The Heat of Unwelcome Thoughts.

The veneer is decades thick
I am unaware of its exact origin
Sufficed to say that its inception was early,
Far too early for me to have known any better.
The events of life ensured layer upon layer of graduated tension
Would only grow in the decades to follow.

What does it mean to sit bewildered by my own lack of definition?
Does it only caution me further, into dark halls that wag a deafening warning?
In rubbing elbows with indifference, I am granted reprieve of my own criticisms.
In keeping the mandatory company of assholes, I chip away this bark more effectively
In acknowledging my own fleeting insecurities, weakness seeps out- to my own detriment.
Bumbling about in more darkness bodes the sickly skin of indecision, for purpose- renewed.

Writing in riddle echoes these carnivorous musings
Shedding skin this thick can surely, only come, with reincarnation.
But that is the folly of this negative beast
Draped around and throughout, my attractive potential.
Stuck in everything again; mud, loss, punishment.
Saving not a trace of what might relax and soften the mind.

Who am I?
Away from this grimy, self-loathing?
This wormhole of decayed resentment?
The way my condition has sliced itself in two;
Equal parts: water-tight/misshapen.
Never was there ever a judge so unfailing, as the way I bite my own back.

Even now, each line holds a war crime
A story sans elaboration, a legend-less map portraying unmarked defeat.
I'm calling out for more 'nothing'
In the hope that eventually, I will evoke an echo- returned
Gifting insight that exists nowhere
Beyond the intrepid tripping up of my own two feet.

Upon completion or four 'sixteen week' sets,
I'm traveling higher.
The hubbub of tactful, complimentary beings remains critically hushed
I'm expecting the downward spiral to unravel
Abbreviating any earned credit with compulsory criticism.
These quiet morning moments stretch ahead several years... as the high of my own dissent, dissipates.

When I'm sixty and the regret of unspent energy has long since left me
I'll be earning kinder lines that grace this face.
Hoping to console myself completely
Through the knowledge that all I've been doing in the name of preservation
Has been enough to evade regret and bitterness
Relying on memories made in times long gone.

...psi...

Insomnia
His outline keeps me awake in the dark.
The cubic space surrounding me
Bows under the psi, growing from unspent torque.
Toss, turn, consumed by neglect
Sailing through a cotton sea
Rudderless.

O slick, ship's wheel
Grasp and twist with confidence
Navigate needs that bemoan the heavy night
Place weight where this mind struggles to capture
A ballad to croon.
I am warping under this long-echoing sigh
Stale.

Bitten, stretched, torn
Night deflecting strain, powerless
This sheep-less mood screams, a foot above the bunk I labor
Cold steel continually meeting that wet grove- alone.
I'd trade a thousand known moons
For a sliver-less sink, to drop in slowly,
And erase this lonesome patina

Virtue
Ensnares the strong and belts them in
For a praiseworthy ride, riddled with loss.

The trade here is eager, desired
But lonely and fucked, nonetheless.

Encrypted, Encased, Engraved...

Vociferous agony floats
Poking at limbs
Encrypted in Patience.
Slow motion slices through
Tension that slips, omniscient

Time holds the memory
Hidden delicately away,
Encased in iron and boneless intention.
Engraved with purpose, conviction
A Lingum of the Ages.

I am hungry.
Weakened not,  from coital loss
With a trigger finger of greatest strength
Aligned with enough Pause...
To last a fuckin' Lifetime.

Enough.

Flesh grows tired of morality's conflict.

Digging into hindquarters that sit idle-
Flexed and frustrated.

Soon, yes soon, soon what?

More waiting?

Perhaps an application
A vacancy filled...

Doubt.

Doubt is more a statement than a question.

Doubt harboring daily for the reasons to hold fast.

I am stuck fast where I need to be,
Steering away from hysteria
Of the like that is sure to disorient

Disorient and rob me of decency.
Such a proclamation
To point the well-articulated finger at my weakness.
The petulant accused is bored stiff
Tiring in this limbo of self-imposed loss.

The diet from man is thinned beyond recognition
To stand shoulder to shoulder would singe my knee-caps

Slander my nape...

Ravage my heels...

Collapse.

Enough for tonight,
Sleep comes not softly and that 3am gavel
Bangs relentlessly.

Enough.

Hell

Shards litter the morning
Victory bubbles in irrefutable belligerence
What win is this, that seethes in vicious malice?
As moisture leaks from reddened pores,
My countenance slows for nothing
The adaptation here is of loathsome envy.

Fuck the donor that weakened one night
His own impending darkness, the victor of fear.
Bumbling about in the blackened ambiance
Hidden red-hot borders burn, once shoulders and elbows relax.
This is madness, this door of impugned warning
Stay out- Stay out! A new sign must bear post.

I abhor this waste, the human element here is mute
Strangled by the sheer stupidity of an unknown soul
There can be no pattern forming here
Of benign indifference.
Serial numbers of warfare, discharging in thought
I grasp the tightened wind-pipe
Cinching one last puff of anger to dust;
This putrid oxygen is immutable.

And so in haste, I turn my back on the uncontrollable
Bowed in conscience for all I purged
Misdirected in my haste for answers.

There is a vein pumping somewhere,
Clean and healthy, aware of all the wrong that couldn't be helped.

And like an oil-stained miner that has been taken over by greed
I too, disengage my empathy
Galloping instead, after logic that has been starved by desperation
And the hell-bent need to wring-free of recent histories.
I am chasing a foundation that anchors in, belly-deep,
To bedrock born of virtuous champions.

