Fat tourists and blown out windows
I haven't seen the sun since you died
Alone and crazy like you wanted, vented
I'm a sucker for chicanery and first person narratives
Sedatives, a child bent on torture by the good book
But there's nothing good in the look
Of dead birds and silent-skinny-dogs
Dented rusty trucks, gun racks, and mosquito larvae.
Silk worms dance, singe, to flames on church street
Grandmother rolling out fresh biscuits
And drunk old men rocking away to the blues
The sound of spent rooster, and shotgun
I'm in love with you dead mother, fucking
Another lover by the rail road tracks
In yellowing high weeds, I need a religion
That sings of promise and salvation.
Armies, brass instruments, where is my -
- Drummer boy and rifle, rations, canteen?
I have a bone to pick with you
A flute to hollow out and whistle through
Another minstrel fingering away at children
Clearing town of rats and welcome mats
Carve a cross into my forehead with sweet oil
And stolen silver; forge me a weapon
Promise me a dream that keeps me needing.
The cold, when will I be wanted, kept?
Sent into the night like a dark bird
Strapped with message and ill intent
Can I not just sleep with my shoes on?
Again, and again to the sound of crashing
Symbols and echos from the past
Behind mask and massacred shadow
I want you Satan, I want you to show me
More than I can keep from the light
I want to be burnt bright with witches
and mad men against post, or crooked tree.
Planted by the past, I am not my father
But who will bother to separate ash from dirt
When death catches up with memory
Give me poison, sick sex, and a million
More hours of bad TV, and politicians
Promising aisle upon aisle of product
And circus like grandeur complete
with trained animal and spun treats
Forgive me, forgive me for noticing
too much to do about nothing.
Here is my letter, my last request
Give me fire, sulphur & Send the Devil.
Author notes
Written October 22nd, 2005
In a list
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I see then...
So this is the sound of her gavel on impact? Is this what was said, upon the reading of the stone tablet? But still, I have to wonder, after all, humans are only ever human. And what you say, and how you say and when you say it, play their hand in everything. The way people decide that they see things. And should you choose not to reveal something or forget other factors that play into it, it of course leaves them blind to it and they can make assumptions that aren't true. Or even if they are, why surprise? What is true to your conscious now, had been true all along. So to face it and decide what you do with that, is all that's left. Plus there are always lines of gray. But what do I know? I'm left in the dark all the time. What use can I be, in such limited capacity? None at all, I suppose.
This is the first piece of yours, in quite some time, that was so serious and indepth and detailed. I actually like these pieces of yours best. They are stories, designed to not just leave quip or impression, but actual ideals and heavy imagery. This is what appeals to me, regardless of the content. Unfortunately, this is also just the type, that there are also a few lines, that I haven't a clue what their relation is, other then they sound interesting. This is when I really want to open your head and crawl in and dig around. You know, see what's really going on in there. You're always hiding something, and that makes me crazy. Want to know two of them? This is them:
~~Fat tourists and blown out windows~~
~~The cold, when will I be wanted, kept?~~
I think what really bothers me, is that because they're out of place, that they're meaning is deeper then the rest at some level. I suppose, that's why I can't stand not knowing. But aside from my own neurosis... I love the way you show the pulling and tugging, the tears that grow wider within you. Just the stark desolation of the beginning in a 'scene' of desperation and sorts (ah, the yellowed grass and rail road tracks, feeling suicidal, were we? You know I fed on that)... to the seeking of battle gearing for the struggle of seperation, appropriate, no doubt. And for the audio quality of the sounds, I liked these ones:
~~Can I not just sleep with my shoes on?
Again, and again to the sound of crashing
Symbols and echos from the past
Behind mask and massacred shadow~~
I liked the syllable tenor of the sturture of these, if that makes any sense. I like the undercurrent of sadness and the depth of the tradegy as well. But that's just me. I did have two other things I wished to say as well though. One is, I disagree with Mary. I don't think you should have changed 'to do' to 'ado'. You lose the second's spacing pause in the reading and I think it swipes from the metered pace and distrupts it. The second is, you altered your final line as well. In my opinion, the original wording carried more weight. I suppose, overall, it doesn't change the meaning a whole lot, but I think it was stronger in it's original form. You can disregard me, if you please, but don't say I didn't try to tell you. -
A very indepth piece, awesome pen, thanks for sharing.
You have a way with vivid imagery, keep it coming,
good choice of words used as well..pen on...
-Timothy~~~~~~~ -
Yeah, wouldn't life be great if we could all not change, or have to really get involved with how we feel? That way I could write bowl of cherry bullshit for
people like you indefinitely and be as desensitized as a malthusian republican at a
baby kissing festival. YIP-FUCKING-EE. -
Jeremi another glimpse into your soul, as always, it is well worth the time to "decipher" the inner you...
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Very Good, Jeremi!!!!
I like this a LOT... it says a lot about you, I think, your inner thoughts, your perhaps unacknowledged plea for self preservation and your acknowledged acceptance of the past.
It's funny somehow, that we can look back in memory of a particular person or incidents and put definitive thoughts and opinions on them, even though we may now see the folly of such original impressions.
Your writing is phenomonal. Sometimes when I read your work, I can't put my impression of into words, and to say anything less would be pointless.....so I sometimes don't comment at all....my bad.
But always know that I am grateful for your writing, controversial, heartbreaking, amusing, whatever, it's you and YOU are a very good writer.
Dee
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I think you have changed as a poet, and this is perhaps for personal reasons. I hope though for your sake that you get back to that point in your life when the poems were beautiful and tragic but didn't leave the reader with the taste of asprin on the toungue.
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A one-sit write, perhaps? It feels that way, an outpouring of personal...reflections. Rings true in my ears, so I never really got to appreciate the art of it. But it was a nice read--tries hard to be too smooth sometimes, I feel. But very nice nonetheless.
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very satisfying
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good job
Intriguing write. Just think, if there were some way to bottle all that angst and anger, it could replace atomic energy.
I think you have had a really rough life. I hope that things are going to be a lot better for you for here on out. -
Very intense.. What a thing to read when one is just getting up. 'The cold, when will I be wanted, kept?'.. I'm not sure why, but that line stuck out to me. Maybe because I have this same kind of thought at times.. Who knows? Athena
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like "ado" thanks.
Perfect. -
It reads tight- I don't notice any big changes other than it just feels very tight- i almost wonder if you could use ado- rather than to do? A tip of the hat perhaps?
Planted by the past, I am not my father
But who will bother to separate ash from dirt
This is the line that does it for me- I mean, the entire poem is very strong- but this line is phenomonal.
What should i find that i didn't? -
How's the new edit?
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wow-
...wow
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