December Thirty-First

Out under the stars, I stare long and hard,
The moon finds my face and I rise to my feet,
I'll say to myself one more time, repeat, refrain,
I'll go away and walk away and be away,
I'll take that first step and disappear,
Nobody to miss me here, nobody to kiss my fear,
Nobody to see me leer at the rising moon,
I'll scream in my mind that, here,
I won't ever find that reason I seek,
The need to see to be to hear to flee,
Ball my child-like fists and scream, again.

At the teasing moon, I'll grit and sneer,
She looks down at me from above and I hear her whisper,
"I loved you, I gave myself to you,
You had it all in your hands,
You threw me away, you took my life,
I'm alone in death as I stood in life,
Find my flaws, again, find the holes in my soul,
Filled them up just to rip them anew and refuse."

So, I take one last breath as the day dies away,
I kiss my fingers to my forehead in my grief,
In my disgrace in my sullen face in my black eyes,
In my stoic refusal to believe in the passing of night,
That moon will loom over me for the rest of my life.

"Four years to the day since you and I last played,
The game of boys and girls in flowers and fields,
The meadow of your insanity took my innocent naivety,
'Trust no one, least of all a woman's glittering eyes,'
The lesson learnt too late left the last scar,

"Black angel of mine, bled your holy tears tonight,
Sleep well, sweet thang, on your bed of worms,
I'm sorry I wasn't there to tuck you in,
I'm sorry you aren't here to see the moon drain clear,

"You made your choice, you found your peace,
Mine is my own, my life to live, my heart to give,
My tears to leak, my dreams to seek,
Where I don't know, how I don't see,
But I do not care, it all comes in time,
All to all to all."

My last words, my final eulogy, the epilogue of sorrow,
The last year of remembrance for your ignorance,
I lift my glass to the sky, to that vengeful moon,
To the crying stars, to the dying wolf calls,
In your honour, in my steadfast hour,
I see your face bloodied and ruined, again,
Without the remorse of yesterday.

Happy New Year's Eve, to me to you to he to she,
To all to all to all,
All to all to all.

Concerto in Concern

Inbetween the velvet, black sheets of blanketed shame,
You whispered in my ear what brought you the greatest fear,
How you shivered in the white shade of marble statues,
When you bled grain upon the corpses of mother Earth,
I held you close to eliminate the fell chill,
I found your eyes with mine and knew it was that blest time,
"Count me among the Host of God when the moon is empty and the stars are blank,
Sing that sacred hymn of all heroic epochs,
Golden notes laced about bladed, red tones,
Tell the tales of torrents of terror in terrible tragedy,
Travesties of devestating maladies in mournful music,
Lift your voice, angel-woman, lift your voice,
Racing from your throat, hopes of heavenly victory,
Spilling over your lips, warnings of unhallowed treachery,
Lift your voice, black angel."

Requiem of a Blue Jay

Order your coffee and pull up a chair,
This is where you'll find me, here,
I've got a story of gore to share,
But, first, you're going to play my game.

Refrain, restrain, regain,
Again, again, again,
Requiem of a blue jay sung, today,
"Is this the only way?
Is this how to play?
Is this where I'll stay?"

Don't burn your lips, honey,
It's a putrid mixture we make, together,
This is what you'll do forever,
Stop crying out to the skies for your saviour.

Refrain, regain, remain,
Again, again, again,
Requiem for a blue jay sung, today,
"When will it end?
What must I do to mend?
What is your demand?"

Wicked wishes, dirty dishes,
Over a plate of cooked flesh,
Make your query,
Mark your quarry,
Write your story,
Fight for your own glory,
Next morning,
Enter the foray,
One step toward,
The final day.

Refrain.

Coffeeshop Romancer

Found myself on the wrong track,
again,
my brain's all wracked,
my nerves are shot.

What it comes down to,
plain and simple,
is you're a bitch,
but I'm a damn bastard.

One more cup o' coffee,
I'll shoot myself in the foot for the sake of humour,
but I won't blast myself in the face for the sake of humanity,
one more cup o' coffee with creamer.

Show me what you've got,
let us proceed with the plan,
we're going to kick out the jams,
but you're not ready for my kind of man.

Awake at all hours,
burning down all the towers,
here's a bouquet of flowers snatched from the cemetary,
beyond and above to all to all to all for that we fall, fall, fall.

One more cup o' coffee,
hot to the tongue,
like your breath right before we kiss,
but I ain't never known love that I could trust.

Reaching for my revolver,
where's your dowry, honey,
I married a devil,
Her father's due up quite the inheritance.

The Interregna From Sanity: Admonishing Lunatics for Being Meretricious

Whoever says that titles must be relevant to subject matter, let them wilt away in the face of my brash rebellion against that general rule. Hah! There is no maintaining the boundaries of that which I shatter on a daily schedule. Clever, I am; sinical, I am not – For I am indubitably not “of, pertaining to, or consisting of a sine or sines, as in a sinical quadrant.”

