Tag Archives: sick

Purgatorio

Good morning, everybody. Happy Saturday! It’s been another little while since my last post, but I’ve got a really great one for you today. This one throws in a little bit of greek mythology for all you nerds out there. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy.

Purgatorio

Bounding, pounding, resounding…

nothing takes the pain away.

Medicate, premeditate,

nothing takes the shame away.

~

So very still

does he sit,

upon his perch,

looking down at all the things;

“Why,” he wonders,

“are they all so far away?”

~

“The One who put this all together,

can you see the very lies that you have told?”

“Can you see the very lives that you have sold?”

He would ask these questions of that One,

thinking himself so bold.

~

No answers will be given,

only grievance will be wrought,

and on his high-up perch,

he thinks he’ll roll a die.

~

“One to three and I’ll be me,”

he trills to no one in particular.

“Four through six…,”

he laments

as he slowly turns his hand

and the die is cast into the Styx.

Cheap Wine

Afternoon! I’ve started labeling these posts with the poem titles. I figured that might be easier if anybody wants to search. At some point I may go back and rename others, but I also kind of like the titles those posts have. Apt in their application, though outdated now as I have outgrown that period. We’ll see if it comes back. Growth is not a linear process. Without further ado, please enjoy today’s poem.

Cheap Wine

Red wine drips from my lips,

descending now

in a gentle cascade

like the slow dripping of a broken faucet in an old, old house.

How could I ever forget the taste of copper?

Like a mouthful of pennies;

far too hard to swallow.

Should I try it again?

The wine, my dear?

I didn’t like it the first time;

or the second.

Do you think I should try it again?

I’ve no real recourse.

Not now, anyway.

It is as it will be.

Every day the words are harder to find.

I should think that, one day,

I’ll not have them at all anymore.

…

Do you think I should try the wine again?

An American Dream, Almost Forgotten

Blood-soaked visages and fetid rags fill the space before my eyes. You would have me believe that it’s all according to plan? The blunt-force trauma, the brain damage, the bleeding belly-wound that signals a final turn into the worst possible outcomes… How do you justify it all? How does it sit with you? In rusted manacles and filthy, putrid trousers sits the man, the woman, the Geist. Hardened hearts bely broken minds and haggard breaths, the death throes of a bygone era. Will the builders and the founders save us from staggering one-legged into the apocalypse? I shall await forever those things promised to me in my youth. We’ve all the time in the world.

An American Dream, Almost Forgotten

Lying there

staring out the window

look at things you cannot see.

Those little pictures in your head

reflected in the eyes atop your face.

Not broken,

but whole.

Down below

in streets unclean

where windows break

and saxophones wake

perhaps the eyes atop your face

would find themselves adrift

in one foreign little place.

I only wish,

come hell or high water,

that there upon that street

will your eyes not come to rest

for I wish a different future,

with a fair sight fewer sutures.

Fly, fly, fly

little bird.

It’s time to fly away

right on out the window.

The world awaits

your tired little eyes.

Groggy

Good morning, everyone. I am tired today. New poem though! I hope you like it. Oh! I did see a guy who looked exactly like Jeffrey Dahmer. May have been his ghost. Who knows! There’s my funny little anecdote for today. Without further ado…

Groggy

Sick in the head,

but not as you think;

Tired, foggy, heavy and glum.

Perhaps from me it could be washed

with all those contents of a bottle of rum.

Tired heads bring tired eyes

and so forth pour those tired lies

from upturned lips that sink so down,

once a smile

and now a frown.

Wear a mask

and make your task,

feel it though:

The bite

of an asp.

This one’s going to make you last.