Pack Your Bags

God doesn't live here anymore.
He moved out.
It used to be such a nice neighborhood, too, when it was first built.
Fresh-faced youth, y'know?
The kind of place you wouldn't mind your kids being out and about in.
They did a newspaper spread on it,
and everybody who lived there wore big, smug smiles
because they knew they were on the up and up.

Then the trouble started.
Gangs.
Rape.
Suicide.
A few tragic accidents and a family or two driven stark
raving
mad.

So God packed his bags,
paid his remaining rent
and got the Hell outta there.
Most everybody followed him,
and you can't really blame them.

It's seen better days, obviously.
There's still some things worth hanging onto,
a few mean scraps left behind by the cars and trucks and moving vans
that roared off into the night
and left this place still and quiet
as a grave.

It's a land of opportunists.
Occasionally the night will be lit up with fire
and smoke
and loud noise
and laughter
at the grandest joke
but most of the time
silence.
Stillness.
The calm before the storm
the calm of frightened people holed up in the only place they've ever known
waiting
waiting
waiting
for the storm to break and the wind to come
and for them all to float away.

Nowhere else to go,
the only home they've ever known.
It's tried to kill them many times
and drink their fear-rich blood
as it pools on the earth
in a deep red flood.

They've seen enough trouble to fight tooth and claw,
but the fight is going out of them,
and the light is dying
and the wind is rising
and this may be their last gasp of polluted air
before the end.

smoke rings

here we are
sharp as knives
blowing smoke across the city
knowing
it won't return

.

I've saved up enough money to change my face
change my name
change my place
change the game
but not enough money to escape.

I've been crucified by the digital age.
Tracked at every turn,
nailed to the cross of a thousand strangers.
I've been stretched thin
over a billion judging eyes.

Nobody could prepare for this
in the days where land lines were king.
It's a grand, tremendous thing
to invert our souls and wear them
as our skin.

Hands of Fire II

the smell of your body
the gleam in your eyes
the taste of your chapped lips

i had hands of fire
you extinguished every flame
that traced across my face

we twin, we twine
and nobody has to know
how close to ruin i was

what a gift

calm

New philosophy: calm.

Embrace the sleepless nights. You've had them all your life, and they don't hurt you, not really. Not when the world is twisted up all strange and you're granted those hours in solitude and darkness to deconstruct the myriad gleams and glitters of an indescribably complex day.

Embrace that urge to escape, but don't act on it in a frenzy, tapping into fight or flight quickly, lazily. Breathe. Accept that you want toxins. When you are calm, you are strong, even when you're weak. Have some tea. Grilled cheese in the small hours. Have a joint if you must and do not guilt yourself. Be calm and trust that you'll need them less when you're calm.

Take your pills and don't feel bad about them, either. They help, so let them.

Accept change, especially in people. You've come from giddying highs, manias. Dwelling too long on what might have been is poison. Hold no grudges, especially when you understand. Don't take any unnecessary stress, and distance yourself from unnecessary conflict.  Good things, new things, have already started happening.

University starts again next week. Gonna try 'calm' for a while.