Bi-Polar October 3.0
October 2014-Hollowscene update-
The day had been the kind of grey
that elected itself spokesman
for the afternoon.
The voice chilled with a certain
knowledge of pale blue diluted
into a chilly white that promised lassitude.
The voice is saying the seasons
are in collision and we are in the locking in.
Fall has spent weeks gathering on the ground
and Winter as of yet is disinterested
in the whole business
refuses to go to work
so the ground shuffles the leaves like
a card shark ready to
deal ice cube deuces for your hand.
The time of the mask comes and goes.
So the night fills and drains costumes.
Stalking Quick Bank; Celebrity hero murderers,
Syntax gender victims seeking damages; Purple
suited stunt person blubbering compassion and
politeness; decapitated rock stars, mutilated
millionaire ex-cheerleaders and just plain folks
caught in the crossfire, carjacking drive-by
random acts of brutal insanity of choice or chance.
Legions of green, yellow, red, black and white
three foot high grunting kicking punching power
midgets morphing into respected connected influential
public officials and politicians that are shaping the
course of personal liberty in your lives.
The traditional allotment of vampires, ghouls, demons
and blood thirsty fetus snatching liberal aliens.
What freedom the night affords.
All the secretaries become waitresses, the waitresses
begot actresses, the actresses begot whores, the whores
begot Raggedy Ann princesses, who begot
gypsies and then as the dawn breaks they all turn back to
The great hangover of our self-deception on
all souls night.
I watched you swim the twilight
while the trees are stripped of their delicate garments.
You are swallowing the dusk in buckets
drowning in a swirl of mad flight as the undertow of
the wind sucks and pushes brittle leaves dragging
their finger nails along the sidewalk.
On the way home, I’ll buy you a pumpkin
and we can carve a face into it and take turns
guessing whose it is.
Another Rubber Eden 92
I was standing at the urinal
in the Men’s room in American Trash
and the devil strolled in and positioned
himself next to me and unzipped
and I glanced over and said
Long time no see
How’s the old demon tonight?
He coolly regarded me in the mirrors
reflection in the mortal image in front of us
and corrected me saying,
That’s Lucifer to you son.
He asked me what I was supposed to be
A beat writer I replied
vanishing in a plume of fire and brimstone.
And I thought,
So I retreat back into the barroom of humorless costumes
as the night of masks passed with a the dead captain singing
with a ring toss dildo attached to his loins
that love won’t keep us together
when Bad Barbie strolled in
still in the box
with a five o clock shadow
and unlit White Owl Tiparilo
ordering a drinking next to me at the bar.
And of course.
She had a proposition for me.
-Sometimes Grief 2012
In His Broken Sky
In his broken sky
bruised black and blue
shiner eyes cloud
puffy with neither
tears, remorse or scar
witness a chilly wind
strip away all the warmth
and romance off
shredding her fading
reveling pale thin
ugly peep show
October is fronting again
October thought itself into existence
promising color and resistance
but most of all they knew the drill
the general consensus was it was everyone’s
few would speak against it
but the truth was it really was all about
so much dying
a lingering some color lied to your face
and pending harvest rotted in the fields
but whatever came next
was always just a chilly gray November rain.
Falling Shorts 2012
Three kinds of listening:
Wind chimes without a voice
The incomplete sentence of silence
Lexicon stripped of shivers
When did my delight
become a dead language ?
Cancelled Cooking Show
When someone has
really gotten deep
into your kitchen.
You’ll never find
that recipe again.
October is what
you once said
to an empty door.
The Spider leaves home
These are our ghosts now
trapped like ashes
in an abandoned cobweb.
Remember we are not….
And he had this stiletto cackle
laugh like a manic trip hammer
Try to never be
a shitty thing to do
Say what you will
Do what you do
but if any that just means
washing your hands
to do what you had to ?
Try to never be
shitty thing to do.
One might be wise to bear in mind
that all the hurt you have done
in appetite and menu
will someday return
to eat at you.
A nibble here.
a mouthful there
when you once bit off
more you could chew
So just spit it all out.
the next time you are
really, really hungry
that hurt will return
to Swallow you.
Fall From the Clouds
(recorded as October-Bi-polar on Quattro-Vox 2013)
The light now
At this cusp of
As many as
Three or four
Times a day
As light mist
Snakes S shapes
Upon the asphalt.
The sky is a bruise
And softly cries
For something better
Than what was lost
And not knowing
May briefly return
To warm and
Take the briefest
Of bows on
The way out.
The chilly black eyed
Shadows like dark circles
Under the eyes
And the subsequent tears
Falling now are for real
As is the chill dark of the night.
Sometimes Grief 2012
(Recorded on Quattro -Vox 2013)
Pull in the soften light
as October nears past
a new moon across the sky
in the next street over
here where your absence
passes aspiration in a blur
of newer older days where
Fall emerges fresh
in still born green leaves
patches of watercolor encroach
like your temples gray
Turning away from the truth
the days are sneaking years by you
diminishing the sight
stiffening the limb
Time winding you down
your energy ebbing
singing alone in the empty driveway
the vehicle of your flesh
and growing later all the while
so I still strain to hear the sounds
I need to
while resisting the same I’m forced
the terrible ticking of the now
in my ears
A sound I find
I cannot refuse or resist.
Sometimes Grief 2012
Across the street
Across the street that Muggy October
Sunday afternoon there was this little girl about five down the driveway
and she rides up to the neighbors house on her little pink and white
sting ray bike that still had
its training wheels and sparkly streamers
on the handle bars of blue and gold
And she has black hair pulled up in twin ponytails
wearing a white hoodie, pink pleated shirt with rose ruffled socks
and black & white Mary Jane plastic shoes.
and I think she knows nobody’s home
standing there in the empty driveway
but she’s looking for that little boy who lives there
to perhaps play with I think
and is a terrible now version of the Dennis the Menace
of the neighborhood and has to ride the school bus
at 6:30 in the morning to a special school for behavior problems.
And she dawdles a bit wishing he was home
finally she decides to ride her pink bicycle away
after leaving something in a yellow box on the red steps.
later his mom pulls in the driveway in the white car
she’s wearing a green and black striped dress
and picks up the yellow bag goes in the house up the red stairs
but there’s no sign
of the little boy.