Love, its time: take me, tame me, brand me, love me all
for its written on my chest, as well as the stars,
this little life, a line, a lie, seen, saw.
I should have listened then, did not know your flame, I
should have loved more as well, I
didn't know the game.
Broke these fists upon the ledge, didn't
ever really feel the same. For the same mono
on my lungs, is the same slavery as your drugs.
So take me, brand me, hold me, all, for
I'm an oafish clown, fallen down:
drunk on a paupers caul.
Its time - I didn't know the simple words,
that I'd need to heed the call.
(take me, tame me, brand me, love me all)
Wednesday, April 22, 2020
Black Heart (4/22/2020). -M.Weisgerber
Baah Bahh black heart, have you any where to go?
No sir, perhaps sir:
it depends on whats your mood?
No drugs, no drinking here, just
regret loads by the balefull, boats loaded
with troubles nearing
I, a kinder man, rue the days of passing.
One for the mouth hole, one for the lane,
one for the kind lass, we love all the same,
for bahh to the raahh to the stop inside the chest,
I don't know the day, cant seem to get any rest.
But what do you care? Here lies just a man, he's just a simple organ, growing still
one that needs his yells and his time and his scolds
Lying still, lying forever onwards, downward all,
Lay, lie, laid - let it all be death and just the same.
I wish you stalked me like him, I wish you cared enough to let me back in, I
hope when its done it will matter (i dont feel like anything here as of late matters)
I don't want to feel this way, feel different - oh lord to feel the same.
(It takes me, shakes me, all).
For blah blah black thoughts, have you any soul?
No sir, no sir,
28 dames full.
(More coming sometime, soon..)
No sir, perhaps sir:
it depends on whats your mood?
No drugs, no drinking here, just
regret loads by the balefull, boats loaded
with troubles nearing
I, a kinder man, rue the days of passing.
One for the mouth hole, one for the lane,
one for the kind lass, we love all the same,
for bahh to the raahh to the stop inside the chest,
I don't know the day, cant seem to get any rest.
But what do you care? Here lies just a man, he's just a simple organ, growing still
one that needs his yells and his time and his scolds
Lying still, lying forever onwards, downward all,
Lay, lie, laid - let it all be death and just the same.
I wish you stalked me like him, I wish you cared enough to let me back in, I
hope when its done it will matter (i dont feel like anything here as of late matters)
I don't want to feel this way, feel different - oh lord to feel the same.
(It takes me, shakes me, all).
For blah blah black thoughts, have you any soul?
No sir, no sir,
28 dames full.
(More coming sometime, soon..)
2019 (4/22/2020). -M.Weisgerber
Hey love, did you want me to come to your presentation?
"What, NO, now go away, why would you ever ask?"
Me standing there beside the reflection, watching your petty fears, seeing
that box your painted yourself into catching up along with the days
and all the nights we shoulda spent crying. I miss you so much, that
the ride of my heart sings along with the song trailing fast alongside
of my mind - oh how it hurts. Oh how, foolish this will look when we
look back on the time, ignoring all the other ways we shifted
and sighed..
Me standing here, knowing I wouldn't be invited anyways.
But there I go, loving you again, being taken by the small simple things,
the way your voice, your shift of hips takes me in the eve,
when your annoyed, when you break into sudden cheerful happiness!
Hey love, I
Hope you know that I always got caught up in the
little things that made you you. The holidays, where
all your simple cheer, and smiles, and the way you pulled on through
a wife
a former wife
was enough to startle me into motion, keep this flooded engine going, and
for a little while, turn the world upon its
axis.
"What, NO, now go away, why would you ever ask?"
Me standing there beside the reflection, watching your petty fears, seeing
that box your painted yourself into catching up along with the days
and all the nights we shoulda spent crying. I miss you so much, that
the ride of my heart sings along with the song trailing fast alongside
of my mind - oh how it hurts. Oh how, foolish this will look when we
look back on the time, ignoring all the other ways we shifted
and sighed..
Me standing here, knowing I wouldn't be invited anyways.
But there I go, loving you again, being taken by the small simple things,
the way your voice, your shift of hips takes me in the eve,
when your annoyed, when you break into sudden cheerful happiness!
Hey love, I
Hope you know that I always got caught up in the
little things that made you you. The holidays, where
all your simple cheer, and smiles, and the way you pulled on through
a wife
a former wife
was enough to startle me into motion, keep this flooded engine going, and
for a little while, turn the world upon its
axis.
