8 Mile Love Graffiti

change

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 12:22:00 +0000

Downtown

Met a man with one leg

wearing a green fedora

playing a cracked guitar

with 3 broken strings

and an open suitcase

with silvery coins thrown

in for his dinner, drinks, fix

whathaveyagotiswhathegot

and I added my few bits to

the meager pile that grew

slowly

as the wind picked up

and the sun fell from a

weak autumn apogee

and stood there listening

to a man playing the blues

who knew it for what it was

And tonight I'll get home

and eat and drink and fix

and sleep

and then do it again
and again
andagainandagianandagain

and I will never be as free
as that one legged man

sitting on his stool

playing the blues
as the gulls wheel overhead

Downtown

Parallels

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 15:54:00 +0000

I hear the piano playing
see the sunset
and smell the breeze
wafting from the dragonfly’s wings.

Springtime tells us stories
that smell this sweet,
and so does an autumn sunset
of the horizonless lake
as the waves say hello
and our feet see the sand
for all the trillion miracles
that it has always been,

eyes falling only to fly high
again when the old mariner’s bell
rings.

The light and the dark
are brothers after all.

Wormwood (Another Ode to Bukowski, the 2nd such...)

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 05:52:00 +0000

Dead by the streetlight
my shadow
the mountains
off the desert floor
in the distance

The distance:

A hooker is dodging cars
while living in the midnights
between;

Really, it can't be that easy.

Dead by the TV tray:
half a pop tart
empty bottles
a remote control
and no batteries

No Batteries:

The future is in the now,
and turns out it's nothing
without us.

Taste the gasoline mai tai;

Dead by the bedside:
been there before
the chloroform still
gives me a twitch
twitch
twitch

Dead by the hand that
beckons me
feeds me
scratches my itch
and rubs my belly
my lust
and my lies.

Dead

Dead

Dead

And someone said:
the sun
also rises...

Green River

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Thu, 17 Mar 2011 11:46:00 +0000

green river most holy
I wade my bare feet
into your purifying flow

away from noise and smoke

where your voice is wind
a laugh I've died to hear
but I ask you;

which of us

will hurt more?
if my mortal sins
were washed away
by your cold blood

to the mother ocean...

and beg your forgiveness

for listening to your voice

instead of your words

on this matter of souls

as they walk on by

Monsters

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Fri, 29 Oct 2010 17:24:00 +0000

She screams at her nosferatu
on the threshold of her house
every night the ritual
needs more blood.

It's 3:00 am.

She throws a liquor bottle
it shatters to diamonds and mash
in front of his car door
screeching to departure on cue
I’ve seen her throw herself
on the rusting hood of his car
or smack his side window
with her open hand.

She has broken glass before
as easily as she's broken herself
and for the ground that she gained
she just as easily gave in
to the monster near dawn.

Together they rise each morning on cue
organs re-grown—limbs mended
faces vaguely human, bloodshot
axes grinding edge to edge
all day until the next dusk
when the beast roams again.

Flotsam and Jetsam

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 23:09:00 +0000

It was a long walk~
her thoughts all over the map,
the bus schedule lit by
a procession of
amber streetlights.

The traffic crossing town,
north
to south
good
to bad
ebb
and flow
flotsam and jetsam
in and out.

Right through the door
she carried herself
quickly to the neon lit bar
where he'd just finished
one, two, was working
on a third vodka straight.

She
poked him in the ribs
let him know she was

there

...and the fires in Detroit
burned early that night

...and the planets aligned
delivering catastrophe
to the world of man

...and Lazarus rose from
his tomb

...and the bomb dropped--
millions died.
millions more were born
with a million more bombs
to expound the universe
with their fire and their love.

Poems should be
elegant things; complexity
in a single sustained breath.

But this one
just won't work like that.

It's from Detroit.

It was a long walk.

In and out.

The morning sun would have
a fucking nasty hangover,
but the amber streetlights
would be there
to pick up the slack.

Last Hit

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Fri, 22 Oct 2010 10:39:00 +0000

"The length of my life
and the day of my death
were fated long ago"
--Viking Proverb

Up there,
in the tall grass,
snakes lying in ambush.

Downhill, his every breath
a dead scream
twisting in vacuum.

Hear that?

They wait...
They wait...

Safety thumbed off,
muzzle pointed
at the imperious sun,

They wait.

Up there, twigs snap.

He knew his job,
but did his duty.

Tonight my uncle died. He was a former U.S. Marine, died at home in the quietude of suburbia. I know nothing else to say but that he was a good man, a person who would never harm another living being, but was always ready to defend what he believed in and loved.

He'll be missed and thought of often, though he can now finally rest.

