Dark Voices

Over there
ha fooled you,
Made you look you dirty chook

cooked as shadows bound
L
E
A
P

in peripherals,
it's day and they play
as Rorschach blots
black ink on sunlit street

titters unfettered look
like it might
be another
another brother to the other
Made smothered by some
insane cry

See it crawl as slow as Tennessee draaaaawwll
and y'all know that it ain't an Aussie voice
when it's doin that shit.

fuck this
this fuck
and why the fuck
little goblin
Over there see it..

hear it whisper those words
sleep man for gods sake
but you can't coz you're baked
slaked that little need
that pricks and bleeds

what was that
who's there
why are you talking to you
about me in this when
under the cover of day that's shaded
by blinking blotted bottled bullshit......

Fuck I need
 
The room spins,
faster and faster,
like the revolving
wheels they always had
at the playground
when we were kids.

Unlike childhood memories,
a simple bout of
bobbing and weaving while
walking afterwards,
maybe a little churning of
stomach and losing of
lunch, the room is just
the latest vertigo to
work through.

Surprising how easily being
off balance becomes as you
get older.
 
yes

Very well written I feel the same way about all the pc words for me.
Im a cripple and proud
 
Want

Nothing else to be done
Nothing that can't be done without me
Probably better
Surely

Surely
I'm not sure of anything
Not a single one
It's frightening really

I wanted to know so much
I wanted to know so many
I wanted
I want

Surely I want something
Everybody wants something
I think now, that I only want
To know what I want
you are screaming in the void, however, you are screaming with a void. Risky. Nothing tangible.
 
that may have been a little harsh. you are serving what is almost a null set. this poem functions better as a song lyric, were music is in the foreground.
 
that may have been a little harsh. you are serving what is almost a null set. this poem functions better as a song lyric, were music is in the foreground.

I think you're right. I chopped the first stanza as it was total crap. I may play with this to music see if there's a little more, maybe move it the metal head thread. Thanks for your thoughts.
 
"they itch for a pen and a steering wheel"
I like that much, and the placement.
but that damn road never
goes far enough
~a gravel road passing
the enemy of memories.
nevermind, the red winged
blackbird, bitchin from the wire,
the old lady hanging up wash,
and that same damn sky,
canary blue without a song.
chase on
race on
til you find a highway
you've never know.
it will lead to a storm
far beyond the blue silence
and somewhere in it
among the dust and destruction
lies an answer.
do not fear it
and don't look back
foot off the pedal
windows down
just take the ride
and the pen
will be there
waiting
 
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His voice cut a hacksaw
blade through my veins
gravel dragged from a tip tray
the low rumble of thunder
clouds the fear that strikes
a wheat farmers heart when crops
may be crushed by the stuff they
have been yearning for through summer

the grey gloom cast as his shadow loomed
the ominous eclipse of light
feel like a Mayan must have felt
before crazy blood letting sacrifice

to want to be dust
to be blown
into the stratosphere
away from him and here
all I can do is cower
play turtle

pray that I can walk
when he has finished
crushing me in the gravel
of his throat
and the steel in his boot
 
I survived
funny thing to say about
what should have been child hood

growing into adolescence
with this churn of addiction
a rage flame fanned by
praise for the ability to inflict pain


I didnt walk the mean streets
I drank it down
crushed asphalt cigarettes and syringes
force fed
in the ring gloves on tears streaming
fight for your affection boy
the loser is outside for the night
and the winner
is showered in love and praise
goaded into deriding the loser
it was all about the fight

dragged through glass shards
a patch work quilt of scars
cut, beaten bloody but never beaten

then when I came of age
I was the mean streets
the glass in face, and barstool swinger
a harbringer of hospital visits and
blood stained pavements

dance a dance of violent destruction
there were no sparring with words
merely an off hand gesture
could call on a wrath
my mantra

one of us is going to hospital cunt
I hope you understand the gravity of this situation
because the only time I felt
anything but empty
was when I was full of the mean streets
and driving people into gutter biting
head stomps
 
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