Napo Napalm 5

HERE ARE THE LAST NAPOWRIMO POEMS
NO MORE, DAMN YOU, I SAY NO MORE!

twenty-one.
look at that hilltop
while you sing me a suicide
the spring peeks out
300 feet overhead


Twenty-Two.
Goddamnit i have forgotten
again
i am walking out that parade
and love is in with the spring

the sky sings slow water
but i'm not listening
in my basement room
i'm just growing older

with a headache, no less

that patch of sunlight
in my memory
never moves
and that's why
its easier to stay there

here in the lamplight
with the dog overhead
just doesn't offer up
much
in the way of meanings

clicking nails on the linoleum
at nine a.m.
or
I should become a coffee drinker
are not new
or my
thoughts

this place is always killing something
i'll be damned if its me, this time


Twenty-three.
your flippancy
lack of care for anything
cuts me from long distance

i cant scratch through the space
between us
to give you a meaningful wound

you who are like the world
i who am the earth

we've got plenty to fight about
but you don't even bother to address
your hatred for me

you dress it up in terms like
progress
civilization
necessity

can you tell me
whats civilized or necessary
about torching my forests
blowing up my mountains
and poisoning my waters?

i have shaken
murmured
sent the winds to speak with you
but it seems you've forgotten even the simple languages

what will you do when i finally wake up?


Twenty-four.
he looked into his coffee cup and waited for a cigarette
the blue glass of water was unusual
everything had a preternatural glow
he scrubbed at his face with his hands
rubbing his eyes

green tea, this isn't, he thought
''i should have known my fortunes
would be told in black coffee'' he said
''what?'' she said
''nothing, just babbling the usual madness''

the waitress appeared to take orders
he stuck with coffee
they talked about her recent trip
in metaphor and simile
she could barely complete a sentence
she spoke in the shallow vagaries of spies

''well, i just noticed that people there were different''
she said
''different how?''
''it was just interesting to see how our lives had changed''
''in what way?''
''i don't know''

it went on that way
he looked around the place
it was like a dream
fog and fluorescent lights
everything shiny came off with a blue light
the empty diner twitched
and flickered

blue the color of leaving
blue the color of knowing
blue the color of mind
blue the color of my life
he thought

she finishes eating
eggs, sausage and fried potatoes
''are you ready?'' she asked abruptly
''sure''
he drained the rest of his coffee

they stepped out onto the handicapped ramp
after she paid
they lit up simultaneous cigarettes and expelled
smoke that rose up and curled around the pink neon sign
that flashed 'Mt. Joy Paradise Diner'
the color of pussy
the color of tongue

they burned each other down
line by line and breath by breath

she makes me as shaky as a month without booze
he thought

a final kiss that was not final
that wanted more than itself
and then they parted

they were freight trains
all jumbled up
off the track and gone

as the road evaporated in front of him
he searched for a song on the radio
not knowing

not knowing


Twenty-five.
maybe i have not understood at all
in the yellow evening
when the city falls through streetlights
and the dust settles silent
on the hood of my memories

i carry in-complete sorrow
to the well
and pitch it in
to taint my water for days

i'll call you Michael or Titus
and sweat you out
like any sickness

i'll write Shakespeare's tragedies
on your photos
and scrape the duckweed
from the forest pools
in your eyes


Twenty-six.
while lidded eyes lead me into damnation
dreams of walking into church
naked
and skulls of silent fishes
Sunday skeleton grottoes
with policemen i half recall

daughter me
soldier me
naked me
how many more me's have i got to become?


Twenty-seven.
so i dream of a you that is not you
and i have returned to our home
we make love in front of my sleeping father
and it my dreams
i do not say goodbye to you


Twenty-eight.
when black kettle rode down the Missouri
in search of buffalo
there was no st Francis
to speak to the wolves in his dreams

to speak to the white wolf and take its paw
and to council the wolf to pledge that all should live
in peace

the white wolf had overrun the land
stripping it out with loud-speaking guns
that made the mountains shudder
and his people disappear

We want a lasting true and honorable peace
he said we wish for the white wolf to stop
killing our children with muskets and bayonets

The Great Spirit made the Cheyenne and the Blackfoot
He also made the White wolf
There is room for us both, for the land is as long as the sky

But there was no God
No st Francis to silence the fever in the wolf's blood
not for the Cheyenne or the Sioux

A false Devil for sunrise
meet me in the powder river basin
so that we may mourn our losses
and die a good death on a good day


Twenty-nine.
to pull your hair into my fist
with the sweat licked
from the nape of your neck
the rhythm of your jugular heat
pressed to my swollen lips
rocket together
slipping through the candlelight
perfectly oiled machines
with fingers to rake the
debris of lust
and cradle your ass
in it's animal palm
when our real bodies
take breaths
deep enough
to split atoms


THIRTY.
I am the dawn of dawning dawns when dawn dawns madness in the dawning dawn

I am buttered toast
I am chocolate shoes
I am rose skulls bloomed from skulling roses
I am Garcia Lorca's fingernails
I am in the kissing with you
and you have been in the inspiration with me

as for the idiot under my scalp
he is unconcerned
and will keep shut
if he knows whats good for him

we can be strange stars
better than Eliot's ragged claws in silent seas
he was too much of pessimism anyway

there are NOVAS!
see?

