smoke from the chimney

he died today
so he wouldn't die
on your birthday
i know
there was nothing left
for him to say
no deeds
for him to do
it had already been a long while
since conscious thoughts scattered
beyond his grasp
like smoke
from the chimney
to the west wind
but in those last hours
all the people gathered round
to revise their own personal histories
to suit their needs
and wants
to leave their souls in tact
and their conscience clear
someone swears they heard him say
telepathically
i'll die tomorrow
so i won't die
on your birthday
and all the people gathered round
deep in thoughts
consumed with contempt
for all the people gathered round
did nod their approval
for him
the one
about to leave us
like smoke
from the chimney
to the west wind
for him
the kind
the giving
the sacrifice needed
for unmitigated hate
to dominate

the widow's song

through the hole
where his picture hanged
on a crooked nail
she peers
into a void
maybe inches
but maybe a lifetime
she built a life
on appearances
and so there were monuments
plenty of them
maybe memories of places been
but maybe ideals
the way things should have been
the day she realized
she could never have his heart
she bent a man
crooked
the way she hammered a nail
the only way she knew
and so she revered monuments
trinkets
no
not so much for memories
even ideals
but of conquests
exercises of dominion
more bricks in the yellowing wall
of a facade
for show
like a rustic wine cellar
in plastic suburbia
like remanufactured gifts
regifted
and ever so intended
that their worthlessness
cheapness
would be understood
loud and clear
message delivered
message received
she wiggles her butt
as she gargles wine
spits it on to the shag carpet
kicks the dog away with her slipper
sings
"hail to the victors"
as deep as she can go
the only thing
she could think of
patching holes
on a sunday afternoon

saved by the bell

the first time
your breath seizes
skips a measure
the audience gasps
in turn
"could this be the end,
can it really be the end?"
... in every possible way ...
you glimpse an image
dark
like a haunted film
in black and white
raises one arm
opens its mouth
whispers
"enough"
and you just don't know
are you scared
or relieved
so many things left unsaid
undone
is there a bell there
he is ringing
to save you
the beaten boxer
from doing the things
that need to be done
saying what needs to be said
but couldn't
didn't
relieving you
from making choices
really living
or maybe
he is only holding a sign
with your number on it
and it's just random
meaningless
"come on in ...
into the void"
you think you hear him say
or maybe not
maybe it's the medicine
talking again
when you only prayed for silence
for peace
but for the audience
that is gathered here
this day
into night
into the 'morrow
rest assured ...
it is meaningless

the hypocrite

breathe in
then out
again
now cover your eyes
better?
good
now wake up
you were only dreaming
you could ever escape
this building
with but one exit
your name
above your tomb
no matter what you do
or don't
there is a light
at the end of the tunnel
yes
and like an insect
you are drawn to it
like home
after a long trip
safe
the end of running
the silence of screaming
but so too ceases
your hand
in the love you've known
and your hopes
against the bloodrush
of time
and distractions
to make things good
better
a do over
if only you could freeze
time
like a song you knew
pause ...
now breathe in again
come up for air
the world is waiting
people care
you are special
you are valued
loved
but not really....

retro

a candle flickers
in a window
a picture
alive only by your half smile
surrounded by a wreath
like a crown
a memory rises
like smoke
from a cigarette stub
every now and then
when the children stop
yelling
or i find the time
somehow
to trace a life
by numbers
passing out judgments
like bible brochures
to brothers and sisters
but not by birth
the years divided
the thin line
that held us together
in the place of love
pride
and conversation.
slip away
unto the good night
after night
like santa
from a chimney
like love
when love is nothing
more than a word
slip away
like life
oh yes
because you know it doesw
you know it will
and then i will become you
finally
in the end

the drinks are on me

undoes his belt
out flops a belly
soft
like a lazy sunday
full of sweet
nothings
ho ho
bellows the man
in the mirror
that judges
without compassion
at the memory of the man
before the mirror
fat
where ambition used to be
and a red and white suit
sticky
with sweat
and flashbacks
of dreams
and screams of children
that made his day
lying
in a heap
on the floor
like unfinished novels
beside his bed
ho ho holds his liquor
better than ever
a job that pays
on days
of so many smiles
and so many cries
pleasure and pain
he deals in
pleasure and pain
screaming children
stressed mothers
the hot clothes
the sweat
stained beard
the hours waste
like a lifetime,
"hey you,
in the mirror,
the drinks are on me...."