Poetry
by
Who
is the Lady in Stairway to Heaven? And other Q-and A
Recovery,
A Poem in Many Parts--
Perpetual
Motion of Synapses and Memory
With
all Geographic Changes, a Psychological Change must also Occur
Smoke
Signals, Reflections on the Movie
People’s
Paths (by Regina Rose LaMacchia)
Why
Do You Call?, also The Best Message, also Q- No A
An Irish man walked in with a fiddle
And had himself a drink
Then a fair lass got into the middle
And pushed him o'er the brink
'e said "Dear girl, you're between me and my Guinness,
So you better step out of the way,
But when I get to the bottom, When I get to the finish,
The I'll be yours to stay"
So 'e finished the pint and took to the lady
And they danced around the room
When the night was over, they were both so happy
Soon they were bride and groom
Many a year later they sat by the fire
As he played his cherry fiddle, he said
"I've seen many a lass, and been 'round for a while,
But I love the girl in the middle."
It takes a strong lass to split a man and his pint, but love is stronger than any alcohol.
-----
pale skin
impale
artistic minds corroded by conformity
twisted mental-pedophiles
clouding judgment
money
future
annexed souls
nudes, not nukes
karma
dharma
tearing thoughts apart
oblivion
ignoring original intentions
multi-racial kindred spirits
brought together by desire
swept into the cauldron
who knows what the night might bring
into the great unknown
variable
do the titans feel
emotions and fear
do comedy and tragedy
ought wei
the comedy of tragedy
or am I a materialist
do I care for my children
which will be better
god
what should I do
where shall I go
what should I believe
what fools we mortals be
-----
I wonder if it will be on the news
Probably not
If so, It will be buried
It would be page 13, not
"TONIGHT AT 10:
BOY AT LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL STABBED IN MOUTH"
Apathy affects us all. It is the most deadly of our
Diseases
Kill and grow and our government does nothing about our
Pain
Is a motivating factor. It motivates us to step into
Action
Reaction Karma
Dharma
Must be reestablished if we are to continue as we
Are
We going to kill ourselves, or will we live to see another day?
-----
Why do kids worry about money?
What is death?
Why can't I?
I can.
Why is lust?
Who is love?
Why does she have to go?
She must.
Why are addicts?
Why is hurt?
Why no cure?
Cure me.
Why is theft?
Who is rape?
Why is murder?
Suicide.
1+1=2...sometimes.
Breasts and egos grow and sag with time.
We all die.
So do our dogs.
Children are imperfect because their bliss ends.
-----
Zephaniah is a friend of mine
He writes of racism and people of his kind.
------
CHORUS: And your soul says "No Way"
But you want.
VERSE 1:
Lookin' through all the dreams inside your head
And lookin' over all the lovers from your past
Look at all the aspirations you once had
But you fucked up and now you come in last
{CHORUS}
VERSE 2:
Little girl see yourself inside your room
And remember him while you run around
Just remind yourself he'll be home soon
While you cry to yourself without the sound of his voice
{CHORUS}
BREAKDOWN SECTION:
And through the mist the chain is broken
Your breath is held, your thoughts unspoken
No way to run, to hide, no room
Then in your sickness, you love your doom
You look around; she's all you see
You try to think, but thoughts can't be
{TONE SHIFT}
VIOLENT INTERLUDE:
Is this really what you want?
Is this really what you need?
Why can't you come back to me?
Why is it that you must bleed?
{SHORT INSTRUMENTAL\SOLO SECTION}
VERSE 3:
Your poison tree has withered died and gone, decay
Yet you still long for that awful lie
But you live to see another day
Still when it hurts, you scream "Why, why, why?"
{CHORUS}
{'TRAIN-WRECK' END}
- - - - -
This is a song about addiction, whether it is narcotics,
people, food, or whatever. Your soul screams "NO", but you have that
incomprehensible desire. Here's to all suffering addicts, that they may find
the help they need. Je vous aimes.
