The Flight (9/22/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Oh dubious fool, oh eloquent slinger of wit!  You faltered, you failed, you

twisted heartily in the wind, you...you...should have fallen from that great height, simply should

could not plot the way to keep that life alive, burning, turning in the bay you see that flame see 

the ways that could not matter to the word, the world, a light, you worrywart - brat upon my mind.  

Be there!  Cold to hot, down to back, there is nothing more than those times, nothing

better than the way we uplift ourselves, no more fool than to drive the others round to

jungle fruit, mofongo coming in a ready pile, laughter between the branches and that

one soft hammock where I tickled her feet, and really then loved her there above the tile.

So here I sit, flounderer of shame, here I pine for that girl further south, that flame - here I fall, bottle

slipping further from the upper shelf, here I go down again, so far; the opposite of landing.

Down you witless twat, out you philonious fool bickering every night!  What do you know other

than hope, other than the one sheer assumption this wont work, still you love, on you tarry and yet 

With a heart falling apart, mind chirping daily (hands thus shaking warily) you know

she wont read these words, really then never did the loving, wont, cannot, shall never, no, thus

did she ever love you...

Wont ever...didn't ever...I...I...so...so...

So why torture yourself as so?

The words don't matter, the day begins to fade, the dust

rots upon the bottom lip, yet here you sit and pine and cry and

try not to make it go all away.  

Pray for it then - you're going to need it...

-----

I flew then, once in a hard car, praying for the white lines, stepping fast on gas at last, least

hoping it wasn't too I, we, too late for another night just get there, push through the pass a warning

Oh how I've failed, I've failed!  She, a noble mind rotting all the way down, I simple fool born to fall

embrace of my heart, the knowing that this is it, better to get there soon, better to push for

something greater than that we are creating, better, better be. Best. There is screaming still to come, yes,

yet for a little while I may chance these surfs, the skies, the fast sand sticking  upon the hair, the

Simple way she worries too.  

Oh porch moper, no ring upon the mantle, don't holler at yourself, just push, 

just...just...

No bark upon the doorstep, no footsteps in the hall, just the tumbling out to basements that

whose floorboard now is carpeted (it has that wet funky stink in the fall), it makes

it easy for the elbows not to scrape, not hear me at my leaving, no...no...not approaching so...so..

Oh, the look in her eye, the hope on her lips, this imagination running wild!

No mountains here to guide me, only the heat of this island dark, just get there, push pedal onward ho?

This jestered fate, I knowing I've failed again cuz I loose everything (eventually even my name)

Oh love, in this moment I am captured, and with these greens and peepers, the coqui

matching your widening eyes, matching that Carvey sort of smile, your bicep showing, your, your..

no matter what else is to come you cannot remove this smitten attempt I have for you!

The beach then appears!!  There are footsteps on the plan, a woman

on the sand is moving there is moonlight fast arising, a hilltop; there is for one bright moment, a

hint of hope, a tinkling then of windchimes, a hand, a man, I stand...I....we

mattered.  Yes!  We are going to make it, yes.  Indeed.  The son tomorrow hot

will rise on us and hope and the simple fact I love you.  Too.

...that thought alone enough to make it through the rest of days.  Soon.

So make it, pray it, soon babe you will see these words and know I

know I...that I... (get those blankets, have them fast enrapt us!)

Nothing else will matter, nothing soon to shake us!

I love you love you do, and under this full moon I'll love you more

each day better than the last, each moment coming a gift to see your face, no more shame no

more hurt there, no smattering, no doom, just the simple fact I love you

and made it down here today.

ahhhwaa-diue!!  ;)   

These Things (and We) In Time Shall Fall Apart (10/20/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Yes, your are a monster.  Read these words and know they are true.

For now.  Somehow.  Till we and all and you and they and them (can) can break them change them.  

Make them, shape them, take them for another time, so simple and so...you, they...true...I

rot as all the hairs on your upper lip do, fall there as I did, for your heart to cut to sift, I...I...its true...I..

So hey love, I read your last messages sent, remembered how terrible you have

treated us, the world at that time and place and it was (they are) such awful things.  

