i am in the womb
of my dark,
single light,
somewhat humid
inner-city
hotel room
where it is
always night,
always night,
in the morning –
night,
at high-noon –
night,
forever and always –
night
with shouts
out the window
and 3 a.m.
anger
hammering
on
downthehalldoor
and a strange
unsynchopated ticking
like an insect
in the fan…
there is a wall
outside
my window
with windows
where mine
is the wall
outside
their windows –
the only evidence
of world
to be birthed into
in days
to come

I sent myself out
ahead of myself
to the darkness
at the end of the street
where the wailing comes
on the wind some nights
and I sit and listen and…
sometimes I wail along
cuz the forlorn live lives
that make me sweat sadness
like I’m in a sauna
like I’m cleansing the black
from inside
then I wander home
wondering if it’s my voice
I hear that draws me out

place your head
on this barren rocky ground,
place your ear
here upon this dead plain

listen

there is some great torrent
raging deep beneath,
some sign of life
that may yet break forth
like some fresh spring
from a sin-struck rock
bringing old Eden back
for a moment…

quiet and smile,
be nice to them
and save the screams
for the inside place,
the four-skulled walls

lock the door,
paint a rosy picture
and stare mad
through my windows
while the world drowns

turn away – I do I do I do
and take my hand
in my empty other
that it might be filled;
that it might feel

every heart I’ve ever made
is an extra exposed heart to break
a greater chance of pain and ache
plans to fail no matter how laid

I sing songs of doom in the dark
Lord send light
take this night
it scars with intent, it leaves a mark

praise the ether that’s taking hold
drag me to oblivion where thoughts
they fail and find themselves untold

the magic of alone
is a song of empty echoes
and painless anaesthetic
of life without lives;

the beauty of isolation
is a tree without a forest,
heart keeping time for none,
a lighthouse without a sea

sometimes lack of communion
is lighter in the heavy world

I miss the moon
on nights
when the sky
is empty
it is colder
somehow
under the blackened
it is lonely
without her gaze

there are two worlds
in so many wandering minds,
two worlds that take the one
and divide them into many;
this real place of real people,
and this aether world online
filled with welcoming eyes,
filled with welcoming lies,
voices wet with poisoned praise
killing you here and leaving you
cold in the coma of wired wasteland

you carry your great weight,
your well packed suitcase
of well folded, ironed hate
like a black hardwood cross
before the unseeing masses
symbol of a never owned loss

let it go to the loving air
place it into another’s care
that the death you hold
won’t drag you to the cold,
the empty, the untold…