All Is Loneliness

The dark is unknown, so it has no memory. Yet it is evil as seen through the eye. It interrupts the status quo. Confuses one's routine. There is really no prognosis for the shakes it brings. It speaks many languages and translates. It's like an old pouch with webs that sleep, and the pouch has traveled a thousand years.

"Washing away my mask of a gentle poet, as I played the roll of your marionette. Leaving me all alone and dead..."  

Every night I come home
To an empty silent house
No calls on the phone
No reason to go out

Light a candle, watch it burn
Pour a drink in a dirty glass
Try to drink away the hurt
And bring your memory back

Well I lost you long ago
And cannot get you back
Now the only relief I know
Is to drink your memory back

... right?        
            
When we stayed up half the night            
yet managed to wake every morning            
without alarm clock assistance            
under an armed guard escort            
to the promise of adventure!            
           
or boredom            
that could simply be alleviated            
with a boardgame            
           
or a soccer competition in the yard            
complete with garbage cans as goals            
and ball stuffed with actual socks  
because ... poverty + imagination            
           
There were so many things            
to look forward to, but            
none so much as Sun Days!            
seven days a week            
           
---the creekbed calling for bare            
feet among minnows n crawdads            
... n leeches ... eek!            
           
---a pond of sunfish, bullhead            
and bluegill beckoning hooks;            
catfishing wasn't an issue            
           
---neighbor farmer's toolshed            
wallpapered with bushy haired            
centerfolds to go ogle at            
           
---what trolls you encountered            
were easily banished from the realm            
with a +3 Dwarven War Hammer            
and rollings of sacred geometric dice            
           
And then alomg came this            
and that desktop device            
replacing the bulk of our            
bulkier electronic gadgets            
---record players, boom boxes,            
Coleco Visions, Ataris            
           
until likewise kicked to the curb            
were PC monitors and televsions            
for Thursday trash pickup---            
weighed fucktons, I tell ya            
FUCKTONS            
           
Machines: PacMan, Galaga, Asteroids ...            
the arcades you peddled a bicycle            
eight miles to, spending an entire day      
guzzling sodas and binging on junk food            
with peers,            
                      followed in the footsteps of            
dinosaurs            
           
Now you can bowl a three-hundred            
or golf in your living room      
during family gatherings            
           
~ sigh ~            
           
It's just not the same            
           
Though, I'm not complaining            
           
I've gained the best companion EVER            
online through a handheld contraption            
and I wouldn't trade that experience            
or her for ANYTHING or ANYONE            
           
but WHAT I wouldn't give to relive            
some of that old time rock n roll            
with her while swapping the first of many            
a cigarette we would later regret            
           
or monkeying around climbing a tree            
so high, we were too terrified to descend            
our way back to Earth            
           
And then there was that time            
I walked naked through a hayfield            
swarming with fireflies . . . . .            
           
I miss Mother Nature            
           
and physical connectivity           
           
But mostly, I think            
living in my imagination            
after all these years            
in this modern techno era            
already socially distanced            
in so many ways before            
the Covid-19 affliction            
           
I long to be human again            
     
 
       
 

Consecrate,
my loneliness by
 the fireside, where harmony circles,
with the East wind,
over blackened seas
 that roar,  for endless hours, upon days.  
 
Bury my lonely ways
 in silence,  with
the sound of stillness,  
beneath carved
monoliths that bear
the philosophy
of my  youth.  
I need no one  
 
Let the gullible
sing my dirge, without emotion,  covered
in the robe of winter,
over gray grasses with sharp edges slicing
their needs when
they try to flee.  
 
I want to hear them blaspheme prayer
for the loss of my once rooted hope,  
it's timid steps I
thought appeared
graceful now  fallen
 upon open wasteland  
 
Swallow me,
let me steep in
the smell of the
undying where pale
stars loose their
shine behind muted shades of a once
happy moon  
 
Rebirth me
like she is, solitary,
yet never lonely.  
I watch her descend
with evening over
ground where solemn pine rots.
  
