In Through the Out Door

How vocal are the dead souls

In the minds of those looking back!

They set flames to the windowsills

Through which they peer

While day gives out

And cedes its light

To the cold, dark night

Still...

Still as the specters

Unmoved by vanishing vision.

...

How silent the living

Who despite their incessant chattering

Incessant bumbling

Move about symbol-less

Draw no conclusions

But (noun),

and (ad_) (verb)

...

How evil,

How vile the language!

How prone to illusory function!

A disintegrating bridge,

A raft of sponge.

We go in through the out door,

We who learned not to speak.

We go in through the out door,

And climb back over turnstiles.

Hammer

Every time the hammer strikes the thumbs flinch

And all these forces inside my brain

Are telling me to build a thousand houses, a thousand for you

But oh the fear that they should all fall around you

Oh the fear that they should all collapse

And kill a thousand men

Hands won't cannot do this

Clumsy broken all of this

To take a step Oh the fear

Oh the fear

These sands of mine are running down the sound is all I hear

Echoes from ahead are beating in my brain

And through my feet I feel the ground pulling me, pulling me

Down and All I see are holes in the ground

Down and all I see are stones with names

*

There's a trap between the thought and act, ropes around my feet

Vicegrip on my eyes that see but one thing

Image in a mirror, aged a thousand years

Oh the eyes returned are empty dead and dull

Oh puzzles like a fool with an empty skull

Hands are frail and hold a scarf

Clumsy, broken, all of this

To take a step Oh the years

Oh the years...

There's this smoked room.
It's coughing up a few more cheers, a bit more clapping.
Two lonely souls finishing up measured rhyme,
Tonal appeasement,
And a bit of distraction, a few beers is given in return.

Now this smoked room will vomit 10 or 15 people,
Give it a few hours.
They'll fall into cars,
they'll manage their way home.

The real trick, the real laugh here
There's a graveyard down the street;

They Will add to the numbers
But before that they'll see
Family and friends added to the registry

lyric

Live on a runaway train, for a while

...while I dream

There's cloud's floating over the trees

Seems that's the way

...things will be

So I'll buy my ticket tonight

While the world it spins on its side

And I once knew a girl who

Spent all her time, making glue

But as hard as she tried, and she tried

There's just nothing in me that would apply

.....

Study seek relate return push forward wish fail forgive(n) stand fall broken functions somehow.

Insecure

Gravel stones are kicked ahead

And the tracks stretch on and on

Through silhouettes of trees

Rendered mystery by darkness

This path is not one beaten by footsteps

No; forged long ago, before me

By powers as strange as the night

Out of reach of native plea

My courage is not my own

The sum total

Of the multitude's individual's insecurities

Each step is taken with caution

While eyes pierce through

In search of dawn

Hope lies not solely in a goal

But secures its foothold

Among the very circumstances

That warrant its existence in the first place

The kingdom is at hand,

The kingdom is inside you,

The kingdom is inside me;

But cold fingers grab my shoulder

And howling wind and strange sky lights

And rustling in the brush

I may look forward

To the last leg of the journey

When mirth and intoxication of joy abound

But do so with eyes

Locked unwaveringly, necessarily,

And thus unrepentantly

On present darkness.

The Warehouse

This is untitled and the first draft, completed just today without me reviewing it.  So it will probably change a bit, but leave comments and tell me what you think.  I thought it would end up being longer, but oh well.

The lights, the stars; company on this drive, like so many before and so many ahead. The clock approaches midnight, and that same old sense of urgency pushes itself to the front of mind, edging out the lulled consciousness enjoying what there is to enjoy of night- mystery, mostly.  Out of the car, through the barren parking lot that held far too few cars at this hour than an upright businessman, such as the owner of this very place, would long stand to behold.  Flukes in the system; such is the nature of the third shift in America.  All this left behind and found again with the closing of a door.

            The warehouse is a piece of art.  A picturesque path through the woods evokes a sense of what Thoreau’s soul must look like- this scene is the material embodiment of an entire sub culture. Coat rack time clock load the machine.  There were others here- dozens, in fact.  But this is solitude; mine anyway.  But music… music is a great deceiver- it pulls you into the emotions of another man, in a different place, with different experiences.  This deceiver is a great ally in a place like this.  Load the pallet, green light, unload press play.