Love you all for reading here. Know that.

No Lies

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 09:27:00 +0000

Torn apart by love
just smile and nod
as my head rolls by.

Ripped to shreds by love
my heart feeding the rats
my blood waters the ivy.

Torn to pieces by love
pick the part you like best
and toss it into the fire.

Ashes are to be envied
they blow on the wind
flying one last time
to the ends of the earth
the mountains, the oceans;

But remember the scream:
ecstasy and anguish
are shadow siblings
dancing by steel moonlight.

Torn apart by love--
because the talons that rip
were the hands of a dream.

Torn to pieces by love--
and your smile is only a stall
look, the rats, they wait,

For you.

Teeth like dirty needles
eyes like dead stars
smoldering in decay...
even now
I tell you no lies
so won't you just try
look me in the eyes
as my head rolls by.

Arbitrary Design

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 07:31:00 +0000

Cold October winds
are my pillow and
the fire inside of me
was lit by the hands
of the one
who carved this smile
after deciding where
my face ought to be.

If that is not love,
I'll see you in hell.

If that is not love,
then the cold winds
must be.

Seasons of The Witch

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 06:44:00 +0000

Drifting above the mire--
a cool damp mist shroud
gray on gray on black
she comes.

She promises everything.

She says nothing
(very... articulately)
and as I lay down
overcome by her touch
her sweet black magic,
the last thing that I know:
her rouge-inflected grin
is only for the season,
her kiss, her tongue
holds sibilant secrets
only for her true lord.

I am a thief
tonight.

I am a victim
tomorrow.

And soon nothing:
a skull on a silver chain
a memory of weakness
ponderous gothic lullaby
whispered by the moon
to the nightbirds calling
the names of the dead
and forgotten in the wake
of her misty cloak of
momentary desire and
release.

Murmurs

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 04:00:00 +0000

The girl in the picture,
with the blue-green sea
reflected in her luminous
crystal ball eyes...

She
hangs out right here
on my busy,
busted up but
still standing desktop...

Her eyes:
like the oceans
sometimes
tell me sublime secrets
of the wild universe
pulsing in my heart

...but only
when she thinks
she knows
that I'm not really
listening.

The wonderful art of Singleton... Always an inspiration.

Wild Grass

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 05:25:00 +0000

The river flows onward
and the wild grass grows
as bright and greener than
an emerald star.

She leans in,
close,

close.

You smell her sweat
a scent that makes
you more and more
drunken
every time
you pick it up.

You pick her up
carry her inside
as the sun sets for two,
down the dark hallway
padding barefoot down
the hardwood floor.

Somebody once wrote
a poem about this;
of that you are sure.

But none of them
are you this night.

Because she knows
that this is really
her poem.

She tells you so
with her lips,
her scent--
her poetry
...and all the rest that is
this long humid night,
as the candles flicker
slowly burn down low
shedding light and shadow.

Outside
the wild grass grows.

Gorges

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Mon, 27 Sep 2010 19:44:00 +0000

I love the women who have flowed
in and out of my life...

Like rivers rifling down
the gorges that they've made,
I've learned to sway
with every curve again
and again,
let them dance in the narrow spaces
and flow on into the ocean.

They leave behind marks of wear
at the hardest points--
breaking through the weakest,
the sandbars and crumbling rockheads
as they carve a path that shapes me
into what I am and always becoming.

I love the way they flow,
the women who have come
in and out of my life...

And I suppose I will never tire of it,
because just as one flows on
to crumble and carve a new land,
another spring opens up again,
and again:
I am a vessel carved of the land
the rocks, driftwood and sand.

A mixed metaphor to be sure,
but alone in this I never am;
the ocean shows me
what the rains only suggest,
as the seasons begin again
and again...
always born from the one
that was before~
because love is a beginning
as well as the end.

Crystallized

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Sun, 26 Sep 2010 21:00:00 +0000

From this world to the beyond
the rains fall
with child-like laughter,
the echo of what we know
best of a passing soul.

The sharks swim like swans
beside the dolphins...
under the sky's aegis
the blue herons fly on
straight into the sun
igniting into sustaire.

Lightning hath forked
with words and wonder,
but what will not go
is that dread night.

Gently, said the voice.

Gently, moved the wind.

A tiger may shed tears
sometimes.

A crocodile might let go
the faun.

For all time is on its knees
and the rains will not
wash its face
of memories
tattooed like breath
crystallized
in the cold morning after
the glow.

In memory of Paul Squires, Gingatao, poet of Oz, unique as any whom I have met on the ethers.

I'll miss you combing through my archives, distant friend, exploring and observing and saving the best to remind me that I've done a lot better than I sometimes tend to think. Wish I had known sooner.