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
You've Arrived (4/21/2020). -M.Weisgerber
You've arrived, moved, changed even.
For God is in the dance,
when there is a brilliance
a shifting change things.
There will always be someone
on the fringes, stunning, who
will rise up to claim that frame.
These, there, always in this life.
For if this is art, this can be
canvas on curved walls.
Bloody self reinvention, then.
Now make it
Last.
For God is in the dance,
when there is a brilliance
a shifting change things.
There will always be someone
on the fringes, stunning, who
will rise up to claim that frame.
These, there, always in this life.
For if this is art, this can be
canvas on curved walls.
Bloody self reinvention, then.
Now make it
Last.
Friday, April 17, 2020
There I Am (4/17/2020). -M.Weisgerber.
There I am at your, well, the garage door's open, pencil in hand, a paintbrush guiding, growing there
by the doorstep, numerals glowing strong. Your pooh occasionally trying to lick carpeting
liquor stains gathering round the feet, every color that I brand her nails, such magic I see, there.
For this is not Europe, nor any of the small sights that make up the better part of
the deeper components of such matter held, nor passages, nor skinny bitches, nor
not everything I could have assumed, tried to carry on, loved, insisted was mine. Or at least bled dry.
There is a locket going about the waistband, a thumb upon the neck, a, nightmare city, a
growing proposition that discovers where I went, once the lights of your basement went out.
The signals that I tell myself upon the bureau calls. The place where I hid the..the place that I..that I..
Oh, to smell the moss smoke rising, the steps beyond the cactus calling.
Their prickly spikes matching your arms, matching that cut that pulls me near, such shrugs
inside of you, that place where I wander around, free at last, free tonight to cast sights, to be, to be...
How I could near, and touch the dials, the doorstep simple concrete
sliding somewhere sideways beneath my hand, the rise off to the right?
As I wander down the labeled, sun drenched sideways falling sign of times deranged.
Yes, these things are real, I see them through the faded black, the thoughts, the care, the
heat that made up the air caught between our bellies floundering, the many
melodies that we thrumbed, the hum along to the darkness growing round. Fighting it dearly.
The candle light we set to burn this house ablaze, the yoga on the floor
the bodies roaming round, and...and...sing this song of forgetting, this time of
insanely forgetting, of recalling the bodies falling there, someone else - go away.
The ghosts of past love affairs spinning away, shedding along, out as the cup that
holds your puss, your soul spilling outward. The way he paid your rent, the times, the
simple mortgage that drove me mad, made it then, something silly when....when...
My parents came there once, I think - can see them through the haze,
My love it lived there once, its edges winked I think, I. There is a... There is a...
There is a time to come back, the moments held, the mountains glowing all around.
There is a time to make believe, the songs we sung there in our sleep.
They are lost now: your toss by which to never get them back,
that minefield growing round. It reminds me of your yard, the one unraked, there I
stepped on such rocks, the sticks stucks so drunk I thought I shatters knees, spirits, splints.
I wandered beneath those trees, being told the pears can drop, but
tis only my balls, the tears of cheeks thus stained that, well, anything, everything.
Oh, how I'm struggling to see them, anymore, the...something, really, the
very windows rising up and above, the grey I saw, the brain cancers I called,
so I draw and I sketch and I sing, but noone will no there name.
No, no you stupid soldiers nearing, this isn't me, this isn't the way
a poor boy in his thinness, a simple gown was grown to be, I
will cut them, slice them, divide them in my mind. Carve them on the skin: my face, maybe. Soon.
Dear love, my heart it labors so, my words they fade inside a cavity,
the one the thorax wishes it could be, a cutting of the arm, the signs we knew.
I miss those steps, the ten of them that bring me home to you, the last one, the falling.
I paint what I see through that open door, I color
The shade of the world, it changes thus today.
The sun, it falls so dark, so suddenly.
So I cover and I decorate and I create and I bend the brain, but then, but then
the forgetting takes hold, the canvas looses is bold sombre, a tennor that blends;
the red finds blue, then, what comes of the mess of the day.
Dont we say, there we stay, none of it is real, for its all I have left.
Pictures of the mind, could drink them till they die. Frames upon the shelves, can
polish them until I cry. Glad tidings, for that day will come, and that day is...when? When?
Today?
Maybe.
Let's talk, lets chat the night away.
These stupid things.
There, indeed, I.. I..
And there I. There I. There I...
by the doorstep, numerals glowing strong. Your pooh occasionally trying to lick carpeting
liquor stains gathering round the feet, every color that I brand her nails, such magic I see, there.