Napo Napalm 4

Here are my dirty and unedited NaPoWriM0 Poems (Fourth Set) as linked from my Deviantart Journal. I always appreciate critique, so, comment away.



Sixteen.

I stare into the sun

blinking back the everything

the 30 days of sleepless dis-ease

that walked around my dance

the ampehetamine circle

that drowned the future

and it is much

too much

to forgive



the green spaces

are better than

nothing





Seventeen.

Good morning to the portions

of the world that still

believe



Here's to real love



Finding yourselves

Not worrying



Here's to having better sex

than the rest of the population



Here's to self-discovery so that we can have

real discovery





Eighteen.

i must be addicted

to kissing in the rain



Help Wanted:

do you like to kiss in the rain?

but, no

that never works



i find better opportunities

through waiting



modern-day Siddhartha

i can wait, think, and fast



what else is necessary?



i find myself believing in hope

i find myself refuting hope

both with words



this experience is unsayable

any words are empty



take something with you that is real





Nineteen.

While we play our soldiers off

as superheros

i watch the crushed-out butts

of the prom queen and the

football captain

take their hangovers to the bank

and the salon



the economy is wrecked

the plundering continues

there's no one left to punish

but ourselves



while karma bay be another lie

like a literal hell

there is a cyclic nature

to every beginning and end



i want to push further down

I'm done playing Sisyphus

this rock is to heavy and pointless

I'm giving it up

going to be free





Twenty.

i'm tired of waking up to cat piss

and bleeding eyes

Wednesday morning hangovers

from yesterday's near-death experience



she is at my left and the cat is curled

in the crook of my arm

to my right

i stretch a little

the cat makes a protest

and scampers out for water



im 15 minutes late for work

and i need a shower

i call in for an argument of excuses

turn on the hot water

i get the bottle of jaeger out of the medicine

cabinet

have a few swallows

within minutes the fog has cleared

i feel real and human again

i scrub vigorously



she's awake now

while i'm pulling on my pants

talking in her squeaky slur

those blue eyes look at me terrified

i love you, she says



i take my keys out of the golden bowl

next to the marijuana

and leave

without repeating such an obvious lie

Napo Napalm 3

Here are my dirty and unedited NaPoWriM0 Poems (Third Set) as linked from my Deviantart Journal. I always appreciate critique, so, comment away.


Eleven.
Every time i turn on the light
something goes wrong
the picture sways
i bang my skull

it might be better
to live in the dark
half-awake
half-aware
but i like the burn
too much
to drop the match

the vision has become
more important than comfort

well
let's get to it

at least i can see


Twelve.
i will carve you from me
because you are not worth
bearing the stink of me
around the house
with your lapdogs
at your feet
and your truest friends
1000 miles away


Thirteen.
The train disappears
and brings the world with it
in a rush of whispers
that collapse and fall
up the tunnel
an afternoon pulled away
by a nap

my third eye watches
with your teeth in it

you devour my vision
with the vanity in your smile

he blinks these visions away
he laughs and shakes the bottle at the demons

i have nothing to do but sit here and write
fuck a subway schedule, it's spring

the wind on my neck is enough of a reason
for anything

one horn signals another in the street
the city makes it's own jazz


Fourteen.
smiles disappeared with the whether
ensconced in the marble halls
between my feet and my head

I watch a chrome photo of me
turn old and decay
behind a mask of no sleep
behind a dream
behind the smiles of women

i laugh with a sound
that barely resembles laughter
until the 17th hour

now i sit under a lamppost
and a black cat sits
where my death would be
and blows jazz from a baritone
sax
my smile disappears with the whether
and returns with the same


Fifteen.
Staying sober
is harder
than the fist
i would use
to knock your
teeth
out

Napo Napalm 2

Here are my dirty and unedited NaPoWriM0 Poems (second set) as linked from my Deviantart Journal. I always appreciate critique, so, comment away.

Six.
the line is
the season of the rats
like spinning plates
in the house
in a heartbeat
i caught myself
staring
into my memories
again

i tell you this radio music
doesn't help at all
just like the blue bottles
didn't
wash your face
out of my mind

ive sat down
with this conundrum
too many times
now
my heart only flickers

so i tell the new her to walk
what else?

everything i think of sounds like an excuse

i know im supposed to want this
i know im supposed to feel thankful
that someone
saw a spark of beauty in this
abandoned echo

something like that
well, you keep that pretty cage
for another bird
i still like to fly


Seven.
they flew in perfect synchronicity
while the learn'ed of our age
still
consider them inferior beings
while the wealthy among us
still
pollute the streams and the air

we see hope in hybrid versions
of the same old bullshit
and we get progress in ten percent
reductions
instead of one hundred percent
cessation

it carries over

i dont drink much, anymore
i only beat my kids when they piss me off
i only lie a few times a day
pass the excuses
im hungry


