the mercy of the road

the mercy of the road

tonight

i saw a raccoon that had been

struck on the road

as i was driving home

he was flicking his fat

raccoon body

panicked in the air

a broken shoulder

face on the yellow line

and this was time

on a broken string

or a snot strand going down

but still hanging in there

this must be the

mercy

of the road

and I thought of my cat

and you

as I watched it

writhe and suffer

i can’t just leave it be

i would expect more from the world

if it was me

road kill suspended

like our love

his partner for the road

was already streaks

of abstract painting

on mixed media

a big white line

recklessly thrown

like Pollock

it is made for this light

yellow streetlights

yellow lines

and a dark wet canvas

from a soft soft rain

sprayed in pain

like our love

you were a twisted mistress

with your stiletto moods

those sharp wet shoes

and the way that you could

‘messy up a canvas’

an avante garde lover

you tore me open too

so I have too much in common

with mister raccoon

mr. writhing and waiting

for the end of the pain

or a careful hand to scoop me away

into a cardboard box

lined with an old gray sweatshirt

and nurse my wounds

but the mercy of the road

is approaching

such a beautiful creature

would strike me if I tried to help

and this is a dangerous corner

and in the soft and yellow light

i saw your scared yellow eyes

time for a decision

here

but fear gives way

to moments

imagine a long expansive field

and the tree on the hill

and you are falling

and I am only here on this stone

a leap to action

is ineffective at best

time is a terrible dealer

for a creature in the road

i planned the mercy act

but, head or body first?

you were wider than my tire

and more pain was not the plan

and alas

better slow

or fast?

if only I had a

machete

or a shovel

but instead

i watched from the comfort

of the breakdown lane

as you bounced and bled

under the bellies of

seven bounding racecars

barreling straight ahead

because

the world

does not watch for

creatures

in the road

it is eating a sandwich

and scanning radio stations

and watching the world above

those sad yellow lines

you were

an onion in a blender

brought tears to my eyes

like our love

after the violence subsided

i turned a light to your

wreckage

lying in the road

still like a damp fog

on the swamp of

these days

and you were a hammock

in the summer

not a single motion

not even a breath

and you were a beautiful

creature

an empty blanket

on a Sunday

the mercy of the road

was a swift

executioner

but I could have been

quicker

so my sinful hesitation

will haunt me

for a while

like our love

i could have

backed over it good

with my truck or trust

the road-kill of our love

mercy killing the writhing creature

a beautiful

canvas on the road

or laying beside it

looking up at the sky

to keep you from

being scared and lonely

and waiting for

the mercy

of

the road

lamppost

lamppost

my head hit the pillow

and I was out like a lamppost

grazed by a rock

as they say out like a light..

and I’m quitting this scene

as soon as i get the line

just

right...

percolator

percolator

i watch my life drip by.

each day a drip from the percolator

no coffee pot and they splash and sizzle

the burning ember of each day

and everything goes away

sex is not a sin nor is it a weapon

layers

layers

scratch loves

his undercoat brush

a simple pleasure

a late moment to pause

by the glaring stone sink

and as often

tonight

i cull old fur from it's

tangled underbrush

in large clumps

of black and white

that roll into grey

the faucet dripping slowly

into the water i left in it for him

fresh and clean

i can feel the icy mountains

beyond the frosty winter window

the cold is here again

and in the amber light of house

a quiet world within

drip drip drip....

surprised

to find i am longing....

for some kind of tool

to carve beneath

my skin

drawing out my

worn out

itchy layers....

I have slam-dance the barefoot fandango...

In the run up to the start of my journey I will be posting some old poems as a preview...here is one...

I’ve Never Known the Weight of the World

People are a disease.  They are a

virus;

a bacterial colony filling the pool to capacity,

swarming the sallow marrow of

the sweet world

with their filthy hands

and their silver soaked hearts.

To see such a virulent pest

before my eyes…

And shit,

I work the retail floor of the devil,

a deep red satanic dick

in the mouth of the leaders of the world,

and it is here that they created their gods,

restless and petty;

firing searing whiplashes

leaping from the gossip tongues of the bitches

in their horrid trendy clothes

and their soft masks of glorified finger paints.

I’ve never known their greedy gods…

I’ve walked the dusky woods

for moonlight’s mistress

and touched the soil of the earth;

I have slam danced the barefoot fandango,

wild and free in the comfort of the crowd;

the ambiguous nightmare waiting like a viper

in the grass.

They speak of love

in lofty superstitions

and trimmed hedges.

There are rules, protocol

to follow,

and words you can not use.

There are holes you can not either

Hmm…

Even in the filthy baths of romance

there is no room for the sweet honey of truth.

There are three word prayers and greeting cards

to look like that,

and for ‘god’s sake

keep it in the bedroom!

Well…

I’ve never known their empty love…

Mine has been uniquely feral,

crouching in alleyways of fantasy's design;

Mine has piercings and cleanup involved;

Mine is full of bad words and new things,

and puss-dripping echoes of passionate desire,

framed in the sweaty woodwork of

humility.

Mine is the moons sweaty mistress;

Mine drips venomous love

on the ashes of the hearts of its inferno;

Mine is a car-fire;

a tattooed nightmare;

a crucible of sin

that pours forth and lights this town.

Mine hangs from metal hooks and claws the flesh;

Mine is a delicate tissue wall

and its all coming down

tonight,

like I’ve never known the weight of the world

before…

Beginnings...

So, here it is...a naked and soon to be collection.  I am starting this blog to reanimate my creativity as a poet, and to maybe gain some insight into myself again.  I have written a lot of poems, in fact Crazy Jane Records is planning to release a collection of them next year as a companion to my albums.  And my songwriting is poetry too I guess,  But it has been years since the art of a real and visceral, breathing, shivering poetry has a been an active part of my life.  I, like most people now, am very very busy.  I work too much and sleep too little, so the idea that I will be adding this little challenge to my life is crazy right?!  I've never been accused of sanity.  So here is this little blank moment, a corner, a quiet place to scratch at my active thoughts, and to see what come to the surface.  Ugly, real, silly, dark, happy...it all goes down.  Here is my mission:  to write a poem a day for one year starting this new years day. 
  The goal here is to create...whatever comes up, and with me, that has always been a strange ride.  It will be raw, it will be vulgar and beauty and violent and gentle and passionate.  Read it if you dare...I suppose.  I hope this makes me think more, feel more, read more, and just take a little time to reflect each day.  Maybe scare off a few of those demons or emotions that sit below my salty sweat.  I will warn anyone who knows me, I will not be censoring myself at all here...if complete and brutal honesty scares you and you fear you might be a subject to something here, go no further.  The use of names will be held with careful discretion but the art will go down 100% real.  At any rate, reader beware and lets see where the train goes if you set it off the tracks, bury the throttle and snap it off...
  1 year, 365 poems.  Here we go...