Poetic Fate

In a room full of heavy hearts

I can only lean to keep sharp

I have these dripping pumps

Flooding my mind’s poor cup

I drink fast trying not to drown

In the emotion’s echoing sound.

A sponge can only hold so much

Before it’s dripping with such…

Heavy slogging, my soaked frame

Sailing the bog of poet’s shame.

The pain crashing over in waves

Destroys my notion to behave.

I rip at my clothes and drip

The sweat from toe to lip.

Stepping outside for a breath

Georgia air feels, soggy death.

In the heavy heat holding tight.

I feel the weight getting light.

Free of the pain permitted the air

Revived from the borrowed dispar

I see my friend, beauty and grace

Enter in her thorny and pierced face.

She hugs me hard and relive my weight

And I return to face the poet’s fate.

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Whirlwind of Peace

Morning tears on the green
Bright with dawning sheen
Calm was over the grove
Thrashers hop from where they dove
Picking feeding and pecking
Chasing the tiny crawling

Whirlwinds of life around
Ignoring the peace for town.
Spinning hums on the ‘phalt
Fighting winter; polluting salt
No rest in sleep
No peace when we weep.

Alone in the grove, toad sits.
Holding simple, his wits
Nibbling a long blade, the long ear.
Searches to satiate free of fear
Dusk ambles over the heated day
Pacifying those who wish to fade away.

Ah.

You looked into my eyes
And I looked into yours
Knowing our pants would be in the floor,
But your heart was re-routed
It only needed a detour;
And mine was freshly grouted.
You flew to my penis,
Like a trickster’s knife.
Heart screaming you didn’t mean this.
Just needed a new life.
I let you in my home
Paid with magnificent dome
And you sang in the kitchen
Voice absolutely bewitching.
But you left me on my birthday
For a skater that made you thirsty.

Waiting, paranoid.

Waiting…. A minute… two minutes. Three… maybe an hour. I haven’t really taken notice to how long I’ve been here. This place is like sitting in hot sludge. It’s warm and holds you tight. But there is a part of you that knows it’s toxic. That it is slowly draining the life out of your body. I could get out of here… but I feel as if I am being watched. Every once in a while I hear distant sounds through the walls, like someone trying very hard to keep still and quiet softly adjusting in their seat. If I wasn’t under surveillance I could walk around… see if there is an exit to this place. But I know only a fool would stand right now. I am not a free citizen. Not anymore. They came for me, and now I belong to the unknown and unseen authority. Waiting. Waiting. Maybe a year. Two years? Three? Who could know at a time like this. I want to scream, or throw the vase across the room at that ominous mirror that wont stop staring at every breath I take. Maybe if I adjust, they’ll be surprised and make a louder noise. My suspicions  would be confirmed… or I might be afforded a liberty… but perhaps they will think I am trying to escape and knock me out. They do a good job hiding the nozzles, but I spotted them right when I woke up. Ill just jerk my whole body at once, so they’ll think it’s a spasm. There. No sound from behind the glass eye.  Maybe I am alone.

Waiting… I haven’t heard a thing. Silence. Maybe I am, alone. What’s the worse that would happen if I stood up? They could gas me… would they shoot me? Would they march in and beat me? Anything is better than nothingness, empty space and useless time wandering on and on in unstoppable repetition.

When I stood up I was tense all over. I could feel every fiber of my being. With each breath I grew more tense, like a piano sting twisting into tune. I watched the nozzles. They were still. I focused on my ears to hear the movement from behind the glass, attendants or officers rushing into the room. But there was nothing. Maybe I really am alone… waiting.

After looking around the room I could find no door, no window, nothing but a ventilation system with thick bars restricting entrance. I had nowhere to go. There were eight hard plastic seats surrounding the room, one table in the center with an empty vase in the center. No decoration on the walls and no airflow from the vent. Everything was silent, stagnant, empty. A great hollowness filled my bones as a thought there would be no one coming for me. I walked to the window in a final act of defiance against my silent captures and knocked on the window.

“Hello?” I said politely, knocking again. “Shouldn’t you be rushing in, or gassing me by now?” Silence. “No? Ok. Thanks.”

No captures in the history of kidnaping did nothing. There was always a ransom, or a demand, some kind of work to submit their new slave to. I wouldn’t just be left to my own devises. Would I? I knocked harder, this time truly panicked that I was alone.

“HEEELLOOO?!? Jesus, AREN’T YOU GOING TO DEMAND SOMEKIND OF PENENCE FROM ME?” No reaction, no sound, silence in the stillness.

“Oh. Silence… finally.”

Floating

There are days that I float in my head.
Firmly planted on the ground
I am astronaut and ground crew.
I am the disconnection
I lack the down protection.
In my mind I soar wall to wall
But my arm fails my call.
I order a clench, a release.
My fist balls, does not cease.
The noises fade
To make way for the visual parade.

A gurgle, rumble
Mind floats feet stumble.
I hear voices soft on the air
Combating my blank stare.
Lightly my head veers
Slowly my mind steers.
Focus comes slow
My world starts to grow.
The ship lands safely on earth,
Crew safe and staff relived.
The blood sugar launch complete.