The written word
The beast beneath the rails
Breath like steam through bitter morning sun, where winter looms as fall bears down the two steel rails, the ending of this folly’s run. Here, in this moment, this morning sun, that is not warm, this soft glow, this pouring from the sky. So many things upon the same horizon. Money spirals down the drain from country after country, and people, not the land, make of this those countries. It is lost on us and gained by they the feeders deep beneath the drain, the largest of the beasts. These creatures claim and clamor, they chime and whistle with broomstick sweeping into dustpan method. These noxious fowl are beaked and wicked, yet live in guises of righteous indignation. They speak to us with venom, wanting us to succumb; they beckon to our rights and folly to our reason. We welcome them with righteous tomes and sanction them with withered scrolls; we cherish them with empty wives-tales, and spin them as they’re spun the wool of ancient souls. The fathers of our fathers’ fathers spoke the words that spin them solid, ending mine for spending yours. There is no future that is ending, nor a future now pretending, in the end, its growth we’re sending. Our brothers ache with ineptitude and sisters quake by fortitude, for either are but siblings in this mire made by man. Breath that breathes the plume of gray in cold and shallow morning day, by day to night, through shallow skies where stars are empty in their glow. The hollow of an empty nothing like the vast and fervent driving of a driven drove in semblance lacking all display. Where is death upon this morning, where is stop upon this train, for coal and anger rivet blindly, deep upon the steel-rail trowel. Pushing, pleading, begging still, upon the bitter morning bell, the blazing glory still shrieks loudly, howling down the whistling trail. Plume of gray-smoke, like the breath, huffing puffing, in the dawn… craving yearning for need is wanting, blasting down upon the rail. Two steel embers end their standing, on a cliff of future fail, upon the shards of hope enduring, ends this train in vain impales. Crash and bam, and burn in havoc, lavish death and blatant tram, but rush and gush the lush of life with feeding devils with horns of ram. Ah, the bitter cold of morning-- leaves that flash upon the frost, with dying embers from the crash, yet churning smoke upon the empty thoughts of yore. Cool sun on wind with pillows sleep and withered plants beneath the sheep, the frost and the fire and the past on a pyre are simple things that make desire. Beneath the drains of souls of man, lie empty wicked sores for mouths, bleeding, licking, feeding hounds. Ripped wide the jaws of monster, vacant lies imposter, catching all the glory of a chance that we once fostered. Wreckage from the train of man, ridden till the rail but ended, fought itself against the morning, shed its breath upon the cold, and died to feed the beasts below.
my john
The unending sounds of people sound like alarms that can awake the dead. Feasting hoards of need; people wishing, wanting, needing, begging, asking, deserving, entitling, driving, bleeding, worthy, and the antithesis of each, bark upon my doorstep for resolve. The holy and the blessed amongst the deprived and the criminal, all of which are patrons on this store that is my whole. That is life by hour as unveiled. Yet one amongst the crowd of pain is tried and true and thus regaled.
He walks amongst the many as a quiet simple man, and feels the weight of worlds, with burden in his trail. He hurts for many, speaks so little, dies each day, to live and fiddle. Not that worth is worth to him, but life is living as gift is giving. Each day I lose him, slowly still, working hard, his grinding journey, his fruitless trite and endless hill.
Step by step he rides the rise, through slaughter words and blinding pries, he rides the ride to make his tries, by binding empty cries in sighs.
He makes the cries of heartless souls so empty in their pain. I hear them each and every day, and see the empty walls, smell the empty rooms, and taste the empty halls. He makes the weak seem weaker still, not because they are not worthy, but simply seen, I love him more.
I love his every movement, his wake and simple groove. I look to him with a wanting, a need; an honest move. I love him like a pain inside, a hurt, a need, a life denied.
John is the one who makes me feel; the only love that lives for real. I hold him in my mind, because I cannot hold him with my arms. I seek him in my dreams, for he hides from me in life. He is the reason I hold reason, and makes of reason a reason but to be.
joey - SHAKESPEARE edit - romeo and juliet - after balcony
(Juliet has just went inside after her talk with Romeo from the balcony scene)
Romeo
Oh my sweet Juliet until we see again, my heart already longs to see your beautiful face and feel the soft touch of your perfect lips upon mine.
(Enter Capulet Guard)
Guard
Oy, what do you think you are doing there?
Romeo
My business is none of yours.
Guard
Any business of your is now of mine as you are trespassing on Capulet property
Romeo
I thought I heard a squealing swine but upon further investigation I realized that it was Paris making conversation.
Guard
I will not stand to be insulted by Montagues scum, prepare to die.
Romeo
You will not be killing me tonight for the swine I heard was not Paris, but you, and no fat oaf could even catch my shadow.
Guard
How dare you.
(Romeo takes off running with the guard following close behind)
Romeo
Come on now even you can do better that that.
(With a roar the guard speeds up knocking over a trash can in the process)
Guard
(Slowing down clutching his side) Ah my side I’m not as young as I used to be.
(As the guard goes around the corner he does not notice Romeo lurking in the shadows of the alley, and with a quick thrust of his sword the guard took his last breath)
Romeo
I’m sorry brother but you left me no choice, I can’t have any loose ties knowing about our love.
(Romeo exits)