Master and Commander

serious ventage

I wish I could record a shot into my plastered skull

And end this dialogue, not so you could write a mourning sequel,

But so I could forget we ever lived it to begin with-

A pile of bones at the feet of a body bag where it smells the worse.

 

And what would I do without you?

Besides continue this gradual putrefaction

Without some sort of productive reassurance

And critical remedial desecration

And a f*****g encyclopedia

So what choice but to cheat at Russian Roulette

If worse becomes worse.

 

You deserve it.

 

So write a rebuttal while you dance with Glenn Miller

And I’ll grow skeletal day by day listening to Eliot

Waiting for the assurance I’ll get the day I starve to death

Or feed my knowledge to the fish

Who I wish had the curse instead of us

Or understood a little better the words I can’t speak into their Teflon ears-

The damned floaters being the instigators.

 

 

But it’s not your fault our souls were split in half in the incubator

And the fat nurse pasted each half into a plastic chucky doll

Laughing at her own deviance like Jan Hus burning at the stake.

 

And who’s more likely to succeed…the man who failed

Or the man who never tried?

And what if we’re just a reincarnation of ourselves

Meant to teach and learn from ourselves?

Who should pull the trigger first?

And would we both drop dead from impact?

Because that’s the way it feels…

That is the way it feels…

 

Our fists pounded into each others faces
And our Eliots writing letter of apologies
As if it mattered anyways.
Because we forgave before we ever sinned against each other
As if we ever believed in sin before we met them.
I hate you for being me
And i hate myself for being you
Yet i love you more than a friend and more than a brother
I love you more than I love myself
But I can't help but be selfish
When you are as selfish as I...

 

Part II

It wasn’t finished...

Like a painting without it’s imperious decency

Or an empty bed without a trace of Cabernet and blood...

Everything needs Dionysusian lips to suck on a bottle of getting lost

To devour the past in order to forget the lust it thought was love

And write a part II.

And older is just more lost in The Wasted Land

But vulnerable to being saved

Like...

 

Their eyes plant their nature deeper than the center of the earth, no,

The center of this universe we want to wipe clean like a bug-splattered storm door,

The center of existence like the bald spot on a graffiti wall, the center of our minds (the source of it all), no,

The center of their love (as if love is strong enough a word), our everything,

Our nothing bricked into an ‘out of sight out of mind’ void,

Our nothing begging to save what is left, what little is left

Because for me, twenty three, there is little left in life to be alive for...

 

Wait my friend, my brother, my...

How could I have forgotten this line -

"Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted”-

How could I have strayed from the reason we began this dialogue?

I suppose my heart has been mastered and commanded like Iris’ directed by moonlight-

Ever since that day I threw the bowling ball half way down the alleys parking lot,

Cried bullets into her shoulders for the first time in years

(the tears that shouldn’t yet fall on our shallow grave)

And smashed my madness pent up like in a snow globe against frozen bark

Like marbles spilt in an ally outside Hells Hundred Acres

Into the nearly empty universe, as if it wasn’t empty enough to begin with

But we are all damned,

Perhaps...

 

And so where to go from here-

Back to love?

Reviews

[Vigo Manslaughter]

you're a complex dude. I agree with many of the sentiments expressed in this piece. This drips with passionate emotion and deep thought, but holds a fairly commonplace type of tone. I liked reading it....though, I felt some tears trying to get out a few times when you touched on feelings too familiar to me. good poetry....life poetry.

V