"i was sought"

New poem inspired by a different version of the song below.

“ in my heart (with apologies to carey mercer)”

war, war is in my heart

but your love is all i will cherish

let wounds appear elsewhere

your love is the light i will hold up

against the chattering, darkening sky

oh, but i have basked in battle

i have taken up my sword against loss and entropy

i have stood awash in blood and sorrow

and war remains in my heart

my dissatisfaction has grown too large to just ignore

i fist my hand in anticipation of your soul gripping mine

i smile at the vision of you i hold in my head

pretending i could be cleansed

i sing radio songs that remind me of you

your love is all i remember

though through the threat of war i’m still possessed

my mind doesn’t collapse in on itself, as i would hope

it doesn’t turn to dust, cold and miserable

you’re the little bit of blasphemy i could always take with me

if i’m buried on a battlefield, you’ll keep me alive, and fed forever

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UT1uExqHZM

"But I looked back/it was a bore/it was a fucking horror"

 The first of these is mostly insubstantial, but I like it well enough. Most of the really good stuff has stayed in a word file lately. I feel the need to hold some stuff back. 

The second poem is another mixture of true and false (especially the last verse, which is either 99% bullshit, or the vision of someone else). It's me arguing with dead poets again, I can't ever be accused of being unambitious.

“ untitled # 9”

i remembered good times

i swallowed, coughed, then spit

i adjusted my hat, continued walking home

i saw it all again

transfixed by saturation i moved the needle onto the record

a cachopany came through the speakers

i swear i heard your voice, you whistled so sweet

you never did sing for me, i always thought you would

i have only so many directions to choose from, although

i have no clue as to where any of them will lead me

i choose the path with love and loss and random chance

i’m at my best when i don’t know what’s coming next

“seeking alive (fuck william blake)”

if the doors of perception were cleansed

we would lose our identities and cease to exist

every person’s world is what they perceive

if cracks should appear

insanity will beckon

i’m the only one who feels myself exist

the only one who can see my place in the patterns

why should we do for others?

when we can’t even prove they exist?

i brush a stranger and apologize with a smile

and then go to find my seat

i want to know what others are thinking

but can only go on what they tell me

i position my words in hopes that

no one will guess what i’m thinking

i only care for my outer appearance

i write my missives mostly for myself

but if you find my words, take them, whisper them some place new