A Wreck in the Wilderness

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October 31st, 1920. 2:00 Am

Seven rickety truckloads
Streamed through the barren pines
On haunted Iroquois roads
Illegitimate, cruel, rustic and obscene

The cargo rattled with malice
As their headlights carved
Through the naked wilderness
Crews sat comfortable boxed in
Huddled from the cold witchery,of autumn nightfall

Wool caps and stern expressions
Were cloned behind every steering wheel
Every passenger clutched his automatic
Holstered beneath their dingy overcoats

From out of the quiet forest
And onto the winding road
Four stags dashed before the leading truck
The driver veered left and right
Then toppled on his side
Succumbing to death and flame

The inferno raged
Swallowing the driver and passenger alive
Where their lonesome cries, faltered unheard

Six rickety truckloads
Approached the grizzly and flickering spectacle
Screeching to a halt in desperate unison

The crews emerged fearful and wide eyed
Tracing the dark with pistols drawn
As worry wrenched their guts
And beads of concern streamed down their spines

A sudden and lonesome wisp
Howled through the naked pines
As the ghoulish white clouds began to roll
And overtake the watchful shimmering moon

Full prosperity
And the promise of an easy dollar
Had been overshadowed

The naked branches began to quake
Crackling and moaning, here and there
The sparse crackling fed into an orchestral roar
As the dead wilderness reconquered life
Unsheathing from the trembling darkness
And skewering these lost and perplexed travelers

Jagged twigs and branches
Zipped from every direction
Coating the roads with festering gore
And drawn streaks of flesh and bloodshed

The slaughter danced
To the tune of the whirling gusts
A vicious Jutting of the once silent pines
In a symphony of blood, retribution and vengeance

Corpses lined the road
Foul, hideous, dismembered and contorted
Some with pupils drawn back
Twitching upon every single pint spent

By dawn the public simply remarked
“New York, New York
Keep your crooked sons in line”

The Crushing Weight of Silence

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What will sustain the forests
When the gusts are few and thin?
At the obscene closure of human kind
And the silent passing,of worth and luxury

What will remain
Beyond the final tide?
The brutal hollowing of what we once knew
The lands rid of their roving pests

Whom or what
Shall linger to remark?
Meander on the ghoulish hillsides
Swept clean of statue
Brick and mortar
To dwell in the trance of solitary reverence
Upon the awe-inspiring,au naturel

What’s left to attain?
Burdened with the weight
Of total and humbling darkness
The purest of isolation ever seen
Cold and unsullied

The Tussle of Daybreak

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A full and bloated psyche
Looms over the paper thin soul
Their effort to arise
From the immense weight of trouble
Shall not perish, frozen and unfulfilled

Carry on
Seemingly pleasant
With the veiled tragedy
Buried for ages to come

Carry on
Seemingly effortless
Gliding with misfortune
Tucked beneath your tired skin

Doomed to Aspire

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In our prime
We strain our ligaments
In a desperate reach, for clout and eternity

To be preserved
In timeless fortune
To stew in the marshes
Of bottomless reverence

Some are concealed
From the bustling world
To be pried from the earth
In hours of desperate rummaging

Recovered
Restored to full stature
Matters not to the few
At comfort in their thankless endeavors

The glad and unfazed
Shall truly reap the day

Converge on Instinct

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Soft, whimpering notes
Cascade from the idle dresser
To waft below in the absolute dark
And commune with the lonesome
Bellowing moonlight

While lovers writhe
And burrow into their affairs
Taken up by the swirl
Of exhilaration, melody and primal instinct

Break away from your callous words
Your past dissents
Your long forgotten chasms

Bury it all
In the warmth of midnight splendor
The fervent tussle
The mists of fleeting devotion

Familiar Territory

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I once relished in days like these
Bathed in grey suds
That hang above for eternity
Or so it seemed

The weeds of heartache
Seemingly sprawl for miles
I am greeted with their chokehold
Dragged to their lowly caverns
Beneath their wild roots
I find the origins of true despair

For a moment distress clears
As light pierces the vast grey ceiling
Bestowing brief resolve
Fleeting perspective
That unshackles my body from cold dismay  

But I descend
Below the iron skies
The traveling dark I once proudly claimed
Beneath the very storm
I’ve sought to cradle me in sleep
To dispel the anguish that coils within

Weaving Silhouettes

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I disengage
Little by little
Day by day
Withdrawn from the path of being
Barred from the haze of earthbound reveries

My nerves fall silent
As my mind begins to rove
Blossoming silhouettes and shadows
That breed consciousness of their very own

The black canopy of thoughts
Frays and flutters away into the breeze
Leaving a clear view of glimmering titans
Their beauty drained
Into the hollow void of my mind

I linger to drink in
Ivory and gilded skies
While the silhouettes I’ve carved
Take to their early strides
And converge on the lives
They have eagerly spawned

I remain defiantly distracted
Fixated on what the world shall never know
Drawn to the eternal flicker within my thoughts
Where I burrow in hours of peril and uncertainty

To Whom it May Concern

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Recall
The ghostly elegance of ages past
As a madman
Drawn to decades set adrift
In ceaseless longing
Enslaved by mourning afterthought

Recollect
Upon the maiden garbed in lily white
How she wandered into your loving grace
Every now and then
Bestowing her kind words
Blessings and well wishes

Remain
Bound to the husk of her voice
The soft overture
That once ravaged your being
Demanding for you ever so slightly
Sly and collected
Casual and cool

Reel
In the company of retrospect
Chiding every movement made
Every quirk and foul up
Each thoughtless misstep

Recall
Until your anguish is spent
Until the last pint of remembrance has fled
And the fury of reminiscence
Burdens you no more

Day In and Day Out

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Lives tussle and stir
Beneath the high rolling Harlem sun
Artisans peer from drawn curtains
Perplexed, glad and greatly astonished
“The world carries on “
“And a fruitful harvest lingers for the mind”

They react in curious ways
At the swarms of hard and soft matter
Each molecule that toils and strives in unison
Scurries to the rhythm
Of the ever watchful universe
Ushered by mystery, urged on by instinct

Creative minds trudge
Wallowing in their fresh coats and stanzas
The strain of tedious pondering
The profane exodus of frustration
The proud wail of great exhilaration

From their quaint studios
They arise
To claim their earthly fortunes
Found only at the humble and lonely canvas
The quiet keys of coal and ivory
Within the wise and patient cello
And throughout the anticipating, barren notepad

The tussle only subsides
When dreams kneel and abide
And allow common virtues
To be their lonesome guide
When once fruitful minds
Can no longer provide