns in the audience because it feels like I’m on stage. I stumble with society because I force rhymes because I’m staring at a blank page. Take a long look at me and you may see yourself. The only distinction is that I’m not afraid to seek for help.
I was the ghost you made love to at the age of sixteen.Remember when I held you in my arms in silence when your nightmares wanted to scream. I was there when your world crumbled and you couldn’t move at all. I was there when the people around you started to build walls. I was there when the colors of your painting started to fade. I was there when your soul needed to be saved. Here we are, everyone is gone and I remain.Where does the ghost go from here?
That’s the way the addiction grumbles That’s the way the drunk stumbles That’s the way the moon serenades That’s the way the elephants walk in the parade That’s the way the politicians talk That’s the way the predators gawk
That’s the way the innocent dream That’s the way the raped scream That’s the way the fears surrender That’s the way the cold remembers That’s the way the lost are found That’s the way the veterans weep to the sounds
That’s the way the truth should be told That’s the way the lies are bitten and sold That’s the way the victim cries That’s the way the quiet feel inside That’s the way the impregnator stares That’s the way the son of a bitch cares
That’s the way the glass is poured That’s the way the children are ignored That’s the way the perception is skewed That’s the way the label is crude That’s the way the society thinks That’s the way the one percent drink
That’s the way the air becomes stale That’s the way the skin becomes pale That’s the way the poets write That’s the way the day turns into night That’s the way the heart breaks into bits That’s the way the last puzzle piece fits
That’s the way the thunder growls That’s the way the thieves prowl That’s the way the light disappear That’s the way the dark becomes crystal clear That’s the way the luck falls That’s the way the anger crawls
That’s the way the perpetrators finger points That’s the way the hippies smoke a joint That’s the way the teacher dresses That’s the way the students make messes That’s the way the winners gloat That’s the way the captain steers the boats
That’s the way the rich treat the poor That’s the way the small companies closes its doors That’s the way the snake rattles That’s the way the beast fights in battle That’s the way the cookie crumbles That’s the way the insider fumbles
That’s the way the performers act That’s the way the sky becomes black That’s the way the song is heard That’s the way the villains see the words That’s the way the view turns into stone That’s the way the virtuous become alone
That’s the way the branch breaks That’s the way the dealers make mistakes That’s the way the world divides That’s the way the humans collide That’s the way the people see That’s the way the universe will be
She use to be my enraptured muse A mystical raindrop that drenched my entirety guided by purity, kindness and authenticity unveiling the sentiments in navy ink written in the coveted firethorn notebook
In the afterglow she disappeared Stillness was the enemy
She use to be the prayer between both hands A snowflake cleansing my weary tongue navigated by a sweet hummingbird whistling displaying the verses with a keen eye penned in a diary surrounded by flames
In the afterglow she vanished tranquility was the rival
She use to be my northward carnival A buzzing gypsy crooning in my orchestra maneuvered by truth, sympathy and light revealing the lines with unseen impressions authored in a journal of mysterious flare
In the afterglow she escaped serenity was her shadow boxer
I sat on a mustard color stool at the Boneyard Tavern, chatter filled the atmosphere with spite, poison and lust entwined, lost connections and backward remarks, Sitting next to me, Tennyson Walker filled with chilling certainty stalwart with a deep southerly lisp sipping on bourbon with a cigarette “Son, It’s not about the left and the right, it’s about you believing the lies even though the truth is simply in sight, your eyes are set on the endless distractions as the leaders of the world shake hands, the globalists are chuckling, and the critical thinkers are censored, Don’t you recall the infrastructure bill? countless pages of radical logic unrevealed as millions sit still, don’t nod your head, We are dancing in a war of intelligence and segregated information, humans become collateral, and the changes just blink, faith and theories are bullet points drenched with disjuncture, governments unifying and emptying citizens pockets without consent, prepare for the crumbling” I sat there in a daze as a conspiracy theorist, mesmerized by an articulate blue collar worker, generations apart but understood the colors and fabric of our country’s flag, I no longer felt isolated with the realization the more silent I am, I am part of the problem
Dandelion skin, your consequences hang from your eyelashes your backbone has an invisible crack your tenacity wallows in the closet your cheeks are filled with solitude your apprehension feels like a heart beat
