That Grey Area

There's got to be some feeling in your head or heart that you get when you disagree with where the status quo draws the line.  Tell me about it.  Get moral.  Or get twisted.  Make me question what's right and wrong.  You have two weeks.

So young
so innocent
Their one chance
at life wasted

They were compelled
or even worst
But they didn't ask
to be blessed with a curse

Life is hard enough
as it is
But now it is harder
for these kids

They have to grow up
Far to soon
They carry life
in their wombs

Well, here's one from the back of the shelf... Wrote it quite a while ago. I've never been able to tweak it to the point where I'm content with it, but it fits the competition well.



Vivisection of a Moment in Time

She looses her words in the moonlit woods—
I cannot bear to be the recipient.
"I guess I just don't know how to be single."
As the loam pads our naked bodies,
holding us like a pedestal: proud of our nakedness.
Infatuated with our newfound power
to bare ourselves to nobody and feel like it's to everybody.

Those words, sliding among the whisper sighs of leaves
like the very breezes themselves.
My heart knots for her.
"I'm just so confused."

Not confused, poor girl—your heart long since fallen in line with the truths
your brain can only hope to achieve. One day, yes. But not now.
The ripples and folds and shadows of those simple truths
are only ever laid flat by time.
That simple act of waiting: time marches along unperturbed by all
yet waiting is the most difficult act to perform.

But then why, oh heart of mine, do you tear as well?
The truths of her heart are well matched by the truths in my mind;
you should not hurt.
But sometimes the heart stabs and bleeds
when your head concludes nothing can be done
for this flickering flame curled pitifully against you in the night,
yet your heart decries all defeat:
it has built a bridge to her soul
and if hers slips into the void, yours follows.

Time is at a standstill for these few hours
where the night encapsulates our bodies and the trees shush out our voices.
But that is all we ask for—a moment of fortressed respite from the world.

"I'm just so confused," she whispers again for tear-stained emphasis.
Confused is when your heart is screaming something
that your mind does not yet understand.

The way you wear your eyes
Hiding them in rings
of sleepless nights
hum-drum days.
If you only knew...
this existence
would have inspired your running legs
the second the minister said "Do you?"
Heavy lidded years of automated coitus
mechanical grunting, routine ejaculation
years of her turning her back to you
snoring in the same pattern
then waking to the same
dull, pancake breasts
cross-eyed, floppy nipples
pale bread-dough stomach
tracked in stretchmarks
covering most of her pubis
rolling into orange peel textured legs
tracked with blue veins

I know what you think about your marriage
it's all over your face
in the latent hungry way
you assess me
your eyes fall to my cleavage
every time the conversation lulls
and you think I have the life

This life I have...
I wake up, alone
Come home from work, alone
And if my night ends at an empty bottle
No one wipes my drool off my pillow
No one holds back my hair while I vomit
No one cares if I wash down
Half a bottle of vicodin
With my drink of choice
Except that they'll have to replace
my shift the next day

So would it be so bad
If I allowed your fingers
to follow your eyes
to trace the bead of sweat
between my breasts
just pretend you touch my heart
If I made your toes curl
your legs shake
if I shot electric sparks
through your body
with just my tongue

I would think it would be
the least a real friend could do.

[font=Courier New][size=2]       < today i stepped on an ant >
     
     ants aren't that bad
     i'm never very irritated by ants
     they're just trying to earn a living
     trying to earn a living like me
     
     now my neighbor
     he irritates me
     he's irritated me for years
     
     how much does he weigh in ants?
     
     a friend of mine (ex-police and all) says:
     
         "single gunshots are never reported,
          it takes two or more;      
          if you ever want to kill someone,
          do it with one shot"
     
                  - - -

-Homophobic Gamblers

I pushed a kid down in the playground,
Billy told me it was the start of something good
and I believed him,
like the adrenaline rush Card gave me
when he taught me how to gamble
under the, stereo-typically, swinging cellar light.
We used to laugh and joke about the new days,
Billy used to jest that he'd screw my mum
and I didn't mind, heck knows
she was a promiscuous woman with
one hell of a rack
and he was gay, anyway.
It was three days later
when I comfortably mentioned to Card, while playing poker,
that Billy admitted he only liked lads
and Card nodded, one eyebrow lifted,
his mind seemingly embedded in the game
said nothing more.

Seemed so queer when I found Billy
drowned in a bottle of vodka,
black blood cut into the slices of his dried, blue lips
and Card sat there shuffling his deck I wondered
had a been missing the point of young friendships
and the backdoor entrances of love.
"Another game?"
So abruptly the rules had changed.

Are you one of the diluted ones
are you one of the prey
do you look in the mirror        
seeing nothing
but a face
slowly being drained
were no fact remains

love doggerel-style

Where is love?
Find & keep it
in the pants

'Cos it will smother you,
like a pillow,
given half the chance.