Amanita Mary
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Sep 28, 2006
- Messages
- 207
The Last Encounter Driving
trying to know that the words will come
and yet
my heart
exploding with anxiety.
He was high
on God knows how much valium
and mumbling
about how great it was to see me
how much he liked my hair
and wished it was his
showing me a stolen bottle
of expensive wine
he spoke of acid and dope
and how often he got high
we took a couple shots
smooth bourbon
from the special shelf
in the kitchen pantry
that I used to raid
every day
around dinner hour
at the Dubov's .
Sitting in his bedroom
instilled the old taste of fear
in me
I knew what those walls meant
they stood as crutches
holding the old gang up
the door was an entrance
to escape
rotating wanderers
of all rejections
cycled through
the couch held you
like a mother's womb
and while staring at endless books
on pink walls
you could sink in
injections
and crawl a little further
down the rabbit hole.
I sat for a second.
on his small, rotten bed
where our teenage escapades
used to roll in retro sheets
i could smell the weed again
and taste the coke
he was mumbling
drowsily excited
about a story he wrote
he read the intro
and parts about me
over the phone
begging for my praise
I swore I'd help him finish it.
In the car
I tried to put something
conscious in his head
Atmosphere
"From a head full of pressure
as the senses that I clutch
made a date with divinity
but she wouldn't let me fuck
and I got struck by a hazy shade
of 'God help me change'
caught a rush on the floor
from the life in my veins"
he listened for a while
but began to cover it up
with questions
he was always so full of LOST
crouching in pessimism
abandoning hope
for the answers
that never came fast enough
he'd drown in pills
choke down crack
smoke a lotta weed
and on days he could bleed
smack his veins with poppy dope
So I ask him
if it ever worked
I said
"so congratulations.
You've gotten as high as anyone can
without dyin'
did you escape yourself?
for that's the goal in which you're tryin'. "
and he knows the answer
and i know the answer
he lets me hear his fear
wanting to stop
he pondered truth
the other side of nowhere
Apologies
And Shame
And confusement
dripping from his lips
shining in his eyes
he said God was talking through me
and he wanted to take
a picture *
he listened to what i had to say
for the first time
read some Ram Das scripture
wanted to know
about awakening
about what he felt
but wasn't seeing.
We sat
until the coffe got cold
Talkin' about how
when he was 8 years old
he was a LOSER
and couldn't shake his peers
I tried telling him
on bended knees
prying up into his eyes
to "go inside Pierre,
forgive those lives"
but it's far too scary
after you've been high
and running
for 5 years.
Back at the house
the house where
I vomited my soul
to try and save him years ago
I see Valery
the disappointment
in her eyes
is unbearable
i thank her
trudge back into the stale
undecorated room
where the only thing
i remember on the walls
was a paper
with drugs listed down it
all the ones
that Brendan & Pierre
the high-riding-rig-brothers
vowed not to do
Brendan kept his promise
but P was always a good liar
he asked me to be
his spiritual guide
leaned on my shoulder
told me i'd made it
learned a lot more than he
in my time
and reminded me
of what a beauty
he thinks of I
walked me to my car
for one last night
A hug.
A promise.
A hope
For Change.
Days and Days and Days
no call
the old ways crept back in
through the walls
and into his veins
February morning.
I'm in culinary school
cooking Foie Gras
and thinking hard about Pierre
His favorite duck liver meal
I prepared
speaking of him all day
and smiling about the crazy times
we shared
February morning.
A Mother
shakes her cold son
the Dragon Dope Slumber
raped lizards from his hair
and oceans from his eyes
pale and blue
I used to linger
on their sullen life.
I don't know
if i'm invited to the funeral
doesn't matter really
i'm left with poetry
and paintings
and pictures
of high smiles
in my memory
so congratulations...
you made it man
I hope that the next time around
is filled with love
instead of heroin
Pierre
my slayn dragon
of fear
my lessons
of respect
and sobriety
and patience
my reminder that i can't save everyone
you've reassured me
that i'm here to plant seeds
to make people think
and some will grow
and others won't.
Bless.
2/21/08
My Blanket of Blue
My legs are moving
but i'm not walking
I am floating
in a pool of stagnant memories
I am filled
with glimpses
of variations
of the same face
I see him
The Indigo
in my lover's eyes
I see who I knew he could've been
he is in the mirror
with a stern stare
and a small smile
I dream
and long
and pine
and cry
and beg
for just one more hug.
