Controlled Chaos
I saw Joseph and
Joan in Raleigh back
in 2004
2 months before this
show aired
it was crazy magic
the stuff voodoo
priests conjure
up in bedrooms
at 4 am
I can’t recall
much from the show
except the beats
from his loops
and her legs
I stared at
them for half
an hour
they were the
focal point of
the stage assuming
the stage and it’s
occupants are art
they coulda taught
De la Tour something
we hung out
backstage and smoked
cigarettes
I met Jeff Tweedy
moments later and
he signed his
poems for me
great dude
anyways Joe
and Joan got into
a van and left
they faded out
into the night
like a Pink Floyd
song does when
you take too
much cough medicine
oh, btw
this song is about
alcohol addiction
it makes
sense
so sober up
and get trashed
with that gooey
magick God set
in you millions
of years ago
let the muse
run wild
and do something
good for
yourself
fuck
yes
poetry
this poetry just folds out
like a small flower blooming
into a crazy LSD trip then
merging into maturity before
the sun hits the Atlantic
and sinks back down into nothing
where it withers and scatters
it’s seeds for the children
of tomorrow and forevermore
it just happens
like how God made everything
from nothing came all of this
and to nothing all of this will return
justifying these words against
the value of my soul
whatever that’s worth
it’s fire will burn the coming years
where prophets hold the sidewalks
together with worn Bibles
and torn jeans
mouths racing a million miles an hour
until all people see the truth
shining down into their heads
strange epiphanies ripping them apart
and replacing their bodies with the
dust of hope and love
blown by the wind and dispersed
to everyone else struggling to be
grrrr, shit
what will we become
in light pressure of
hand floating over scenes
of sex shaking from our limbs
each drop ever glowing
in moist anticipation
of never knowing true form
or that each word, laugh
meant nothing but another step
closer to oblivion
veins in arm ready for life
blood rushing through crevices
of infidelity and crushed virtue
every Napoleon was forced to watch
victory come from cheap trinkets
long blonde hair dipped in gasoline
burning in lies
this smoke chokes my eyes
makes them red and water
I close them to ease the pain
and when they reopen to seize light
you are gone
back into that hole
of blackdarknight
rumor rising from the sea
where, long ago
you set me free
rabbit's foot
she was born up north
where the rain falls too hard
don’t ask her about it
she’ll take you out into the yard
it’s almost 4 in the morning
wonder what she’s doing now
there’s dishes piled up in the sink
she must be around anyhow
baby saw another man just last night
she talked and laughed with him
she forgot all about me
that girl’s no good, she’s full of sin
mid morning, cold coffee on the pot
lady left the house before I woke
put on too much perfume
she must think I’m some sorta joke
I’m wearing my wayfarer shades
rubbing my luck rabbit’s foot
I’m smoking a cigarette
thinking about everything she took
she’s headed down south
where the fire falls from the sky
don’t say nothing about it
you can kiss that girl goodbye
faux prayer regarding somethingoranother
all of these feelings feel blue but I know that this is not a mistake. every word of hers cuts through my self-imposed misery. she’s such a whore but I can’t help but love her when she glides over to me like a lush mountain to a quiet lake on a spring morning where birds are chirping and other such sappy shit. I get so drawn in to this weird world of lonelyolme and know that it’s vain but I’ve had enough pain and have damned myself long enough that I feel entitled to be this way. on the other side of the coin, this thinking is killing me. I’m poisoning myself with the devil. I’m old enough to know better but choose this life out of nothingness. I sit here at night with my tea and candles and music and empty thoughts and dream. I don’t even know what I dream about. maybe her and how her fucking voice gnaws at me. when it’s like me or him or the other guy. she knows I know yet runs herself into the ground like a meteor. there’s surely 15 others who feel the same, all corrupted and fucked too but deep down I know I’m better than them. these words are gonna tarry on into infinity but they’ll fade out like bogus fads from the 80’s. fanny packs?! lolz. oh me. side 1 of the record has just finished…brb. speaking of records, maybe I’m one. a large chunk of vinyl riddled with grooves. stick me with a needle and I’ll sing. when I’m done, flip me over. when the other side of me is done, put on my jacket and take me home where I’ll sit alone and collect dust like an old love letter from a soldier to his wife, thousands of miles away, who are both now dead and no one on this planet knows just how much emotion that note carried on both sides of the Atlantic and back times infinity. it’s just an old piece of paper now with a funky smell. lord have mercy on this time and everything living and dead (for the dead still live too) and help bring me back to an ounce of normalcy. or just help me avoid her eyes and I’ll be fine. amen.