 

                        Static

                        Tune

                        Static

                        Tonight would be a long night.

 

            -------

 

            Drive home.  Urgency replaced by fatigue, mystery by harsh daylight showing all for what it is.  Radio, and a few hours of other distractions to pity the day.  Then sleep.

 

            -------

 

            Coat rack time clock load the machine.  Green light unload press play.

           

                        Static

                        Tune

                        Static

                        …

                        Tune

                        Static

           

            The corners of the warehouse slowly close inward, meet the skull and pass through.  Present rears its ugly head.  Something has gone missing.  This place is the same- double check left right.  Unload load green light.  It’s me- something is gone missing.  I’ve lost it.  Keys, cigarettes, phone; fool, they’re there.

            I am not alone here.  I’ve five minutes.  Across the floor.

            “Josh!”

            -What?”

            He’s tired. Comfortable. He has it.  Surely.  4/4 seventh chord.  Crash.  He has it.  Give it back.  I can’t say that!

            “What are you staring at?”

            I can’t say that.  Silence at my chair.  Shit.  Shuffle back.  Unload load green light.  Shuffle back.

            “Simon!”

            Tired, comfortable.  He has it.  They can’t both have it.  What in the hell do they have?

                        Sit down.

                        Rub eyes.

                        Unload load green light.

                        Time clock coat rack.

 

            -------

 

            Cancer is the opposite- the opposite of this is cancer.  For that be thankful.  Negative growth, I feel like the cicada that wasn’t.  I feel straw, hollow.  They don’t.  They took it.  But I would have noticed, and they had their own.  4/4 seventh chord.  Crash.  I’m not missing a distraction.  This is America.  I’m missing the link.  The chain!  Or the magnet…  Do I still have those?

            Sleep.

 

            -------

 

            Urgency, mystery, then this.  Through the door to leave it and find it again.

 

                        Coat rack time clock load green light

           

            …

 

            The foot taps and the corners of the room start their game, and here, and present, follows.  I had it before, so the answer must be here somewhere.  Shuffling.  John Phillip Tom, all three tired, comfortable.  They’ve theirs.

 

                        Unload load green light.

                        Tunestatictunestatictunestaticstaticstatic

 

            Opening the toolbox reveals link chain and magnet.  Pull them out to unload the part.  Linked together the magnet holds and up and over and down.  They are here, they do work.  I’m not missing any parts.  Load green light.  I have what they have.  But I don’t.

 

                        Static

                        BUZZER

           

            Dissonant, blots out 4/4 seventh chord crash.  Today there is a meeting.  What is today?  Today there is a meeting.

            The conference room fills with us.  We do the filling, though not one wants any part of it.  Procedure, financial report bonus check.

            Bonus check.

            It fills them up.  Look how they glow; like dying embers in the dark.  What do they have?”

 

            “What?”

 

            Shit.  Butterflies in the stomach, the only place butterflies bother here.

 

            “Did you have a question?”

            Well, sort of you b

            “Sort of.”

            “Yes?”

            “

            “…

            “Will the new forklift arrive soon?  The old one shut down again.”

            “It will be here tomorrow.  Anyone else?”

 

                        cornerscornerscornersstatic

                        staticstaticstatic

 

            The room begins to empty.  My shoes are untied.

 

            “Son?”

            !...-..?..

            “Yea?”

            “Take tomorrow off.  Go talk to someone.  You’re actin’ funny.”

            Thanks

 

                        STATICSTaticStaticstatic Door

                       

                        Daylight Drive Sleep

 

            -------

 

            Stiffness and drowsy.  Sun in the window?  I have the day off.  I have the day off.  I must have left it outside.  Yes, surely- it isn’t to be found at the warehouse, I have my things there.  It’s in the park!  Of course.

           

            I grab my keys and start my car and drive to the park.

 

            Optimistic.

 

            I park the car and go for a walk.

 

            Children are playing and parents are enjoying each other’s company.  Birds sing.  Bikers.  Concession.

                        static

static 

static