Second Person in the Morning

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Sat, 25 Sep 2010 16:25:00 +0000

The morning always works slow.
You wake up and have no idea
what to do with it, any of it--
the sun, the breeze, the traffic
pouring down the road like mud
through a miner's wooden sluice
another accident, another incident
another reason for you to leave
this town, this state, this smog cloud
hanging over a dead dead dead city.

"See the world," your dad told you
half an eon ago, over english muffins
dripping butter and raspberry jam.
"Have an adventure, I wish I had
when I was as young as you are,"
And you remember hoping fences,
running from the police when parties
got too loud for that urbane shithole
that your hometown could be...
Remember standing on stage at the
Palladium, guitar in hand, told the
woman from the radio station you
would do anything, anything to get
a song played... "Eric said he's
going to strip for us tonight!" she said
and all you could do was hide behind
a Marshal stack blushing the color
of raspberry jam, slick with butter...

Remember the night she told you--
she of the wild North American gypsy
brown eyes so intricate with care
and laugh lines that you had no idea
what to do but gaze back into the
labyrinth of wonder and complexities--
she told you she would love to have
your baby if that was what you
want.

All you could think of then
was what you want...
All you can think of now
is what you want.

And now, in the late morning
as the fire of the east has risen
behind a scrim of gray haze
and smog clouds
finishing breakfast with your dad
you can't think of one adventure,
accident or incident~
that has not already happened.

You sit down to write a poem
and all you can think of
is what you want--
and what to do with it all.

And only now do you wake up,
truly see the world in this new light.

And [Love]

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Sat, 25 Sep 2010 01:48:00 +0000

She was only a child
but so was I...

Back then we thought
love was something
from the candy store;
grab bags of laughter
shy hugs, secret notes
between classes and
prime time television.

One day on the way
to school
knocking a staccato
metallic rhythm on her
front porch storm door
her mother answered
and said she would not
be walking today

and I would not see her
again...

until the funeral
3 months later
where her mother
would not even look
at me, could not look
and could not see;
her father telling me
it's OK to stop by
sometime
but...

...

And I would not walk
past her door
for many years,
the long way
was good enough to take
from then on.

And I would deny
any idea
of a creator with mercy
for the eternity called adolescence

And I would not think
of her face or her green eyes
or her laugh (even a laugh at me)
(especially that laugh)
until...

...

And I would not speak
of it again
no words can tell you
or tell me
that it's OK
to grieve
or live
dance
love
fight
speak
hate
eat
cry
dream
deserve another
sweet bite of candy
or a kiss
or a goodbye to a friend
except
on a fogged over
front porch window
where the sun eventually makes
the words disappear from sight
leaving behind a dirty smear
that vaguely resembles
[love]

Written by the finger
of someone who
might only have been
a child looking through
a storm door's glass.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thanks for reading this blog... everyone. You make my life, though I have not been here as much as I should. This one is for the past. Lets keep going, keep writing and keep learning from each other, as much as we can. Love the one you've got, or just love yourself, and stay fresh for the love yet to be in your life. It is coming one day. That was something I did not remember for a long time, too wrapped up in the mystery to watch for the clues that will lead us to the answers.

This took a long time to say. And I doubt it's right. But here it is.

Again, thank you all for reading.

Eric1313

The Difference Between Was and Is

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Thu, 23 Sep 2010 07:21:00 +0000

She was out there,
one hundred miles away
wondering (along with me)
where all the stars have gone.

But only I alone
was looking at
the empty dusk of
the cold northern sky.

Wandering...

Orion could tell her for me--
if this was the right season.

One hundred miles
in a single loping stride.

While walking this road,
cars hiss by in the night
their tail lights vanishing
like the cold distant fires
casting light and shadows
over all of our nights.

And all I can say to you
is that she's still out there.

Another one passes by
another ride disappearing,
the cinders burning low
and dying
by tomorrow's pre-light,
tired eyes closing forever
with miles still left to go.

Bottom: Pluto and its companion Charron... The gatekeepers, guarding the boundary between what we know and what we think we know.

Just Like That

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Mon, 20 Sep 2010 01:33:00 +0000

Peel the covers away
from your body
slowly, like that
Sway and shift away
to the other room
slowly,
just like that

A midnight star;
shed tears of light

Made complete
with torn wings~
trying to smile, but
your closed eyes
match my guilt--
why disguise it?

Keep doing that to me
every sunrise burning
forever through the pane
and make me forget
that I thought I was
responsible for
this damage

Tell me who it was
who long ago took away
your ability to fly
I'll bring it back

If in return you would
just teach me to soar
to peel back the layers
slow—one sunrise
at a time

Just like that

Blood Red Moon

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 06:44:00 +0000

Wait for me to ask you...
not one moment before.

