The Abandoned Station






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Mumblings and/or Poetry, Summer 2016

Like mentioned on the other poetry pages, it's James Dickey-inspired poetry. Not sure why all these ended up on yet another separate page. It seemed necessary to break up the uploads of dazzling, brilliant prose. (heh, heh)

NOTE: None of these are repeated in the not-exactly-new-anymore digital poetry book, Brief Tales of Compromised Solutions

Dry Bones and Body Paint


Dry bones and body paint

Lost promises and all talk

Just another fucking virgin

In an endless line for the better future


Turning down your atrocity expectations

Opening your nose to the possibility of red

The lawyers knew what you were talking about

Which is why they taped your hands and feet and fed you to an open grave


Awkward shifting into the dark

He moves through the stairs like the steps were distant stars

Well it's never over with then it is

Be falling through them forever and ever plus ever


Expanding her brevity-inspired messages

You're inviting colours in spite of my mind

And the bad decisions are bleeding through the haze

Along these ancient and laughable telephone lines


Holding hands around the neighbour's refrigerator

Just to get them out of bed at four in the morning

To meet in a cookie cutter kitchen

And give thanks for the first run leftovers


Somebody ate with a telegraph in their hand

And it's those kinds of descriptions that have to be true

With a painstaking look in the eyes that dried out hours ago

Talking along with the writing of the semi-annual book


This time we went to the seaside out of boredom

Flinging flat rocks at the tugboats and barges

As they came to inspect our seizing bootleg flashlights

Made at home when the elaborate mannequin parents were away


The astronaut believed in hoping for overachievement

And prayed atop the hoovers and steeplechases

With all the strength that fit to radiate and decompose

Letting a slippery language dribble through their teeth


The car came roaring up at me and screaming

-you left me in the underground

And I was too busy tucking the kids into the bathtub to really put six and eight together to realize that fourteen is just old enough for the wife


Great routes into the nether-regions of the soul

With billboard a-blazing and every exit on its hands and knees

Attention being demanded by the rough and tumble rubber-neckers

Assuming everything can be scrubbed off the bill


Love as optimal conditioning

The God code lining up with just so atmospheric and temporal environments

Setting aside moments for planning to plan more plans

Massless kisses and unconscious swap of hands and fluttering hearts


Dropped into the hysterical tropical heat

Covered to death in fancy new mosquitos

A chance misspelling of your dear eyes

Still playing with the official reports of shamanic dreams


Belittling the lord above

Faced with poisonous choices and empty safes

Taking a war to the empty valleys and parched hills

I had my finger on the button since day one


And the hour never mattered

The energy wasn't keen on common clocks

You waited without hope so it was always a surprise

Sometimes your face forgetting all the planned terror


A likely correspondent

Watching with greedy eyes and sultry lips

It's because of all the untraceable phone calls

Mystery is always the best friend of power


Hot rich and dead and always in that order

A passage of time covered in photographic seconds

The light adds a couple flashes of eternity

And all the words feel twice as worthless




Perched Sky




And you're looking up at the perched sky



And you're set to answer the winter's why



Until the motions you clutch are all reset



Until the backwater needs are finally met


Stuck in the middle

Fucked on the side

Dragged down in the end

The front's nearly died


My heart is just an organ

And it always makes a sound

You can even hear it

When I'm six feet underground


I'm my own man and that's the problem

Ground coming up to take my symbols

I played by the rules everyone else forgot

I took care of my mind and gambled my souls


Butterfly on a wheel

Getting dizzy in the spokes

Never one for cliches

And tired of the jokes




A thrill a minute or a minute a thrill


A thrill a minute


A minute a thrill


Outlasting your enemies

I thought little of it

The letters dried up

The phones stopped ringing

The shadows got cold feet

The doctor stopped spiking my drinks

But then the sun got old

And I missed the attention

Dropped the new cup

Forgot words while singing

Saw my armies get beat

The bartender told me what he thinks


Leave me with something

Consider ex-mercies


Fine yes fuck it happened

Fine sure thing it was me

Fine the cuffs the chains

Fine hand me the blue pen

Fine okay the confession

Fine you fill in the blanks

Fine I don't remember it

Fine I'll point broken fingers

Fine the time and place

Fine the midnight hallway




Three Sixes


I was happy in the fields knowing

That all the work was still going

To a chance to fill the holes dripping

With consensus and closure flipping

Into conflict and chaos while waiting

For a five star cross the board rating


A hand on my soul is just the warmth I was afraid to admit I needed

It's just the sort of thing that I can't give up was what I pleaded

There was a rotten borough shiver I felt

On a Cold War iron curtain wall I knelt

A change in my health and their weather was how I knew

That this is the future course no matter what I do


The gulf is just a pair of cliffs

I want to meet between the buts and ifs

The rhythm of the soul is slightly off

The world stops spinning with an asthmatic cough

Pushing to let the whole thing get high

A child releasing a balloon to the sky



And I Was I

And I was I and I was

And with the sounds comes the hands on the howls the breath on the hands the howl of sound

For the terror along the banks the waste and the knowledge with the banks of waste and the terror

With the fists and the reason on the rocks and the blood on the rocks for the reason on the fists

For a truth atop mountains that crumble and cry for the crumble of mountains made atop truth

Along a narrow and through the streets all covered in shaking heads with narrow streets and covered

For a past that forgot to come near a field for a further coming in a forgotten past and for the field

Through a constant lament inside a way through a decision and outside is constant through lament

For a faded grey background and a chance encounter in the front before the fade with a chance touch of grey

With the names on the hot tongues and cold lips and it cracks cold and hot for the stolen names

For a sense of justice with peace among the forced among the free a sense of the sense of peace

To touch and grate and hold in the rain among the rain for all the touch and hold and still let grate

For the until is the held with the until and then the sun because the until is the until is the all until 

And I was I and I was






Practice with the words against the wall

Turned away and the bulbous flutes radiating a panicked white

I don't choose the colours

I just light fire to the rainbow


Head full of oxygen

A world in a corner

With all the facts laughing and growing older by the second


For a means to understand

And a stool to sit down

With longstanding and respectful excuses that made all the difference yesterday


Hands on them all

Can't tell the difference between a heartfelt embrace and a push down the stairs

It's all a question and answer of gravity


Listening to your enemies

Unbeknownst to them

Getting involved in politics

Behind a couple black suitcases


-I touched that circle

-I refused the parallelogram

-I shadowed her triangle

-I upturned his square



You know this room

With its that's correct walls and of course floors and keepsake on the bedside table and the bed with this colour and sort of headboard 

Still there gathering dust and the echoes of the three out of five thousand discussions still floating around like a slightly rubber cloud

Telling the accused and aforementioned about life and love and the god hiding in the garden

It can never be too wrong if you’re applying honesthetics











If you don't give people something to live for, they'll find something to die for