"We Are the Dead"

We are the people without escapes, without exits.  We follow the paths set before us and even the slightest deviation will bring ruin.  We drift from light to dark, reason to madness, till it all blurs together into one mass of blind sensation.  We have no duty, no obligations, no time lines, or due dates.  We have nowhere to go and all of existence to get there.  We have been cut loose from everything but ourselves.  We are the fearless, the loveless, the heartless, and the hopeless.  We have nothing to lose and nothing to show for losing.  We are the alone, the forgotten, the expendable.  When we finally pass over it will seem like such a small thing, a formality at most.   We are the dead.

The lost Claffolifactory or TroBriand

Hey everyone, this is the actual first "Claffactory or TroBriand" poem I wrote a few weeks ago.  They're meant to be read the first time starting with this one (#9) and going backwards as each one is posted.  Then after that take a week off and then read them starting from #1 and going to #9 in on continuous block. We'll talk about the meaning of the title in  "Claffactory or TroBriand #7: The Life and Times of a Wood Pile."


Claffactory or TroBriand #9: The Island Gifts

What bleeds the bloodless heart
but ash?
What thinks the thoughtless mind
...but emptyness?
Where can the hopless man hope
But in you?

Only in you.
Consume me
Envelope me
Take me away.

Claffolifactory or TroBriand #8: Peach Walls

Claffolifactory or TroBriand #8: Peach Walls

The room is dark except for the small lamp he sits under
down on the street it's night and she's crossing the road
dull light on the peach walls, smoke drifts from a cigarette
red shoes click on the pavement, above notes drift down from a radio

He takes a slow drag on the cigarette and turns down the radio
she's at the apartment door, it swings open with familiar ease
he knew she'd come back
she knew he'd be there

His ears strain to hear the faint click of the door
soft hands graze the banister of the stairs
a rough hand grips the arm of the chair in anticipation
she  looks at the old gray door like it was a mirror

She enters the room without knocking
music and smoke drift out into the hallway
eyes meet across the dark
and smiles form on the two faces.

Emerge

This is a poem I wrote for a friend a while back and never posted.  So if figured I'd put it here so if we both die there will be some record of it.  Enjoy!!!

Emerge
We feel our way along the dark
Hands searching the curvature
We touch and we probe
Till one day we find a flaw
And push to let in a small crack of light

We force our fingers through the gap
Cut our hands trying to break through
I can see our blood on the jagged edge
when I think I can’t take it anymore
I look to see you smiling in the light
And the crack gives way.

We let our eyes adjust to the new world
Of trees and birds and light
Our wounds are already healed
So I take your hand and we walk away
Never looking back at the cracked bloodied shell
That was once our everything.

Welcome to Centralia

My Centralia

The empty city and the flames below

Centralia

Friends gathered around the campfire

Centralia

The story and the storyteller and the audience

Centralia

I knew I loved her then,

Centralia

And that there was no saving us,

Centralia

And we mirrored that forgotten town

Centralia

Ruin and despair above,

Lifetimes of fire below.