For this is not Europe, nor any of the small sights that make up the better part of
the deeper components of such matter held, nor passages, nor skinny bitches, nor
not everything I could have assumed, tried to carry on, loved, insisted was mine. Or at least bled dry.
There is a locket going about the waistband, a thumb upon the neck, a, nightmare city, a
growing proposition that discovers where I went, once the lights of your basement went out.
The signals that I tell myself upon the bureau calls. The place where I hid the..the place that I..that I..
Oh, to smell the moss smoke rising, the steps beyond the cactus calling.
Their prickly spikes matching your arms, matching that cut that pulls me near, such shrugs
inside of you, that place where I wander around, free at last, free tonight to cast sights, to be, to be...
How I could near, and touch the dials, the doorstep simple concrete
sliding somewhere sideways beneath my hand, the rise off to the right?
As I wander down the labeled, sun drenched sideways falling sign of times deranged.
Yes, these things are real, I see them through the faded black, the thoughts, the care, the
heat that made up the air caught between our bellies floundering, the many
melodies that we thrumbed, the hum along to the darkness growing round. Fighting it dearly.
The candle light we set to burn this house ablaze, the yoga on the floor
the bodies roaming round, and...and...sing this song of forgetting, this time of
insanely forgetting, of recalling the bodies falling there, someone else - go away.
The ghosts of past love affairs spinning away, shedding along, out as the cup that
holds your puss, your soul spilling outward. The way he paid your rent, the times, the
simple mortgage that drove me mad, made it then, something silly when....when...
My parents came there once, I think - can see them through the haze,
My love it lived there once, its edges winked I think, I. There is a... There is a...
There is a time to come back, the moments held, the mountains glowing all around.
There is a time to make believe, the songs we sung there in our sleep.
They are lost now: your toss by which to never get them back,
that minefield growing round. It reminds me of your yard, the one unraked, there I
stepped on such rocks, the sticks stucks so drunk I thought I shatters knees, spirits, splints.
I wandered beneath those trees, being told the pears can drop, but
tis only my balls, the tears of cheeks thus stained that, well, anything, everything.
Oh, how I'm struggling to see them, anymore, the...something, really, the
very windows rising up and above, the grey I saw, the brain cancers I called,
so I draw and I sketch and I sing, but noone will no there name.
No, no you stupid soldiers nearing, this isn't me, this isn't the way
a poor boy in his thinness, a simple gown was grown to be, I
will cut them, slice them, divide them in my mind. Carve them on the skin: my face, maybe. Soon.
Dear love, my heart it labors so, my words they fade inside a cavity,
the one the thorax wishes it could be, a cutting of the arm, the signs we knew.
I miss those steps, the ten of them that bring me home to you, the last one, the falling.
I paint what I see through that open door, I color
The shade of the world, it changes thus today.
The sun, it falls so dark, so suddenly.
So I cover and I decorate and I create and I bend the brain, but then, but then
the forgetting takes hold, the canvas looses is bold sombre, a tennor that blends;
the red finds blue, then, what comes of the mess of the day.
Dont we say, there we stay, none of it is real, for its all I have left.
Pictures of the mind, could drink them till they die. Frames upon the shelves, can
polish them until I cry. Glad tidings, for that day will come, and that day is...when? When?
Today?
Maybe.
Let's talk, lets chat the night away.
These stupid things.
There, indeed, I.. I..
And there I. There I. There I...
Those (these?) Days (4/15/2019). -M.Weisgerber
On those days when
cathedrals burn (and our hearts doth churn)
along with such sights that twist, wail
we forget of the other places, the
other strange faces that make our lives.
Sure, we held them, turned them and
with a subtle glance attempted to re-earn them back.
Lost but for a little while, rebuilt
like the many stones that can lift and sail.
But for now I wish you rest
your eyes, let the breathe pause for a tad;
for a courage shall soon be needed
that can take that cage, tremble, quake it all
so mightily.
Shake it, make it - break it down.
Let the better angles fly.
cathedrals burn (and our hearts doth churn)
along with such sights that twist, wail
we forget of the other places, the
other strange faces that make our lives.
Sure, we held them, turned them and
with a subtle glance attempted to re-earn them back.
Lost but for a little while, rebuilt
like the many stones that can lift and sail.
But for now I wish you rest
your eyes, let the breathe pause for a tad;
for a courage shall soon be needed
that can take that cage, tremble, quake it all
so mightily.
Shake it, make it - break it down.
Let the better angles fly.
