Benethe the Miller Sign of Higher Life (5/25/2020). -M.Weisgerber

"Will you love me?"  she said, looking scared, seeming now arrested beneath wide sheets, my

hands clasping fast, face turning with the day outside, confusion on the mind slowly gaining;

a slipping sort of mental fatality growing deep.  Wheezy with the realization, garbled, mangling.

Falling fast beside the long fields.  

For we pretend met then in Dallas beneath the hot sun, the tarmac waiting, calling so for

your breath bating the threat of a dark horse arriving, in that she subtly asked

"Was your trip good?  Did you see all there was to do?" I not knowing what best to say

both of us now without clothes, her laying sideways as we always know time is slim.'

Yes the simple days would have passed thus in a haze, yes we would have lost ourselves, woulda

stayed the stout same caring yes I cared yes it matter(s)ed, yes its coming round rain again, yes its

falling fast now certainly its a strange tilt, the brightness grows, mortality holds

thick indeed as the bludgeon calls again, indeed its failure before the eyes fast a growing.  

Feeling thin, feeling any which way then to turn.  

To burn.

"Where do you want to go next?" I asked, flipping through the tube, the many brochures

lying thick round in a fan untouched from the day before, the digital clicking down

I think then we both were aware that we arrived on borrowed time, stranding continental divide

living the best between the stuffy sheets, the pieces of you and me - Mexico, I should thus say.

I content to watch her from any such cot through the long day, help her pack the undies

that both of us sometimes drop between the giggling, those tiny shards barely fabric

she enough to wind and love me, the simple ways we knew each other long, compatible in red

The Mississippi's that rage between us.  

The day receding round, the lack of caring of all other things as we held

yes the fucking WE made, going insane, going down another hole together 

yes the small parts simply mattering, yes that 3D Wolfenstein a calling, the ultimatum beginning 

Yes I cared and love, and now I have so little time to say, to hold her.  A little more time.  Please

I now make up the clouds begin to form beneath the crystal shape of a weeping eye, your

days make up the passions I hold, and though simple they for me are the great, the escape.

Anywhere closer to your love, your frame.  

Yet Dallas does not relent in heat yes the breweries called, yes

the art scene staggered uncontrollably yes the tempered winds blowing behind us now, yes

the very flat of the land is something that calls us outward, onwards - this is

what they call winter here, and sure you simple open pustule busting fell for my insanity yes

I tell her again and again the words that matter so.  The shoes scuff.  Witness marks hold us close

more honest than we ever knew ourselves.  Yet we have to look!  Gaze upon the Gorgon's maw, fall

into that fast love that maelstroms could not shake us, she, bleeding dearly, I this open wound

twisting open for a knife that has not been crafted for me to receive.  

I forever will be in love with you yes I made these words, the scenery up instead.

So the flat day moves on, the winter sun hangs low, yet 

"Will you hold me?"  she asked again unto the breeze, her long

neck pushing close, my hands these bitter things crafted just to mend.

"Yes," I said.  Forever and always, yes thus I meant, hopefully said latter part out loud.    

Wanted to take away such pain, only adding such instead.  

In That Moment, You/I...We Should Call (6/11/2020). -M.Weisgerber

When the punk revolution came love, it was

without expectation or blistering kindness, or any of

the million small things you attempted to explain to me, wasn't 

anything you meant, or tried, or tricked; neither you nor your empty bullshit.

When I, packed as a hundred thousand others in this and every town

got stuck, sealed, crated away in despair, lost our damn minds even, you

from lack of meaning or retreat didn't even attempt to care or call, didn't

take the forty steps down your empty hall, you in your anger, your worry, simply

 

didn't matter.

We missed your face, Love, we missed

the grace that always should have been, all the passions calling.

It's not the way love, of all the lessons you dearly drilled in, worked

your hardest to impart on me or anyone that would listen.

Love it...mattered, and though like scales we cover our flesh

in all the colors we never could express or paint or carve

in any other language other than love, Love, it 

mattered and though we got pummeled, pulled through this haze

the dark days passed and it mattered love!  

We came out of our basements, traveled past all the thin roads

that meandered through your woods, sometimes hampered dearly

as we moved on a while yet again, love, yet it MATTERED.  Love it mattered.

Dearest, that revolution you spent your dimes by, along with

all the follicles of your twitching hand arrived love, and

though you probably were too busy watching tube to care love, 

it arrived in time, finally, and now as the time that matters most arrives love, we

all sit in the street ready now to listen.

