adversity’s not my thing
i like easy, crisp, and clean
cashing in a second chance
never giving a backward glance
but time’s piled up and i’m less free
there’s nothing’s between the wolves and me
down a pawn a rook a queen
life hasn’t worked out the way i’d dreamed
i push curse pray and yet
the further behind in time i get
there is no safety joy or peace
only loss’ lifetime lease
Here another from the psychotropic detox nightmare of amost exactly two years ago now. In some of them I think I have an idea what I was getting at. Mostly, though, I have no clue. I was someone else coming from some place else. I was fucked up…
Betrayed.
Frayed.
Prayed.
What difference has it made?
Are choices really choices?
Or is our path etched in rock before we breathe on our own?
Are we masters of our fates?
Or destined?
your plastic smile gives off
a bitter odour in the untimely summer
rain. i
shrug; not for me
things of stolen beauty.
i dip my fingers in a bowlful of words—they
keep me sane. you
bite the notes of rapture that rise in my head.
(and, suddenly, every
place inside me
is anti-utopia.)
splinters of my dappled heart are strewn all over
our little confetti-laden
coffee table.
your terriblebrown voice cuts
through the trace of a twirl.
(it was lingering over
my fretful toes, and now it’s gone.)
i slip into another world, away
from this tirelonesome
reality, and i
start worrying about my
chipped nails.
Don’t wanna be
a victim anymore.
I see scratches
from the greenback whore.
Wounds run deep
On flesh and soil.
My weapons weak
and armour foil.
Inside my mind
I lead the fight.
Changing the world
from wrong to right.
Steel becomes wood and green surrounds, smog gets cleansed and becomes a cloud.
People are fed and weapons die, I saw the scales shed from my neighbors eye.
The Peace was so loud I floated away, the yellow Sun erased the grey.
Did you hear the music today?
Awake reality
in your soul.
Each heartbeat
is your gift
to create
with
each breath.
Reality awake.
i am that voice that calls your name
when there is no one else around
i am the one that knows you’re fucking up
even before you hit the ground
i am the face you’ve never seen
when you look into the mirror
i am the screams that no one hears
when your breaking point is getting nearer
i am the you that no one knows
because they would never understand
i make you ask how high
and you will do what i command
i will not give in because you beg
i will not respond to your tears
i am the you, you hate that you’ve become
i am the worst among your fears
i will take you as my prisoner
i will never let you win
my name is depression
i’ve come to devour you from within…..
by: paisley
photo:
once again we are positioned
between scylla and charybdis
the chasm that separates us
mythically disproportionate
to your truth or mine
a convolutely hinged catch 22
once again two worlds colliding
yours a rock and mine a hard place
yours somber fore lorn forced inflection
emitted from the belly of the conch,
mine acidic bloody brawling bursts
imbued with absolutions slow demise
only once could we come together
hearts gatekeeper put in chains
bite not from past, that poison apple
at long last find common ground
foundation built of rock on hard place
just this once,, oh mother, mine…..
by: paisley
photo:
first do no harm
then prescribe some of these
should they not work
then they’d better hit their knees
how am i to do
what a bigger god chose not to
so first do no harm
then prescribe some of these
I need to do something
I can tell
I know I don’t
But feel I do
Do or don’t — need or want
It’s all a mystery to me
Should I go here or there
Never knowing how or why
Should I push on
Or try and get back
Is there even a back
When the me that was back there is me no longer
What’s going to happen
Will I suddenly seize the day
Make up for mistakes in a single stellar stroke
Or will the stab be another stumble
Something less than masterful
Something more akin to disaster
Momentarily Lost in New Mexico
We flew laughing
down a thousand miles of highway
slicing cities, deserts, and mountain ranges neatly in two
then watching them close seamlessly behind us
again and again.
Slept in the cab of your pickup
crushed against the doors, the gearshift, each other
Until discomfort and the sunrise
woke me to a day
that begged the rememberance of innocence
Like white-cotton t-shirts stretched across
warm, sun-brown skin
and the smell of mud-pies we baked in your back yard
decorated with tiny yellow flowers, weeds
from the empty lot next door.
Wincing, I shook the blood back into my legs
gathered my toothbrush, backpack
and made my way to another rest-stop bathroom
wondering once again
exactly where I was.
-c. bottlecappie
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
another one from the vaults. hope you enjoy it.
Full Moon
The rains have come to pass again,
borne upon a warm Pacific wind
unceasing, water falls
for one hundred days
and I listen
until his turbulence fills my head
and I no longer know
whose voice I hear
in and around me.
El Niño, your song
is unending whispering howling
describing visions of hell
undoubtedly familiar,
never remembering the heaven
I once touched from the tops
of mountains:
You can only go by foot
smoke stained lungs
struggling
with every step
Finally
letting the trees breathe for you
Let the machine breathe for you
these, the first words I heard
upon surfacing, a failure yet again
Wondering
How many resurrections
can you have in a life?
Christ had one
and the world
gives money to his cause to this day
but waking in the hospital
shot through with tubes
is not the same
as appearing triumphant
three days past crucifixion
in the yawning mouth of your own tomb,
the stone rolled away…
Nice touch,
the man had style.
He claimed to die for my sins
but that’s a heavy burden to carry
So I choose to suffer for mine
Myself
Stubborn,
turning my back on
My own rebirth
for fear of losing
a sustaining madness
constructed from stories so old
they barely belong to me anymore:
Yellowed pages
bound in cracking spines,
and this incessant wind
articulating every faded line
wears me down
into a conquered state of longing
for the quiet
of water dripping from the
shutters
outside.
-C. bottlecappie
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Haven’t had time to write much lately, but I’d like to share this older poem for now. -bc
