hotel hotel

Heartbreak Hotel

I once stayed at your heartbreak hotel,
drinking vodka martinis and
listening to the hum of the highway.
The tires sing of Romance in one horse towns,
Where Barney carries one bullet in his pocket,
and fumbles with the heartstrings,
of the waitress at the dinner.
The special is always meatloaf,
letting your freak flag fly,
every Thursday during happy hour,
the madman attempting karaoke.
Like the Godzilla worshipping businessman,
who clips coupons from the Sunday paper,
and pretends that he is Gary Cooper.
We all bite into the foreign object,
hiding in the cheeseburger,
between the slices of pickle.
You practice your special moves,
the ones you learned from Scooby Doo,
two jars of jalapenos,
one at a time.

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

distance

Distance
I
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.

II

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.

III
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

Conceit

Conceit
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

soil

Soil
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