Tuesday, April 13, 2010

i see

I See
I can see the future in a dead man’s eyes.
Reflection of the flame wrapping up the world.
Wind your music box and be sure of your words.
No one walks with me as tomorrow cries.
Long gone laughter still haunts me.
The book’s pages scattered on the floor.
Something I can’t explain, heaven out of hell.
Your veiled smile changes the way.
You and I are dear lost souls.
Caught in the witch’s spell, we will never tell.
The dust of friends collected on the shelf.
Facing the sky and never wonder why.
There so much more than we can feel.
Grass between my toes and the wind in your hair.
I refuse to take you by the hand and lead you through the maze.
There is a plague upon your mind, it’s name is conformity.
There is no promised land, all the sheep are slaughtered.
These marks last forever, we cannot trade them away.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008


We accept the distance,
it has feet,
and we use it,
full bodied and stout.
Something that opens,
and swallows everything,
hopes and desires,
hanging on the clothesline.
The fresh wind,
filling in the spaces,
a white flag waves,
you follow up and over.
Blue creaks along,
a barren conclusion,
she tips the point,
red willing streaks.
Chasing each other,
with cut-out lives,
peel and stick,
dull serrated edge.
Her bad attitude,
curled up on the couch,
soaking in the sun,
always unforgiving.


I told my secrets,
to the mountain,
reading Kama Sutra,
an enchanting mix.
A household name,
rolling over the stone,
the queen of swords,
justice is her aim.
She seduces me,
with her stolen words,
waving a tortured finger,
petulant trust.
Her thrust out boldness,
as snappish and sulky,
potatoes on the boil,
thrashing in the broth.
finds mystical connections,
in crossword puzzles,
an irascible prophetic email,
read between puffs of smoke.
The words of god,
drift in the window,
on the laughter of angels,
revelation exposed.
Her trust is in trinkets,
tingle against her throat,
so vivid and real,
a causal sensation.
You thrill me,
as reality escapes,
through swollen fingers,
and silent tongues.
Poised for adventure,
with her glass of sherry,
a stain upon her lips,
she tells your secrets.
She packs her pistol,
in yellow taffeta,
with an impish grin,
full metal jacket.
You stimulate my,
pleasures and rewards,
necessary side effects,
my motivated tool.

You had to be the invisible one,
I saw you had your spurs on,
emotions out of control,
once more we dance.
Tearing down the foundations,
of your perfect commercialized life,
selling you pre-packaged beliefs,
my favorite freak.
Watch the rising flame,
burn it all down,
spreading across,
from me to you.
The tiger trusts no one,
new levels of shit,
war in the streets,
death is no surprise.
More is less,
the gurus chant,
save your pennies,
throw away your faith.
There is no end,
to your nightmare,
your American dream,
not manifest destiny.
This is not your constitution,
no one died for your freedom,
save yourself and not the whales,
keep on believing.
Good trousers for my birthday,
a trashy kind of vodka,
you say you understand,
when I leave in the middle.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

Broken Symmetry

Broken Symmetry
How it flows
this special unction
to the feet
of barbarians.
It flew for me
really it did
I put my trust
in your disbelief.
Turned on its head
we digest the details
strange karmic horror
after the opaque.
The liquid drips
out of telepathic holes
you see the Madonna
through bloodshot eyes.
We have to move
to make room
for the Banana Republic
their sales are phenomenal.

The future is uncertain
there are too many variables
to control for alternative explanations.
See how they run
from the heels of destruction
spinning tales of crazy love
broken symmetry.
You seek to find
a strange equality
in all things
both big and small.
You are responsible
for seeding the excess
the abundance of happiness
over the madness.
We play Chinese checkers
and smoke big fat joints
dreaming of Atlanta
and the summer Olympics.

I wrestle with the uncertainty
the random digits of distress
that shake the foundations
of my beliefs.
Kuhn would call it a revolution
and Ockham would see a razor
in the ink spots.
We travel to the ancient city
and watch the daughters
of merchants
bend time.
I look behind the stage
for the strings
and find none.
How strange?