-Dave
-----
Darkness
Breathing
Legs pumping faster and faster until they inevitably slow
I am taken back
And the anger, the rage, that she would dare say that
Colors of the room tinged with pink, just as you've told me they would be
But eventually the pink fades
I am left with no more anger, no more rage
Only the pain
That, too, will fade to a dull memory
All I want is your arms around me
Your kiss, your touch, soothes the most scarred soul
You are not here, but our tears fall together
Waiting
The morning will bring us to each other
-----
supple curves caress that which I cannot have
varying colors, textures, sounds, emotions
amusing and alluring
hidden, yet visible
words cease to exist
inhibitions falling away
I fear the loss of control
I want her
she comes closer
she is near
she is here
I reach to hold her
brush her hair from her face
I lean to kiss
her naked breast
warm in my hand
she arches back, offering herself to me
I partake of her body and soul
our bodies bathed in salty sweat
muscles quivering
time inconsistent
shifting
unconsciousness
lost in the moment
conclusions impossible
-----
the bowl filled with red, white, and blue
the red lights blink as the coffee pots brew
blonde women sit at the bar, writing
he asks what I've been up to: "nothing exciting"
-----
- - - - -
I stepped outside to see how I feel
Sat down on the steps and saw a drug deal
I was never so open when I got my 'fix'
It was always in private that I got my kicks
Some secluded park or dirty bedroom
were the places I acquired my doom
In addiction, an hour seems like forever
But it made me sneaky, deceptive, and clever
Inside the hot and cold rooms of the world
I threw down my money, and the joints, they were curled
Suck down some pills with some whisky or vodka
Or trip while I read a little Shakespeare or Kafka
- - - - -
Though resigned to a life of death
it was given up
at the drop of a hat
a ring of the phone
the thought of sex
the future unknown
At the massing, bug burly bears
embraced the young man
said "I love you"
"Don't worry"
"We're not judges"
"We're no jury"
they told him HIS story
He listened
He was impressed
- - -
- -
Watch
the phone
Sit
Watch
the phone
Get
some coffee
Watch
the phone
Play
music
Watch
the phone
Read
Watch
the phone
Use the restroom
Watch
the phone
Hide
in the bedroom
Watch
the phone
Wonder
why they don’t call
Watch
the phone
- - -
- -
He
sits in a grey fog playing guitar and talking to the daemons in his head.
Jacob and Robert Marley dance around him, their
chains swinging wildly in the air, jingling like coins in a purse.
They
asked him to join them.
They
invited him to join them.
They
taunted him to join them.
They
talked him into joining them.
- - - - -
When
he awoke he wondered why he had not left the night before, why he had not
stayed upstairs.
He
had gone upstairs before when his daemons had begun to sing, but he went back
downstairs to swing with them.
They
had not lied to him.
He
knew the terrors of going down, yet he joined them in the heat of that
hell.
He
awoke to that green smell infused in his pores, in his hair, in his clothes, in
his lungs.
He
showered to wash his memory clean of the night before.
He
lied to wash his face clean of the night before.
He
hoped to wash his soul clean of the night before.
He
begged to wash his slate clean.
He
could not wash his hands clean.
- - -
- -
He walked into the room sat down listened stood up and
took a coin in which he placed his lies.
He placed the coin in his pocket and could feel it burning his
flesh. He got on the plane and sat
there thinking about the coin. He entered the room and held up the coin as
a shield, as a mask. They gave him
another to wear around his neck, and the weight of it held him down. To them a medal of honor, to him only Hawthorne’s signature. He wore it like a tattoo, fearing the naked body would reveal the hole in
his chest, the emptiness, the lies, the fear.
He wears gloves now because his hands won’t come clean.
- - -
- -
Mediocrity
The
word burned in his head as he drove them to the bar.
Though his glass was free of spirits, his head was full of
daemons.
When
he went home, he continued the lie, but
he went back to work.
Soon,
he could stand the pain no longer.
He
took off the gloves and showed his stains to the world.
His
brothers took his hands and washed them for him.
What
he could not do alone, they as a group accomplished.
- - -
- -
Go to
a meeting
Listen
Share
Go to
coffee
Talk
Go
home
Sleep
Go to
school
Sleep
Go to work
Watch
Go to
a meeting
Listen
Share
The repetition
wore
Heavily
on him
They
began
Carrying
him
They
bid him farewell and he went to others, but it was still the same
He
never looked inside
They
looked for him
- - -
- -
They
started coming to his house so he stopped going home.
