Saturday, January 27, 2007

I Am Here

I Am Here

I am here
Fixed on the nothingness
Of a blank stare.

Job applications flutter
In the pinewood air
Needing to be filled out
Or tossed away.

I do not have a passport
So I can not escape to another country
My imagination bankrupt
Self evident truths no longer
A dime a dozen.

I barely remember the wheelbarrow
You pushed me around in and how
I once teetered on a cliff of my own devising
Finding it both reckless and romantic.

I am not here
In need of electroshock therapy or something
That would either jolt me in or out of this
Forced reality.

The world supposedly needs people like myself,
Dreamers who have never quite grown or given up
Lately though I am not entirely convinced me or
The world will ever see eye to eye.

When the nothingness all around becomes a
Comfortable blanket of hoarfrost and delirium
Is it time to pull the plug or perhaps get a new
Take on everything exhaled from your frozen
Heart and head.

January 21, 2007

Sunday, January 07, 2007



I must begin again
There’s no other way
I must go out before an in
Can be revealed to me.

Am I a twin?
Two halves of a disenfranchised soul?
The Alpha or the Omega of my own
Latent apocalypse?

Seize the day
Seize the ruins of a civilization gone mad
Seize the madness of both success and failure.

The paint on the canvas represents love
Or the paint on the canvas represents nothing,
A joyous nothingness you’ve been at odds with
Since you were vacuumed out of the womb.

People see you doing nothing and they believe
You’re doing nothing when what they can not
Even begin to comprehend is how very much
Is going on inside your heart and head.

What am I the personification of?
Why don’t I bathe more and look at myself more
In the mirror?
Is it because I can not stand to see what I have become
And that even with no verdict handed down I’m still guilty
Of every crime they say I’ve committed.

I wanted to tell you how much I love you
And yet I knew it wouldn’t make any difference
Now that you’ve come to the conclusion that
I am worthless and everything written in blood
Has been washed away with the rain and snow.
Charlie 1/07

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Behind Blue Bars

Behind Blue Bars

When we’re talking I am not writing
When we aren’t talking writing returns
The art needs my full attention
I must sacrifice myself for anything good to come

This isn’t meant to be sinister
I do not intend to become my very own haunted house
I just feel like I am suffocating when I am in touch
And when out of touch the art is my only confidant

The Nazi’s have broken out of my head
All the best wars have already been laid to rest
You probably will not understand this
Probably wonder what I am going on about

When we’re making love I am not communicating
When we are at odds the communication stops and starts
I remember you jumping up and down on the hotel bed while we listened to Blood On The Tracks; it’s the first time in a very long time that I discovered someone who was not holding anything back.

I know I disgust you
I’m not sure if I disgust myself.

Charlie 1/07

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Behind Blue Bars

Hanging Gardens

Heart Behind Blue Bars



She is wounded
Deaf and dumb
Stronger than most.

Write this prophecy down
Write it with teeth and eyes
Write it in menstrual blood.

Skywriting for the birds
Musicians covered in feathers
The Great American novel shit.

He is immortal
Ragged and dirty
Stupider than most.

Build a Church in your heart
Build it with your third eye
Build it on sand.

We are wounded
Injured and spiraling
Stranger than strange.

Charlie 1/3/07