16, April (2007). -A. Frazier.
In a few seconds it took me to read the text
the lunchroom
transformed.
The sharp sound of hundreds of
easy-breathing teens
eating
morphed into a dull, quiet constant and
as my friends continued silently
speaking
laughing
living,
I
as far removed in my frozen fear.
I could only think of the picture hanging on my grandparents' fridge---
Two sisters laughing from the coolness o fan old tin bucket,
heavenly in the heat of a summer's day
My older sister,
arm around me,
grinning up at the camera,
happy
living
breathing
but most importantly,
safe.
the lunchroom
transformed.
The sharp sound of hundreds of
easy-breathing teens
eating
morphed into a dull, quiet constant and
as my friends continued silently
speaking
laughing
living,
I
as far removed in my frozen fear.
I could only think of the picture hanging on my grandparents' fridge---
Two sisters laughing from the coolness o fan old tin bucket,
heavenly in the heat of a summer's day
My older sister,
arm around me,
grinning up at the camera,
happy
living
breathing
but most importantly,
safe.
Thursday, April 16, 2020
Another Way? (4/16/2020). -M.Weisgerber
These things, they happen
to have an expiration,
like the pelvis
shrinking down, itself curling into that cut of pain;
a shortness of breath, a
tugging again and again at the flesh,
below the hands - those
tools best used for hurting.
Yet what do these trifles matter, compared to the heart?
Oh, that organ it
shifts, and pumps more than precious petals, or
rosewater scent out onto
my lady's clavicle.
Can it pause, shudder
there along with my breath?
Anything to remind me of
her, anything to hold
so close, so dear a
tearstain on a letterhead that cant hold
all the passions I'm
still left here grieving.
The things that never
were, and never
soon shall be, once
more. Again?
Keeping my room from
being too clean, to neat, to trivial, for
oh the suffering, it is
real, there will come a time for all to
bow before that hurt and
hate and all the things that make our madness wellspring.
To let the water drip
down through rafters, along, over, everything.
The red cliff it
watches, glances, glares down- thunderheads grown demon form there.
The hard dial, it clicks
closer, so ever closer to the moment when, then
the bottom bag it
bursts, the best made plans cinder, wood ash meltwater making lye, when we
suddenly don't have a choice, no madness, quietude, either.
To pray and pray and
grovel, yet always knowing,
fighting against the
urge, the edge, the gaping chasm pulling all light down, ever
that secret subtle
knowing, that possibility, a turning, a leaping glee can follow,
For there is always
another way: there is always... there is always...
To make a choice then
(softly, quickly) and then?
And rest their, quietly,
at least for another day.
Monday, April 13, 2020
You Replaced Them All (on that I try not to pray, to dwell) (4/13/2020). -M.Weisgerber.
No, don't do it babe, dont
run, I knew the way you would and,
all the madness that I oh fuck its all just falling apart, held so dearly nearly why.
Again. Its,
Peace you hold. Tragedy bold.
No, I beg, put the blade and my heart a down,
it hurts, oh god it burns worse than the nights I ended up
on a floor, a, sometimes your a puking there (I never filled your bowl)
No. Just.
My heart, it churns upon the back of a dinosaur, the
first frost of a hard december day and my brain a caving in. Dont. Stop.
There is love there, and believing, and though I don't know how
to give up the fight, and watch you pass to that other world (so bright), I...
I. I. I struggle dearly. Its all madness, and blackness, and the
spinning tales once told. I...
Will repeat them on high, to
anyone who will pray, listen.
Begging pretty please, I mitre to the sky.
And though we are dead out there, chilling to the world I, you.. you...
It's you. You. Its. Yououoou...
(Somewhere along this dying brain.)
Sane. In there.
Why.
run, I knew the way you would and,
all the madness that I oh fuck its all just falling apart, held so dearly nearly why.
Again. Its,
Peace you hold. Tragedy bold.
No, I beg, put the blade and my heart a down,
it hurts, oh god it burns worse than the nights I ended up
on a floor, a, sometimes your a puking there (I never filled your bowl)
No. Just.
My heart, it churns upon the back of a dinosaur, the
first frost of a hard december day and my brain a caving in. Dont. Stop.
There is love there, and believing, and though I don't know how
to give up the fight, and watch you pass to that other world (so bright), I...
I. I. I struggle dearly. Its all madness, and blackness, and the
spinning tales once told. I...
Will repeat them on high, to
anyone who will pray, listen.
Begging pretty please, I mitre to the sky.