You called out once before as night fell you are

you are you are you're, this is

a horror in the night, a list of several wounds opening all at once, the pretty girls all still looking at 

their facebook feeds, dressed in hiking attire climbing who knows where to

piss off the high peaks, raining death on every mans life you encounter, that slithering down forever to 

I hate these words, I hate the type script they meander off of, I

hate now the best of me and the lakes, the nearby oceans best for drowning in, I hate

type them as they beat at me, I write them as I know they aren't true as I then

fall apart when I saw the sentences you thought might be best strung

together my throat holds a belt for a tightrope a séance on high, falling soon.  (Forever?) I

Dangerous things, choking myself there in the dead of night, the dream you call of

death so close as to steal what little breathe I care to call my own I, you didn't try I

Its the things we string ourselves together for you and I and we and they and...someone...else...

...something there?  Women.  Do you know how to hold them close?  Do you to laugh at us as

they fuck in the dead of night, they break us in that house you and your husband sought, broke, bought

Do you know how you look, lined up right?  The same 1940s stunning, turning tired thankless red and

the shaking of a bed as you crawl towards me, thighs high on each side of a face as mine BREAKS for..

You are a monster, I so close behind, this mirror I (we) there

falling apart, I just being the same as you as are, snuck behind at least

woman to woman, not soul to bound hand to hold, not

soul to fold, not arm to dice not, everything that's turned out so very wrong still

such fragile things, the stupid teacups that we never bought, the vanity turned close the

art your house holds up for naught, the way the heat

sneaks in through all the smallest pains, the way

in the basement you'll find my love, my heart, the breakings of my brain you then there left you

you have that big house your husband's paying for, I

falling further, a circle spiraling, thickening, turning round. 

The kettle is still warm, yes

the kettle is war(m). 

Break it now before the thick; soon as the tepid crème it...it can rise.  

(A UFO, now hovering close - so black this thing.  So dark)

Grass Cutter (5/29/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Holy God love, I woke to myself and a large hole that now resides, 

stuck all the way below the throat broach, a hiccup following close, lost tunes upon the juke

carved all there by thick blades, or the untangling of those vines that wrapped your trees, the way

its June now - the way you once let me  simply lie there and love you.

Its time for cutting, love, and though you do not enjoy such falls, you

have then to know that its together we lift, together we thrive, together a way I break my mind, its

the haunting now not of manors, or streets or cities whole its, me love

finding all the parts then to jam deep into shuttered eyes.  A waking sleepful time.  

The part of you that I really tried to be, a land of opportunity missed (somehow 'Married Land' failed) somehow sitting on your back porch, sipping tea upon the high dive, fighting

both you and the wasps in a hard way, any way, the summer sliding over, striving fast

to earn the righteous life, the simple stay - a pushing to not let madness win this or any day.

I knew the words that mattered - I was so scared then now then always then to trust you 

(to live in the shadow of that life, a light, a home - any, all)

For a man can carve deep too, he too can hate all the same supple way as you.

Your insides giving way as you push the hard mower, guts, a uterus nigh as you sift through long grass

There is no blood upon the back deck, there's no footsteps in the hall, there's no

shouting from your bedroom, there's no ghost of me anywhere at all.  Failed things.

The one you hated to build, the one that there is carved in sin

the one that got the better part of you and I, the part that dies (died)

camina down below then, ready to catch wide the flame.  

Take it, make it, shake it, burn it, both.  Take my picture, put it where it belongs then on the shelf.

Burry it, carry it, tarry it ho.

The glass is risen, there is no crucifix in your house, there's

no reminder of the past lives, there's your no

journals rotting beside the gulf, there is...  (No bedframe giving way).

Do you let it now get overgrown?  Your mind I mean, the time watches take to show.  

Put that slide grass love maker across the way, a dead man on the lawn, a cutter

fearing all the insects buzz there, trying to think of what dads story suggestion could mean, didn't

contemplate the coming fade days only working hard, the cross didn't come here to save, the man, 

the grass its all the same.

To ensure I don't fold down there along with it - architect fateful who couldn't even build a home.  

  

Its always the worst before the next one (the clippings have a scent, I mean)

I can't think of pears, or your tidy shorts swaying in humid breeze; no songs.  I can't help

but fall again on the way its meant to then, should have been I cant

but simply sit and doodle or therefore fall apart, I think 

of the way you screamed at me when you left the truck, the tow, the dark - no human should endure that

no hatred will ever be as complete as (unless its simply disposing of a child?)  your love maybe

yes there is failing potential on this side, yes still worse than screams, yes worse still than, the man

who cheats still then at life, who knocks the very sanded foundations down, not build.  No fault there

than all the broken promises, yet I took the hammer to do what needed doing.  Myself.

I'm broken now, and though you may read these words and find new ways not to care, they, we

mattered.  We matter still.  I for one will not forget, the hornet stab of light, the

slugs out upon your kitchen door at night, the way I needed you to pray with me. 

