Nameless and Necessary

Take me to your church,
the church of old bones,
and show me the doctrine on the damp and powdered walls.
The ones which tell how to travel with Rightness
(or is it Mightness?)
And then dip me in the font,
the holy plaster,
smoothing my clothes into grecian swirls. 
How lovely I will look standing in the garden
calm dead eyes gazing for eternity
frozen in the respectability you killed me for…
Take me to your library
the shelves empty and reaching up piteously
clinging to the bare walls
as if seeking escape.
The written has been erased,
 to crumble.
For what is Necessary can be told,
and nothing is remembered so well as the sentence mouthed in unison,
over and over and over.
You assured me that I could be taught,
that I could be,
Take me to the museum,
the history of the lost,
and show me the great hall filled with the sharp,
the culling instruments.
Designed and worshipped for the bonsai’d people – 
we, who need shaping and careful attention,
whose only chaperoned growth is recommended,
so that we are not tempted to push through the concrete like a vulgar weed.
There are other exhibits here but there are no cards of dry description,
no details,
 no stats,
just a booming blank. 
A quiet that harbors the ends of screams.
A quiet which may be broken at any second,
and is all the more terrible for the waiting…
You introduced me to many fears yet Nameless is the only one everyone has met.
I wipe my hands surreptitiously after the clammy clasp 
knowing the sharpness of those eyes may pierce and stab at any given moment.
So I hold my thoughts in place, arrange my face according to the advertised fashion
and breath carefully
in my allotted space.
Tell me again how these are all for me,
all for my own good,
my improvement,
and that I don’t need to think about
any more…
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Strange Compass


One year ago…..

Originally posted on Chimera Poetry:

“I have no right to call myself one who knows. I was one who seeks, and I still am, but I no longer seek in the stars or in books; I’m beginning to hear the teachings of my blood pulsing within me. My story isn’t pleasant, it’s not sweet and harmonious like the invented stories; it tastes of folly and bewilderment, of madness and dream, like the life of all people who no longer want to lie to themselves.” ~ Herman Hesse, Demian

The road is mapped out for you matter of factly
twined and braided into your umbilical cord
and you are fed instructions with your cereal
but nobody tells you how those paths wind
 and turn and twist
or disappear
or that some may drop you into a pit…
Your blood will lead you, can speak to you
 but first you need to learn its language
and fear…

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The Best Days of My Life

Originally posted on Chimera Poetry:

The parties I wasn’t invited to,

the boy who kissed me and then laughed about it to his friends,

the time my period arrived early and stained my jeans in school,

the jokes I never understood,

the cool I never felt,

the stumbling fumbling I always managed in gym.

And forty years later

my cheeks still flood with color

and my stomach still remembers ~

these were supposed to be the best days of my life…

All I could see was an endless track of no where to hide

no place to turn

and the best advice my mother naively offered was, “Smile and be friendly…”

You can’t be invisible and smile.

Impossible to be friendly while the vicious fledglings crowd around you

jeering and pointing at the outfit you briefly 


 felt pretty in.

When the only thing faster than their fists were their tongues

and the shame of just…

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Static Days


Turnback Thursday;
One year ago……

Originally posted on Chimera Poetry:

Another morning walk to the train station
only to stand mannequin-like on the platform
I feel the train approaching 
and the wave of movement starts  
but I stay still
letting the people break around me
I don’t go forward.
I don’t go backward.
I am inert
and my mind has gone underground
while the trains pass one after another…
I stand at the window 
and listen to the hush breaking under the weight of the birds song
and gaze at the sunrise painting the sky
and I should gather that gold into my arms 
to carry through the day
leaving light in the spaces I move through
But all I feel is sunset
I am sinking beneath the edge
and darkening
and there is only farewell in the music my heart beats in time with…
These are static days for me
 I am unchanging in a…

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Originally posted on andrewsparke:


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Tell Me

Originally posted on Chimera Poetry:

Tell me how to read the secrets etched like runes upon your bones
the story written in the lines of your face
the palimpsest of your hands.
Tell me the mysteries in your abyss,
those submerged in the deepest pools
dammed in your mind
locked behind doors of iron and molten nightmares.
Tell me why pretending is a drug to you,
why it caresses and intoxicates you and you bury your name and need in it.
Why you scrawl over and over again
on walls 
on doors
on scraps of paper blown through the streets,
“Forget me
forget my scars shining like a river in the deepening light…
Forget the touch of me 
that taints and burns.
Turn your heart and soul away, walk with no faltering
or else I may grab and hold on and lose us both….”
Tell me how you were made,
what dark and shadowed madman…

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Sweet Addiction ~ A Terrifying Love Story

Blow out your torches 
the hunt is over
the pyre lies abandonded,
 blackened and smoldering.
How can you blame me for any of it? 
Your lips shaped the lies into spiced drops which melted on my tongue and the addiction was so sweet…
And the craving was deeper every day
every night
every night
the pain and pleasure of your name drove me into the streets
and like Caliban I was cursed,
in servitude to anyone strong enough to look me in the eye,
and only steeped in liquor and erstaz friends could I find the courage to sing,
the only tune I know….
And it was your song,
all for you…
What right did I have,
you say,
to follow,
to pursue,
to claim,
what I was told was mine…..maybe not in words.
But by deeds certainly…..
If possession is nine tenths of the law,
then by law I am possessed and those crumbs of yours I stole each night,
all added up.
I stood loyal and steadfast when all around me fell away
like a house of cards collapsing. 
How could I walk away? 
How could I change now after all the alterations?
I sewed the magic and the longing on to my bare flesh biting back the tears
with thoughts of the lovelook on your face in our hall of mirrors. 
And those scars I wore with pride, offering them to you as proof of my adoration,
my worthiness.
And if the dark I treated with was more,
or less,
than my broiling mind could sort out,
what did it matter?
Should I love the water any less because I am drowning?
This sacred pact is sealed and you are with me in this darkling place,
some of you,
So hush and be still my love,
The burnings are over,
 the ashes raked,
 the rabble given up and left with only whispers and empty hands.
The world out there doesn’t understand,
 but we have each other,
and nothing else matters…
nothing but that, 
and this sweet addiction.


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