He
found a playmate and spent his time with her.
Soon,
he abandoned them altogether
He
took his things and went away, where others expected him, but he never called.
He
Isolated under the guise of self-preservation.
Really,
he was tired.
He
was tired of doing things that had long since stopped bringing him joy.
The
darkness creeped in and he wept often.
In
time, his eyes adjusted, and it didn’t seem so dim.
He
found a new circle and he allowed himself to become locked within it.
No
doors or windows, but also no corners to hide in.
He
found strength and security with them, and soon serenity, too.
God,
grant me the serenity
He
regrets not saying good-bye
To
accept the things I cannot change
If he
is brave
The
courage
He
can go back and make amends
To
change the things I can
But
he knows that what really matters
And
the wisdom
Is
his own peace of mind
To
know the difference
Knowing
they still love him.
-----
Perpetual fear creeps sadness longing want desire opiate results attraction alluring beauty fear sex heart mind soul love me kiss the small of my back fingers through wet hair chest bare the fan spins wildly from the ceiling the soft chill of evaporating sweat saliva rub touch hold collapse lust affection infatuation despair heard of sheep tripping consciousness conscience bathed want fear run rain heat ice stars are falling for me they rocket from their nests ignite in the atmosphere friction tension resentment rejection insecurity traction push away landing in a cataclysm forgotten words of forgiveness unable to forget memory remorse regret malice want hurt become evolve exit endgame out walk cry foreign freedom not wanted terror jail warden prisoner captive of the soft touch round security warm wet red frustration pain wait watch spot eye subtle mound hot thighs cold air walk away embrace blinding darkness blackness tres noir excavation exhume one year to the day chip shop life banished escape hide Friar Lawrence be one individual estate sale sold mine envy desire lust mined fragrant pull magnetic feral urges fear bail justification rationale paramount the undiscovered country perpetuity sannathana dharma ahimsa hamsa om tat sat drive out of the rain the butter melts out of habit the toast isn’t even warm exeunt.
-----
The cat perched quietly on the tin-can roof
Its fur being melted by the reflecting sun and heat of the mirrored surface upon which he sits
The birds pass by, blinded by the evidence of Apollo's grace
Charcoal embers setting feathers ablaze with the radiance of the god's glory and imposing presence
The Cheshire grins at Alice, returning home through the gauntlet of metallic beasts and no air conditioning while her leather seats chap and char, scar her skin, mar her complexion
Her hair shimmers as her sweat mixes with the expensive oils and perfumes used as mating calls, but still she is alone in returning home through the looking glass to a still empty house
Absorbing the eccentric patterns of energy given off by the capitalist dream as she watches the stock prices catapult catastrophically upward while the newsman anchorwoman reports another bombing in Northern Ireland
She changes the channel as her cat returns inside, now bald and sun burnt peeling scabs licking wounds blisters forming on his back in places he can't reach with his sandpaper, regardless of his contortionist ability
She is intrigued by his new hair style and pets him anyway, ignoring the screams of pain as she rubs his leper skin
She watches cartoons and ignores ridiculous warnings about the approaching Y2K and tornadoes and instead makes herself a drink to obliterate her fears
She returns to her sofa, unaffected by the feline corpse that is still bleeding on her floor from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head intended to end the pain, but instead causing the pain of a million years without form shape number awareness
Tired, she escapes to the security of her bedroom chamber to block out the scars of the world with her bed sheets
Comfortable upon her down mattress, she retreats to Dian's care
-----
And I watch as their heads bob
hair grey with age
But radiating life
Speaking a language
The native tongue of vivacity
Peter Pan syndrome
Telling the capitalistic demon, Hook, to back off
And allow life to the non-working
Those who have earned the right to
Return to the sandlot
Work-time is over
And naptime is fast approaching
But for now,
In these few moments of release
Between the chains and the sleep
Between the whips and scorns of time and the undiscovered country
They sit
Prepared
Teeth bared
Not scared
Because they dared
And they cared
For themselves and their children
To be what they have been
They are what they are now just as they were what they were then
They know what happened just as they know what will happen
They know it's coming, but they know not when
