If You Only Knew
Sleeping in the corner
And dreaming in a bookcase
Finger painting a spell
And spinning a gypsy tall tale
I came to you and asked you a question
But you spilled your gypsy drink
And laughed to yourself
Laughing in symbols
And calling on saints
Speaking through the cobblestone streets
But always walking in your boots
I’d like to think you knew my name
But the acid rain pouring from your lips
Told the truth.
The road and the leaves are the only places for me
The leaves and the road are the only places for me
She is alone
And so am I
When I see her I know
We are like one another
But what she doesn’t say
And it is almost as painful
And the words that will never leave her
The time is okay to leave
But she won’t
The clock drags her away
Sometimes when the rain don’t seem to drop
Call on me; I’ll be there
And if the drops fall down too hard: I’ll be there
And if the trees just won’t grow I’ll plant that seed
Call on me: I’ll be there
And when there is no place to go and no place you want to be
Babe you can call on me
When you feel like you don’t know where you are
Just ask, I can answer that
But babe sometimes somewhere is nowhere
And nowhere is somewhere
And sometimes the people you love might walk out and leave you all alone
Don’t take that road babe call on me: I’ll be there
The Slam Poet
This is a poem about affairs.
We are souls of being
Blinded by the loose straps of skin placed eagerly
Voicing in cellulite and rib cages
"We long for the slavery of eyeballs to follow the disoriented truth as each piece of flesh adds to the stench"
We are souls of being
Not rails, cold and iced over with competition, tipped over with a synthetic face and swallowing
Do we forget, do we forget that we have an unseen character, one whose invisible conviction states: "you keep me locked up like the secret that is extinguishing desire between two people, married without thought, ring without the finger, sex without a moan, sex without touch only to convince that the sweat we feel must explain that our bodies our working. Our souls know better than this.
Only to purge the past and binge on the turning of a look of strangled disappointment
Wanting secretly to open our eyes in the dark to feel the breath of tangled enjoyment
When superficial questions were interesting yet now they are atomic, yet another breadcrumb brushed to the floor only to await the moist tunnel and machinery of digestion.
Where it halts the process. Your teeth no longer work broken from all the meaningless chatter
You are fooling yourselves and I can see it. Your saliva exchange stopped working only to protest, rekindling is dry and therefore begins the process of death.
Your esophagus has been diced and thrown into the fire where only a spark or two leaves its burn on something so dead. You are ash and the match in between the two of you is spilling poison. It is pooling out over the rug you once picked out together, would you be together if you knew we wish the future for you as you do for us? Would you two still stay together if you knew it do those who hear what ceases to exist feel an ache?
Fuck, I wish I could help you both. But I am just as venomous.