Eight.
i dont need a rider

the universe leads me
around, out and back
like a wounded dog

i'm in need of this rehabilitation

i know something
its an inexpressible beauty
to seize your own freedom
to throw off the yoke of other people

i know that i need not betray myself
a second time

i know that i am emptying
to be filled
and
empty

the only thing left to do
is
fly


Nine.
i am about dead for today
besides
that tuesday morning
with its empty eyes
is no worse than


ive spun as many circles as i care to

this third dimension isn't all it's cracked up to be

i keep waiting for that train though


Ten.
it carries him through to september
the weeds and the wild nights
the ravens and the women
and each round
he grows or he shrinks
with the law of diminishing returns

"If you look aournd you'll see lots of poeple
who aren't burdened with their fate, who
make the most of everything,'' she says

''ignorance is bliss,'' he replies
butting a black cigarette in the ashtray
he looks around
lights
glassware
bartender

the pool-table
languid under red lights

no couples kissed
none of the young men
exuded anything at all

he tipped his head back
and poured away the last guinness
he had been in this dive
all day
but still drank with a great thirst
''you ready?''
''sure,'' she replies

on the way home
they argue
about some petty incongruity

she tries to leap out of the car
onto the freeway

he stops her from dying
and she hates him for it

he isn't angry or upset
just reflecting
learning

ten minutes later they are
at the liquor store
exchanging glares
over the aisles of wine

they paid, returned home
and while she sat in the bedroom
smoking hit after hit out of her pipe
crying
he's sucking down another guiness
smoking
and cooking chicken pesto

He felt like his mother
looked into the pan and grinned
he poured another beer and chain lit
a new cigarette

is this all there has to be?
yes.
is this all there is?
no.

the questions came in on a click track
running the line of reason out
to where the decisions
cast themselves back

''i'll leave tomorrow'', he says.

Napo Napalm

Here are my dirty and unedited NaPoWriM0 Poems as linked from my Deviantart Journal. I always appreciate critique, so, comment away.

One.
Spring stomped in
pitching her shawl down in the rain
frowning up at the clouds

It's not as i expected it either...

On a cold Baltimore morning
while the factory workers count the days
in half-cigarettes
the dogs rise up with shirts and new Jeans

Accents or not...

While i vaguely fumble with the latch over my heart
glimpse what tomorrow could be

I inhale the moon
and exhale the sun of my childhood
the sun of slavery

While i vaguely fumble with ideas
nonsense words
things of less and less value

I eat a handful of garbanzos
and worry my tongue over a broken wisdom tooth

how damning
how appropriate


Two.
I'm awake at one a.m.
I think you could use a better slogan
I eat eighty-eight percent cocoa dark chocolate
so maybe it will make a difference

I used to cast lightning out behind the convenience store
with a stolen joint in my cigarette box
because this artistry shit is a dangerous business

I'm tired of walking in your circles
world
with your diseases and your dramas

Stop holding out your hand to me

If you don't want freedom
then go back to bed

Stop wasting whatever might be left of me
with your empty promises of stupid satisfactions
through endless repetition of

The mean ideas and lousy symmetry you've been relying on
aren't going to wrap my hazy dreams up in some non-descript package for sale

So, how to continue?
do i Dare
and
Do i dare

My eagle eyes have seen you
in the trance
in the sky
from the other side of the world
and all it is
is
shit
shit
shit

From you
From ME

You're willing

Stop Lying to me

Lay back
and take it


Three.
In the glass box
singing funeral songs
I feel the vibration
of those casket days
ring through me
That subdued, dampened organ
in the front, there

rock of ages

other songs i recall

the preacher tries to speak
over the wailing that builds
rolls
builds and rolls
like a freight train
Mama
carrying my sadness
and a ticket to somewhere else

those snapshots
flicker through me
like light coming down
through the trees
and the wind comes
off that freight train
like it could blow me to pieces

but
its just the memories
shouting their last
call
a bitter farewell
a 'fuck you' as she drives away
that dry crack in the february morning
that let me know


Four.
They carry you out
amidst all that
all of the you's
and they climb you up
in that cadillac
in half a suit
because sudden
rarely pays the bills

we ride out to that place
where the best trees in town
always have more to say
and the cops don't bother you
on friday night

well
they put you down
for the last time
and i didn't stick around to watch
with the big blue tarpaulin
flapping in a cold breeze
and the sun never shining
and the sleet and the slush
is filling up your shoes
and you walk away without anything

not one memory different
from the rest

to swing and stew
in a cold room
in a black suit
as you stare out at anything
and you ask the candle questions
but at least for today
there are no more answers


Five.
We have mounted a peak of soul killing jobs
and won't come down for anyplace

SHAKE, TITANS!
Minimize Humanity!

Say your prayers to the maggots
they'll hear you

no time left but to get in the ground for new eden
and dig in
this portion's bigger than you wanted

suffice it to say
starvation
is only
partly
physical

Mohammedan dreams for the dying wanderer
and you know the closer we get to death
the better we FEEL
Have dreams, Revelations
Devils, Goblins and Angels

too bad fevers are so few

LOOK OUT!
HERE WE COME!
and we won't take your
''We had that brand LAST year''
as any kind of normal excuse

just keep praying

if we could get the priests to start bitching
maybe we'd finally have something