So they're living it up while they still can
Life is bright
Life without fright
Day without night
Strength without might
Vision without sight
Children play with delight
Separate worlds, but not quite
Muscles fluctuate loose and tight
Bodies moving left and right
Glass reflecting blinding sunlight
A disturbing thought crawls into my brain
While from that decision I abstain
Life courses through my vein
Knife easily cuts off the pain
Slowly we all will become sane
When we have no one to blame
Nor any reason to that makes sense
Makes any difference
Changes anything
Let freedom ring
Sometimes wonder: what was I thinking
When I agreed to try this thing
Called life: that miraculous joy
Brings smiles to a boy
They become his toy
Mother life is very coy
Father God drops a decoy
To distract
And detract
From the task
Work to play
Payback by more labor
For another business day
To layback and anticipate
The wait
Add weight
Tip the scales in the direction
Color of yellow
Enter rooms with great joyous shouts
The young child enters the
Playground
Through life he matures
Grows facial
And pubic
Hair
Mate
Mature
Toil
Till the soil
Drill for oil
Spring the coil
Bite into the apple banished from the ignorance that is the bliss of children
Make him a man
Amen
Then the choice: work to death
Retire to play
Either way
They result doesn't sway
Every dog will have its day
To find all their buried bones then sit and play dead
The endless joke
'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished
perchance to dream
-----
Fat and grey, they hover
Harbingers of the flood
They wait patiently for the command to release their battle cry and flash their swords upon the underlings
Thin and wispy on the blue-gray banner are their cohorts
Spies, they report their targets, brightly lit and unaware of the coming battle
Oblivious to the fast approaching precursor to Armageddon, they assume the winds are those of change, not of war
Leaving holes in the frontline wide enough to see their weaknesses, you can almost taste the freedom assured by the warriors
The protectors of the meek
Defenders of the weak
And so it begins
They wash away our sins
Free us from our chains
Only truth remains
-----
Thorns and vines pulling down in a sea of tears shed from wounds of discomfort Enchained by codependency Waiting just one more day and one more day and one more day Insanity Try again Same result Lather Rinse REPEAT reuse rejection Becomes a cycle Becomes familiar Nothing else known but pain Fall into a pattern Acceptance of bad feelings and deeds and damnation Drawing darker lines Contorting reality to make this okay
-----
Every day is another flower
The roses are hung from the walls and dried or are stripped of their petals and laid out on the satin sheets of life
She loves me
She loves me not
She loves me
Every sunrise is joyful, both the lark and the nightingale singing in harmony
Every star shines in her eyes
A smile for every sparkle
The soft fluidity of motion is comforting
Her touch is intoxicating
You become inebriated on her pheromones excited by the sound of her voice
Useless to resist, you bow to her
Obey her every desire, though you are equals
Symbiotes in a constant ring, the individual bringing balance to the whole
-----
I am going to make A Plan
I am going to make a plan regarding life
I am going to make a plan regarding romance and transportation and food and employment and sleep habits and happiness
Because all these things need to be planned out
It's no good crying all of the time even when you have a home, a vehicle, a job, a lover, and food on your table
I'm tired
I'm tired of having a heavy chest
I'm tired of having a light wallet
Everybody wants money when I have some and they don't want me when I'm broke
Everybody loves to listen to my struggles, then respond with a bill
And Family wants me to return to the security of the harbour
Now I'm crying
Now I'm crying because I'm scared
Now I'm crying because I am lonely
And above all that, I feel I may be alone, even though I have thousands of friends
I still feel as if I am that statue of the thinker; I sit and ponder my life and my troubles, give an aire of determination, but I am powerless to stave off the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, and the pangs of despised love
I'm scared because every time I make a plan, it blows up on me like the mission: impossible briefing
I need this
I need this time
I need this life to learn to live to love life
If I give up now, I will never figure it out I will never solve the Rubik's cube of my life
In this game, there are no stickers to peel off and rearrange and no sledgehammers to say 'fuck-it-all'
Not for me, at least
I can
I can Win
I can Survive
I will somehow find a way to pull this off, without medication or escapism, and I will find happiness
I know it is there somewhere
I wonder if my eyes and mind are too closed to see it.