And though we are dead out there, chilling to the world I, you.. you...
It's you. You. Its. Yououoou...
(Somewhere along this dying brain.)
Sane. In there.
Why.
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Yup (4/1/2020). -M.Weisgerber
Float.
No more.
"So that's it love?", I spoke unto the wind,
thinking of the kind words,
Guessing so was not a reply, not a needy thing
nothing I could hear out loud, only the simple
telling coming close; leaning.
Then the shaking, the shattering. Soon to be,
tears amongst the snow.
Well, I wish the best for you she said unto the sky, out along the grass,
I guess it was for a journey, to go so far away from me
To unlove the hearts we held.
Just sand, more simple sand she spoke, dancing out along it.
She is at peace, my mind a wreckage held,
I wondering where the year doth went,
how the organs last.
So can I murder that word, take that hurt you gave to me; a letter
You know me, only looking for points, a picture on the wall,
Not trying to make sense of this,
Your scent is still here in my place of recovery,
a dolls feel, a hand held, ejaculation of (on?) the mind.
So I got high thus all the time, to hide the evidence, to convince if only me
that I'm not really that way. That I'm ok - that we can come back, so back from that
other place. The place between the places we once did know.
Love, I wonder if you could have seen me on all those long car rides in the dark,
Just that one word, said in the way I love it,
in the way I'll always love her,
the days keep spinning by.
Call me and I'll come. Cast me, and watch me....watch me...
Call me, cast me somewhere else, and I...
"So that's it?" I asked up to the sky, and the nimbus yelled out to me it said,
No more.
"So that's it love?", I spoke unto the wind,
thinking of the kind words,
Guessing so was not a reply, not a needy thing
nothing I could hear out loud, only the simple
telling coming close; leaning.
Then the shaking, the shattering. Soon to be,
tears amongst the snow.
Well, I wish the best for you she said unto the sky, out along the grass,
I guess it was for a journey, to go so far away from me
To unlove the hearts we held.
Just sand, more simple sand she spoke, dancing out along it.
She is at peace, my mind a wreckage held,
I wondering where the year doth went,
how the organs last.
So can I murder that word, take that hurt you gave to me; a letter
You know me, only looking for points, a picture on the wall,
Not trying to make sense of this,
Your scent is still here in my place of recovery,
a dolls feel, a hand held, ejaculation of (on?) the mind.
So I got high thus all the time, to hide the evidence, to convince if only me
that I'm not really that way. That I'm ok - that we can come back, so back from that
other place. The place between the places we once did know.
Love, I wonder if you could have seen me on all those long car rides in the dark,
Just that one word, said in the way I love it,
in the way I'll always love her,
the days keep spinning by.
Call me and I'll come. Cast me, and watch me....watch me...
Call me, cast me somewhere else, and I...
"So that's it?" I asked up to the sky, and the nimbus yelled out to me it said,
Once More, With Gusto (4/13/2020). -M.Weisgerber
No, I hate this place, the stinking beauty, the light, the simple way
it reminds me of norther France and that it took me away from you. No,
I loathe the way I feel, every single day, despise the very veins pumping
along the oxygen that makes my breath recall the taste, the simple melody
of your stunning frame moving forward, upward, prepping for the ready, the grasping
my hair and pulling me close, putting me in my place, nearing for the taking
of the turning of me, of we, of us round and round. A forever dance, no.
The way that plane took me away from you, standing there where the tears cascading
endlessly outwards, and no matter what my foolish hands could carry, or shift to try to build or to
attempt to lift them up, one by one or to glue or reassemble, its liquid courage I
needed to keep the hands from shaking then, to slowly stumble onwards. No church there.
The whole flight listening to the mewling, the clawing of my neck for any intake and
uttering over and over that I could have stayed, should have dragged myself to sanctuary.
I hate the way I remember now, this new clouding of the brain, I would have, still can change I
want to pull apart the fibers, desire to escape from that basement storage, the
tortures all around, then quietly feeling (now utterly knowing) I'd never be good enough, no
you insisting, pushing, forever proving me right, showing your a walker, always
forever and ever moving on - the one promise your stunningly deft on keeping.
So why try? Why turn, why insist or do anything but burn? The change, it always comes, no?
Fuck the law, fuck the lord, fuck the very falling of the sky; lift fists to the hand that nears you.
It shrieks, it leaves worse than ribs yanked one by one out through neck, it reeks, no
of blood spewing up to nimbus, out all over the sidewalk, people hollering.
a silence which eventually gathers round. It startles, it scatters. Disseminates the worst of me.
