Parrot the Poet II

Friend and I commenting on another friend's Facebook status. My replies:

it's only anger

that falls from fingertips

too sore to sit back and relax

maybe break

into stanzas

when the wake is closing up

and the funeral procession

comes to a close -

all these doors that shut

in your face

make you feel out of place,

like you've been reduced to,

confused to

a state where up

is sideways

and black never knew white;

just a few degrees south of chaos,

but go long enough

and you'll never hit home again

my friend.

it's a blanket memory,

a statement of fact,

and you're alone again,

so that's that

there are no butterflies in the land of frozen time

because they've vanished

into the depths of the darkness

and you can't miss what you don't know -

you test the waters with your soul

and when the depths begin to rise

you find yourself lost in the eyes

of a human being

whose existence makes you find

the failings inside

and from yourself you're wont to hide,

except in vain

you slake your lust

in shining skies and pixies' dust

and sleep
because in sleep

are dreams and dreams

content to break your heart

and life's cement

until you drown

and wake

unto the world of faded blacks and blues

a softer

cheaper

duller

hue

like a play date of the older years

when tears

only fell

because the pretty girl down the street left you

after a pretentious marriage

in the backyard

then things got hard

after all the mud cake dried up

and her warm wedding feet got cold

so she sold out

and wandered off

down that same street;

parents always said she marched to the beat

of a drum

only she could hear

but of course you knew

by the end of your years together

it was only fair weather

a friendship built on loss

and gain

and never

ever

see her again

because she was gone,

son.

just gone

it's like i'm alone again,

like i'm home again,

and breaking again

from the inside

out

this face

is only a shout away from murder

and that's a lesser pain

than gaining ground

upwards again,

like the angels stretch to heaven

when they walk on earth

and the only god to worship

is the god who stops new birth;

the dead are walking in the skies

and down below you hear the cries

of failing,

just like sailing

across a lake of solid melt

like sandy edges of the delta

nile;

it'll be a while

until this case is solved

so put up your feet

and grab a read to wait.

the answers i bring should satiate

your loss

in a perfect world

the sun might be tame

and the weather too,

just blue skies

and sunny drives

along a shore of beaches

next to the endless summer side

but this world isn't perfect

and there's not much you can do

unless you want to give yourself up

and make the world face you;

remake the world in your own image

like a new god of humanity

until the sun cries deadly

and in starlight do you breathe.

there's only one way upwards

but far too many down

and when the lights are dying

i'm still the light you found

so locked away

and far away

and dead today

but tomorrow live

when friends have failed

and life is ailed

then come save yourself beside

i land on dry land

and sky land in my home

town of insanity around

and artifice is only part

of this

and maybe you're actually a figment

of my fragmented

imagination

a station waiting for a train to come in,

but we know where it's headed

this time

and we'll follow behind like the wind

and the sin

and the painful prick of pins

against bared skin.

it's a place when we can trace a life around

maybe up and down

and kiss the lists into place

with a trace of lipstick

on your face

from where the ending touched you

just when the beginning struck you

and you might have died

if i ever lied

and kept the truth from you

but still it's only ending

words

and still the sky is blue

empty times tables

on the clock

and empty lives

but take a walk

and up the street

go down the side

when lives are hard

just kill the bride

and bridesmaids dance

when dust is red

so sang the mockingbirds

overhead

and when the finches

came to say

the attic ledge

was going grey

and sent from heaven

might by chance

but only if

the words might dance,

and empty rooms

with empty beds

send visions of deadlock

through children's heads

and kisses kill

but guns make life

and sudden triumph

with floods are rife.

begin again

when endings fade

and make this life

what should have made

sense in ends

and sense for all

but never left

behind to recall