I have seen it before, held it in my hands, fed it, nurtured it
But I don't know what happened to it
Where did I put it?
Did I leave it in my other pants?
Is it wearing a funny hat?
Is it on vacation?
Where does happiness go on holiday?
Is it hiding behind the ominous rain clouds?
Who can answer?
-----
The mirrored surface reflects the oncoming partners in this dance, the web we weave and bob in through passageways of our mind, created by imagination and fueled by hope.
-----
It is so painful when you wake up from those beautiful
dreams and you realize nothing is quite as you think it seems. Everything you
wanted to do has gone to shit. Every plan you made has blown up in a terrific
collision of blood and pride.
-----
I had always assumed it would be different.
I had always expected there to be more hope, more excitement.
Instead, there is fear.
Fear of what?
Fear of Failure: That I won’t be able to follow through, that this will all have been for nothing, that I will have wasted these precious breaths.
Fear of Success: That I will set too high a standard for myself and will not know when or how or who or where to back down. That I will forget about flowers and poetry with my eyes locked on the goal.
Fear of Resentment: My self-centered nature presents me with many bridges to burn. People will say in their maternal condescension, “He never would listen.” And even then, I won’t pay any attention to their meaningless caterwauling. They will ask if I am happy with my choices, but I will long since have forgotten the meaning of the word and the emotion, knowing only tears and remorse.
Fear of Regret: Did I make the right decision? Should I have stayed? Should I go back? Could/ Should I have loved her more? And what “then”? When we kiss for what may be the last time, what then? Do we plan a rendezvous, a secret liaison in the countryside between the tall grass of despised responsibility and the murky depths of time? Should we spare the pain of time and end it? Kiss one final, monumentous time, and be done with it?
If I could see into the future, all of those fears would be no more tangible than the monsters that formerly held residence under my bed and the toys in my attic that when the light is just right, come to life to creak and squeak and play again. My crystal ball will tell me where I will be happy and why it is so important not expect anything from anything. Humility, the state of remaining teachable, is paramount at this time.
Learn to fear not failure, for failure exists only in the minds of the weak.
Learn to fear not success, for success is an ally
Learn to fear not resentment. Prevent it or accept it.
Learn to fear not regret, and regret nothing. Let the past stay as such.
Learn to fear not being alone. Love never dies. In its reciprocated state, it exists as a constant ring. Here and there are scratches and dents from where time has hit hard, but the circle remains unbroken. From point to point, definite in it’s cyclic progression, it makes its way onward into the great wide open spaces and caverns of time and mental functions.
-----
Different server,
Midnight black
I sit and drink my coffee while I wait
It, the coffee, looks artificial, like enamel, reflecting the lights in the ceiling
Why am I here?
Where else should I be?
The syrup sits in a row in a tray in the center of the table.
I see the sticky liquid shift when I shake the table.
To my left is the bowl of creamers.
I usually don’t use them, but I think I will in this case, and sugar to match.
This may be the last time I am here.
Pour the coffee again.
Why am I here?
Where else should I be?
-----
The dank smell of cigarettes and beer on his parent’s breath
The boy’s heroes presenting sad pictures of role models
There are his favorite Indians: Nobody and Anybody
Sometimes it’s a good day to die. Sometimes it’s a good day to have breakfast.
And the man’s hair cries down from the part on his crown
Momma cries at the wind
The fry-bread made all the difference in the world
Magical fry-bread
So I told a story, now it’s your turn.
Lies or truth? Both.
Shooting in the dark
The boy was magic
Wings made out of TV dinner trays
For at least one day, the Indians won
Fear and pain drawing forth the truthful rain to the draught of lies
Gathering of Nations pow-wow
The dog, Kafka, went with them
A metamorphosis of the soul
From boy to man
From Indian to human
Hands cut on finders of screening
Questions of truth
Fires of hatred
Tears of regret
Running back into the burning house to rescue the future
Go back into the burning house
Pictures of home
And the rain falls on the floor of the trailer home where the hurricane died
Maybe you don’t know who you are
Collision of angry memories
Go for help
Run into the burning house
Talk to the dead girl
I think we were in two wrecks last night
The Lone Ranger and Tonto. No. Tonto and Tonto.