Of those divorces never hoping, no lack desire to be alone, with anyone (open there with me). The
steady wanting turning expectation, expanding along to shock, dying quickly - how does one find
normal in this mood? How are you at peace as the shards keeps spinning round, dividing, cutting: it
must be easy to watch from afar, the laughing additionally spewing filaments. (no) (don't believe it)
Then fuck them, fuck the very keeping of the dead! For we join them, always,
their pointless whispers only threaten to unwind us, undermine
the converse order we didn't even try that hard to sell. Alllll the pointless sucking.
I hate the lack of calls, the rebuilding of the nearing fates, no eyes, no attempts at trying, fights, wins
to cast or care or make a lasting dent of lasting....so yank them, pull them upward. Out?
All is black then, all is hate - all is madness going on, forever sideways.
Die, simple brains, perish. Oh cast aside useless lungs; leave behind these things that matter not.
They are done now. Oh please god, let them be done. Something. Anything. The charring. Ending. I..
it reminds me of norther France and that it took me away from you. No,
I loathe the way I feel, every single day, despise the very veins pumping
along the oxygen that makes my breath recall the taste, the simple melody
of your stunning frame moving forward, upward, prepping for the ready, the grasping
my hair and pulling me close, putting me in my place, nearing for the taking
of the turning of me, of we, of us round and round. A forever dance, no.
The way that plane took me away from you, standing there where the tears cascading
endlessly outwards, and no matter what my foolish hands could carry, or shift to try to build or to
attempt to lift them up, one by one or to glue or reassemble, its liquid courage I
needed to keep the hands from shaking then, to slowly stumble onwards. No church there.
The whole flight listening to the mewling, the clawing of my neck for any intake and
uttering over and over that I could have stayed, should have dragged myself to sanctuary.
I hate the way I remember now, this new clouding of the brain, I would have, still can change I
want to pull apart the fibers, desire to escape from that basement storage, the
tortures all around, then quietly feeling (now utterly knowing) I'd never be good enough, no
you insisting, pushing, forever proving me right, showing your a walker, always
forever and ever moving on - the one promise your stunningly deft on keeping.
So why try? Why turn, why insist or do anything but burn? The change, it always comes, no?
Fuck the law, fuck the lord, fuck the very falling of the sky; lift fists to the hand that nears you.
It shrieks, it leaves worse than ribs yanked one by one out through neck, it reeks, no
of blood spewing up to nimbus, out all over the sidewalk, people hollering.
a silence which eventually gathers round. It startles, it scatters. Disseminates the worst of me.
Of those divorces never hoping, no lack desire to be alone, with anyone (open there with me). The
steady wanting turning expectation, expanding along to shock, dying quickly - how does one find
normal in this mood? How are you at peace as the shards keeps spinning round, dividing, cutting: it
must be easy to watch from afar, the laughing additionally spewing filaments. (no) (don't believe it)
Then fuck them, fuck the very keeping of the dead! For we join them, always,
their pointless whispers only threaten to unwind us, undermine
the converse order we didn't even try that hard to sell. Alllll the pointless sucking.
I hate the lack of calls, the rebuilding of the nearing fates, no eyes, no attempts at trying, fights, wins
to cast or care or make a lasting dent of lasting....so yank them, pull them upward. Out?
All is black then, all is hate - all is madness going on, forever sideways.
Die, simple brains, perish. Oh cast aside useless lungs; leave behind these things that matter not.
They are done now. Oh please god, let them be done. Something. Anything. The charring. Ending. I..
Saturday, April 11, 2020
Dreams (for no, for not) (4/11/2020). -M.Weisgerber
Get your butterfly nets, get your giant hooks a sharpened
ready for mouths a gaping, the eyes flopped lollygaged style floundering, sifting, lounging.
Feel them in, gaff them well, club and club and club
until the feet dont feel well, or see the light; till toes cant stand the dancing.
These emotions, they feel like insanity rising,
they seem like stick stuck caught between the hard walls,
bouncing off the long halls, fleeing, gaining near to you.
All the flavors of a hug held near (sell it, dear)
For the only time I forget you, is in the imagined arms of another nearing,
which is a lie for none compete; they are stories strung true, twist clearly
yet I wake each night - yes, every single night, crying, feeling listless
from dreams of your hands there, outstretched, so near. Nearly....
She caught me as one does a gift, did not turn away
that female folly, coming near, oft draining down.
