some pohms

A HAIKU STRING OF DECEMBER 2009

I'm alone and though
Last night my call was heard, now
Able ears are closed shut.

The warmth of comfort
Brought wishes and contentment
to a frozen boy.

That boy, loving as
He was, could not regain what
has been lost in greed.

And so, my pillows
Have not changed their shape, they are
inadequate, gone.

Time will be wasted
Stolen by the past, I thought
this impossible.

How long will I be
Forced to endure regret, will
I revert back again?

Doubtful, sounds persist.
Everything is persistent.
it screams for the past.

Many things are forced.
The end, I truly hope, will
deny this fashion.

COLD TO THE NEW PAW

They put me in paper
And they watch me crawl
Knowin to themselves I won't get anywhere at all
Not moving
Cemented still
Cold to the new paw
Old enough to kill

Oh to the merchant sailor
When you shipped yourself away.
Did you ever hurt your neck
Thinkin bout your mama's days?

Have you ever stood in front of a mirror
Petting on an open wound through a dead tree

My father is the king of angry voicemails
And sucking hard on pennies til they gleam
I'd give you a whopping piece of my mind
But tomorrow I won't know what it means


Tomorrow is too far out
Tomorrow is too far out
Tomorrow is too far out
Tomorrow is too far out

I'm oozing, yeah, I'm oozing
The volcanoes are swelling, mama
Though I try to eat right
I'm bleeding (dripping, dribbling)
Bleeding (dripping, dribbling)

Sometimes a grain of sand can stab you like a shard of glass

The padded feet and wild eyes of today are
But smeared rubber discharge cast to quicksand
Ripping through the days to come

UNKNOWN

The looking glass
Has
Become a kaleidoscope
I walk with
Rivers flowing

AT THE EAGLE DINER 3/20/2010

I dislike the phrase hopeless romantic
And I like it when I blow into the mouth of my coffee cup, fogging up my glasses


I had my first helping of scrapple in Maryland
And in Pennsylvania,
At the Eagle Diner (border sanctuary)
I am drinking my second cup of coffee.
Within my peripheral vision,
Captured in the mirrored glass window reflection
I see the haunting and beautiful
Full-form hallucination of a guitar.

Maybe it belongs to Dennis -
He owns it, especially
With a metal brace and expectant face.

Coffee, it is a
Warm best friend in the rigid
Company of boots.

Boots that have been worn
By a man who passed before
My birth: we're strangers.

Three rows to my left,
As I sit perpendicular to the standard seating of this place,
Is a girl who says that she is unlike the rest.

She mingles with the devils -
Men who are grown,
And have nothing to show for it.
They are approximately twenty eight years of age,
And make sexual anecdotes that the girl doesn't catch on to.

She entertains them with loud exclamations of excitement-
She is pretty,
She lives in lumberville and has nothing better to do
At two in the morning.

Her hair is multicolored
And her smile is wide.
Sexy, if I may -
I don't know anything,
But that they best go home tonight.

I'd take her home if I had to.

SIMPLY: BAD SAD

Can you be a stranger to yourself?
Or is that just a depressed proclamation of sad songs?
Well this isn't a sad song, though it could one day be a bad song
If anyone remembers me when I'm gone
Well then this is so long

BRYTER DAY COMING?

Beneath my mask
Boils. On the surface,
Underneath: an aching,
Growing cyst. Inside,
intruders bide their time,
Strategizing against my
Future conversations.
Interactions where I am
Hardly present for I
Am not myself, for myself.
Inside my head there is
An apprehension
To be.
Not to be has proven
Painful to those who are tied
To me.
There is a shell on my skull,
I hope it doesn't go away forever.
For now, it is my curtains -
Open, close, open when you
See me - it's a gamble.
Would you take me before
A change occurs?
Would you have me preceding
A fire on the stage?
Lines in my skin reflect
Artificial light
That is our custom.
Would you hold me
If I turned away?
Or would you have me
On another day?
Would they ever have me at all.

early march pohms

Take a Road

 Either nobody ever said shit -
  or I never listened to a goddamned word
that i was given.
  still -
   with dirt on my toes and twenty years young,
 I have carved my own dent in the riverside.
   and as the sun begins to set on the Delaware,
 I hold my coffee cup between my whittled knees,
  tasting and licking the flavor of its contents
   from my scarred and waiting lips.
 If this is the freedom that many men have
   died for to protect -
  I'll take it in vain.
  This is my moment, and
  oh will I cradle her until
  the sweet nectar in my
  stainless steel mug is gone.
Then I will feel myself pounded by the sun.
  As she shimmers and glows
   the trees and birds are baked with her
  retreat. And I, a brother of nothing and
 So much - I am lost in my sophistication.
  Blue can really fuck you up
   or it can be the eternal canvas
   on which trees are painted.
  Their trunks, like me,
   are carved.
  Birds are a certain type of stupid -
   their ignorance is significant only when
   you are not around. When they feel
   the breeze in their feathers, or a ruffle
   of your Levi's,
     they'll find a new moment.
   A human can wander thru the forest
   unnoticed by his own flesh - until eyes meet.

untitled for C.S.

 C -

There is something to say about the name
  that you have
     picked for yourself.
 u c -

  We, here in our homeland,
   We are all the river's children.

 c a

  Sunset lasts for a long, long time
  with mud between your toes and

 A name like that is -
  the garments which
  set us together.

 C -

  if your purpose is to unite us
     Sons and Daughters
  in squinting golden indulgence...
   in bare-toed sentry -
   in sect blo wing
   bashful, safety & contentment,
     Well,

 C -

  You are

   the River's Sun.

AND I WILL

  FOLLOW
   you,  past the muddy banks -
  further, below the reflective,
    black cloud
   that separates us from
  that which we are really not
   that far off from.
    That
   this, could be, a final
escape and as the Canada geese
  play their games in unison,

As the cars slide across the bridge
  in sight of their destinations,

  as my hand becomes aged and my
  head begins to prespire between birdsong

   you'll be the prodigal hand, C.

 U -

  will have our trust and a crown

   of no matter -

 a crown that eyes cannot see,
  you will,

  WEAR IT PROUDLY,
     we will beg you
  to do so for it is yours
 and we are all one.

 And should there occur a decimal -

  your crown may find weight yet.

 and C -

  as your knees begin to shake
        and ache

 From submission to your art -
  be strong of heart.

 Scars on the knees will heal and
  when fire thirty rolls around

  You'll be awaited in the morrow,
    my brother.