Thread: The Recesses of my Imagination

You get long walks out in the cold when selfish drivers fill the road
You get all of the words with Y in Spanish that you don't say right
You get the residue the jetplanes leave that line the sky with silver strings
You get every single thing you've said, it's all recycled through my head

You get dough that's fried into a ring, draped in glaze and stuffed with cream
You get small mistakes that take us to all the places great to view
You get nuget, caramel, chocolate bars so please give them my top regards
You get rainbows that I don't ascend and the world that's over them

You get a guy that's in a hole so deep he can't climb out but won't retreat
You get a mind that wears you like a glove and a heart that can't let go of love
You get everything I think about that causes me to scream aloud
You get every single dream I've had that makes my mornings feel so bad

Why am I a fish?
As you look with confidence my eyes dart around with senselessness
As you lean forward for a kiss I just float there like a fish
As you blue my balls and lock my jaws and suck my lips and your spit drips I'm still frozen, frozen stiff

And you make me feel like my shell's peeled and convince me you can see my wings so completely thoroughly that I begin to see them, too
You'll still be gone before I learn to crawl and much more long before I learn to fly
Oh why! Why am I fish

And maybe, somehow maybe I can pull a twist and play the angel that you say you're with
Maybe I can wear a mask painted of a man with class and we can pretend I'm something better off than this
But as I cling to broken memories of when we laid in each other's gravity it burns to think about reality, about what became our history
The story of the angel and the fish

And you dug me out from where I'm buried and eased me into all things scary and showed me I'm not the ugly bastard that I see
And I wish so bad that you'd return to me and my fists tremble thinking it's the end for me
I'm the fish that wrote a symphony of regret and all things left undone and all the ways I've lost respect
All replies left too late and a thick disguise I couldn't break and so I'd die to know for goodness sake
Why, oh why am I lurker of the lake?

Why couldn't I let passion be my guide and pull you close and under your surprise show you what it really means to give a kiss
Because I am just a fish. Why, oh why can't I be something better off than this?

I found these in my notebook


I want a mind that can shine
To look through time in a straight line
No distractions by regrets and what ifs
Just reactions with no bets or motives

I want to see an ocean wave
Pull itself against the beach and graze the sand
Instead of a million useless implications that I don't understand

I want to see a candle flicker with a breeze
Instead of shrinking wax transforming into grease

I want to see a sunset in the evening rather than a billion things to do tomorrow morning
I want to hear a laugh rather than a jab in my direction fueled by paranoia

I want to cry when it is justified instead of glorifying my dramatic moments

I want to eat when I am hungry instead of feasting on the empty meals that fill my brain so ceaselessly

I want to let it go, to never have to know things, to escape all this erratic bullshit

I want to speak when there is something to be said and not freak out after I replay the conversation in my head

I want to let it go so easily it's like turning the lights on in my mind

I want to stop the pettiness and all my pseudo cleverness for forever is just neverness because here alone's where life exists

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It could never be enough to name a star after you
Neither a constellation nor a planet painted blue
But the whole sky, and all the universe too
And not a single name could ever do
Everything I know is secretly under your rule
And I'm so good at denial I'll pretend it isn't true
But if you only smiled you'd see it right in front of you

I also rewrote this one:

Is there truth that still bleeds?

One heart that still beats?

One piece of art left unrated by the hollow iconographers

One sight not desecrated by a million blind photographers

Or a God not yet paraded by a million lined up followers

A drop of life left unsurrendered to the critics, tax and tacky vendors

And those pretty little prispers with their hateful little whispers

Where is there work not newly rendered by the modernist pretenders

To be glossed and painted over, hiding raw and naked lovers

Like the last leaf from December encased in glass to be remembered

Or a homemade family dinner that you can now have hand delivered

Where is there a cut without a band-aid or a laugh without a mandate

Where is there a man with all he needs as he watches himself breathe

Where is there truth that bleeds?




We see Jesus in our onion rings but barely remember our own dreams

The world begs for us to share it but we only listen to the parrots

We see magazine racks and candy bar shacks and half naked girls and modified squirrels

Children's tears from distant worlds are mixed in with our sweaters and shoes

We can't feed our babies our own milk, we cough out our air's residue

We keep bombs stored in our mountains and toxins in our fountains

And take pills to go to bed at night and pills to greet the morning light

Pray every day for a savior and then watch our actors play the heroes

All the while are collided by the prayers of those in need

But we only listen to our greed

Where is there truth that bleeds?




Where is art so real it looks like that dried piece of bacon left over from the night before


Or that photograph on the refridgerator at your mom's house from when you were four

Where is life so real you can feel its textures, instead of grazing over it like a another imperfection?

Where is life with light you can't describe, something you know nothing of, that you can't judge


Pureness with no name that won't be tamed by stupid words made up to capture the poetry for after

Something that will never be the same, the last of its kind like two old mens' laughter

Like the first smile of true lovers or the last wave good bye because nothing lasts forever

Like the last of its breed, the lonely, roaming warrior of an old, ancient creed

Where is there truth that bleeds?