Father and a basketball
A three legged horse
Set the pyre ablaze
Releasing the souls of memories to the skies with midnight terrors
Under the light of day
6:12:32
Yeah, I’m sure
Rise like a salmon
He didn’t mean to leave
The wind carried him the way it carries dust from passing yellow trucks
How do we forgive our fathers?
Maybe in a dream.
If we forgive our fathers,
What is left?
-----
I sit, transparent to the world, see-through, invisible
Bodies pretending not to be naked surround me
Mouths pretending to be silent speak in tongues
The slats of the half-walls show distorted pictures of the false reality that is the outside world
Glass and screen mute the colours that reflect the intensity of that hemispheric projection
Lights hang from the ceiling like vessels waiting to transport us all to another dimension
Take us to another world
My stomach churns the still digesting food while I listen to little boys complain about missing the sandlot
All the colours of an LA sunset fade and wash before me as the din rises to a small dog’s bark, setting an omnipotent glow to my thoughts
The clock on the wall flares a V for victory at 1 and 2 as the line behind me builds.
-----
We
were two wild dogs
In
the woods
Lost
Hungry
Broken
Tired
We
were alone
I by
myself
You by yourself
Running
from our own
Footsteps
In
the blackness
Of
the mist
Hearing the twigs and leaves
Broken
underfoot
Fleeing
the noises
Made
by each other
Finally
seeing
What
is loneliness
You
stood atop the mountain
And
screamed at Dian
For
not bringing you comfort
She
stands above us both
And keeps her distance
From
Us
The
clouds pull away to reveal
Her
full-circle glory
And
in her light
You
saw me
Your
howling, feral form
Forgave
And
you came to me
The clouds carried us away until we were alone.
-----
The snow falls from
the sky
Like
teardrops falling
In
the light of the street lamp
I see them shimmer
The tiny snowflakes
Like stars erupting in
the sky
Millions of them
One
After
One
-----
Growing up in people’s footsteps can be rough
Especially when you’re not so tough
How can we share love with each other
If we are never together?
Growing up in people’s paths
Wait
Don’t choose
Your path
Set your goals
Life is going to be hard if you don’t make sacrifices
But on the way, you’ll do the right thing
Here is a poem just for you
My brother
Let us always remember what we had together
On this night
Of February
You’ll always know your path some way
Some how.
-----
Somewhere between the cosmic journey and the bestiaries of capitalism will you find me
I am out there among the stars among the celebrities
Among the vagrants and the tramps
Among the artisans and the freaks
Among the whores and the pimps
Among the waitresses, the managers, the busboys
Among the cab-drivers and the street-people
Among the “squatters” or “ferals”- whichever you prefer to call them- and the policemen pulling over the innocent black man because he is black- not because he is speeding
Among the punks…
Among the yuppies
…will you find me.
I am out there.
I am roaming
I am searching- just like you are
For what am I searching?
I do not know.
Why I am searching for it- I know not either.
Why
Do
You
Search?
Do you know why it is that you exist?
Do you know why it is that you are out there?
Do you know why it is that you are on this phone calling me
Talking to me
Wishing to speak to me
Wishing to maybe see me
Do you know?
Ask yourself:
Why do you roam?
Why do you- exactly like me-
Get up, whenever it is you get up?
Get dressed in what ever it is that you choose to wear?
Go wherever it is you decide to go?
By whatever means you choose to get there?
Do you really know for what you toil?
Do you really know what it is that you desire
And what it is that you are searching for
And what you are?
Do you know what it is that makes you wake up in the morning?
Do you know why it is that you do so?
Or if you go to bed in the morning and wake up in the evening, or afternoon, or night,
Do you really know: For what do you search?
And why do you call?
Why is it that you are on the phone
Listening to this message?
