the conundrum of memory

the words shrivel and fall away like a
season's batch of bug-ridden fruit;
and a mistake like that can prove fatal.
sentences burn in the purest fires
and half scream, half laugh thier
final vocalizations to ears that
can hear but don't listen.
memories, laughter, mistakes,
all carefully grown and nurtured,
with the fledgling belief that perhaps these
ideas will take tangible root, that they may matter even slightly,
to anyone, someday.
now, as i can do nothing but expend my last,
i still hold that belief dear to me;
it is my sacred armor, my soft-skinned goddess,
my everything.

the sun is looking quite lovely today

the sun is looking quite lovely today
peaking a curious eye over the crest of our town
i hop down and out of my perch
and regard today's paper with a bucket of salt
it speaks of foreign battles and new weapons
and an even fresher sense of hope
but nope, that don't affect me
so i hop in my car, and i'm off

now i'm sitting on my back porch
and note with tranquility the way
autumn sends a beautiful wave of
systematic immolation through my yard
soon the trees would be bare, and
that's just more work for Papa and I
then, a bright flash of light;
like the lovely sun,
and my flesh ignites and
falls cleanly off the bone
what's left of me collapses into a
small pile, flesh singing, as the bone itself is
burned pure
my dwelling behind me is blown away
by the wind, falling like simple jenga blocks,
and the trees immediately catch fire and fall too;
the air itself is burning with alacrity, everything is red;
but at least i won't have to rake leaves ever again

a limerick

the sky is looking quite fragile today
some people say it's extrordinarily far away
but that is not true
i can say with some proof
when it fell on me where i lay

i hated going there

I hated going there because they simply didn’t care. I hated going there because I now realize it’s better to have a pencil in your hand than a cigarette. I hated going there because of the trackmarks and long sleeve secrets. In the end, I guess, it was something that required itself to be beat out of me, forcefully. Something that had to be knocked out of that naïve, thick head of mine. And it came out.
Some said these are your typical teenage problems, Mr. and Mrs. Pellegrini, he’s having a hard time but many kids go through this, and he’s not alone. Some painted me the village freak, and here take these pills they’ll get rid of the anger, the hopelessness, the happiness, the Drew. In the end I’m not sure which approach I preferred, but I guess it really didn’t matter.
Summer wasn’t that bad at first. Close buddies, beer, girls, the rope swing, the late night drives. Anyone’s ideal summer, but the thoughts were still there. They grew on me, which facilitated a lifestyle change. Or did the lifestyle bring on the thoughts? Fuck it, we’ll never know, but things grew dark. Like, wicked dark.
I hated going there because soon enough I felt like I should upgrade to the next best thing. I hated going there because sometimes money isn’t that hard to make.
Like I said, beat out of me. And it was, too. Loss after loss after loss and Dad starting staying in when he could and Mom started buying packs again. That’s what killed me, the lines on her face, the way her voice would plummet down down down after yet another bit of bad news, those late night phone calls. Dad’s optimism about the situation drove the stake deeper.
Dark, dark days. My room became a smoked-out prison ruled by aimlessness with a healthy dose of pleaseletthisendplease pumping through the vents. Countless, countless times. Like it was part of me.
But then, just like that, I guess I learned to control myself a little better. To say no dude, fuck that. I learned alot myself and the people around me. I learned how to make the decision I really know is right, at least some of the time. ‘Cause something is better than nothing. And nothing was what I had.

blu

blu is the color you get when you mix 2 parts confidence and 1 part blissful ignorance.
blu is what comes out of 4 hours bent over a LCD screen looking up adverbs on theasaurus.com.
it's the warm feeling of future success, like if you keep at this you're goin places kid you have a gift.
blu are the 4 sides that sheltered me and put my mind into places that were much more benificial
for that soul of mine.
it's also the color of the walls in the prison where i lay in total, obliterating agony.
blu was the sky on the day that i stepped outside and lit a butt and listened to the birds and
truly saw the color of the grass and suddenly knew what i had to do.
it was the purest blu.

the things they stole

a gaping window exhales hard whispers into the room that they stole
they stole the four loyal sides of azul, the smeared hand-me-down mirror, the
families of coping-beads arrayed upon various natural outcroppings like vultures
waiting for a meal to perish. they stole too many used-butts in the ashtray,
and a great many more lost dreams in the closet.

freebee- a narrative poem

the lines of life I could not see
i persisted most carelessly
and consequences that could not be-
build up

acid drops; a cigarette
getting high off cough syrup
and when I felt I could not get up-
go on

end of summer growing near
great example of a bad year
parents rent with repeated fear-
the break

small pink pills devoid of thrills
help me cope when misery mills
and now few thoughts rip and kill-
new hope

things are back to relative normality
life goes on with renewed tenacity
and as the sun supports with fierce alacrity,
i wonder my path, taking this new hope on with me