...will you?

Dearest Draven (reprise). 8/8/2020. -M.Weisgerber

Draven, dear lady, what else better can I say? I tried, I cried, I

begged everything of your time and your mother by which to come back to the days, the

ones that we used to cuss, to curse yet also to feel something more, something tall,

Yes, you grew up in this house full of punk, yes

the 80's have died and are gone, yes, I know that I really did but try babe, but

I know that soon enough we will die and you'll get to take over the brunt of this hurt, this shame, 

this pain.

You get to live between the words on this page, you get to punch to turn or to try then to burn, you

get your little curls stuck in a lock that seeks the edge of your mouth, the one I untied again

and again till I felt myself fall between filaments gathering round, those that catch quick.  Turn deep.

This blame that I'm feeling inside my frame, the cutting inside my brain, lady I

did the best that I could when I saw your strange eyes, stair up at the hope I had to hold, I

felt something break, something else grow oh-so-bold, I....I became stronger then.  

Babe, I wish I could hold the night sky and know the sweet supple attempts, the

hard way you pull me toward your heart, push away just the same at just the right time, we

men sometimes are bad like that, but I showed you strength, that I saw you through such pain,

Babe, call her back, scream your words up through a womb you still didn't, can't, won't know a 

lady that I once called my own, with whom I loved, doth did share a home, babe

cry the way I know you would, if you were given a chance at breath, a chance to try.

There is no cradle, there is no stretching shame or a catering of the pants, there

is no me coming up behind my love, to sup upon the try of our dearest romance, there

is nothing more I can do, so little more a gent can say its true, oh Draven, babe, lady

heart of my hearts that I make up here on the page, may it change

may it do more than stay the same.  

Break it now, somehow, before it 

breaks me.  

Sad Now (4/23/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Can't hold, cant call, can't be anything at all, really
just feeling selfish then, the same thing now as then
bored again, a Friday come to gone,
a sigh moving towards a song

For when last I burned, she looked away, she
deftly turned her head as I reached out, and
the lit fingers, smelling of charcoal reaching
had no effect but to stink upon her nose

Its a funny thing, to twist upon the cinders,
it makes a heart a churn, a shudder so, a slow amongst the yearn
For all is madness upon the strewn glass, all cannot cope, losing hope.
the clog; a clutter amongst her lashes.   


All I got was static, sweet music thought upon the other end.
Couldn't be bold, couldn't last, moved too fast,
only crash and burn and burn and forever to keep with burning.
(This machine is jamming, the gears now they are a are failing)  


So if I walk away, if I choose the boat or gun or goat or ledge,
-the many miles out to see where waves where only God can find me-
will it matter then, the waves riding high, the ring upon the water?
Where are the places where the cool kids go off to play?

Love has seized that willing heart, did add another lock, a chain.
Drowned now, ever so worth the pulling down hold called nakedness,
These strong bonds, a body yielded to both, wielded so
Love that cripples upon the staying.  

So what is the right call then, as the day begins to fade?
What is the right path, when the waves give way to loss?
What is the strong bond, that never yields to give?
What are the right words, when all the world is dead?

See that figure out upon the water, or maybe sleep down there in the deep swim


Its fine though - knew you would be selfish from the get-go, and
I hope not me thus to be for long
slow now, everything is just moving fine, if oh if now so very slow, spinning now.

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...

Death March (3/29/19). -M.Weisgerber

On that beach (which one?)
the one that matters, the one you won my heart on
Over, as the waves crashed,
on, as the waves smashed.
I there died, and yet was so oft reborn.

I would carry you tomorrow, I would, all the Seattle sunrise fine,
take and make you, that Sound woman I always knew and ever thought you'd be.
I can't spell, I can't make that woman understand (or myself)
Instead upon another island, another beachside nearing.

I matched them fine,
I felt the long lanes till Diamond Head,
There was a chapel there,
Fake sand, imported from elsewhere

I walked and walked and walked.
I died along that long hike,
didn't I tell you?
didn't you notice, as I neared?

How did I know she chased?
How did I know that she would always love,
until she didn't, until I
oh, stupid I, foolish I, until I died.

Just kill the part inside, just take that part that I,
would have to offer,
have offered evermore.

Take me love, until I keel over,
surfside.