I lug around this body
thinking
that if I had one more moment with him
I'd be fine
but no...
everything is NOT ok.
thanks for asking
if you weren't ready for the truth
and a handful of soggy sulking eyes
piercing your gaze with a sullen shine
and utterances
of my swollen sighs
then I'll accept
a pat on the back
out of your sympathy
for the loss
of my stability.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I feel like
THE WORLD WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH
to impress Pierre
everything wasn't coated in butter
or prisma-colored vibrant blue
people didn't love and honor one another
the way he felt they ought to
and it is selfish of me
to want him to come back
to the place he hated most
EvErYtHiNg
is Blue today
I can finally feel him again
as a quilted blanket
stitched at the seams
with everything i see
he is in the highway
winding black
he is blowing across the horizon
as dandelion seeds
planting peaceful wishes
wherever he may land
and he sways
in the springtime leaves of trees
outstretched to hold my hand
he is blue morning dew
sending droplets down
to kiss my skin
and remind me once again
that he's not dead
he's someone new
so
Did you paint the sky for me this morning?
Did you help God choose the gray and orange Pierre?
Because it's beautiful.
he's guiding my dreary feet
to acceptance
he is in the flock of birds
soaring above my car
in a dance
he is gray fog, sighing in my tea
he is falling from my eyes
and teaching me to be
but
i'm still angry
and i still claw at the memories
never able to dig deep enough
to find the one
that fills me up
so i can stop
filing through my mind.
There are endless pages
of just his eyes
screaming
and pleading
to let him out.
there was always someone trapped in there
in that frail
pale body
someone who only showed up
when he was safe
and comfortable
and the pigs
so shallow, at bay
distracted outside
from what drugs he chose to be high on that day
the ever elusive
Indigo Boy
who'd share stories of dreams
and speak kindly
quietly
to me
in a deep
tranquil
voice
that could silence my struggle
for days
as i lay on his chest
and wished for death
because nothing was better
than being with
Pierre
~unveiled~
I remember how fragile he was
dainty
adorable
soft and shy
he was a walking china cabinet
fine
and shattering
glass pieces of himself
about the floor
to give everyone
glimpses
of his wonder
I drank from his observer's cup
the one that never moved
the truth
stashed in back
and covered up
the one he was always running from
because the questions
always led him
to disbelief
because the things he chose to fill it with
were out of need
and not of love
because the world
wasn't fucking good enough.
I hold pieces of Pierre
at every moment
that I am me
he has sewn himself
to my bruised
and praying knees
he has a special ring
around my finger
for being my first love
he's wrapped in the knots
that are my hair
black and rough
he lingers there
kissing my shoulders
as the wind gives me hugs.
He is a pair of eternal slippers
forever bound
and wrapped around my feet
for always
and always
will Pierre
be a part
of my journeys.
2/26/08
Of Women & Lace
WHAT
is the matter
with you
sleepless girls
in cities
dreaming
of junkies
Rolling and
Rolling
And Rolling
30 minute circles
on mattresses
And bedspread shackles
Joints
Ecstasy
Health Stones
Fat waitresses
Battle for bucks
and your eggs
look like they
shouldn't make it
to your mouth
-like-
his cock
last untainted
Fucked your Face
Breakfast Recovery. GO
Over-medium's
lookin' like hard
and the lard
on the lady
clad in apron
is bruising retinas
as the food
runs to gums
greasy
Mamas bleeding ones
and crying
sogggy child
slumps
over applesauce
STOP
wait
(...run) ?
"He was scum"
Mama knows
that's why she's dressed up
and all alone
slouching baby's bow
fork scrapes*
orange juice
No pulp
large purses
ugly leather
sulk
chair-side
hairspray
clumped lashes
blue-eyed gift
from who, i won't know
mascara,
shadow,
barely meets rent.
hmm
...shadows...
on walls
that used to move
while lying
--------------------> ^High^
with you
WHAT - - - do you care
but
continue to stare
upon ?
to wonder
and dream
of lover's long gone
like ladies
with babies
in cafe's
~blue eyeshade~
matching waitresses
as runny
plates
of
eggs '___'
glide away
She's waiting for tonight
her favorite
truck driver
stops in
at nine
asking for liver
or a sandwich
or milk from the carton
with ice
and the lady's
panties
stay hidden
with her pearls -
and thighs
and lace around
the sides
her night spent like mine
A toss of
between me
and the sweat
and the silence
and the sheets
and the dreams
of scents
of ~Indigo~ boys
worth waiting for
-again-
AND
of those
deep blue
scarring boys
who took you
to plush drug land
raping blushes with
~pieces~
still in their
hands
-as toys-
She's up
and hushing
cries
from the child whose eyes
are him
Wrapped in robe-red grim
with dangling
tassels
*for hope*
(it is) for the weak
Doesn't she know?
