Nameless

(Written on Valentine’s Day of 2020)

On this day of Love,

I struggle to

Break out

Of my bubble,

Climbing above

The rubble

Of my own hate,

On my way

Across an empty

Plain,

Trying to find

A date

Like I’m chasing

A baited dove.

Coveting

A state

Other than

This

Irate

Desperation,

I just can’t wait.

I can’t rest.

I’m a mess

Without my

Respiration

But elation

Is a part of

My heart

So far removed

That it feels

As though I’m

Simply charmed

By the moon.

I can’t trust anybody,

My dreams rust like pennies,

Rotting so many teeth

In my skull

As I hold onto my dull

Hobby

For dear life

And try to sell my

Soul

So I’m worthy

In the eyes

Of a wife.

Life without love

Is killing me,

Yet I can’t be blind-sided

By lovers

Who can’t see

What I hide

Inside of

These

“Write to

Find

My Identity”

Kind of

Mind games that

I like,

These

“Wind back

Time to
Make things

Right”

And

“Show me a sign,

Heavenly Divine”

Shames

I can’t leave

Behind

In my rhinestoned home

In the flames

Of HELL

Where I simultaneously

Deny blame

And confirm claims

I was not well.

These shames bounce around

My evil brain

Which is crazed

With fame

And dazed by

Beautiful dames

Because maybe

Together

They’ll make

Love and Freedom

Available

Or obtainable

In some way

And give me
What I crave

So my name

Isn’t so

Assailable

Each day

And then

On that future day

I reach

The beaches of

Santa Monica Bay

And feel like

I’ve finally made it,

I can finally say

“Hooray!”

And enjoy my

Fantasy of
Acclaim …

Even as I speak

The words fade …

My significance has

Passed,

As would a blade of grass

In a shady patch

If time were fast

Or if we traveled far enough

Back

In the past,

Before ships and masts came,

No trips or tracks

Made by fantastic

Explorers or trailblazers,

Before their hips

Gave out

Or hair turned gray

And their tireless aim

Went away,

Before their bombastic

Supporters

Spread to

All corners

Of the globe

And were known as
Reporters on TVs

In our homes

(“What the hell is a TV …

Or a phone?

What do you mean

They’re not made of stone?

What’s a drone?

What’s 3-D?

A movie?

No, I’ve never heard

Of this

“Cologne!”)

I see, alone,

I’m not that important.

I’m constantly

Coming up short

But, truthfully,

Humility

Is torture,

Even though it’s literally

Worth a fortune.

I don’t need to people-please

Like Earth only orbits around me.

But, again,

I have needs

And that’s something

I can’t afford not to

Believe in.

Scarcity is my only demon

So I’m no longer teamin’

Up with the devil

If I can help it

Unless I’d like to move

Down another level

In the Devil’s

Apartheid

Apartments.

Still, I’m starting to assemble

This mental Department of

Defense

But there are parts of me

Trying not

To prevent

The parts of me

That are on the fence

Because when has a fence

Ever

Drawn friends

Together?

Whether or not

This internal pessimist learned

His first selfish lesson

From decadence

Or he was first

Cursed

When he was

Brought into this world,

Mistakenly

Landing on Earth

So he hurled himself at

The spotlight

Based on

Childhood

Precedence

But knowing

Something’s not

Quite

Right …

OR, simply,

It was when he

Bought into his own

Lies,

Shot fighting the battles

He’d fought inside

For such a time as this,

Coming back disguised

And

Progressively

Bottling up

Thoughts and Feelings

In his mind,

He was taught

“Not to value

His thoughts”

Or “cry a lot

Since teardrops

Are annoying

And, someday,

He must stop,”

And so my apathy

Is a mop

And I cut down

Every crop

I sow.

Some days

I feel

I’ll never know

What growth is,

Just the aftertaste

Of past dreams,

Homemade

And baked

Like beans or cake

But every bite

Is empty

And every leaf

Is shaken free from

This tree

Of plenty

When I see

The light

That has left

ME,

A desperate shell

Of potentiality

And well-being.

If this ceiling fell in,

So would the ground

Just to surround me in Hell

Again.

Looking out at the stars,

I’d still wish I was them,

As if they were timeless,

Priceless

Men,

As if

“Your Highness” as a title

Could make the lifeless

Child inside me

Smile

And comparisons

To idols

Could be my pile

Of firewood,

Empowering my heart

As I watch Mars

In the distance

Just the same,

A planet

And a

Goddamn

God of War,

Ironic in wanting

More swords

To witness his

New World.

All the same,

Wizards or Kings

Named Oz

Is all those idols are,

Lost in bizarre

Cosmic streams,

One by one

Dissipating …

Fading

Scars.

(2/14/2020 : 10:59 AM)