Why is it that I am leaving
This message?
Why is it that after this message beeps, you will leave a message?
-----
Is it really poetry?
Do I write words that make you cry?
Do I write words that make you think?
Do I say things that leave questions burning in your mind?
Do I write things that give you answers?
Do I write things that leave you complacent?
Do I write things that make you content?
Do I write things that rile you; make the blood boil in your veins, the way the water boils for your tea, or your coffee?
Do I write things that make you want to go outside and just drive and drive?
Do I write things that make you go to work and strive and strive?
Do I write things that make you want to get on a bus and travel to a place far away so that you can seize that moment;
Seize that day;
So that you can hold in your hands that woman that person that man that thing that object that feeling that thought
That makes you sleep well at night?
OR
Do I write things that make you unable to sleep, whenever it is that you choose to sleep- whether that be during the day
while work in this office building that makes my blood curdle.
Twenty-Four Floors above the ground, I sit and stare
Twenty-four floors above the ground, I look out and see nothingness, yet beauty
All enraveled, intertwined, becoming one
As I walk among the streets
Between the cars between the people- all naked; all naked behind their walls
And the people in their cars- their fast, false sense of security
And when I get out of work, I will walk back through this,
And I will get back in my car- my false sense of security
And I am walking among you all, clothed, yet still naked behind my wall
And every day,
With every heartache,
With every tear,
With every laugh,
With every sigh,
With every bathing,
With every tooth-brushing,
With every hand-washing,
With every handshake,
With every smile,
I add bricks to my wall.
With every note that I strum on my guitar,
With every step that I take,
With every car that I cut off,
With every time that I turn the engine on,
With every time that I close my door,
With every time that I tie my tie,
With every time that I tie my shoelaces,
With every time that I tie the knots of my twisted little mind,
I am building my wall.
-----
We watch as the smoke fills the air- why does it do that?
Why do we smoke?
Why do we constantly, consistently, every day purchase, spend money, buying
Emphysema lollipops and coffin nails, cancer-sticks and cigars and pipes, and all of this-
Why? What for?
All so we can bring ourselves one day close to death?
So that we can end our all-too short lives?
I don’t know.
Does it calm our headaches, or does it simply bring about new ones?
Do we smoke to cure the headaches that we have, or do we smoke to prevent future headaches?
What do we do?
Are we addicted to the cigarettes, or are we addicted to the image that they create?
The image that they put forward,
We walk around with the cigarette and say,
Hmmm… I… am… cool!
The businessman walking down the street, does he light up a cigarette and say,
Hmmm… I am the birth of the counter-culture
Or does he light up a cigarette and say,
Hmmm… I am rebelling against this conservative conformity that I have been raised upon
Or does he say,
Hmmm… I am feeding the corporation
-----
I wonder how long it will be until I can hold your hand in public.
I wonder how long it will be until I can kiss you in front of your friends.
I wonder how long it will be until you reach for me.
I wonder how long it will be until I can meet your mother.
I wonder how long it will be until “I’m Sorry” never needs to be said.
-----
There’s no need to smile
All of this will pass
Everything is temporary
None of this will last
The treasured prize you’ve won
Will one day fade to dust
All of your accomplishments
Will soon tarnish and rust
There’s no need to frown
All of this will pass
Everything is temporary
None of this will last
The loss of the good friend
Will soon not mean a thing
The bed you hate to lie in
Will one-day calmness bring
There’s no need to laugh
All of this will pass
Everything is temporary
None of this will last
For now the barroom fills your heart
With joy and happiness
Soon will come the last call
Leaving you to clean up the mess
There’s no need to weep
All of this will pass
Everything is temporary
None of this will last
For now your heart is broken
You cannot speak a word
But one-day you will overcome
All the lies you’ve heard
19
October 2000 – 40th Printing
Printed
at Printergy, Inc. and the Goucher College Thormann International Center
Baltimore, MD, USA
-----
Other Issues will soon be available on audio CD, and
.mp3 as read by
DAVID
DONALD SCHEIN II
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granmadave@geocities.com
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“December 14” is Copyright 1999-2000, M. Elsner, All Rights Reserved
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