You pull me into me, I sometimes spinning and don't know what to do
you shift me in to you, that kiss stopping time and mercy up and unto itself.
Babe, I woke from this day amongst a dream of you,
at the top of the stairs, sitting in that tightened way
saying all the things I thought I needed, wanted, desired now to bear
Not trusting that version of you, for the real you it churns
in all its twisting brain matter, punked me dearly,
Struck me clearly with a strait look, a wiggled butt
(The way she danced down the hall, grey walls decorated dearly)
She didn't revolt enough there, it seems! Getting her hair a ready. A dream? XD
Babe, visit thus again, thus prep your hands for the holding
for its getting dark, your symbols quickly disappear
time continues to draw us, all the sad songs bind us,
till the Son comes round once again.
Babe, come again,
for the shades are falling, the stars are calling;
the dark, its getting near.
The cold, it rises.
Oh, so very dear; the nearing.
Adieu.
ready for mouths a gaping, the eyes flopped lollygaged style floundering, sifting, lounging.
Feel them in, gaff them well, club and club and club
until the feet dont feel well, or see the light; till toes cant stand the dancing.
These emotions, they feel like insanity rising,
they seem like stick stuck caught between the hard walls,
bouncing off the long halls, fleeing, gaining near to you.
All the flavors of a hug held near (sell it, dear)
For the only time I forget you, is in the imagined arms of another nearing,
which is a lie for none compete; they are stories strung true, twist clearly
yet I wake each night - yes, every single night, crying, feeling listless
from dreams of your hands there, outstretched, so near. Nearly....
She caught me as one does a gift, did not turn away
that female folly, coming near, oft draining down.
You pull me into me, I sometimes spinning and don't know what to do
you shift me in to you, that kiss stopping time and mercy up and unto itself.
Babe, I woke from this day amongst a dream of you,
at the top of the stairs, sitting in that tightened way
saying all the things I thought I needed, wanted, desired now to bear
Not trusting that version of you, for the real you it churns
in all its twisting brain matter, punked me dearly,
Struck me clearly with a strait look, a wiggled butt
(The way she danced down the hall, grey walls decorated dearly)
She didn't revolt enough there, it seems! Getting her hair a ready. A dream? XD
Babe, visit thus again, thus prep your hands for the holding
for its getting dark, your symbols quickly disappear
time continues to draw us, all the sad songs bind us,
till the Son comes round once again.
Babe, come again,
for the shades are falling, the stars are calling;
the dark, its getting near.
The cold, it rises.
Oh, so very dear; the nearing.
Adieu.
Thursday, April 9, 2020
Listening to a Link in the Park (this and every other Night) (4/9/2020). -M.Weisgerber
Righteous hard, flowing fast now,
calling you out, spelling each little letter,
the datum line its pointing
(even if it was the only thing I do, I can do for you)
for now and evermore.
What did you ever learn about my time, my people,
The five hundred days of solitude, insanity rising,
(I'm sure it was a moon cycle somewhere, orbs floating past)
Those were just the start - the real trial was feeling you close,
waiting patiently, the waves, reverberation aligning
I spent a hundred lifetimes there, despair thus weeping out, down
You were there on the couch, when my sister doth crawled by,
Been crawling this land, feeling the fool
Inside my head now;
what did you see when the son went up?
Spent twice as long, considering every bend of your shoe,
boots on, laces tight: ignoring the scent of sweat in the night.
A shift in the morn, the way you look before the mirror.
I have a name, a face, feelings, sure - caring all the same
Trade it all, burn it twice again mayhap, just for a lock of hair
Its memory; its this little black cat familiar and a ly calling,
Its this time, this place, the way the rays land upon my face,
A holler in the dark, social distance in the park,
Where finally everyone is looking more like me;
masks on, waiting for the gone.
They arn't lost babe (sometimes wish they were)
Gone shaman babe, figured it out just the same
With you still here; gods, how this is starting to feel
some word lost to time, rolling on, endless sure
that one word, whose name I'm starting to
forget.
calling you out, spelling each little letter,
the datum line its pointing
(even if it was the only thing I do, I can do for you)
for now and evermore.
What did you ever learn about my time, my people,
The five hundred days of solitude, insanity rising,
(I'm sure it was a moon cycle somewhere, orbs floating past)
Those were just the start - the real trial was feeling you close,
waiting patiently, the waves, reverberation aligning
I spent a hundred lifetimes there, despair thus weeping out, down
You were there on the couch, when my sister doth crawled by,
Been crawling this land, feeling the fool
Inside my head now;
what did you see when the son went up?
