Audible Light

“One good thing about music, when it hits you, you feel no pain.” ― Bob Marley Audible Light Audible light Reflecting through the screen The silence, the crescendo Enough to make the mute scream The physical becoming metaphysical somewhat gradual and instinctual Wavelengths of sound reproduce and expound The sonorous deposition brings peaks and valleys to your skin An icy frost juxtaposed with fiery transudation Every thing begins to make sense from within Audible light Refracting through the mind The sighs, the cries Enough to make the masses...

The Sun is Ours

“Disaster is a natural part of my evolution toward tragedy and dissolution.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club Good day, friends. I have not written poetry in quite a while, so I am recommitting myself to the craft. I apologize for the crudeness that these first several hundred will be. It has been years, but it used to be a great passion of mine. So, naturally, you get to be my test subjects and fine readers. That is why I love you. Who knows…if you turn out to show some interest, I may even package some of the less shitty ones together into a fancy little package and make them available to you. Thank you as always and let me know how I am doing. The Sun is Ours The sun is mine The sun will shine Over acres of fields – green and desolate Over acres of fields – barren and desperate Arms wave in the air, in anxiety driven aspirations Though, ambitions were never high It was the children that were always high They were high on asphyxiations A generation lost to flickering lights and pointless calorie fights This generation is lost in perpetual suicide Progress squandered, the older generation lied Eyes light up when they see a glimpse of humanity But then their eyes close quickly, you see Because the older generation is killing me And then they lose faith on everything and turn to philosophy They learn the sun isn’t ours And neither are the stars We become isolated in the fields – so grey and frail We stand alone in the field – filled with hate and...

When Driving in a Lemon

“One posthumous measure of a person’s life is how often you imagine his impossible return to deal with some event he never lived to encounter. You picture his reactions, his advice, his sage commentary and humorous asides. For instance, I think about Mark Twain’s hypothetical take on current events several times a week.” – Paul Di Filippo It seemed as though, the further we drove along, Norm hit ever pothole imaginable. Every hole that he hit, made the inside of my head feel as though it was finally going to give and cave in. I don’t know how long we have been driving, but I know it has been hours. It was the early afternoon and the sun was still high in the sky. I haven’t properly slept in the past day and the hunger and sleep and pain and nausea and annoyance were really getting to me. I looked over through my squinted eyes at Norm. He was calmly driving along the highway. He was wearing black Ray Ban sunglasses and this was the quietest I have heard him since he had taken me. I looked back over the road. The flat land of Illinois and Indiana was becoming hillier as we were being swallowed by Michigan. The rhythmic hum of the tires hugging the road, blended with the constant ringing that was in my left ear. My left ear that only hours before had pieces of Matt on it. My left ear that only hours before had a bullet shot right past it. I had blacked out and Norm must have gotten his way, because now we...