"Sailed not as a seaman, but as a traveler..."

"Sailed not as a seaman, but as a traveler..."- Sir Thomas More's Utopia

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Living on scotch and cigarettes just like a real writer.

Image: San Fernando's Giant Lantern Festival illuminating a black sky.

As a break from all the story writing, sometimes I dabble in poetry. Actually, it really isn't poetry so much as it is word vomit purging itself from my mind-pools. The following is my latest - enjoy the word porn.

I will find your heart
Amidst these crushed twigs and fallen leaves
Buzzing and humming to the key of coughs
I don't know if you exist
Or if you do if you'd dwell in these dark woods
Of well worn blues bars
Wearing the patina of countless nights spent awake
Same as me
Gobbling turkeys through measures of shot glasses too heavy for one hand
While drowning in sounds of every night's mournful howl
Filtered through a horn pressed againt the lips of a man with too much story to tell
Sifting through the smells of lotion and cigarettes
I will find your hands
Like yarn finds its shape upon the points of needles
We will find beauty in the residue of discarded dreams
I don't know if you exist
Or if you do if you'd dwell in these sultry nights
Running to the rhythm of hurricanes
But I will find that faint funk of festering divinity
Of marionettes unhinged and unbound
I will hear that delicate tremor of a voice buried under thousands of plywood puppets
Dancing to the tune of forsaken scores
For these are the portions for those who are not we
For these are the lives of those who easily erase the things they've seen
I don't know if you exist
And I have no inkling of your name but
Together we will be peacocks on power lines
Dancing across electricity

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