Spent twice as long, considering every bend of your shoe,
boots on, laces tight: ignoring the scent of sweat in the night.
A shift in the morn, the way you look before the mirror.
I have a name, a face, feelings, sure - caring all the same
Trade it all, burn it twice again mayhap, just for a lock of hair
Its memory; its this little black cat familiar and a ly calling,
Its this time, this place, the way the rays land upon my face,
A holler in the dark, social distance in the park,
Where finally everyone is looking more like me;
masks on, waiting for the gone.
They arn't lost babe (sometimes wish they were)
Gone shaman babe, figured it out just the same
With you still here; gods, how this is starting to feel
some word lost to time, rolling on, endless sure
that one word, whose name I'm starting to
forget.
Wednesday, April 8, 2020
A Fallow Sound a Coming: a Cry Amongst the Rents (4/8/2020). -M.Weisgerber
A pointe made all of Cedars, yet the smell
of grease, of petrol in the eve, burning bright
as our hearts, our passions rising
I miss the high heights, the passions that we forever held
never saw the forest there, never
cut past the limelight sighing.
Ride that bullet, a magnum falling
the dark closing fast, times coming still
the stars aligned, our
tepid passions spilling out over one another,
excitement growing:
for we were kids then, and
forever children yet will be.
Will you cry with me in 2012,
weep along with my birthday nearing?
No, they will drag you from some strange park,
a corpse chilling on chill June eve,
along with my heart, a part of me I'll never know.
They'll beg to know what drives me, they'll
spell the warnings on the sidewalk
spill the wine with the heartache, the heroin
clogging up my arteries,
making life in front of me,
something dangerous, and yet
never yet will be.
So cry with me, the women that will never understand
pray with me, a heart that cannot process, cannot
become one beside the land.
For there is a strange ghost coming yet to claim me,
a fire burning bright, still lie there in front of me.
Done tonight, and yet never can quite compete.
of grease, of petrol in the eve, burning bright
as our hearts, our passions rising
I miss the high heights, the passions that we forever held
never saw the forest there, never
cut past the limelight sighing.
Ride that bullet, a magnum falling
the dark closing fast, times coming still
the stars aligned, our
tepid passions spilling out over one another,
excitement growing:
for we were kids then, and
forever children yet will be.
Will you cry with me in 2012,
weep along with my birthday nearing?
No, they will drag you from some strange park,
a corpse chilling on chill June eve,
along with my heart, a part of me I'll never know.
They'll beg to know what drives me, they'll
spell the warnings on the sidewalk
spill the wine with the heartache, the heroin
clogging up my arteries,
making life in front of me,
something dangerous, and yet
never yet will be.
So cry with me, the women that will never understand
pray with me, a heart that cannot process, cannot
become one beside the land.
For there is a strange ghost coming yet to claim me,
a fire burning bright, still lie there in front of me.
Done tonight, and yet never can quite compete.
Thursday, April 2, 2020
No (4/2/2020). -M.Weisgerber
No other love, not I, I surely
am uncertain, no, possibly, maybe, yes (with a dash of perspective)
certain that I have heard a voice, made a choice and
that you wont like it, no, certainly
not from I.
It stands.
For you hurt me, not only in the words, the distance,
the way you cut your heart for just a tiny sapling
growing curled feathers that nick and scar
small abrasions growing veins, lungs still screaming
again and again for names I knew not of.
I knew it in her driveway, gazing up at that green door,
the night was dark, my thoughts boozen, sure
but you already knew, didn't you?
Already felt the fear,
so without another word, a mighty click.
It was done.
I am not strong enough for hard words, cant
hold long enough to the hate.
But she taught me to say adieu, from me
to you, I suppose, so
in this tale I say it.
Goodnight.
am uncertain, no, possibly, maybe, yes (with a dash of perspective)
certain that I have heard a voice, made a choice and
that you wont like it, no, certainly
not from I.
It stands.
For you hurt me, not only in the words, the distance,
the way you cut your heart for just a tiny sapling
growing curled feathers that nick and scar
small abrasions growing veins, lungs still screaming
again and again for names I knew not of.
I knew it in her driveway, gazing up at that green door,
the night was dark, my thoughts boozen, sure
but you already knew, didn't you?
Already felt the fear,
so without another word, a mighty click.
It was done.
I am not strong enough for hard words, cant
hold long enough to the hate.
But she taught me to say adieu, from me
to you, I suppose, so
in this tale I say it.
Goodnight.
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