A time.  That fresh start.  

Yes the heat rises here and I longingly desire on another carpet fresh, yes I wish

to chance it, yes to claim any passing tick who can feast merrily on what they find there, yes to

wish to close that back shed (the one where I forgot my boombox till you found it), the one

where everything goes to give way - the sweat upon your brow, the dangling fast on fine hairs.  Yes.

I dredge and I dredge and these words are now all I'll ever have except your hate

and when you get desperate enough to make anything grow, even that fertile soil

tastes cold, harbors simple monsters out on the hard snow we both know soon is coming

seems ripe enough to love to want, to break - no hot hate to melt away the lessening day.  

No fruit trees failing there.  Scratching my supple brows when bending.

(No leaves this or any year to rake) 

All I keep thinking is "how long could we have lasted: what really does it all mean?"

That ending brings time closer to you so soon, that

the grass is done the leaves come fall and

I sit and type forever, this a man covered up then in green.   

Sleeping soon, ah yes forever like.  All left to say then is

Adieu.  

All Your Songs are Angry Sex (3/4/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Happiness is a, thinks a, its a

fleeting whimsy thus away.

a drink to hold, of a breath to take, shake this, take this

god hole, fuck soul, fleeting memory to fade far away.  

Punk is,

Happiness now doesn't simply

Taste the same.  Gulp it all, now then smartly

down.  Make it, shake it, take it 

down

to the hole?

(Yours or mine?)  For

Punk is.  

Didn't know though, didn't see in then in time

falling now - is this me?  Is this the way 

love it's always meant to be.

Archeologist for another day, digging deep

make these hands of clay, shape them

make them dig, make them hold a beating heart, make

the supple ways I fall again matter so, make it matter, make it

count.  

All your songs they sound the same, all the
jazz flowing now through my open mind, all the

tales flowing outwards still, all the fingers now are bone, the deadlocks fall, punk is

all the thinking of you, and all the little fumes, all the times, the mess we made

no more lies.  

PUNK IS

Like the time I came out up upon your pants, like

the time I critiqued your work (I failed) like the fact your simply

not happy, like, your not having any of it, like your chastising all, also stuck also in your 

You'll ignore these words, the rants

as long as God lets it.

Your basement is out there, its holding us.  

Grab your husbands couch.

Punk is dead, there's some autocracy in the air, its shape

the same as the weight in your heart. Thicker than.  Thinner than.  This

Punk is your leaden weight, wrap it around these veins, punk

Put its face upon my name, carve, it is.  Punk is.  Out of words, some, w(h)ere lame.  

Shape it, make it...take it.  Make it.   Let.  It .  be.  me.  

  

Punk is history: I'll put it on my shelf, with all the Miles

of Davis collection growing beyond the gulf.  All the Beats

L's growing weary at my mournful tale, all the

pointless footsteps in your hall, all the

Punk is

failings that you cant seem to hold, not just me, punk is, everyone, cept the.

(God now its someone else)

Punk is dead, god let it crown our self appointed king, punk is it it

didn't build your house, punk is, your hopes, your name, your ever failing

dreams.  Punk is, it only kept you from me, punk is

Let it be you whose married then for the third time, no, punk it, fuck it

Punk,

cut your name upon your husbands heart (I wanted it to be me) out.

beyond the simple shores call, no third

trimester three a calling then, no we no thy no art no thou't.

Cut it, call it, out.

You know of sloppy seconds, you

see the way you move?  The

night air didn't frame you, punk is the

simple way you...you...

Punk didn't save a soul, punk

didn't try to rytme, punk looks

like the way your fuzz is beginning to smell, punk

doesn't seem to make the time.  

Punk didn't shave your heart out, punk

didn't give me back the love of mine, punk

didn't hold the shelf up, punk

didn't help find the cat that one time.  

Punk is.  Friendship all the no more

fucker toss himself outside your kitchen door.

Fucker breaks another mind apart, fucker is

all your doing is wasting time.  

Take it now, make it shine.  Punk is.  

Take my heart, give it to someone else instead.  

Punk is.

Break it out, shake it out, give it

to someone else instead.  

Punk is.

For happiness is always just

(fuck it, do you know?)

happiness is always just,

another day.

Take it, make it, break it,  Punk is

away, take it, make it, shape it

all the same. Punk is  

All just another, simple

 

Day

Away.

(From me?)

Punk is.

Punk is.

Like you, I

let it, I

(Punk is)

rot.