the distance of a forgotten song

time spent alone
is not in vain
secrets once exempt
are now scouring the brain
the puppet master is dead as
i cut the cords of this immortal dream
memories flowing within a turbulent bloodstream
are burning distant pictures arcane
and dancing with ashes in the rain

everyone dreams of war
as the alarm clocks’
are set to four
criss-crossed slippers
stalled by the front door
with restless animals wandering
in a mild and scattered uproar

i can barley breathe this morning
it’s the beginning of another work week
waiting slowly to draw me in
vibrating with a passive and troubled technique

the madness of men is contained
in slick black cadillacs
that sail down steamy highways
always approaching an infinite sunset
passing sneaky dogs
that crawl under fences
and former lovers
that viciously disrupt the senses

goddamn, the song is not so easily forgotten
how many times has it played in reverse
searching for the perfect form to function

how sad that there’s always
an end in sight, frozen
one that’s consistently chosen
created and maintained with
fear and illusions of a pessimistic demise

i watch metal illness
distilled into a tall can of beer
costumed consumed and entombed
within a weekend escape
nature, speaks the mother
nurturing innocent beasts
hope for a fragile psyche
constantly under construction
demolished and hastily rebuilt to repeat

karma has locked me on a unit
of limited imagination
as these dominant creatures
seek to force my resignation

how many more nights
can these fantasies take flight

and there you are
kneeling before a distorted god
watching an unholy mascot
as coffee is served by
a dissident crackpot
stumbling with loss
as an afterthought
how long will you continue to shuffle
towards an uncertain version of camelot







Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *