These Days (a Reprise) - (9/4/2020). -M.Weisgerber

There is a chord that runs the entire length of you, not

strong veins nor the hapless brain confusing muddled signals, no.

There is a light from the towns that comes up all five thousand feet

to where I stand alone, wishing if only to jump, needing serenity.  

Calm.

As strong as the smell of your butt coming near.  

There is a hate in your heart which makes nuclear amusements bow down in quiet awe,

a forgetting of the kind times, an insistence on leaving me out here to rot, a

failing when a simple hello or easy phone call.

(Will she yet do the same to me?  We he to you?)

So why did I climb so high, if not to fall?  Could have been

happy in a landy merry existence, all the green grass and ferocious ticks 

calling clearer - an eastside boy always at heart, going 

to where the stupid sea and sky can't fail, can't help but to connect, to attract.  

Love, I knew those days would shame, write all the ways that a man can break or give, I

didn't know the strength then, am guessing so still now, yet somehow stand in shock

of your anger and your hatred and hurt and the multiplicity that still goes on.  A man

by any other name that tries could be approached with love,

yet kindness alone would do.  There is a subtle reminder of 

everything we didn't share in this strange place, the awful scent

of no maples, no mosquitos or swamp stink rising.  

Still came here anyways.  

I did not dream or hallucinate in the ways of my fathers.  I

did not collapse in their ways, nor rise to the challenges they set, we

went our own way.  It made a difference, it mattered.  It

also remained quiet out here, somewhere along the valleys edge.  Somewhere

where I knew not the stars nor the city lights nor the way I could begin to

look at myself, back towards you.  Look at others the way eastward towards your face.

The rising sun, a blistering heat always somewhere there rising.   

So I climbed as you pushed, and we both in such madness fell down together.   

They call it an angles port, yet with Canada so near and the Sound so clear I

still think it better just to jump.  Or at least to trip, anything but to shatter

this quaking quackery of a heart.

Yet why had I come?  The car was no help, its foolish horn sounded 

only on empty highway, the blacktop fading to great grey in time.  Failure

in its backseat remained stain-free, its lining stocking bright.  My mobile

was no help, its gimmicky taunt brightness showing only

the soft lines of my inner palm, the way my face sometimes caught

the lies growing daily, the failing flailings of a mind.  

This heart was no help, for its still beats on, still loves on into the dying of the dark.  The sun

is of little assistance, as its line creates worry and sweat, and another reminder that its

just another revolution, another circling round so very far away from you.  For now, forever.  

like it did when you neared, both working hard by which to keep out the dark.  Keep

the soft time of the days clock chiming.  Keep your insistent eyes reading these same lines,

somehow flowing over yet forgetting the importance of seeing, trying desperately 

to find the one damn thing that will matter.  Something there to soften your mood.  

A blonde Orpheus rising.  

After some time in which I could admire the birds, the words I simply just sat and stared 

and in subtle time

moved on.  

Still hoping for a sliding.  

Untitled for a Change (8/5/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Babe, there's a crescent forming on my face, there's a shift

occurring all over the place dear love, these faults

the lines are being drawn, growing wide, yawning

in the dark times of our lives.

Love, as I lay down there's something that opened up wide dear, a

hate that I didn't know was me taking over, there's

a simple time where we used to try, a 

fallow light in the hardest dark, there's 

a promise that remain there, yes something somehow unknowingly kept.  

There's a triggered smile growing on my face, there's magic happening here yes

all over the place again; round these parts the moon over the needle tonight,

a love that's a rising, an attempt at the simple trying, oh love

take this hand - take life back to a steadier shape, a trace.

Falling back into the sky again, tilting toward the all the cracks I knew not

were my own.

Watch the engine lean back toward the red line, screaming, wallowing.

Dear love, in the dark beside your bed I woke to

new passions, a fire growing inside,  I think I saw

no moon there from your window - I think it faced too far Northward, towards lee side.

