To Holding Your Breath Underwater

Scissored stress surrounds and screams,

As I steady and deepen my breathing.

Chaos changed to carcinogens. I

Count to three.

As the water rises to my chest, I—

Take a final breath and go under.

Here I am— solace. Lost,

Immersed, and close-eyed. I am tranquil.

Anxiety and angst are angry as

I ignore them and curl to a ball.

My thoughts are empty and I—

Accept that death could find me here.

I feel the water pressing on my ears

And listen to it moving around me

It is all I hear.

Holding my breath under water

I find myself.

My heartbeat has slowed and wants to stop.

 I stay curled in my ball.

The air in my lungs keeps me

Floating.

I swim to the bottom

I release air and watch the bubbles disappear at the surface.

I wish I could disappear with them

But holding my breath, under this water

Is as close to vanishing I can get.

Down here I only have to worry about not breathing

When I think I need air I force myself to stay under

Eventually I have to come up and I become sad

As the noise of life begins again, I take another deep breath and

Slowly descend.

Troika Form

The Sharks (Acts III, IV, V)

One day my pain will shine you.

Harness your blame and keep walking

When the hungry sharks circle you

In the morning, I’ll call.

My game is solace and you’re the star.

I am blindsided.

Run through me

And the story’s finished—

Did you hear me calling in the morning?

Can’t you find the sign?

What might have been lost?

Don’t trouble me—don’t bother me.

            I remember when I last gave her a hug. Her mind had been decayed for less than a year, and she had already forgotten who she was. There were great times, though. We would drive around in my car, listening to music that was entirely too loud with lyrics that hit us both. As relevant as the songs were, we always failed to accept what was wrong in our lives. To be clear, her mind wasn’t decayed by disease, though one could argue the person she was with was one. Before they had met, she was motivated and had hobbies…Now; she complains all the time and looks for the bad in everything that happens. But as I dance on her footsteps I become plightless.

I stoop like a crow                                                

Shine in the snow

For the anguish I’d rather know.

I peak into the window

I feel cripple and slow

As my feet melt the snow

I see the irony I’d rather know.

Don't let it Form You

I watched a bug crawl across my hand

As I snuck a peak away from the scope

There was no time to think or mope

When I thumbed the bug into the sand

And watched him die without a stand

But he screamed “I’d rather have the rope!”

How has this killing turned into dope?

Is this my forever brand?

And as I left the war, I found what was lost

A creature fear that turned me off

To feelings of love and empathy.

A brain I never knew had been washed

Was then nourished by drowning in a trough

Of hate and dread. I was no longer empty.

Disappearing in America: After Peter Gizzi

It’s good to hear a child’s laugh in America

With innocence flooding the cochlea and

Harmonizing with the indie riffs of rock.

It’s good to be in a coffee shop waiting for a café enema.

Triple shot, soy, no whip—

Red Bull in hand

Impatiently waiting for the disconnected walk across a world

Of people in headphones and cellphones.

Please don’t text and walk.

I never once thought I’d be strapped to technology

yet here I am typing this on my phone.

I am the enemy of my enemy’s friend.

It’s good to be lost in the concrete jungle, with a notion that we are all gods.

And the gods who believe in God are disengaged gods, subject to orthodoxy.

Eye to eye with the culprit. Just rid the fucking pulpit.

Isn’t it great here with the dandelions sprouting from the cracks on the sidewalk?

Roundup the killers and spray it with Monsanto.

Eat your vegetables.

It’s good to comply in America.

Where the rich and guilty are treated better than the poor and innocent.

Home of the brave and land of the free to indiscriminant revenue generation.

License and registration please.

Yes, I do have an emergency.

I’m trudging with my hands in the air.

It’s good to feel spied on in America.

Metadata protected by a phrase like “national security” looming across the media stations.

Grope me before I board the plane and don’t let the terrorists win.

You’re either for us or against us—we are passing the Patriot Act.

Fifty-four percent of the budget goes to military that kill for peace.

It’s good to worship at the Bohemian Grove.

What does it mean to sit and wait for a revolution?

What does it mean to fight from a keyboard?

It’s good to be a cartoon in America.

Drawn to perfection and living without fear.

Bugs and Daffy never worried about nuclear fallout.

It’s good to be white in America.

Where a man can make a million mistakes and still get a second chance.

Where a man cannot overly stress when losing a job.

Where a man can strive for the American dream,

Which is now paying bills on time.

I never believed in white privilege until now.

One man had a dream, I had that dream.

The entire Constitution has been compromised.

This is why the world can’t have nice things.

Bow Tie Camera

I took a Greyhound from Atlanta to Oklahoma City once

While waiting I walked about three blocks for a pack of cigarettes

A lady wearing a long holey pocked pink shirt approached and asked for money

The five dollar bill dropped me down to eighteen dollars in my pocket

I’ve wanted a drug as bad as she did before, so maybe I enabled her

I must’ve been naïve to think the bus would go straight to I40 and then west

The first stop there was a woman with an old laptop and teddy bear back pack

She was laughing at a blank screen and playing with the teddy’s ear

I survived off sunflower seeds, cigarettes, and coffee

For the thirty-two hours it took me to get home

And to be perfectly honest,

I only thought I was going to be stabbed once.

I don’t advise anyone to take a bus in America

I suppose maybe if it was nonstop

The bullshit world we live in even though it’s the twenty-first century and we’re still fucking killing each other

I’ve seen scenes of scorched war

where even Ravens refuse to perch and caw.

starving because they’ve scavenged all

meat from the decayed doves; and the maggot

larvae fall from the dead into the sewer

streets to float until they turn to flies and feast

and vomit on a goat leg hanging in the butcher’s shack

spoiling the freshest meat of the land.

A less than good attempt at Iambic Pentameter

Trudging Through your Sadistic Swamps

I swam against your crashing current and

Shifting tides. Only to find a bloodied

Beach and towering walls called the "not-quite"

Hopeless swamps that housed your long line. Forever

Climbing the razor wire you said would be

Never-ending corridor to trudge

Friendship never hurt so bad that death wailed

Crying for love that clears the heart and mind

Lovers confused by plays of tragedy

Made to lean on, used to full, I grew weak

Constant pressure, being there for you, I

Caved and cried and begged for your hand to pull

Me from the dire doldrums you left me in

Take off your mask untie your hair, worry

About how life has weakened you, I your crutch

Coal and ash they are a joke compared to

Sorrow and grief and heartache all dealt from you

Royal flush of misery, here I stand

Controlled chaos in my mind, I love you

Existing not in your world until you

Read this sentence of mine, I'm cellophane.