Skip to main content

Thoughts Like Cannonballs









Thoughts Like Cannonballs



A cannonball/
Had the gall/
To just have to fall/
In my room, distracting all/
My rampant thoughts/
Animos-/
Ity grabs my palm/
As laughter drops/
Away, telling me the past has dawned/
And the battles on/
The rapid knocks/
On the already active box/
Holding this spastic flock/
Of manic lost/
Brain cells together are the blasting cross/
Of a mastodon's/
Footfalls and a rattling glock/
That shoots stammering shots/
Inside of glass and blots/
Of ink, I passed them off/
As if they answered all/
My questions just so I could stand and block/
The adderall/
From slamming law/
And disorder/
On this hoarder/
Of shitstorms and/
Clipped formal/
Eccentricities/
Left to sit with me/
I miss normal/
The aftershock/
Is always blissful/
It's calm and simple/
When I'm not the missile/
Headed straight for an honest crippled/
Talk with issues/
That harm and misuse/
My fallen quiver/
To haunt and intrude/
On my pause from this loose/
Arduous booth/
Cause it's an ominous noose/
Hanging over me, it's obvious who/
Built these walls and crypts too/
I'll eclipse you/
While bottling clues/
To help me slaughter these proofs/
Because they're false prophets/
And my armed logic/
Knocks rockets/
From the toppling roofs/
Because I lack trust/
In the man from/
The other side of the mirror, I have such/
A damn fuss/
That ramps up/
When I try to match up/
The strands of/
Broken memories/
With strokes of death in me/
That throw the lettering/
To the forming sentences/
Back up/
Into the black clutch/
Of mashed blood/
And crashed love/
The attack of/
Past cuts/
Makes my amped up/
Mind clam up/
And I laugh cause/
It means the grass brushed/
My face for an instant/
And the distance/
Between my vision/
And remission/
Was slammed shut/
But these damn cuts/
Won't scab done/
So I grab guns/
To light a fire under my ass one/
More time and stand up/
To stab some/
Life into these drab crumbs/
Of recollection I have spun/
Up from the webs of my smashed front/
To awaken in the eye of the storm/
And I am reborn/
And life is a warmth/
That slices the coarse/
Lining/
I'd liken/
To the plight of a corpse/
Trying to force/
This lightning to pour/
Like rain is to fight with the cord/
That might be a warn-/
Ing to take a respite and reform/
My mind's old velour/
Pattern/
And be grander/
Than a title of sorts/

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My Return To The Field

How often must I remain here? I must have died unexpectedly, and my wandering spirit, aura thick with malevolence and anguish, refuses to acknowledge my own death. Indeed, I have become a ghost, cursed to haunt diners, coffeeshops, bars and beaches, pen brandished and book unsheathed. I've grown so distant from others that Im more statue than Man, yet where this separation once stung painfully, it now soothes reassuringly. Lumped in with a generation of "men" with testosterone levels lower than a woman's would be 30 years ago, and forced to make due with "women" that proudly proclaim themselves sluts and will actually attempt to fistfight men if they are ignored and eschewed, as they should be, my sentiment is clear. I want no part of this generation. It's filthy and degraded.

You could say I'm living a daydream right now, a fantasy granted the breath of life by divine providence. How many shifts at work have I frittered away contemplating the perf…

Beacon Of Light In The Darkness

Beacon Of Light In The Darkness




For too long I've harbored the one-sided shadows of former relationships. Torturous, rapid bombardments of perceived slights and ridiculous thought crimes. I've stifled my own opinions on everything from politics to religion, the two classic hot button issues, paragons of ostracization and dogmatic pollution.

The ghosts of the past are insidious and seductive, causing me to view them through rose-colored glasses for a formerly indeterminate amount of time. Yet now, in the absence of that old, familiar love, the grip of nostalgic fantasy has been loosened as my naivete is strangled by harsh reality.

Gasping for breath, it attacks me with a battalion of its best memories, a company of incomparable moments, countless divisions of dreams rendered dead by inaction and hatred. In the end, we all die alone. In those final, fleeting hours, we'll be surrounded by a devoted, compassionate family if were lucky, holding and pumping our aching, callouse…

Six And Four

Six And Four


Today marks 6 years since I began my enlistment, and coincidentally, had I not extended, I would be free today.

As a younger man, when the home and world I knew were unmolested by the ravages of change and the life I left behind was still relatively intact, if you had offered me a path out of the military, I would've seized it feverishly and greedily, determined to free myself from what I perceived as stifling bondage.

Now, staring down the barrel of 27, I fear gaining that complete autonomy back. I feel institutionalized in a backwards, ironic way, more like a convict on the precipice of parole than a Sailor a short time from mustering out of service.

I've gained skills and credentials that render me employable nearly anywhere, and have cultivated a healthy collection of contacts that span not only several states, but countries on either side of the world's oceans.

I've gained 40 pounds of muscle since I initially left home, and saved a large portion of …