Category: Photo/Poem

The Big Bang

 
 The Big Bang of being born;
 immediate disturbance in the universe
 as you know it,
 warped faith that
 nothing halts the twin moons
 of disappointment and despair.
 
 Reactionary tides wash snake oil residue
 of substances and words,
 promising false bargains,
 empty lies,
 and distorted misunderstandings.
 
 Growling hunger to know,
 beneath the haze,
 beyond the babble
 of convention,
 
 bottomed out
 and finding faith,
 seeking comfort
 in one’s own
 great heart.

Sometimes There’s Nothing

 
 Sometimes there’s nothing 
 you can do but scream.
 
 Rage against the losses:
    loss of eyesight and hearing
       and strength;
    loss of interests;
    loss of love,
      or  loss of
      love’s attention;
    loss of energy;
    loss of ideas;
    loss of dreams;
    loss of the erotic;
    loss of appetite;
    loss of those who care
       for you, and those
       you care for;
    loss of mind,
       especially
       loss of mind.
 
 Rage against the
    impersonal universe;
 rage against the 
    lack of justice,
    lack  of merit,
    lack of luck.
 
 Rage against regret
    as thick as molten tar,
 rage against the arctic freeze
    of heartbreak.
 
 Rage against the plutes,
    those hungry ghosts
    sucking the rest of us dry.
 Rage against the whores
    of commerce.
 Rage against the loss of ideals and
       that feeling of
       being bamboozled.
 
 Rage against a higher force, 
    if you believe in
    that diabolical jester
    who deals the cards
    and rigs the games.
 
 Sure,
    there’s wisdom that comes
    from getting old,
    deeper acceptance 
    and even a flash
    of it’s really OK;
 
 but sometimes there’s
 nothing,
 and all you can do
 is to goddamn scream.

Stardust

 
 
  Stardust dreams of immaculate perception
 holy hymns of sacred friendship,
 and reclaiming long lost love.
 
 Chrome-plated memories of pickles,
 endless cups of coffee,
 long conversations
 of  constructing identities
 and apprehensive realities.
 
 Booth recitations
 amid clatter and grease:
 intimacies shared,
 promises made,
 loyalties sworn,
 
 the unobstructed purity
 of infinite possibility.

So These Things


 So these things
 washed up or
 put away -
 patterns of solace
 within the lesser seasons.
 
 Dreams ascend the cold bones,
 rising with the virtue
 through ethereal channels,
 
 while physicality is
 avoided
 or denied.
 
 Repair
 of the broken
 is a charity
 unto itself.

Address Unknown

 Bag of festering grief,
 trapped in the never-ending night.
 
 Ceaseless concussions
 of suffocating loneliness,
 nose dive collision
 through terror and dread,
 tumbling into pits 
 of perpetual loss.
 
 Bare wire deprivation,
 stripped of insulation,
 discarded and raw, 
 The Nothing Draw - 
    no connection,
    no sleep,
    no dignity,
    no pleasure,
    no hope.
 
 Abandoned and forgotten,
 insatiable black hole remains,
 the catastrophic gyre of misfortune and terror,.
 
 Then:
 Nothing
 Nothing
 Nothing.
 
 Address unknown,
 state of damnation;
 not quite dead,
 just live enough
 
 to endure each day
 with a broken heart.