I will  overlook serenity and dream of that,  too soft downy skin  
I once touched.

Unite me with my one wish that is to be alone yet never lonely.

In this room...  
It's blistered cardboard walls  
And a monotonous bulb
Guttering above me  
Like a flickering 60 watt sun
That forgot to shine  
 
Surrounded by the scent  
Of stale cigarettes  
And the scattered remnants of nightmares  
Footsteps  outside my door  
Disembodied fragments of men  
Scurrying down infinite corridors of solitude  
 
Leaning out my window  
Into the sprawling urban night  
The wafting bouquet of garbage  
And the relentless symphony  
Of sirens and screams  
The hooker on the corner  
Pacing her purgatory of sidewalks  
With absent feline grace  
 
I light my last cigarette  
Burning my throat and stomach  
Blowing smoke rings of oblivion  
Towards the bulging cracked ceiling  
 
Scrawling desperate verse  
To a love in a far distant place  
Wondering if she'll ever reach me  
Amidst this wreckage and ruin.  
 
One day they'll find me  
My silent pen caught in stigmata death grip  
With nothing but tattered notebooks  
And scattered throwaways  
To mark my earthly sojourn.  
 

the gnomes were here again last night
they do no damage and are said to be
friendly and strong
 
i know they were here because there were footprints in the sand
the neighbor says it was a rat or small rabbit
but i know better
 
they visit every spring after the last frost
i think they like to walk barefoot on the tiny green seedlings
because it tickles their toes
 
they never show themselves but sometimes
just after sunset i hear their laughter
as they head home from work
 
it is said that they walk through rock and stone
as easily as we walk through the air
stewards of the underground
 
i think they visit because
i don’t add chemicals
to my garden
 
the smell of good quality compost
rotting hay mature manure
pleases their tiny nostrils
 
i don’t know why they visit
but i’m glad they do
then i don’t feel so alone
 
someday they may trust me enough to let me see them
with their tall hats and red shoes
maybe take me underground to meet their kids
 
we could talk about plants and nature
and share a bowl of steamy hot soup
and a loaf of bread
 
when i dig i’m careful  
not to go too deep
so i don’t disturb their homes
 
i plant a variety of vegetables
because i don’t know their tastes
when i meet them i’ll ask
 
i like to hum while i’m in the garden
i know my singing voice is kind of scratchy and might scare them
but they might like me humming a nice happy tune  
 
sometimes when if find an interesting rock
or a pretty stone i save it because
it’s probably a gift from the gnomes
 
i leave them outside where they can find them
in case they want them back
there’s never a card with their gifts so i’m not sure
 
some people think i’m crazy for believing in earth elementals
and that’s OK because i think life is more interesting
with a little uncertainty
 
© 2020

 
you walk
 
   you walk  
 
      you walk  
 
without saying a word  
convinced not a single living soul  
within shouting distance knows  
where you're coming from;  
 
rarely making eye contact  
except with passersby  
on Imagination Avenue---  
there, cutting corners  
 
you talk  
 
   you talk  
 
      you talk  
 
to strangers and casual  
acquaintenances as if family  
throughout innumerable  
lifetimes speaking your mind  
 
 
 

  
i.
....feathers on the wind.
I never thought you a ghost,
but you slipped away.
And all I can do is dream
of all the words left unsaid.
 
ii.
....raw, bloodied knuckles.
I imagined you solid -
something substantial
able to hold on to me
until I was exhausted.
 
iii.
....a wine fading bruise.
I feel the affect of you
right here, in my chest.
I’ve pulled your words from my veins
and let them swirl down the drain.  
 
iv.
….sticky, dark candy.
I thought you were good for me.
You were for a while,  
but too much of you, too fast
and I just want to vomit.

v.
…brutal thunderstorms.
Counting seconds to lightning,
calculating us –
wind strewn damage circling me
and all I do is absorb.