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?

Another Mourning (7/13/2020). -M.Weisgerber

I woke to a warning, a wandering, a wounded heart reeling, the simple gasp
of a reality settling in - a tinkering of clocks made mantlepiece

shifting upon the dreams, then leaving me to weep upon the real waking, a

realization uncertain now to rise to feet or self or mirror fade, a

cracking upon the harder nights, a creaking of a lonely bed

your coffee grinder riding steadily on.  

You told me to take some steps, love, but you, it was you

who pushed me to the edge of ourselves and what love really true should be 

didn't, wouldn't help - the fringes of our lives, the way such things really need.

I forgot the lessons of the calls from London, the many shouts
between parapets, and the funny ways and lines of your life that simply

had to be.

I've fallen in love, love, with your version of love and who
I needed to be.  Your shame.  Gazing round at times that shouldn't want to breed

I'm wounded in love, love - of the forgotten places we often said we'd visited, but then,

your moving on, pretending as I always will at the better things.

Making them, you up in my mind love, of the timelines we witnessed, circling forever round,

of you and me being better than your subtle hate ever attempted.  There is 

a learning here, and if you ever bear witness to these words I don't think

you'll have any choice but to receive it.  See it.  Hold them dearer than my frame.

So when I wake from this poison I look over, curious what your new name is
what kind scratches are cast upon a page, of a man still bleeding deeply

I forgot the daybreak calling, the wanton breath seeping round.  

The highlight of my night (the woman of my life), here and forever more.
Oh love why do I tread such terrors, when there is only your kind form to

every morn to arise to?  Besides a warming of cold feet, a temper of

a shuddered mind, I find that there is a failing of another kind, a 

taking of the time between the shatters, the visions arising of another

breaking.  A point yet still in need.

So low though I erred before the first plane touched down and have 

time before the next nears, their bodies cant long last upon such twigs

twisting round the hard rungs, brighter than the daybreak sun

Take that louder life, I just yet was a passing moment here, wishing to remain

steadfast and true. 

In this I finally found the Godsong; the why and way to make it work, for your dead
killed in that accident down below my own hands, and

out of your basement I am finally able to be set free.

Fuckery, simple n blue.  

Adieu.  

Fracture this quaking heart.

Adieu.

Moonshine (8/31/2020) - M.Weisgerber

You and I we share this open wound,

yours down low, me enough to drive every man

even the very boys far out past the glen, beyond to the valleys even

somewhere towards punk obscurity, bleeding there profuse and ably.

Its all beautiful there past your closed window blinds and

no matter how much I cry or scream to the void beyond you you remain

Unmovable.  

No that's still you, yes it's there, unflappable yes

it lives between the starshine reflecting back at us sometimes yes 

it matters still, no I don't want to go away from this yes

I will.

I want to see those gents in black lounge there under a hot sun, look

out upon the Tetons and not be moved, see

the very heart of you clicking, beating away unchanged.

(I wanted to beat them) 

Even that seems not to matter somehow, just long paint.  

Its a twisting of your cuffs, the very walking of your dog that

is a subtle reminder that the world needs to go

somewhere that is in yet here.

For I've seen that woman in true throws of passions, I've

seen the remnants of love that could yet be (have been), I

was lucky enough to hold that hand, have it twist round

the very heart of the very part of me that matters so.  

To someone, at least.

Yea, yea sure I've shared that head, that bed yea

been best, better than I've ever yet been

knew all the chords, felt the fray rising, settling,

crying now that my fingers only refused their duty to play. 

No, no more - my heart it once knew they way.

No more aspiring, for she does not need it, want it - refuses even

to stand amongst the attempts at cheating or loving and hated passions all

driving us away.  No she doesn't.  Maybe she cant.  

I'm sorry love, that now's t he time, the season grown, I'm 

sorry love for these words are simply not my own I am

sorry, yet a heart of love, a life of joy I'll

forever be an attempt at holding you and this life, this gift of sweated love its gone

somehow 

astray.

Adieu.  Then,

you.

Thirst Trap (6/03/2020)

Sunday afternoons were our time to shine, at my old place,

at anywhere we could ever and want to be

watching the sun go down over the trees, you

 

falling so deeply in love with anyone other, I

feeling the same amazing presence, something more

that went up as all else seemed collapsing outward, onward.

 

I was slowly in many ways quickly beginning to realize,

that she really would not be there, in good times nor in bad

my corpse would rot, my eyes would fall

 

not just away from her, not just

glance in another direction, down and

my heart would plummet their too, so, no.

 

So why not run; why not beat her to the punch?  The opposite of love!

Didn't listen to the long (I'm hearing now)

Want to care, just want to sing along.

 

These lines would grow, the horror of my actions would spin,

fertile in their own dear right, spinning in the dead of night

(they are old, tried things wheeling, glancing over shoulders)

 

I realized she, we didn't know ourselves.  Needed,

to start with a different form of prayer, to

sing even within our sleep. 

 

We prayed then in our own way, wrote

so much spiritual poetry with bodies, and lives,

thus I doth made her leave.

 

Didn't mean to, never wanted, only needing

to understand, the pain, the many thoughts that 

come with wives, at night. 

 

So its me and the shame, me with another life,

Me and the blade, me by which to keep or toss away,

did a bad job the first time, a better upon the next,

 

I never prayed to God before I boarded that plane, never

asked for forgiveness, or tried finding another way.

So tired now, peaceful love,

 

Look out for those little headlights of yours, worrying darling, worrying

So many things in life to go so wrong

So often to set the only to a song.

 

I wrote much spiritual poetry, yes, now

to write to you.  To write of something more

between the phases of the moon. 

 

Of course I love you babe, a thousand times a thousand loves, these

letters son it never sets on my love, the drinks never they never

kept from the heart, the passion from caring.

 

Oh love, how I want to rip apart the sky.  How I wish

I love you I love you I don’t, couldn't do so anymore

Think I can(t?) say these words enough.

 

Just only wish this went both ways.

Thirsty, always...for something more. 

Hungry soon, morning soon, outside

 

the dark.  

Headlights soon.  Wake then and

soon to be ready.

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.

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.

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,

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..

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.