Saddam Hussein has been brought into captivity by the American forces, one of the most monumental victories of the Iraqi war – short of conquering the country itself. A testament to why Fidel Castro ages away in Cuba, smoking cigars, and harvesting baseball players; most likely, at this moment, lounging on a couch and waggling a finger at Saddam’s pitiful, imprisoned image on the television. Truly, a man has been unmade in a mere year’s time. All he stood for, all he worked for, all he strived for, believed in, and breathed life (or death) into has been dashed or crumbled, decimated or annihilated, obliterated or restructured, redone or undone. History will not remember Hussein fondly. His lineage and legacy, his two sons: dead. This is the price paid for tyranny and despotism with malice.
Honestly, seeing Hussein brought down, humbled in all respects, and dug out of a dirt-hole like a muskrat makes me giggle like a gleeful schoolgirl; granted, a rather sadistic schoolgirl whom other’s pain brings pleasure (I contemplated extending that simile, but, just . . . No). In fact, let us all take a momentary pause in order to point, laugh, and ridicule the Hussein of today: the deposed leader forced to hide in a pipe underneath a farm, cuddling a pistol and his broken dreams. Unshaven, unkempt, unloved, undone: this is Hussein, this is a man toppled.
My first reaction to the news of his capture was to, seriously, giggle like a schoolgirl, too (Tee hee).

Let me just state, here and now, something that is not an opinion nor a debatable theorem or postulated argument: Michael Jackson is a freak of nature. In the biological sense of the phrase, in the sense of what nature is and what the definition of a freak is, one who is outside of the standards of a group or statistical demographic, he is a freak of nature. A ghostly white man of African descent living in the seclusion of the hills of Hollywood with impossible natural facial features who is worth millions and millions of dollars, that is a freak of nature. Someone who does not display nor show any sign whatsoever of coherent nor cohesive thought processes appropriate for someone his age, that is a freak of nature. I am not here to express hatred for Michael Jackson. I am not here to denounce him as a human being. I am here to point out that he is, by no means, not a freak of nature.
He is not a productive member of our society. Neverland is, quite simply, its own society and sphere – veritably its own plane of existence. Such a fanciful maculation on the eye of the world has not been seen outside of books. Wherein one man runs what is loosely an amusement park that caters to a handpicked group of children whenever it strikes him to do so. If chocolate ran like water and bubbles (not the monkey) could make people fly, I’d give the man a top hat and call him Willy.
Do I know there are sexually perverse things going on behind those closed doors? No. Do I think that Michael Jackson is someone to be trusted or believed to be in the right frame of mind? No.

I hate George W. Bush. Vote Green. That is all I have to say about that.

Adios

EOF

Parting Theme

Failure by nature, put through too soon,
Check to see to be free to be me,
All too little, too soon,
Too frivolous, blow it all away,
Too low to say to play to make hay,
No fun to be had, no life to be taken,

Me to a tee, lean on me then split me in two,
One part lover, one part monster,
Eyes red squint in the dark while blue on the surface wink hello,
Lucid insanity intricately etched in my mind,
Take my hand, take my soul,
Take everything about me you think you know,
Chalk it up to the Fates,
Give it away to the Furies,
Make it superfluous, make it superstitious,
Break me in half, leave me to the Wolves,
Love to learn to like to live to lose,

That's me to a tee, one man born under the Pisces,
Smiling as the water encroachs the tip of my head,
Drowning in the world of red wine and bread,
Left to swim for my own safety,
No buouy to mark the depths of this deathless time,
Ships drift North as the light burns West,
And the House points East from day to night,
Nobody to see me, my bloated body left afloat,
Eyes to the stars, smile at the Hells.

Nine to five, the Heavens of my mind,
Ripe to pick, the Fruit of my life,
Pear too square to dare to fare thee well,
And that Apple rolls downhill, again,
I will share my cares to all with ears,
I will break my meals to all with stomachs,
Dine with me, sit on the knoll in my Eden,
Green and splendid, dive right in, darling,
There's no time for seconds, no line for breakfast,
Sustenance in succulence of subterfuge by substantiality,
So coporeal to feel to deal in flesh and bone,
Sustained to refrain to disdain in plain old lameness,
One leg, two arms, five fingers, seven days,
One week to teach to reach to ditch the humanities,
No decadance in lilac perfectness, here, dear,
Quell your rosy smell and plant your bottom down,
I know the eyes, I know the twitching signs,
I know you all too well to fail to know to flee,
But I'll stay for one last ninth Hour,
Till that grain falls into the golden, ample plain,

Join thine brethren, children, lost in forever.
Join me in the arms of illicit explicit content,
Subtle overtitude sprinkled over congruent heterogeneous mixture,
Soft stone scuplted into supple rigidosity,
Fare well to the departing newcomers,
Fare well to the arriving escapees,
My fine line between to pine and to find,
My swelled well full of holy tears and angelic blood,
Twice removed to thrice replace four little crimes,
Twice rejoined to thrice splice four little scars,
See it in my eyes, see it in my eyes,
See in fly by, see it fly by,
The patron saint of Senor Salvador,
The muse of Billy Faulkner,
Devil of Poe,
God of Michelangelo,
Adios, cruel sanity.