by Darryl Price
alright but not so much of a friendly
little cigar-chomping companion
ghost. That sweeping hair of longed for sleeping only
awaits you once you've drowned too
many missed punches already into
the feckless chin of fate. That
hanging lucky number seven is never
anything but true. You don't
have to worry too much about that
kind of thundering blues hitting
you where you sit at. They'll find
you out. Just embrace the news
you are alive somehow however
it arrives. From that
lonesome train window gaze out
on the sea of possibilities
and don't let them tell
you there's nothing on the other
side of the end of the
world. No matter where you are
tonight you are someone who
might just fall happily in love. There's stopped time in every minute.
Just know this one thing—even
if you win you'll still lose something big
as you stumble upon
your luck like a bundle of tied together magic
sticks. The cold message is all
the rage these days. Everything changes.
No love is really safe. This camping
out in your wildest dreams in ditches
is a kind of melting on false
stairs, of long lost memories,
of wheels matching up to make sure
something runs straight on ahead into a wall. The endless fire
is just the familiar cost
of the roll of angel heads.
Again this is all worth it,
I think, just can't be stopped or
reversed. Hardly anyone anywhere
gets to say goodbye. That's what
always sets my words apart
from the chain—I want that
late chance, even carved out of
pure nothingness but a true physical
sensation in the cold night,
sitting in a beat up room
of my own making, waiting
for the next sunrise to make
me admit to myself that
no one is coming, everyone
has left. This terrible racket
is all I'm left with.
Darryl Price Saturday, August 10, 2013
They Don't Know
by Darryl Price
what they are mooning about. They want to scare you with
their caked on close up sinister carved smiles. They are pretty scared of you alright.
They are so afraid you might not love them anymore.
They remember love happening to them and now they
are so cranky for the fact, waking up from that mind-numbing dream. They
remember turning away love for spite. They want to say they
are sorry we were hurt by their prickliness back then. They are
not very good with words. They have used words as weapons
to misinform and disarrange you all your life. They have brought this last
supper on themselves they will say through their many fallen tears,
but that is a lonely penance and not good for much
else. They were learning children once just like you and me.
They still do know you deserve to give all you've got to the
waiting world in your own way. They want to take your place,
remember this, only if they are evil. They should
immediately allow you to rightly take the
world over without a world war of the hearts being started again. They can't
understand or accept the time is now. They live in
their balanced haircuts like frozen cups of coffee offered to
an ice queen on holiday. They live in front of their
stolen money TVs like endlessly hungry gulls
circling an open air garden restaurant all day long. They are
constantly pretending not to notice the holes in
their shoes are letting in cooler and colder air. They
really don't know what they are so mad for in the first
place. They are sad and anxious. They still deserve your respect.
They have dignity in them. They're soon to be gone. They'll
become whatever we resurrect in their places.
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