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GnawboneDoors open and bang shut
Long corridors, footsteps echo
Slam, growl, howl
It's only me.

Beer bottles crash against plaster
And bounce off the TV screen
Scream, blabber, whisper
Bare my teeth.

Fists punch, knuckles break
Mirror shatters, pipes leak
Dismantle all that exists
Strip my soul clean.

Grandmother's HouseThe smell of hot concrete rising from the sidewalk
and the tar on the wooden bridge
The sound of trains coming and going
So close that the small house was rattled

It was always summer, there.

Screen doors and a small rotator fan were enough
to keep out the mild heat of June
The train whistles sang me to sleep at night
With their wistful traveling tune

It was always summer, then.

RiverBleeding words from shellshocked brain
A mantra: Clocks, crows, plastic flowers,
Dust, dirt.
Dreams, pale winged,
Flicker like an old-time movie.

Mannequins. Barberpoles. August days.
Running freely down
and through
and again.

A sieve.
A stone.
A bleached bone.
A river.

It always ends in the river.

Grass AngelSunsplashed buildings, clear blue skies
No traffic, no pedestrians; silence.
The end of June, the end of music.
No birds, no wind, no dreams

except this one.

This clinical, sterile dream,
Inside looking out
at nothing.

As the sun slowly makes its way
across the sky,
The only sound is the ticking clock.

I'm going outside to make a grass angel.

HollowdaysShortened dim days and long starless nights
The wellspring, the windchimes, the starlings
Are gone
Dreary tunes about razorblades, and ash, and bone
The lost man's song, the October sonata
The walkingman shoeheels clack empty sidewalks
Past blank storefronts and soapsmeared windows.
Summer is a distant fire, muted by mist, fog,
Coldbreath
Hollow days are here again.

I Took the Blue BusYou didn't put the phone back, left your pills on the table
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You made cookies I didn't eat, watched movies I didn't see
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You talked, then you didn't, then you talked some more
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her

You took the elevator, she took the stairway to the stars
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
You swept out memories, wrote a manuscript of dreams
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her
I had coffee and cigarettes alone at four AM
I went thirty minutes without thinking of her

She took the stairway to the stars
I took

SymphonyIt's the measured breathing of someone on oxygen, here in the small hours. I don't know where it's coming from. I hear it beneath the white noise of the air conditioner.
It's the faint jumpiness of a phone ringing, a monitor flatlining on a loop in my memory.
It's the droning in my own ears, the hum-buzz of the tinnitus, the electricity and insect sounds.
It's the whistle of a train, much louder than it should be. It soars over the top of it all. There are no trains nearby.
It's four AM again. The silence is not golden.

Breakfast At Connie'sSmall birdbones, brittle
Large eggs over easy
Tiny dogs yip and nip at the feet
Under the table

A lock of hair in ashes
A crow cawing from the bookcase
Breakfast at Connie's is always
So damned surreal

Last chance for a smoke before the show begins
Light 'em if you got 'em, or just light a candle
Italian Catholic grey-eyed girls
Love ceremony

A pumping heart dessert
Hidden in plain sight
Ignored by all as proper etiquette demands
They leave softly

Marching in softshoe-step rhythm
Crunching small bones beneath their feet
Wondering why it's still dark and why the
Show still goes on

Lambchops and RazorbladesLamb-chops and razorblades, barbed wire dessert
Blackhand man resurges, gather 'round;
Shadows eat the light, he eats the shadows
Blackheart bound with rough twine, engorged;

with sweet dreams turned to sour mash
with fear of echoes on twilit playgrounds
with summer's sudden screendoor slam ending
with attic wigstands cooing sick-sweet things

Head-cheese and shrapnel, red lipstick dessert
Blackhand man resurges, gather 'round;
Moths eat his clothes, he eats the holes
Blackheart bound but bursting out, engorged;

with severed birdwings falling from the heights
with rotten fruit boiling in fly-filled bins
with spineless slithering

Raindrizzle-dream drops plop against the pane
the sun's so much farther, far away today
whispered memories replace buoyant talk
of starfish and freedom and flying away
no, no dreams of flying today, just quiet
words of long ago and what might've been
promises made in the sun hold no weight
on a day when the grey's pouring in
you remember her, now, from so long ago; dancing on sand so white
(it was bright as a headache)
hand-in-hand laughter, a day without end;
but it did end, when you weren't looking, and suddenly
it was ten years after, and you were sitting alone
watching the rain
inside the drops you hear gulls crying, waves rushing; children calling out
to each other as they play
a radio plays your song, she squints into the sun
(the most beautiful creature you've ever known)
you hear her whispered "i love you" and then it's just
rain once again

A Drunken HymnFuzzy and smokey, creamed and strained
Clap on, clap off, cornered and drained;
Seeing is sawing, kneeing and gnawing
Hammerhead rhythm, red herring brain.

Do you want more sentimental sleaze?
More eyelinered fat kids, diseased?
Perhaps Superman will fly in and drink gin
With you and your uncle's mad niece.

(I like my flatliners flat, my beer strong
My ghosts to stay dead, my wood to last long
Forty acres and a mule is not enough
Give me your head, I won't be too rough.)

