july 1st 06
the poet cries --
>>> if god is my pure source and origin then how can I be defiled or corrupted ?
>>>it is my pain and joy to reside in the dungeon of your heart...
you being so full of love is healing me -
I'am glad to know you in this life...
and hope you are well...
all of your days...
>>>>>
I often go to bed wondering just what miracle keeps us all from rioting in the streets...
is it the pills - the tv - the alcohol - the prromise...?
what kind of god brings you up to the brink of despair -- only then to serve up hope ?
drag you into the depths of bitterness and pain only to offer redemption and grace ?
it is this time when the pools of my forgotten dreams begin to drown me...late, lonely, ghosts circling...skeletons dancing amongst the smoke of too many cigarettes and lies...
truth piercing
the languid fever underneath the surface beggining to crawl...
my father - beckoning always - always there...
to confess his shame from beyond the grave...
from behind his expectations...
demanding greatness
enforcing the rules to "fit in."
I tried to tell him that great men never really, fit in anywhere...but he wouldn't listen...
the abyss calls - I'am too familair with it - it no longer sickens nor seduces me...
an abyss of my wanting...in this midnighthour when the pills don't even work anymore...
dear old dad - thanks man - you made me better somehow, carved the idea into me that I would never win...and if I did youd be there to take all the credit...
with such a taxed liver I can not afford to give you my anger anymore...
to feel the pain would be my joy and honor if that would make it lesson somehow: but it doesn't. It hangs in the air of my karma...warm, stinging - precise...as the face grows into sadness...
the job of "poet" doesn't pay well especially when you consider how important it is that we be reminded of the thunder from a city street or dancing symphonies of flowers and children...
back to - again and again the dead end...
the wanting out, the violation,
your friends turning away...because you hold up a mirror and they refuse the healing...
I look into your eyes - but I see your life is the same story...the same pills and the same tv switching channels, the same alcohol washed landscape of something not connecting inside...
on a rare evening this could bring me comfort but tonight I take the pills...because right now - no one is alive, no one is awake, no one can pick up the phone...no one is there...
this is what god is for - when all the humans fail you -- when the pills don't work fast enough...
when your diagnosis is vauge and something like "i just dont feel well..."
when you have the pills next to the bed then you know the ending is near...like in the movies...
actually my turn has come up many times...and then as usual I pass it along to someone else...
when the door truly - actually opens - my eyes blur and my legs won't move --
I can't cross over in the netherworld...
god knows the angels have given me so many chances...but it is not my time...
I would gladly slide right into hell tonight - into a grand room full of perversion, and my consorts, all the sinners and the unwanted...
a room filled with the very fine things we are not supposed to touch...
sensuality, lust, greed, happiness...love -
all forbidden.
all for the taking, all paraded around...close enough to smell and always so far away...
the comforts of the body, or even
reaching out your hand and having someone hold it without fear...
I enter hell - having a wonderful time - but of course, satan doesn't want me...
denies me also this comfort of belonging...
refuses me entrance into something bigger than myself....
I look but cannot touch.
I see but can not feel.
I feel but can not connect...
money is everywhere - I can not spend it.
people are everywhere - I can not touch them.
hands - faces - bodies breaking up into light...
I'am breaking up into light...
into another creative storm...into this night where the past dances up to meet you...
I'm lucky and drunken with the fact of my eloquence. full of pride that my pain can be held up and described with such precision...a gift so I'am told...speaking to an audience I will never know...a world that can not hear...
a world that can't understand the pain they hold each night in their hands and hearts...
I like to play sad music on nights like this...it reminds me that somewhere - someone else wrote something hoping in vain that someone would hear...
and I hear...all too well the angels begging, the better god, the sky growing with more discontent...
I hear it -
I'am cursed with the god-like attribute of knowing...
forever and always knowing...
dying and falling...wanting sleep and always tired...
the music spills out of me with ease...
my words for your pleasure and comfort...
the hero is here now - holding you safe and warm, bringing you a new sky to place your dreaming landscapes...
I offer you blue and red and pinks...golden roads opening to gates of love...
so many good thoughts for your comfort...
so many sins now removed...and given to the moon and stars...
and then vanished...
this is how a young poet saves you - takes the pills and dies another day: always holding your forgoten hopes --the way the sun touched you once - the day you heard the ocean talking...
the first time music collided with your soul...
this is my job...holding the pain of your light until you can touch the grace of it...
keeping the whip off your back...
taking a tour of hell and bringing back the pictures of it for you to see and know...
I know how to do this --
I know how to evaporate all that is unlike god because I have been to all the places where it is not...
be still and know
you are comforted in my presence...
I'am strong enough. god made me this way...
I'am strong enough and wise enough to know that everyone has the same pain and thus am able to heal it quickly for you ...
I do this for you with joy...
I want you to know that I do this with joy...
on the perfect razors edge of insanity - I cry for you, I feel what you have refused...
I bring you the comedy of life moving ever moving...
somehow closer and always closer to becoming an angel of sorts...
the demon you want to trust or the child you have lost...
the vessal that is my body brings forth these words for you...
touch me and I will go...then finally I can be still and go...
yes finally I can be still...
and go...