To triumph in a time like now would rob me of more sensitivity,
I am torn between the care and the canker.
At 41, challenge only grows;
Like a steam-ridden locomotive, driven towards hell.

Can't; Won't

Can I take that wounded offering
Into the warmest fold of my coat
And set it at ease with full care?

I can.

Can I slip a palm onto the tension that crawls
Weaving in and around all this stifling air?

I will.

There is a broken heart, kneeling
Heavy and filled with regret
Longing for that last effort to rewind
Pre-puncture.

I can't; it won't.

Vibrating guitar strings bury their ache into my ears
I become immune to the wish to stay away from such sorrow
I instead want to be near;
Close enough to hold the hand of such pain
And alleviate the burn of loss in random, semi-permeable moments.

Dark, tousled, strained
I am the landing for such torment
And why is that...........

I am understood in the affliction I recognize
Drawn to burden and the wish to soften;
I am backwards in my need to repair.

Heavy healing is looking outright
Introspection still seeks to heal the loss of another

I am handicap in my directives

Focusing less on the inner toil and leaning more on the ease of other ships

Where was this affinity born?
Surely not through want of ignorance
Perhaps on a day late in May
When language was just a muffle bouncing off space
Did my afternoon pattern experience a blip

And from that moment on, seeking solace for others
Became the inward desire that my life would choose to placate.

In any case
Musing on dialectical happenstance is tiresome,
Yet miles from boring.

M. R. B. Jr.

The thump in my chest is heavy, buried under the weight of disease.
I am choking on the worries of a benign life, super-imposed.
Or is it?
Perception, malevolent in nature
The pressure of platelets pumping heavily is fucking with my thoughts.
What is it that I have inadvertently inhaled that now wishes to drive my thoughts-
South?
I've swum in muck before and so again, I must learn to slice through the dingy water
Cupping nothing to drink and only oxygen, to flush away this bloated stagnancy.
There is a turning point here;
A rough and unfamiliar course that deviates and yet longs to tangle me downward
Another test for the road, I suppose
To coddle my morals and seek relapse into another ocean;
Consumed by waves that lap a choking reflex

I kick, and kick away to move forward
Forward and into a more curvaceous exploration

A bucking of what wants to be addressed, and yet, for here and all the days after-
Has only earned the right to be recalled in disgust.
I can't loom about in memories that have me hog-tied with a vengeance for things of a rotting nature.

Yet to dream without a compass, into a slumber that swims into subconscious longing
What torture defines me in the waking hours to follow...
He's there again, indifferent and without the gentility needed
To reverse the suppressed memories of those that climbed about
Laughing, tickling, needing his care.

What destroys a man that never breaks?
A man, who, taking pride in an ego built upon regret
Lives on in squandered loss
Blindness? Apathy? Giving a fuck, for the fuck's sake of saying so..?
There is cruelty afoot, banging about in cantankerous victory.
Folding into the blackness of not belonging.

We are a headless corpse, and the body we built lies dying
Dying that never ceases, and for what?
To continually echo of all we did wrong, despite of the right?

I am left here, baking in the sun without protection of any kind
Shielding only those that did nothing to bring on this ravaging abandonment.

The mountain is tall, so tall and often without end in sight
But I continue to climb, even on days where the foothold slips,
And I find myself thrown miles back, onto ground already traveled
Soon, I will earn the reasons and secrets for why the return of tomorrow
Will block any renegotiation's.

I build a new nest,
Strong and with heavy reinforcements.
But light enough to fly to new lands, where four hearts can bathe in cleanest waters
Rinsed free of any backwards memories that will serve to tack them down in insecurity-
Insecurities that have earned no right to be clutched by hands without responsibility

The severing of such heavy memory is one bastard of a case
Rising to the challenge was always my forte
So, in one solid and stoic ejaculation,
I ask these blatant scabs to peel free for the last time
Removing themselves from the delicate balance of all I attend.

My wish is to be successful and without waste
As 41 delivers another year of deepening respect and worship
I pick up my load as I always do, in renewed faith and understanding;
That no matter what memories may surface and scar
I take the blow with accuracy and maturity
And not flail about in wasted tears, for a man who lost his sight.
 

Porn for the Ears....

The eardrum is a G-spot.
Bouncing sound straight to the heart and with only one intention:
A one-way ticket between the legs.
I am a driven disciple. I earn all the fervent reward,
Listening still, when even the dam threatened 'Break'.
I pour and pour until the swell begs collapse
It is all I know, to partner up to the rush of such echo.

Shoulder blades remain outwardly stoic
But inside, inside the tendons swim and ejaculate
Slow tension articulating to the orchestration of memory,
When salt of another's pores rained into my own.
I recall quite fondly, the swallowing of such energy.
The cascading venue of my bedroom,
Burned hot the memories of Love, unfolding.

This new sound that punctures my stillness
That fucks with my self-control
Has banged that door wide open, blasting the wood straight off its hinges
Demanding to remember the thrill of naked games.
When love was wet with each stroke and bent on enthusiasm...
These chords, once struck, vibrate long and without regret
Hitting notes within me that have long been held captive by the tightening of remorse.

This reverberating echo is changing me
Craving me... Masking the sharp edges of resolve, and
Quietly inundating me with longing that won't lie still.
My head is wrapped around my legs as my heart begs for a reason
And all the while, the lover in me lies dying
Unafraid of what may come as the result of another palm-to-palm encounter.

But virtue is my judge, and given all presiding factors-
Sees no benefit in venturing further.
The gavel bangs only in continual memory.
And though this composer bellows in daily-
Making love to my heart and mind-
The box still sits quietly, wrapped tight
Adhering to the intention of necessity.