I went to your porch and gazed longingly for its face, a 

feeling I suspected I would feel about your name, your place out here dear love, I

worried what it mean, I wished, hoped so that you would take my hand that

you would not let me go, that you'd always remember to call out my name, I

didn't know how hard to try, I didn't know the married life.  

You didn't want to leave, no I could not drag you, I

didn't know his name, I didn't know such shared pain, I didn't know all the ways a man

could take you.  Yes, you spoke soft words, yes your journal it spilled wide, but

babe understanding comes slow to those newly invested in the light.  

There is something growing below her belly now, love, there is

a navel stretching wide there is my hope for you carried strong, there is

a fist that rises to wrong, there is a simple me finally beginning to heal, wanting you

craving that way you used to look, with suspicion still in your eye.

I needed your kind attempt at staying, if just friends for one short life.  

So out to your porchstep, down to the drive; out past the grass that 

last I cut, love to where I found something inside.  It was there, it isn't here, its

anywhere your footsteps shall fall.  Looking thin, seeming chipper, I

think I'm starving myself to death these days.  

Adieu.  

Amen for a little while.  

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.

I’ll Know I’ve Made It, When I Get That Painting Home - Reprise (7/14/2020). -M.Weisgerber

There's a shiver going up now over my shoulder

When I hear the sun a blowing, when nears the rain and thunder blowing horn

Gunna take the time, break strides of this tender babe clutching hard

The thin lines between feet going deep,

Here comes the body strong, a healthy song thrumming

A hardened soul amongst the shattered tongues

Cuz your gunna blow me hard, gunna blow me down

Take me there, take me home, roll me over.

We share our dreaming, from time to time

We share our loving, this chunk of key-lime pie; 

sliced as a heart, again and again and again

same story, same end.

honey hold me tight just one more night and I swear

I’ll never love her like you – never love like this again, never

feel the night air coming close never

hold your covers up below my nose, not.

A lost a son I never had, not a father always mad (so sad)

Caught in the alchemist nightmare, the tubes and the fumes twitching

Lost in a back room, walls, shattered dreams not made for this purpose, not

falling apart in the cold stream down the road not,

someone you'd ever like to hold.  

There's a shiver, blowing over my shoulder

Prepping for the hard rain, on a thin frame

There's a comfort in the sadness, held.

There's a comfort in the drizzle falling down that we all can know,

A sadness I’ll always hold, a simple longing for

Her hatred, her simple fact of knowing such release.  

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.  

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.

Hey Other Love (8/3/2020)

It feels so wrong to put these words here, 

you beside the she, 

so, here it goes, 

anyhow...

Hey other love, I 

finally got down to those other long shores, the 

ones you waded upon long ago, floated there

followed them in time like you knew I always would,

called out to the open ocean with a song and a prayer

and a hope that all this would make sense somehow; could matter.

That the ink can't fall from the page, drain down the short table to

stain my shirt as it wound its way to way to the wooden floor.

Dribble off as I got lost in these tall mists, dreaming again - 

that the shore wouldn't go on and on or that in my clumsiness I

would fall or jump right in, same as then, same as always.

That shattered hearts really cant do much more than break

and break and break and break,

or fall in beside the rushing waves that call to claim them.

Though your dead now in oh so many awful, so terrible of ways

though your lip is a sneer along with a mind that makes a

snarl at all the thoughts spinning round from the broken days

alongside the though of him, of me, of my voice shaking, I still

wish to say these things still mattered.  I hear (heard?) you -

the days they didn't drift off outwards totally into oblivion.

You're a flashback along a reel on the one film being screened in town, sure

(nothing then to borrow, every inch only to hold, to listen, to follow somehow)

...but the land here is beautiful in a way that your soft feet would know,

once felt here, may (hopefully) do so again, as on my heart

carved out a space, then echoed out to a place where any who

looked or tried or even dared could find them.

No more adieus you fool - not from this simple man, or any others

Its not, shouldn't ever be though of as any form of....of...of...

Fuck your weakness, fuck your entitled sense of harassment, you'll

grow one day to see that other love takes on many forms...

Good luck.