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

Boiled Tomatoes

Boiled Tomatoes
I will keep you in my prayers,
practicing German,
long formalized lines,
hoarding your perfect smile.
You ignore the words,
of the prophets,
mumbling something,
about the reformation.
The cream swirls around,
in your coffee cup,
a slow mixture,
of ideas.
You contemplate suicide,
while I think of tomatoes,
how the skin comes off,
when boiled.
She speaks to,
blindfolded Masons,
it’s always some conspiracy,
with fork in hand.
She is frightened inside,
hanging on her cross,
crucified by ignorance,
and captivated by the deception.
It pulls on invisible strings,
the direction is unknown,
a finite dream,
that wraps us in its cocoon.
You describe this feeling,
no comfort in the hope,
so sad and tender,
touching on the old form.
Blindfolded by stupidity,
to die alone,
staring back at the tragedy,
no more kind hearts.
Deep within you,
this strumming chord,
eludes us more,
this a greater fear.
The high price of promise,
a way of turning,
from green to red,
scarves on your head.
The direction outside,
a cold view,
frosts my spectacles,
such a terrible cost.
I am angered,
by the future’s demands,
a true American,
such words.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008


We are unearthed
heavy wooden doors
the warp
whooshes out.
I am thankful
for little blessings
the strength to climb
in opposite directions.
Dying daily
in forgiving arms
my sins uncovered
by the evil of your love.
She holds her candle
against the darkness
and shouts conceit!
Flows in and around
un-puttied windows
the cracks in my soul
comfortable in my place.
I hide with farmers
in Plato’s cave
we watch the beautiful shadows
and dream of freedom.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008


The worms multiply
in the rain
with bare hands
scrapes into the basket.
The mud is resistant
it has no feelings
no cares about the day
it only resists.
The world is broken
we turn our backs
on the mud
that flows into our lives.
There is more fluidity
than the gods have foretold
they won’t let me
scavenge for usefulness.
The dirt gets inside me
feeling ungodly and foolish
we cover with soil
this embarrassment.

Standing alone
under the gunship
the bullets wiz by
I run in terror.
This not my war
not my politics
still they shoot at me
and I continue to run.
We bury the dead
amidst the wreckage
of our lives
bullet riddled and burnt.
We walk through
the dead forest
trees are fallen soldiers
black and ash.
We prepare for the shock
of the future
the wolf is at our heels
snatch away the new day.

Total devastation
the rockets roar above
my head
deadly with accuracy.
There is no prejudice
in their aim
they kill all
in their path.
This is why we run
and dig holes in the mud
we cover our heads
and hide.
Waiting for death to come
and snatch us
from the living
and the grieving.
We have lost so much
the loosing becomes easy
it becomes a pattern
of our life
and death.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

Ride in My Car

Ride in My Car
She’s alive and in my car
the distance between us
is concrete
it is a solid state
like a lump in the throat.
Last night was difficult
calling her a whore
didn’t help
it never does.
My anger is always
never hit the true target
never search for the source
the real cause.
Our lives have become
a downward spiral
we are lost
and out of control.
There is no incentive
to continue on
we both want to forget
the past we used to share.
We are done
you and I
broken on the rocks of life.
The little things grow
between the cracks
and slowly pull apart.
It’s so small and gradual
we didn’t notice it
day by day
until it reached a point
of no return.
We have fallen together
in the abyss
and the beast
has torn us apart.
My love no longer lives
my heart no longer feels
this taste in my mouth is death.
Death is my only comfort
the death of a life
that we once knew
and shared
and enjoyed.
But that is all gone now
the distance has grown
too much.
I no longer can leap
to the other side
where you are.
It is beyond my ability
I no longer feel the strength
that we once shared.
Now there is only weakness
and despair
regret for what was.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008


We flounder with purpose,
clanging against the metal,
a side for hunger,
today once more.
You whisper tyrannical spell,
a depth beyond,
no measure of trust,
mismatched wonder.
Feel the hard stone,
against your freedom,
Yorkshire honey pies,
he comes a running.
Well said, well done,
I label you and,
you label me,
do what you must.
The rope swings higher,
secure is the step,
that climbs up reason,
cheating death.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008