Grace from within witness’s a glimpse
“I can’t hear what you are saying, I’m too busy fading”
Dandelion skin, your affliction surrounds you like a cloud your sheath carries an uneven stigma your serenity is deep in your lungs your perseverance sleeps with obscurity your illusion is smeared and splattered
Grace from within is numb and worn
“I can’t run from the silence any longer, I can finally see parts of me that are stronger”
Dandelion skin, your uncertainty plays hide and seek your strain trips over your kindness your sway crumbles in your defeated fingers your delusions disappear in the fog your trance whispers in the shade
Grace from within has the answers
“In this garden, I will blossom and continue to grow, the grace from within will finally show”
I am the color black wrapped up in a midnight curse torture dripping down my bleached face gripping on to the endangered lies whispers growling in my prejudice ears sorrow was a door to throw away my beliefs clutching on to the skeleton chain tomorrow weeps from my skewed perception, stumbling in the waterfalls, praying to blurry shadows and the sinister moon, I sip on the poison of a poor man’s cup and I hide in the mist to make me blind Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black severed from the spinning rainbow buzzards flying around my dying tree decaying stains, fumbling in the dark crawling toward the vibrations of the stigma haunted by my twitching nerves anxiety and insecurities boiling on the inside grief jumbled, agony waltzing carrying heartbreak over my shoulders I quietly stare into the atoms of my distress molecules sizzling, bloodstream crying depths of discomfort, circling headaches and I seek grace with a pitchfork and knives Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black ripped from the sobbing vermillion sky distinctively malevolent, serene and ill tarnished and frozen, inside the frostbite slightly obscene, smothered in vile a predator within, carrying a tarantula grin vertigo parading, obscurity blending corrosion running down my esophagus A diabolical mind dipped in scarlet oil walking with a criminal like scent cemetery gray with a pinch of graveyard dirt a night crawler climbing in your memory spellbinding oblivion, twisted secrets Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black unhinged and sadistic salivating from the burns, scatterbrained, splash of schizophrenia, thousand microscopic splinters in my cornea I’m a child of the fifth obsidian scarecrow untouched apricot skin, labeled as a dead end, hunger promenading, brisk spasms lightning smacks across my crimson back fractured, friction is my lifeless mother I live in a atmosphere of short breaths and gasping for oxygen among my bothers consistently sucker punched and jabbed with crude remarks, self esteem is hollow Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black characterized as the lustrous sin specks of halcyon, spots of carmine symbolizing annihilation and wreckage disfiguring truth, a heinous sparkle I strut with apocalyptic and corrupt nerves veins filled with cynicism and suspicion doubt trickling, hyperboles drooling nonstop fiction rolling off my slanderous lips sugarcoated fabrication stewing I’ve shaped my ruthless tombstone Viciousness is my fathers favorite drink I’ve learned to slurp vengeance Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I am the color black stamped as a disastrous villain I smirk at tragedy and illuminate within magic, identified as a slithering savage I slap hope with a monstrous hand distinguished as liquid monstrosity I despise faith and lurch in your nightmares venom is like loose change in my pockets I’ve exchanged bitten conversations with corpses in my slaughterous backyard quietly, I am the joker who plays with satire and explosive irony, kiss the rage on my cheek, I am the gift you are afraid to open Lord, save me from the lake of screams
I’ve watched you become the acrobatic apologist I’ve heard about the yellow fellow who broke your melodic heart I’ve recited the third page from your journal pertaining to your inadequacies For your wounds will heal in the garden I stand as your protector, silver shield, and the knight in the desert My love for you is a basket of gold I’ve witnessed the boy who cemented crippling demands I’ve stared at the smeared carmine lipstick on your oval mirror and that reads “The chip on my shoulder weighs a ton” I’ve scolded the gentleman who made claims of manhood For your discolorations will be cleansed I stand as your defender, eagle’s eye, and sword My love for you is fearless and is a scent of heaven I’ve growled at the heathens who replaced love with immaturity and lust Daphne, my beloved, your fantasies and dreams are sacred Your darkness can shine in our universe
From the mind of Braeden Michaels, drink from this cup, the raven’s poison, a concoction of his collected poems all about the human condition. Imbibe in the rainbow of emotions found in the soul’s colors and taste the bitter aftertaste when you’re drenched in rage.
