Awakened to the Sound of Burning Ghosts

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MexicoCityBlues
Junior Member

since 2004-01-04

Posts 48
The Point of Know Return

0 posted 2005-01-23 11:05 PM

I.

And the bud of a dream begins with a flower—
bloom to your heart’s content.

And the bud of the dream slapped me in the face
while my room disintegrated into the air
and I with it, peering down at the topless trees
and (edited) TVs and over the sea with these
in my rearview housing ghosts and ghost stories
that Mrs. Television herself taught me
and my youthful friends who carry no single thought
of youth itself, only growing upward—“never look back,”
I told myself, who in flight said, “look back on old harps
that suddenly strum around recent past’s campfire
inquisitions.” please the mind and please the beast
and the ghost burning holes in my eyes
with its long flowing fiery hair.

I descended down the towering stem of the dream
and met up with a few friends

We walked on streets of Red Brick Road
(falling out of crying skies at night)
while they melted in the flames of fiery girls
packed into tight minds to the right
next to the music and behind the Beats
teaching lessons of rebellion and sex
lustful of forests. took a peak
off of a mountain while I found myself
in the leaves of a loveless autumn—
but we stripped the campus of its dignity
on the way the way this way that way
keep going this way to small towns
with big intentions and fiery girls
with long flowing fiery hair.

And the traction of sensuality came
with a sudden halt and small premature case
of Alzheimer’s in the cages of high school
experimentation while at the same time
I was staring into the face of a ghost
I couldn’t see in myself yet still it whispered,
“you (edit), where’s your eye?
you (edit), where’s your eye?”
to which I reply, “you (edit),
you are my eye.” and he blows and I shiver
and I’m gone.

II.

Oh no. the beauty queen is dead.

We took the public turntable through the autumn
while I, listening to my own loveless thinking:

I find your face in every word—
Photographic memories in cold blood burning
Silently within our forest you kept silent for
Nighttime daydreams wide awake while you try to
Sleep, baby, sleep, baby, sleep
When the cradle fell you walked off.

Our forest fell.

Falling on me on you again and you are quick
To push it back up again with hands Fragile vinyl
In time’s forgotten spell we spun round and round
And round hearts I felt without touch in your eyes
Which smoldered in confusion fusing needle to spine
Then ripping back to abnormal abnormalities
That you called confusion.

Metaphorically speaking—metaphorically that is.

And I rinsed your eyes again with my pain
That never touched blindness more than twice
Opening eyes to passion-morning and you looked
Through me
To find bastard filth encrusted in heart-shaped valentine
And green blood that bubbled as you awed and dreamed
And loved and loved and loved and hurt and loved.

Our forest fell.

I lifted stones from my chest with ease with wavering keys
And fallen angel fantasies jumping down from picture film
And into my house while you sat on the sidelines watching
Us dance on clouds she rented for the night while I envision
First kiss monsters creeping into driveways at night
Where she sat next to me on the grass and next to you in me
On the grass where you sat on the sidelines watching us dance.

Our forest fell.

Our forest fell under fire on July 4th. Salute bombardment on
The world
That shames us all and kills
What brother?
You were on the eve of destruction while the world destructed
You were on the eve of destruction while the world was destroyed.

Our forest fell.

Under staged turbulence and gun shot wounds to the head
The both of us squirming unsuccessfully on shores of Normandy
In distress bleeding on mother’s sofas in clumsiness
And lackluster looks consuming all living hope
That we dreamed about together ever after on fairy tale face value
After fallen angel healed her own wing.

Metaphorically speaking—metaphorically, that is.

You said you wanted to be a pig
And we laughed and I (edit) and you laughed and we laughed
Enjoying speech in P.C. worlds everywhere coming soon—
“It’s already there.” Let’s watch it again and melt in embarrassment
as recent childhood past passed is flashed before our vulnerable child eyes
at drive-in prospects we never executed as planned but watched
my inspiration disintegrate into nothing but freedom
and you and sappy poetry that we all read
to put ourselves to sleep

But your hands have been stripped and I gave you back your clothes
And I helped you tie your shoes
And I showed you to the door with high expectations of late night talk
Shows while talking with glazed lips on high
And I find your face in every word.
And I find your face in every word.

Hence the resurrection of our forest.

Can’t wait to watch it burn.

III.

the stem of the dream snapped
the turntable threw us off for digital—
we fell hard.