Satisfying the impulse,
so quiet, not frothy mouthed,
a buttoned up shirt,
victims in the cellar.
One with the pitched roof,
pull the tiger’s tail,
look deep into her eyes,
all lost souls.
She shakes us out,
suggests that we look,
at the deviant,
the last morning.
A brutal exposed fetish,
concrete pillars,
with lashings about,
people floating.
She makes a primal appeal,
flesh and bone,
with practical constraint,
a sleepy town.
Disrupt the truth,
and disengage the senses,
we march on and on,
brazen blood-drenched drama.
She examines the decay,
a crumbled desire,
shivering on the floor,
a monochrome joke.
She serves up a visual feast,
not for the untrained eye,
the lure of too much evidence,
gaping with eager jaw.
Seeing in a different light,
always reinventing something,
hands never at rest,
a classic renaissance line.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

Algorithmic Voodoo

Algorithmic Voodoo
Subverting the hard edge,
being on the once cursed,
to be inhuman,
through the dark night.
Their cries unheard,
cutting through the fog,
we all get out and push,
debriefed by the suits.
Asking for your spare change,
peacocks screaming in the dark,
speaks in a low rumble,
doing almost anything.
It’s a real breakthrough,
walking around and shaking hands,
being a real citizen,
we are starting from scratch.
Some things are better left unsaid,
out here on the trail,
coyotes hide in the bushes,
you draw a ragged line.
Escaped from her cage,
craving flesh,
a formidable appetite,
beneath her nails.
I have seen this in a dream,
they are all crazy bastards,
it’s nice that you have a story,
to share at the meeting.
The coffee is cold,
and the cigarettes,
reek of conspiracy,
packaged neatly in 12 steps.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

Blurred Saliva

Blurred Saliva
Proving nothing,
a subtle persuasion,
bring forth the sin,
working vice and virtue.
She demands a pound of flesh,
crafts the surface and symbol,
goes deep beneath and beyond,
still more than before.
Fearful waking dream,
coughing up her last,
customer and cucumber,
they all seem the same.
Blessed blurred virgin,
stretched out on the pipes,
bottle still in hand,
spitting out the venom.
Celebrate mumbling masses,
endless mundane shuffle,
crank the organ grinder,
she loves her monkey.
Enough love for us all,
she within her heart,
feeds us orphans,
a bowl of cold milk.
She reads in moonlight,
the history of genocide,
inherited Social Darwinism,

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008

Next Whiskey Bar

Next Whiskey Bar
You left me wounded by the roadside,
taillights and magic in the air,
the night bites me back,
gnawing at my civilized self.
Your honesty is killing me,
as I bleed out into the dust,
real means a whole in my heart,
the home you abandoned.
You didn’t want to hear the truth,
order is the path of the hopeless,
no more revolution in your eyes,
suck the green from the dollar.
My crimes were compassion,
remembering your shape,
reverting to the same old plan,
words of hopeless danger.
I touched you with my fire,
a brand upon your soul,
took you to the edge,
showed you how to fly.
Sister blue sky,
with your diamonds,
they sparkle and cry,
crawling to oblivion.
I empty out the silence,
forgetfulness and pleasures,
rolling up the obscurity,
moving on again.

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008


I thought of killing myself today
got my gun from the closet
I hide it way in the back
under old shoes, shirts, and other shit
meaningless stuff that gathers dust.

I pulled it out and looked at it
all shiny and clean
it’s a symbol of something
I forget …

I look around the house
searching for my bullets
remembering a routine from Cheech & Chong
where else, up his nose!

I find one in a coffee cup
filled with pens and pencils
and other more meaningless shit

like a stir from a bar
the night we met.

The bullet is jacketed
works best in an automatic
roll it a round in my hand
smooth and cold to the touch
such deadly precision.

You’ve got to admire the bastard
the workman
who invented such an efficient machine
I wonder if he ever thought
of using it in such manner?

I eject the clip
and insert the bullet
slam the clip back in the handle
click, click, clack
the sound of determination.

Cock the gun
and hold it to my temple

and I wait …

and I think for a minute …

What should I do?

Are things really this bad?

Would anyone miss me if I were gone?

Would anyone care?
Would anyone cry?

Would I be missed?

I gather up my resolve
and I press the metal had against my flesh
one more time
a strained look is on my face
I am oh so determined
to do myself in.

But, then I stop
I put the gun down
by my side
and I tell myself
no, not this time
not right now
maybe latter.

There is always later …

A flood of guilt washes over me
and I eject the clip
and remove the bullet
place it back in the cup
rushing down the hall
to place the gun back in the case
and hide it under all that stuff

A sigh of relief
not this time
maybe tomorrow
for sure later …

© Deep Piercing Cut 2008