this dude totally speaks to me and has gone through everything I have and then some. I remember trying to be all punk in school and getting people to respect me at the same time while acting like I didn’t really want their respect. everything seemed so infinite back then, yet the smallest pebble in your path could throw you off into oblivion. for years I struggled with drugs and alcohol and did what I could to get by from day to day with a little less pain. tomorrow wasn’t a stable concept for me. love was a double edged sword. and God was on the outskirts of the universe looking over everyone but me. but Ryan Adams came along and shared some of his stories in song. those things helped me more than I can describe on a blog pinned up someplace on the internets. little did I know that Ryan was struggling with drugs and drink and demons at the same time. he got sober shorlty after. it took me a while to catch up but I did. once you put things into perspective and see the bigger picture, in my case it was finding God and loving yourself before anything else and also seeing that bright white light that burns within everything, things change and you become who you’re meant to be. no more spiky hair and raves, no more late night drinking binges, no more popping pills and hooking up with random chicks, no more snorting blow to feel real. you’re finally yourself. clean and happy. things like museums and shopping become great because they’re so positive and full of that bright white light which that bad stuff totally lacks. I mean, it’s so crazy how I get so worked up over a sunny day. sunshine for me is like prozac for someone else. I never, never thought I’d be that guy. so thanks Ryan for the words and the encouragement. I always thought inspirational stories regarding musicians and their fans were bullshit, but look how wrong I was about everything. lol.
around my bed
dream
on and
head back
to forgotten
summers
Rimbaud ran
wild
in your
yard
as Allen
Ginsberg
painted
Buddha with stars
on your roof
the flowers
grew in your
garden
and beneath
a milky moon
you laid me
down and
tucked me
in to your
womanly
essence which
glowed
like burning
coal steering a
century old
ship through icy
waters
on nights
such as
this
sifting thru
my memories
for a speck
of remembrance
reaching
over that table
for a book
to help
thanks, Leonard
Cohen
I have given
all of
my arrows to
you
after Sylvia
Plath
ran
off with
my bow
(one
deep night
poised with
cigarette
blowing smoke
out of
the window
at the
Chelsea
Hotel and
ghosts all
around my
bed)
dream of forgiveness
you were such perfection
an eternal dream of forgiveness
emerging from the train station
wearing a white halo and a shy grin
everyone in Gare du Nord disappeared
as destiny pulled us in
to that great circle of love
little did we know, we were
falling for one another like a
junkie falls for their drug
but something happened to me
I’m a prisoner to my own device
never to be set free
keep me close
like this
or far away
over blinking lights
we’ll forever lay
on daises of youth
lost along the way
of heated nights
and rainy fights
such straight black magic
making me run
from here to there
always burned by the sun
before I can seek the shadows
where your love waits
as calm and aromatic
as lavender meadows
in France where as young adults
we danced beneath orange lights
and the bustle of the street
kept us up all night
kissing on Rue Beautrellis
without a drop of sleep
keep me close
like this
or far away
over blinking lights
we’ll forever lay
on daises of youth
lost along the way
of heated nights
and rainy fights
its been so many years
and nothing has changed
we’ve grown older and
I’ve met new fears
so cold and defeated
this love is now gone
removed from its throne
from which it was once seated
silence has made it all black
just like that night you
hailed a taxi and never looked back
forcing me to find God and
get drunk and lose my mind
I did all of this perfectly
I accomplished it in no time
keep me close
like this
or far away
over blinking lights
we’ll forever lay
on daisies of youth
lost along the way
of heated nights
and rainy fights
about Manhattan
last summer
almost imagining
La Guardia
and the heavy traffic
after smokes outside
general confusion
and such
then a taxi ride
from airport to
Queens which
looks like Raleigh on
meth or something
just as vicious
then Manhattan
this shuttle occupied
by strangers all telling
stories of the world
they know
and a cute blond Australian
girl seated in front of me
glancing back towards me
now and again with smiles
and nods as if to tell
me that it was OK to talk
but me, burned down with
lack of sleep and caffeine
and nicotine ain’t a pretty thing
once we’re in the city
its as tho a switch had been
flipped inside and everything
went from dull to bright white
like someone slipping out
of consciousness into that
glory realm of far, far away
she talked and smiled and
giggled like a movie star
displaced and amused like
myself but that’s what New York
is, just a place for foreigners
to call home for a bit
to make art and love at and
become famous like Leonard Cohen
then move on to wherever and
burn out like a lightning bug
meeting the dawn
and there we were
Times Square, Central Park
everything made sense
every ounce of whatever
was cast out to make
room for all of that goodness
the overcast skies choking
from smog were telling
us that we were home
and beneath all of that
make-up and flesh and
perfume and softgooeyheartstuff
I knew that it was true
and that any other place
at that moment would have
been awkward and not right
we were home and were
about to happen onto
a magical night
dressing up in an avalanche
yester venice
and the amazing words
separated by a comma
on its way to a show
by Leonard Cohen in which
Leonard finds Manhattan after
a cure for love is administered
to his left arm
1964 and poetry is coming
more tour dates in autumn
poems falling out of
the trees like the changing leaves
red, yellow, brown and gold
think I’ll read one for Nancy
before she heads back home
with flowers for Napoleon
and a flashing blue light
rotating on her midnight head
so long, Nancy
all of my poems
have been read
