Pot Roast Concussion

A fractured family of a mother, two girls, and two boys sat routinely at the dinner table ready to ingest a steaming pot roast, a rare treat for the broken home. Meals were usually eaten in relative silence, save for the occasional lip smack and slurping sounds found in most Midwestern households. If any conversation erupted, the mother usually initiated it, but talk was sparse. The verbal silence this evening was broken not by the mother, but by the eight year old boy, Steven, who requested butter in a most unorthodox manner. "Pass the Buddha, please." Thwack! The mother, within arm's length, savagely slapped little Stevie flush across his cheek. Shock hung in the air as everyone at the table froze in anticipation for more violence to follow. "Blasphemer! Where did you pick up that heathen word, young man?" Stevie made no response, his hand slowly crept up to his reddening cheek. A cold second lingered. Unexpectedly, Stevie let out an abrupt laugh. The mother's face contorted in raw disbelief. Stevie began to let out a series of guffaws like a geyser releasing long built-up pressure from the bowels of the earth. "Oh, ho, ho.... you want to be a little smart-ass?!" The mother rose from the table and began to pace behind Stevie. By this time, he was so petrified by the inevitable consequence, his laughter became hysterical, with snorts accenting each burst. Martha, the twelve-year-old, smiled slightly, unable to hide the amusement of watching Stevie defy their domineering mother; although, she knew a new kind of storm brewed in the mind of her mother like no other she had seen prior, a volatile electrical storm more physical in nature compared to the many verbal squalls of the past. A broom leaned in the corner of the room; the mother grabbed it with vigorous intent, using it for a purpose other than house cleaning. She loomed over Stevie with an ominous smile stamped on her weathered face. "You think it's funny, makin' fun of baby Jesus?" Whack! Stevie let out a hiss as the broom handle came down on his soft skull. "What do ya think now, you little cocksucker?!" Stevie let out such a burst of giggles little fragments of food shot out over the red-checkered table cloth. Whack-whack-whack! Martha stopped smiling. She could see knots beginning to rise on top of Stevie's head like an ultra violent Bugs Bunny cartoon. By now, the youngest boy, Charley, screeched in horror, and Rita, the second oldest, stood up and ran into her bedroom being as inconspicuous as possible. Stevie continued to laugh, but the tone began to change. His eyes blackened with dilation. Madness crept behind the veil foreshadowing events which would take place years later. The mother sat back down after one final barrage. Her breathing had become labored. She sat glaring at little Stevie who still softly chuckled. She then, unexpectedly, let out a loud guffaw mingled with a shaking head of perplexity. She speared a hunk of meat on her plate and greedily began to eat as if nothing had taken place. Martha stared, incredulously, at her mother. She slowly rose from her chair and crept from the room holding back tears for her abused brother. Little Stevie would never be the same.

An Old Friend I've Never Met

I'm standing in a field with a blue-red dream state spinning its web of fractals across my so called senses. Next to me is an entity that once was a guy who shared the sacrament, but now is a glow that chuckles now and then. In the distance I hear the dogs barking, barking in frustration because something is amiss, the humans are off key. I quickly spit out a routine of a dog's life behind a fence barking and growling at a mystery while its master screams, "What the fuck are you barking for!?" And the baffled dog replies, "Don't know. I'm just tired of eating the same shit all the time." I hear another slight chuckle from the myopic taciturn man-aura to my left (whatever "left" means). "Man, take a look at the sky!" he exclaims, like a trumpet announcing the approach of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I quickly shift my attention from the ground, with its morphing geometrical orgy of blues and reds, to straight up (whatever "up" means) into the starry night sky and instantly understand mankind's ancient love affair with the heavens. But on my canvas there's a little bit of hell mixed in for contrast. Everything in my breath is connected to that! Worlds are dying and civilizations are just giving birth to gods in their image. Ego infested sentient beings are plotting and scheming to systematically lull their masses to sleep while they ransack the souls left behind by distraction. A being is, for the first time, using a language to accurately describe the true meaning of love to an audience of indifference. I take a deep breath from the cold intoxicating universe, turn connectedly towards Greg, and simply say, "Woof!".

Reunion

My leisure eats my intellect
With a hungry,belly-driven smile

Dimmed eyes view the world restlessly
In need of constant change
And distraction

Stall the world
Stop the rotation

We're not worthy of the motion
Emotion

A dictated disposition
Position

An uncomfortable history created in the now

Dispel the laws of breath fuels blood
Breath fuels madness in God's new medium

The canvas of clogged pores
Emitting the odor of
Inevitable death

Premature decay
And away..... we go

Stick
Swell
Clenched teeth

Bite that lip, baby
Breathe

Tip bad girl
Make 'er feel good
Make her feel..... oh, just a little
Numb

Water snakes off ice
In a whiskey cage

Covered bruises thankful for winter's cold

Starvation sensation
Suspended by chemical
Habitation

Tongues lick the life out of death

Relations disowned
Disconnected
Retrospected

"But I still love you"
"Get well soon"

Discontented
Rented

Then thrown away....

Bounce

I feel hell flowing in fluorescence
As birds chirp in laughter at my presence
I'm in the Wa-wa world
That's where I've been hurled
Flames have such strange tongues To lick the peeling sky
If I didn't know better,
I'd think I heard God cry
Voices in 45 then 64
Infinity just cracked its door
A queen ant broke her larval sac
A taste of death,
And now I'm back

Hymns of the Midnight Refugees (Beginning of Second Draft)

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

11/07/2009 Update

My Poem, "Long Dead You" has been published in the latest edition of, "absent-cause, Literary Supplement". Here's the link to their site for more information:  http://absent-cause.blogspot.com/2009/10/absent-cause-zine-3-available-now.html