Indulge in the reasons beneath dripping lust before absorbing all the ways we experience our wide-ranging flavors of love and finish off with a sip of self-destruction. This is us. Humanity. All the layers stripped away and arranged for your pleasure.
Suffocating winds, drowning in a venomous and callous night gripping to a malignant affair shredding overblown letters of sensuality my esophagus is bound to split
“I’m on my knees, begging please, with forgiveness slicing my tongue, aching to breathe.”
Sounds of vanishing ripple Sounds of exhaustion sob Sounds of agony growl
Suffocating winds, immersed in worth with scabs and pockmarks consumed by a rain of affliction ripping flashbacks with endless tears my esophagus is bound to rupture
“I’m on my knees, begging please, with forgiveness piercing my eyes, aching to breathe.”
Sounds of distress shrivel Sounds of loneliness escape Sounds of tears shriek
She identified me an uncoordinated head shaking wallflower. I was dressed in awkwardness and mentally out of place. I use to strut into Jackknife Cafe with a buzz cut with my neon shirt with the jagged words “If you take a chance, I got a little something in my pants.” She glazed at me like a I was lunatic with pick up lines I bought from a used car lot. Our conversation drifted sideways, jumped into a canary yellow cab and headed into the Low Ball motel. Three sentences were muttered as my hand slid up her skirt. She chuckled at my clumsiness, thin frame, and off colored jokes.
I lit up a cigarette as she sipped on a bottle of Crown Royal. We played like snakes in the sky-high grass. Our tongues tasted like Satan’s favorite sin. I caught a glimpse of her blue eyed ink on her backside. I couldn’t whisper nothings in her ear. I crooned a satirical lullaby within the motion. I was her escape and she was my escapade. She was a luxury in my intoxicating eyes and I was her convenience from her view. She serenaded me for hours as we cracked the headboard and the sheets wore an exotic aroma.
We exchanged crude humor, fashion statements, and upside innuendos. Miraculously I shared a few confessions. I’m a contextualist, religious free, libertarian, and fond of simplicity drenched in beauty. The comfort creeped in like a stalker. She, Lisa Ann, laid her cards on the table. She’s finishing up nursing school, working at a thrift store, residing with her retired mother, and seeking a straightforward relationship. The peacefulness took a nap as we shedded our likes, dislikes, philosophies dipped in hunger, and a thirst for curiosity.
I didn’t anticipate the afternoon rendezvous. Expectations were dim and the walls in the room saw me grin from ear to ear. We parted ways as if our skin would touch again. I walked around town with a jukebox playing in my head and loved the New Jersey breeze more. Unfortunately our eyes met again on the somber sidewalk. I greeted her with joy and was reciting her name. She acted as if I didn’t exist and we never met. Instantly the warmth turned frozen. I continued to walk as the buffoon she met. I shoved my dignity in my pocket and never wanted to hear music again.
“Carnival sins, I lay in your distress and only see myself as a bomb. Carnival sins, I don’t take responsibility for my ignorance and indifference. Carnival sins, I clutch on to my weaknesses and dwell in the shadows. Carnival sins, I see the clowns but recognize I’m the jester without a smile carrying a plastic laugh. Carnival sins, I bleed poetry that you can’t comprehend and my tears fall within the metaphors. Carnival sins, I’m dying on the inside and my wretched skin is peeling. Carnival skins, I am a color you wish that never existed. Carnival sins, I plead guilty for not loving my identity. Carnival sins, I don’t sleep in your coffin but dance in your cemetery. Carnival sins, my tears are deaf and the silence is scorching. Carnival sins, don’t you feel what i feel? Carnival sins, I am the wind you can’t feel. I am the enigma that awakens your nightmares.”
Storm of Ink 