And we sat down and had more dreams
of wind in timeless hair and red lights
and red rights of skinny pavement
narrowing in the cold distance of summer
built drooling over Cali skies and blistering feet
in cars spinning wildly under jazz periodicals
of whirling vinyl records like rock hard solar systems
in the cool night of stars and nights
with a rock hard soundtrack and squealing tunes
of paper fingers dropping thoughts

And we sat down and had dreams
of clear cut forests in valleys in nowhere
where we wanted to see life in its entirety
in its reality in its harmony in its life
under broad sunsets on Horizonline Lane
drinking tea with Lady Jane
on tree stumps old and broken
stabbed and beaten trails of bare foot journeys
emerging from womb gardens in Indian loin cloths
without time or direction in open-mindedness
that leads to nothing but trees and trees and trees
and treeeeeeeeeees she screamed and we knew
of life with these

And we sat down and had dreams
of poetry and music and poetry
with spitting ink and spitting treasure
we unearthed with our feet as we walked
on the small town streets we painted black
with conversation and plans
and we knew we could fascinate ourselves
if you concentrated on images and words
and outrageous solos with gaudy undertones
underneath undertones under my bed
and we knew of sight you hadn’t seen
she said we’ll just have to see
and we won’t let the mind stop us be—

And we sat down and had dreams
of exploding worlds and broken girls
who lived on the edge of love and pearls
who saw me through fire-lit eyes
and streaming lights of sunder and ten billion blunder
and I cried and she complained and we died
together and held each other to breaking point
with minds on the blade that one used to kill
the pain she lived and lied at treachery’s feet
and peril was obviously not down enough
to kill a mind that loved words and love
and knew of waterfall cities and the hungry skies
and the death of us all

And we sat down and had dreams
of rock band mentality in the orange light of spreading
meditation fad and we saw blank surrealism
in our pictures we had constructed with thick bricks
and Hawaiian steel drums chunky bass riffs
when played right spell 1am misery and 2am genius
that we talked about between seven periods of cramming (edited)
into our brains like intellectual whores in subtle lighting
that sway from topic to topic when we burn our words
and melt ourselves

And we sat down and had dreams
of romanticism under sweltering moonlit galaxies
we made together out of alien spells and witchdoctor fever
and clever usage of hate hung up in relationship hangovers
in rare friendship equities and progressive sampling
at jam band night clubs we could never enter for age-limiting
bar tussles and live shows that tore holes in pedal-steel guitars
On the Road to Mexico City Blues with B.B. and Lucille
with heartland pieces of Chicago never been? you will
find keepsake tranquilities in the shade of John Hancock
in the center of Hi-Fi and Reckless
with newsstands and hot dog fatteries busting out of your Knickerbockers
on the corner of long dead mosquitoes on the bathroom floor

And we sat down and had dreams
of friendship in a box of sound with rain on our heads
with rain in our hands with rain in our timeless hair
narrowing in the cool distance of springtime fantasies
with a matter of days between us and freedom
and the death of us all

IV.

We followed the roots to their split ends.
faltered— I was face to transparency with
the ghost burning holes in my eyes
her long flowing fiery hair.

Come with me…

full-blown, distort the song of futile entity-
we'll paint the statue, give life to the future
while we nurture the breast of youth and feel
our way through the tunnels that enclose the mind
for months at a time; we take the fire, burn
our way through the blindness when it all
comes to a close on the corner of Walnut
and impossible inner beauty, that rambles
along the streets of impossible features and
faces in trench coats that hide personality and
flaunt musical taste staring at limestone
cobblestone and the make-believe light bulb
dangling freely in the distance, nesting high
in the comfort of publicized trees in courthouse lot
watching underground exit the pathetic "poetic bus"—

--and I wound up in my bed afraid of slumber,
my eyes burned to blindness,
my moods burned numb,
my inspiration burned
to none.

And I wound up in my bed afraid of fire.

"Do you realize this world is totally fugazi?" --Marillion

[This message has been edited by Masked Intruder (01-28-2005 02:01 AM).]

Midnitesun

Member Empyrean

since 2001-05-18

Posts 28647
Gaia

1 posted 2005-01-23 11:23 PM

damn
I wound up sitting here staring at the screen
watching it burn with an unraveling that begs to be read again, even if it singes my brain

need a fire hose for this write

"and we knew we could fascinate ourselves
if you concentrated on images and words
and outrageous solos with gaudy undertones"

"We followed the roots to their split ends."

Aenimal
Member Rara Avis

since 2002-11-18

Posts 7350
the ass-end of space

2 posted 2005-01-26 11:32 PM

why the hell hasn't this recieved more responses? to the top, let's start over again. tour de force here welcome MCB

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