poem

from a couch, incomplete emotions

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

even your forgotten emotions let out a sigh when i walked out of the door

i was thirty-seven, you had suffered an immeasurable reflection for too long

i had her gestures, a face that resembled yours, it was something you couldn’t get over, accidents not averted, following time, we couldn’t pay attention to the mime

hidden hands waving away destiny

what was left?

i played no part

in the memories that made you weep, a seventy year old child, a father unfolding fears and unfound fates unwound and delivered to his six year old babies face

suffering lines trying to hide tears, careening cracks the years spent forcing onto my mask

you left me retracing every morning i asked permission, accept me

your demons given to me

progenies job to slaughter a history, that i never helped design

doubts i didn’t define

those are yours

i’m not there

you chased me out years ago

from a couch, detained by doubtful words

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

sentiments were left blowing through the streets, strung along by a tongue tied wind, encouraged by the black-out rage of those never looking within, or back, always forward, dead-aim attack

impermanence

words never meant to linger in nibbled on lovers ears or bask in the glow of a child’s terse tears, said and sung away softly, drifting down pallid people paths where sullen dreams dry up, fall off, and catch the swirling cycle of platitudes puked into the air, so we can say we did something

they caught fire, in grey matter caverns

destroying rehearsed dance step memories

forcing us

to say something new

from a couch, short of happiness

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

elephant ears rested on trampled ground

the final sound was francis claiming he had won

dust swirl storms gathered around his boots shuffling hesitantly to meet the dead he never knew in life acting as if he understood the majestic mark indelibly placed on beating hearts whose size and race never mattered, until we ran out of sport, got sick of feeding one another to the lions, bloated, we’ve killed enough of our own

everything hunted just wants to be left alone, the piled up platitudes explaining away ignorant displays of powder packed pipes rattling off rounds into spun out desert dwellers just hoping for something sweet before they die, it’s coming to an end

oh, that’s dessert

you’ll get your ‘just’ ones

maybe two

if the feeling of every fucking insufficient bounced-check intelligence fund deficit of a human forgets to breath today

we would only be so lucky

could we

melt down their trust funds and figure a way to feed the few left over after the blue sky blew the sky to earth confusing people to death

literally

dying due to the inability to understand change

the elephants were playing possum

francis didn’t want him anyway

we all walked away

less confused

murdered by all those who observed

from the porch, wind is catching the fire

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

tempted

tell me another story

the one about leaving home

the one about walls you pine for

the one about saturdays spent in doorways deciding to stay or go, spinning in indecision, the sensation of losing control, without a taste, yet, of jaded-aged fright, a dice roll, pulsing with prudence you pounded your heals into rooms ravaged by moving flesh organisms lifted in syncopated sonic flashes wishing there was a way to make it last

tell me

tell me how you wandered out of the door to streets stained with the after glow of moonlight tromps seeking souls left asunder, dancing while asking which way the golden one goes after declaring the detour was a faster route

come again?

i heard you

i just want to hold on

to the tale you chase when there’s nothing left to talk about

start over

were you scared?

did he trick you into believing lamppost guides led the others to death, a fortune tellers dream i trusted

leaving me listening to your stirring stringing together sequence of events capturing the laments and happenstance that left us helpless

i would go

if you’d stop explaining how

from a high-top table, branches bending

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i think in lyric

mine and theirs

static rhythms keeping my stare affixed on memories and people i’ll never be

unless the shot gun blast finds a way through me

i left myself open

a crack at least

hoping you’d peer in with pure curious intention and press play

i may not give you what you want

today

stick around, keep listening

grind the stump and sit down

my story reflects people and places left placid in vapid outline traces for me to dissect when lonely echo fears steer my unrhyming sentiments into desperate voices that don’t sound like mine

i borrowed your lines, at times revealing the source

it’s all of ours of course

the main-course chorus, we’re trapped on this course where vibrations were once smooth

battling remorse

i’m hoarse

sounds i listen to alone while standing in line, clear, no buds in my ears, my utterance worsen with every stimulated synapse firing a new tone

leave me

let guilty-confident musings guide my thoughts, and challenge the language of stars to find a way through these bars your judgement raised between my lips

