Off the Cross

He couldn’t be found
with the living
so we ventured
to the Skid Row
ghost section
of our broken city
among the loose hookers
vomit stench drunks
and strung out junkies
for a crucifix in a haystack quest
to find the missing Father Willy

If by some miracle
and the grace of God bullshit
the absentee cleric is found
we will sit his stoned ass down
and hear his confession
of all the fun sins he did commit
while on his latest hedonistic bender

Once he is cleaned up and dried out
he can resume his pastoral duties
and dazzle us sinners every Sunday
with his fire and brimstone hypocrisy

Pull the Plug

My current residence
is that cramped space
between
doing what’s expected
and what’s right

I live in this disconnect

Playing the rote
caregiver role
for an ailing parent
who does not want me there

My very presence
driven by guilt avoidance
he rightfully finds offensive
for it’s such a blow to his pride
which the sickness
has slowly stripped away

He wants to privately die

No longer be a pitiful burden

Away for the vigil boo hoo hoopla
of the getting the jump on death
soon to be somber mourners
who drive the thriving death industry

Never was much
for social propriety

Neither was I
once upon a time
when I used to be
my Father’s son

He’ll be back with his late wife
soon enough
and I will resume what’s left
of my disconnected life

The Gray Ghost

I am
a shadowy apparition
drifting above the confinements
of this black and white sphere

From the elevation
I can view the forest
through the trees

Subtle nuances I see
cutting through the fog
which envelopes
your so called reality

These chains
of human conformity
forged by the powers that be
never seemed to quite fit me

Yes my pets

I am the gray ghost
of transparency
flying loose and free
in the open skies
of my unrestrained poetry

White Noise Lullaby

Look down beneath your feet
into the ashes of post calamity

Welcome to the wreckage of me
buried deep beneath
this pile of smoldering defeat

Smothered in a heap of self pity
I seek respite
from this scorched self inflicted tragedy

And yet things could always be worse
as I soothe my soul
with time tested trite cliches

Pour your fallen comrade
a shot of liquid Novocaine

For at the end
of yet another disastrous day
pain is the beast
that needs to be restrained
even if living in denial
is the only way

Breaking It Down

Outside my current window
hangs a massive
solitary icicle
glistening in the sun
that today brings no warmth
but still produces
a spectacular spotlight

On the tip
of this sparkling stalactite
is a steady drip drip
so very soothing and rhythmic

With each liquid emission
there is structure shrinkage
that I really relate to
in my current state
of timeline reduction

This natural contraction
of time honored erosion
that carved out the canyons
and whittled down the pyramids
works on all organic
and inorganic designs

Can you feel
the Beautiful Recycle force
drip drip working on you?

Get Back

Time..

Time is our safe place

A secure vault of memory
deposited currency
where we can escape
this all too real reality

In the end
the past is all we have
as the light begins to withdraw
and life closes our account
taking our allotted time with it

Dominating Melody

The beauty of my master mistress
whose razor thumb
I have taken up residence under
is the way she violently plucks
my heart strings
with her every command
that I willingly submit to
just on the off chance
she will grace my groveling presence
with her agony inducing affections

She’s my First Lady of Pain

Within the Storm Wall

I was born in the storm
and died in the recoil

In that time gap between
commonly defined
as life and death
the truth too often
gets obfuscated
and eventually obliterated
by our personal cumulus shroud
of convenient self deceptions
that keeps the inherent
gloom of the day at bay

Happiness is all about
maintaining the illusion
of calm skies these turbulent days

Requiem For a Used Up Man

Back in the 20 Century
I was a useful tool

I was a husband

A father

A worker bee

Not so today anymore

Now I am more of a burden actually

Not even remotely cost effective

My revelation to you
for maximum mental health benefit:

It’s much better to be useful
than useless

Fact Check Out

The spotlight cuts through the dim

Into it the salesman
from yesterday swaggers in

Another slick pitch
fine tuned over time
to lure in the pigeons

But it’s a different flock today

Fact checking his every pitch
real time on their hand held devices

Still our hero keeps dancing

Though it’s not easy selling
to skeptical consumers
who ain’t buying

And when your financial existence
is based entirely on commission
this is a fatal condition
for the well dressed dinosaur
who had no clue he was dying

So it went
for the salesman once great

Extinction by internet
was his inevitable fate