Tag Archives: destination

anatomical dissection: feet

i don’t want

to walk endless

stretches of miles

for a destination

that doesn’t exist.

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The Castaway

Do you feel you’re not enough?
And impossible to love?
Or like if you spoke your mind
All your words, they would be too much?

~*~

You’re all growing up

And sailing across the tides

Without my untied knot

To render your destination

Oblique, to the oceans unknown

Where a red X marks the spot

.

Uncharted islands, they are

Waiting for your faint signal

For your toes to touch the shore

And your joyous cries to echo

Ringing against the salty breeze

For the treasures you have yet to adore

.

While I sit here, marooned

By my own spiteful conviction

Still tethered to tedious safety

I am unafraid of change, or voyages

Though; it seems, that they both

Are still very much afraid of me

.

While you celebrate among your kin

And depart; to further and vaster horizons

I can only bid you all a great farewell

As I’m stranded, not to my own volition

Shipwrecking paper boats and throwing coins

In my own shallow sea at the bottom of the well.

~*~

Well, I stepped back from
The doubts overtaking me
They were breaking me
So I know what you’ve been through
Don’t you stray or run away
From the good that I know you do…

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A Melancholy Walk Down The District

Where do I go to find myself in this downtown dream?

Skyscrapers high-rise, everything is more than it seems

A mile in a million, caught in viscid lacklustre emotions

Upon seeing impressionable lights under glacial decisions

.

Horizon pale grey, though the night grows dark and deeper

Tuscan stars and effervescent skylines that glimmer and glower

Timeless destinations, that appeal for gloomy eyes to forget

But the macabre thoughts disturb again like a brimstone parapet

.

Where do I go to lose myself in this downtown desecration?

Skyscrapers down-low, shallow lipstick and coat-check desperation

A mile in a minute, caught in viscous webs of endless nowhere

That no fading light can ever permeate, only vague deliria is left spare.

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she’s been waiting for the train with a bus ticket in her pocket.

She built a world with her own two hands
Well just give that a thought
And she don’t ever want to make no plans
‘Cause she don’t go outside no more…

~*~

she hasn’t had her medication yet

and she already fell in love with the relentless rain

they all told her she was a crazy pain

as she hung herself upside-down on the crooked rafters

searching for another heart to surrender

but she didn’t find any, no

as all the blood rushed inside her head

and turned her frail lips a deep red

she won’t kiss anyone with a mouth that dirty

until she wipes it off along with her glittering lipstick

and told her mama that she’s sorry

but that won’t be enough.

as of now, the train station is empty

and everyone has left in pursuit of a better life

but she’s still ripping threads off her timeworn dress

and reading profane graffiti out loud

and making her own in the chipped benches

waiting for a vehicle that never arrives

to take her into an unknown destination, for the bad and the better

rendered frozen as time moves on around her.

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Of Bards and Boulevards

I am a poet, and I am here to tell you a story.

But, be forewarned, for I do not narrate. I simply leave mischievous glimpses and equivocal fragments for you to pick up and stitch together on your own. I do not wish to be straightforward; for the better adventure is surrendered on a vertical highway. Instead I provide narrow twisted paths and interminable dead ends, unhelpful road signs and perennially blinking broken traffic lights, confusing directions to nowhere that will lead you to everywhere. It is solely up to you to decide where you shall end up, whether it be a populated city with brightly glowing billboard lights, or a dark narrow alleyway with a fetid corpse abandoned under the dumpster. The exact same steps taken can lead to either one at any given time. The travel is truly yours to pursue, and I am merely there to provide you with what scant counsel you might require, and even then, my offers of assistance might be questionable, and the information given will be more misleading than useful. For I am a poet, not a mere storyteller, and my intricate words are your only guide, your sole map and compass in this discordant infinite chaos of a universe that I have created. Never take them as they are, and pray caution, for they do not want you to arrive at your destination. And neither do I.

I am a poet, and I’ll tell you to get lost.

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Filed under Prose

unfinished highways

bury me

in an unfinished highway

where people with

no destinations

and nowhere else to go to

might dare to traverse

an unbroken path

and maybe, just maybe

in that desolate, dust-beaten

incomplete road

i just might be able to

walk away from everything

discover my place, and

find my way home.

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Demesne

after wasting

perspiration,

heaving in

respiration,

and hiking

with severe

exhaustion,

we reach our

ultimate

destination.

and in those

tranquil

moments,

humming

songs with

the algid

soothing

waters up

to my

trembling

toes and knees,

sitting by

a mossy

boulder

on the

lassitude

banks

next to the

effervescent

spilling

waterfall

—glistening

and gossamer

as it falls in

crashes and

myriad riots

of liquid

iridescence—

surrounded

by verdant

foliage and

halcyon

greenery,

in a misty

forest deep

in the heart

of the virgin

mountain,

untroubled

in solitude

and playing in

a faux paradise…

i’ve never

felt more

invincible.

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Filed under Poetry