Watch how the moon bleeds
like love's remembrance
felt so clearly in spite
of the darkness, or its light.

Watch the sharks that
are these minutes filled
with grinding tension--
teeth like false diamonds;
my lovely bone-rust washing
away in your slashing rain.

I'm busy watching every star
fall from the blackened sky
mouthing each name
that I can remember
as they snuff out one
by one by one...

You know I'm good
with the details like that.

So just wait for me to ask,
and tell me when it's over
when no one
is pretending
anymore.

Lyrics by the Moonlight

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Tue, 07 Sep 2010 06:53:00 +0000

How long is the night?

Will it ever surrender?

How long will it fight?

A candle burning slow
and the fires ignite

Battle cries or moans
twisting until light

Falling free into
the maw of lust

Her lips, and her bite
in pain do we trust

Tonight will never die
but tomorrow just might

Just stay with me and see
how long is the night...

She Lives (a reprise)

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Sat, 28 Aug 2010 07:26:00 +0000

She's alive
and nothing is going to stop her.

Lightning falls flat
bullets, lead and steel
like dust in a gale of November.

Howling, howling...
at the full yellow moon:
~she's alive.

Blue velvet and a black wind
sweeping this remote beach
a most delicate morning
as she dances on volcanic
sands... an island made
by her will and her fire.

She
is alive...

The lighting and thunder
are her kisses, my lullaby.

She is
alive.

Just try and stop her.

Trinity in the Light

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 08:04:00 +0000

Took me to the tip
of the mountaintop
and spilled me out
sticky fizz foaming
running wild
running around

The hollows between
words and action~
the touch I'll never
forget
as she told me she knows
she knows...

She knows.

It's a feeling
it's a belief
a bend and a bridge
reaching out for blessings
the rain of tears
of a goddess and priestess
heart-beat drum
in the hands of my zealot
breaking me to pieces

To the end
it was the ride of my life

...but who am I

To say
it was only so for me?

Sunrise (Between the Lines)

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 03:23:00 +0000

To live forever listing
through every season,
to see every sun rise
(not just this one...)

To see every smile
every skip and fall
and that's OK, I'm up...

Every eye caught by another
(out of the corner, shhhhh...)

(ain't that how it always goes...)

To breathe every bit of music
and hear every rush of wind
from your lovers lips
between the words
"Hello"
or
"I love you..."
or
"Come here."

To catch every golden ray of sun
and be kissed by every
dream with eyes like the moon
with a a good story, a rose
a rhythm to match your thrum

To catch every drift
and float on every breeze
and drink every drop
that she pours into our cups

That would be the life.

But for now
(as long as you are here with me
in this sweet crush
of our lifetimes)
I'll settle, happily
for just this one
sunrise

Above: A sunrise over a quiet, peaceful lake.

Below: There are always two suns in a sunset, correct? At least on the planet Tatooine, in that galaxy far, far away... (from the movie Star Wars: A New Hope)

Waves and Smoke

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 23:49:00 +0000

Sung from a mountain top
to the valleys, river shores
when the bottle stops on me
making like a teenager
to tell it like it should be:

take the chance
take the fall

and let the bruises heal
come as they may

time to pretend
i'm a diamond with the blaze
of light's life and love
sending gifts to your eye
my candy so sweet you'll cry
an ocean for the taste

a dimestore dalai lama
trying to

be

immaculate

like the sky at dawn
liquid fire oceans so wide
we'd drown in the cinders
if not riding the smoke,
the waves

Mouth Torn With Sorrow

noreply@blogger.com (eric1313) — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 06:00:00 +0000

The Sun, the unrelenting eye
seeing all beneath it as fodder
burning until the feeling dies
with the last whiff of smoke~

Inside, still and brittle obsidian;
mouth torn with sorrow,
but still I walk, climbing high

These thousand stone steps
of the Temple of the Sun
scaled but for one reason~

Your kiss is a black stone knife
and my heart where it will rest
to never again be touched by
faint tremors that caress this valley
under the blazing Sun's burning eye

Thank you to Charles Gramlich of Razored Zen for allowing me to use the title of this one. He had it laid out as part of a list of possible titles for his newest book, and when i saw the line I just could not get over the emotion it conjured within me.

As you see it made a great prompt. Each line speaks it as the underlying thought, I feel--though perhaps others could have made better use of it than what I have done. Still, I feel my effort was in good spirit and to the best of my abilities... only reflection and my editing process will tell me for certain.