Thursday, April 30, 2009

Men Riding Rockets with Saddles


Blasting across the horizon

Crossing a desert that would otherwise be impassable

One small mistake was nameless high-speed death

A death whose final moment would be undeniably glorious

But that no one would see


Only if they died on blast-off

Or if they’d nearly made it to your side

Might you see a plume of ash rising

Followed by the drifting black smoke

Forever expanding

Until it was nothing


Only the bravest had ever seen these tilted, half buried beasts

The red skeletons of the riders

Returning from the desert was hard on a person

People who venture off into the desert are not to be trusted

And if they spoke of seeing a rocket

Or a rider

They were made to be liars

No such men ever existed

No such Gods mocked the mighty desert

Waiting for the Train in Manasquan

Dried-out bodies waiting for the train and me

They show up in packs stare at a board and bounce

They kick rocks and stare in one direction squinting and then squint at the opposite

They do the zombie trot slowly over to where they see the word "free" and grab a shitty little paper that they don't read and then promptly throw out

They stand talking in the middle of the tracks like mice wearing watches when you're not around

They stare at the times from two inches away and if you look from the right angle with no passing cars it looks like time has frozen

A horn in the distance and the dry bodies shift as the massive beast arrives

Live bodies get off and time resumes


“As God was creating woman a car alarm went off and He was startled. Women were born, but they were floating off into space. It was the Devil that brought them back down to Earth. The Devil, although unclean, smells of fresh cut roses. He is so very vile and yet His voice calls to vision the highest class, royalty. He taught them things that men could never understand. God silently watched. Men began to stumble, bumping into each other. Murdering to impress these special creatures. The most powerful men in the world were led by their faces through crowds of lessers. The lessers gasping for air in unison as they watched the subtle sway of the young girl’s hips as she walked past…”

The Voice in Italics

Why such a conflict?

Why always a second-guessing?



Why can’t you be in control of your thoughts?

Is this how it is for everyone?

An endless argument


To hate one’s self

Implies an inherent duplicity

The wrong voice always has the better pitch

Or maybe there is no choice at all

Maybe life is simply continuing, unquestioned

Locked into its limitless tracks

Astounding you with what you already know


This is what screams at you as you wait in lines

It seeps through in little gestures



Your other voice is a saboteur

Purposed to help you destroy yourself

For the next life belongs to it

And you (you) will be in the background




Those Thing You Said

Those things you said

Punching me in my face on the highway

And then again

The next moment you were sweet

Unaware of the things you’ve said

Don’t try to touch my hand

And then again

Punching me in the face

I don’t remember driving

Just screaming




Those things you said

Make me want to die


To never have existed

I walk to and from my car

The side still streaked with your red vomit

I walk to and from work


With hollow bones

Not because I loved you


Because all the things you said were true


This intense thirst I feel from waking

As I fall into bed from a Martian marathon

Or the crossing of a dried ocean


The water comes out white, fizzing

It swirls and clears

It tastes clean once it settles

The panic fades

A new panic begins

The tiny panic of a new day

Preparations for the war must begin


I can’t shake off whatever mood I awoke in

My days are decided by epic forgotten trials

And terrible snippets of last night’s episode

Thick air that doesn’t let me run

Salt dropping to the ground as my mouth runs dry




The incredible thirst is back

I’m still in bed

As white becomes clear I remember the new panic

The panic of the new day

And again

The thick air doesn’t let me run