so malleable mind wanderings can become truth

from the porch, after getting out of bed

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

curious notions were satisfied when i stripped myself of your diseased perceptions creating questions asked for during midnight mumblings alone in a room made for two

i’m forced into deadline reconciliations with someone i’d walk over on my way to develop new-vision novelties

splitting open rotted wood emotions with hatchet hands

taking another step

forward

counting the splinters stuck in my socks left soaking after the slush i sloshed through in rock-kicked alleys developed a leftover meal for children clawing their way up

determined to continue counting question marks when presented facts

vomiting distractions on desk tops made for drawing, hoping you’ll stop prattling on with dotted dates and crossed out names

i know what you’re thinking

i didn’t want to be here anyway

from a couch, blinking

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

try

say something else

we have to

retell the stories, erase the fact that there are facts

only perspectives

unraveled concepts

con-men with biceps

pounding their chests

i hear the echo

trapped in your lungs

shout

scream the song of comfortable doubt

sing, of whys and how’s

not when’s and where’s

let this tune be trumpeted by trusted truth-tellers tempting us to triumphantly overcome this cyclical torture

breaking free

to destroy the enemy

dying free

once again finding we

releasing the me

from this human debris

from a high-top table, sometimes it’s nice when no one shows up

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

i caught you looking

at cinderella’s crown

she never thought the dust would settle, that an end could be found underneath bedsheets

in the mean time, we buzz about, hyper analyzing every sound coming from dizzy kids mouths while wobbling to safety

we create reason

so sophisticated by our education

failing to define application

now, they’re left alone

listening to our drone

pounding into a phone

memes without substance

snark in abundance

it’s time we direct and resurrect oral traditions

the human condition

a release from hidden inhibitions

speak up

explain the passing of paternal thrones, midnight groans from hungry body bones an ocean afar impacting our moans mumbling out before we close our eyes to be dazzled by dreamscape dramas where she found her prince

i wince

it was herself she was looking for, under the covers

you saw it first

the glimmer above her eyes

rescue her tonight

with an age old lullaby

hush little baby

from bed, before the storm

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

turn around

you’ll find what you want

bleach or black paint brush strokes delivering your excuse

conditions deciding how you move forward

entertained by lapsing memory stories distilled down to a single purpose

to relieve guilt

campfire laughter erupts from recollections of near-death drunken nights

morning comes and tears fly sideways, reminders of locker-room terror found at the hands of a stare which led everything astray

i ended up whisking away any sense of innocence i could have sensed before you walked my way

at least, that became the story

everything was just fine

i blacked out the gold after being told that the hand i held would melt and meld with dreams delivered and awoken by nightmare screams

forcing me to stir

stranded on a balance beam without the ability to focus

admonish what came before

funnel to a pinpoint why you’re here

face forward

keep walking

be near

from the porch, no need for a jacket

Posted on by andrewsmeyer

excuse shame

nothing left to explain

emotions overrun

everything is ok

except

it’s not

we need to tighten formalities so recently agreed upon abnormalities don’t succumb to the lazy-life norm

acceptance of everything born

indecision and complacency that won’t keep us warm

you fucked up

it was your fault

we needed wood, you got lost

reliance lost

someone else will do it

you’re free to go

replaceable

i’ll argue that claim

someone else may step-up, accept the blame, yet dynamics established through esteem while walking in day-work dreams may appear replicable, natural selection, the last insurrection to the idea that we are all one

they’re not, replicable

now we agree

though different facades distinguish you from me and we need each piece to satisfy the whole, ferreting out the mole from the hole of white-guided by sight souls trying to discover what it means to be human

the toll

i sit at night and contemplate

our disastrous fate

that doesn’t have to be

interactions

the game we play

to find who is the border and who gets to sway in the middle of this puzzle finding one another, loosening the muzzle

speaking freely

this is where i find peace

the same way your reflection gives you away, staring alone with an erection

the mirror is two way

we see you

thinking you can satisfy yourself

while we know it’s one another

erasing excuses

learning

building

becoming a fault, one we can fill

after we instill

the beauty gazed upon

created

if we don’t get distracted by what’s on the sill