He'll always be there
to speak kind hushes
in midnight battles
of logic and longing
they'll always
hang
in the gaping caves
of your mistakes
rummaging in wait
as camouflaged
trash
within your hair
Stashed in back
as potential dispair
for the daytime tasks
to rush the sun
and crash
as Kristellnacht
---(you lie)
fragile glass memory
- - - - - - - - - - - - ---- ---
couging fit
infused habit
cheap checks
and an
even tinier
- tip.
House shoes...
cigarettes
joggers outside
sidewalk windows
(rule-breakers)
flow... unnoticed
diseased poets
order omelettes
and request them
scrambled
?
Lingering yellow-toothed
ashtray
plays smelly
circling games
about scratched tables
among the filling
bellies -)
and rambled gay fables
chef's sweat
over peppered steak
and it's only
eig8ht o' clock
-(you know)
Down at
Goldie's & Don's
24 HR
little busy
Cozy Country
Kitchen Diner
and so the tickets
tack on
flapping metal reel
meal requests
demand
is in
supply
and so is the #5
with biscuits
and gravy
"fruit's for pansies!
like that chick
and her kid
this ain't no place for babies"
it's now 9 o'clock
and the truck drivers'
commentary
is 12 hours early
our fellow
curly red
waitress
must've heard wrong
Flying Flooded
and eager
she scuttles
to deliver fear
and liver
to the table in the corner
This place traps sadness
like a graveyard.
-crackers-noodles-chicken broth
-garters - pearls- see-through bras
some women
wear lace for ghosts
men who walk their heads
long gone
others for whom they don't know
but flaunt
and gaze
and continue
to dream upon.
2007
Black Jewel Beauty
"I've never seen anyone quite like you before..."
echo through my heads cavity
these words do ring
i used to ride youthful waves
of lusty blue and green and gray
delved tip-to-toe in passions tumbling truth
jeweled black beauty sheets
stained heaven beneath you
unpeeling raven's claws
and cheap bleeding wine
dreams of development danced devils' cries on your lashes closed
mocking my low
desirous eyes
with white ghost wishes
drained from dazed pain-mask kisses
clinging dead on your face.
indulgent adventures maze
down a thick
honey-supple trail
stoned monkeys
bicker in branches
breaking through
the bitter-fated
jaded forest
of words missed
and lines sniffed
and glazed praise for the boy so frail
"my favorite dreams of you still wash ashore"
i float atop them on a woven mat of willow leaves
"echoing your voice till' i don't wanna sleep anymore"
i sink into the sound ~ your watery warmth
and for just once more,
appreciate the way you used to feel
sloppy demeanor and stumbling boots about the floor
awakened and groaning,
my retinas peel
from seeing you sleeping there
it was you,
I swear
shaking gremlins dust and widow's twine from your hair
your breathing heaving junkie-boy humbling into me
snug like coals of orange anger's flame
only now wearing your french name
and burning
in my sheets
a touch of your skin
black with sin
racking vertebrae up my back
and with curiosity
am slain within.
I awaken
with the sorrow on my lips
you've shown up glowing
a pale mundane grimace
stretched thin around my memory
your MASCULINE fragility
suffocated the dreary room
from the shit-stained floor
and holes punched more
toward the walls
and creaking ceiling
where we'd lay and hear rain pour -
in our lives and in our feeling
I seep the deep rotten roots you planted in me, with poetry
until eventually into me - you breathe
oceans of strength
with the words you don't speak in these ears
with the sheets empty of your long legged fears
and my pleading, beggar's tears
our fights rest now as hollowed screams
heard only in our heads
and i know longer live in the illusion
of being happier, higher than we seem
His haunting ways I've buried
deep beneath the skies of crying eyes he'd stand and watch me bleed
I am preparing flight with faeries' wings
holding hands of goslings in hopes that they will see
and swing from vineyard offerings
being kissed with grapes and rhythmic bliss
drumming purple mist
through winds wrapping dances around our wrists
and back through the forest floor again
where my feet are firm in the dirt this time
tangled in the earth
and reliant on knowing it owes me nothing
this story bleeds light into his worth
for mistakes are invisible
the lessons need breathing
i'm swaying in the strengths he taught but never saw
and with the dog left behind
but always close by
im never quite sure
when again he'll bite
yet i am always forgiving
for in those moments before i wake
i am living
the most peaceful visions from you
i could've taken away.
it hurts to see them lying there
prying open old escapades and memory bank stains
but soft slumber greets who you used to be for me
and
~ i smile ~
as all of my anger falls to the ground
it's a stacking ripened pile of joys i've found
for when i realize that you, that this
was all worth the strain
i kiss you dragons as my own are slain
and for you dreams sweet Pierre
I wish the same.
2006
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