Slippery and slimy, or scaly and dry
Cankered and cancerous, bloody well wry;
Being's believing, but knowing is fleeting
Fifty steps down to the what and the w

edgethrough cloud-spackled skies, lightbeams;
longshadows race across longlawns
twilight's coming, better wrap it up soon
even the longest days aren't forever.

blackbirds fly low, the silver ones high;
treetops move swiftly but gracefully
soon stars will dance with them, winking
at the secret that everyone knows.

we're all sleepers here, this world a dream;
dervishes and banshees in our brains
we reach for the evening star.

a wish for freedom is a wish for death;
does anyone remember?

welcome to bo-bo land.

Less Than NothingI've never had so much nothing
A gnawing Black Hole where you used to be
Not just emptiness, but a void that
sucks in all life from around it
Leaving nothing
No, less than nothing
Nothing would be better than this.

The Dreamdust TwinsThe Dreamdust Twins ride again
Ponchoboy and Rangergirl
The Owl and the Crow
Through the foggy skies on a
Sunday morning they fly
Look out below
The heavens may explode
with sunshine.

Together once more, opening doors
Thumbing their noses at
Vanilla People safe inside
Beware, haberdashers, they search
for fruithats
To tip to old ladies
On their way to church.

I miss your smile.

Shot On LocationThe flights were all canceled due to grey jello
The grounded were hounded by small barking dogs
O'Hare billowed skyways and vanished in grey
On the rooftops at Wrigley the saints were all safe

Tinsel, utensils and bright Christmas strands
Grey pudding for all at the end of the stand
The dawn came early with chirping grey birds
But the saints were all drunk, disordered and slurred

On a wooden raft down the Rock River we floated
Caressing their bones and singing their songs
Northwind pushing away from the grey day
And into the comfort of Logli's night deli

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BlackScraping away at the paint, chips on the windowsill
Remember when the windows weren't painted black?

Soap-smeared storefronts, mannequins peering from behind
Bald and alien, all-knowing smiles haunt the child at night
When the worlds gone black and reality fades to dream

Ice cream hits the summer sidewalk when the darkness appears
Black ships hover overhead, humming like madness
Like swarms of bees, like death, like black metal arms reaching

They took the house away and painted it black, inside and out
They placed bars on the windows and bolts on the doors
They wrapped up summer dreams in heavy blankets in the attic

Childhood ende

Acceptance?The silence roars at 4:30 on a Saturday morning
To a childless father
A wifeless husband
A friendless friend
Its too hot, open a window and let the snow in
Read the words from the dead child's hand
(Winter fences at the edge of the world)

Think, think, think of a way to fill the empty day
To make it count
To respect memories
To shout to the world
These were good people, they were loved fiercely
Why does the world keep turning, whats left?
(Their names float from the sky and settle)

Sun, ignite the world, turn the snow into ashes
Let us rest our dreams
Mourn our loss
Accept our fate
Remember every softly-spoken "I love you"

The House Where Nobody LivesI live in the house where nobody lives
The kids dare each other to come close enough
to peep through the windows, maybe see the ghost
of the faded old man who haunts the place
I am that ghost
in the house where nobody lives

Broken-backed from the weight of the world
Leather-skinned from long ago sunny days
Dreaming of all that I've lost and wondering when
I'll be allowed to see them all again
I am the ghost
in the house where nobody lives

Dragging my chains and moaning in the night
Sleeping in my cold bed in the day
Dreaming my dreams of better days when i lived
Out in the world, when it was beautiful
I am the ghost
of the ho

Xmas 2012On busted knees I go crawling back to my crib
Crows pecking at my eyes, rats gnawing at my lips
Kids singing hymns to Santa Claus all around

This is the way the world moves, moving
Making sea-sounds as it spins upside down

Rooster crows at the thought of dawn coming
Down the line a train's light searches for me
Alone with only a tattered picture of Jesus

This is the way the dead live, blank-eyed, weary
Grasping at air and singing hymns out of tune

Headlights and tailights speed by in the darkness
What a grinding, haunted, steel-toothed machine
Eating up life and spitting out sour bile

No shell-shocked street corner savior to hea

Nothing but the WindThe wind was screaming
I saw a man without a face
Walking down the sidewalk
Tapping his cane in front
The wind was screaming
I saw a white bus stopped
The man tapped his way on
I saw the heavens open
The wind was screaming
I saw a freight train coming
I saw death tapping
A saw blood on the tracks
The wind was screaming
The wind is still screaming

Epitaph For Jay

There were seven days of darkness before you left
I didn't know that it was a sign
I kept thinking about death
Assuming I was thinking about mine

I wish I'd been right

Now you're lodged in the back of my throat
I can't cough you up to mourn
I curse god with every breath
I remember when you were born

and wonder why

Your tags are left behind everywhere, train tracks
with an arrow pointing forward
With that Celtic-looking spelling of "eclipse"
You eclipsed the sun and the moon, the stars went black

maybe they'll never come back

You lived life ferociously, on your own terms
You were never good at obeying the rules
But, tortured

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Bitter

by =Bark, Jun 20, 2011, 5:10:24 AM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Bitter-sharp and angled
The stake through my heart
The brightest sun cannot penetrate
The cold seizures as I die
and die
and die, everyday;
but still somehow remain.

You only had to die once.
I've died a thousand times
since you left.

Dying is no way to live.

Bitterby =Bark

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Nov 10, 1956 - June 23, 2009

Submitting to the

contest for depressing lit. 7/18/11

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*ersatz-moon Apr 20, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

^{hey wow. i loved your gallery, your poems and words are phenomenal...you have a thing with words~
maybe you could read mine? :thumb297394046:
i'd love some feedback}