A Cold Numbness Embraces a Sojourner in Mourning (Some Days Feel Like:)

Dreams castrate the young of ambition,

whisking troubled thoughts away, implanting

euphoria in the place of realized contrition—

Doom is the only premise left unexplored,

when traction disengages the neurology

abandoned within those predestined to starve upon their own needfulness

Feral qualities sliver thin the mirrored gaze,

leaving the only interpretation the imagined

predisposition that reincarnates the deformations of the brain

Catatonia is preferable to the self-imposed restraints

that fit snugly beneath the seam-lines of our favorite

Clothes, leaving only the scents of wherewithal and apathy to fragrance one's ephemerality. 

Shredding the fetters of the past is the only absolution we can deliver truthfully.  Tiny renderings are the adipose reflections we blindly flee from, layering the tornado with a future sconce illuminated by the abandoned renderings of debris.

And then, other days, feel like nothing at all…

Forlorn and Facing Reconfiguration

I withdrew my efforts months before months before

I am blank canvas, abandoned like the empty mine—still 

possessing gold; seemingly, knowledge only I care to know

dust settles and design forms an abstractive patterning—yet, all assurances I can now provide are but trivial, unintentional; only residue, coincidentally shed upon, what once was the bark of pine

I rescinded perseverance, long before long seemed forever far

I am the rusted chain; I am the captive’s scar—so antiquated, a reminder of a past so effortlessly shunned away

dampness stirs alive the cloth—a cloth cares not for futures, of consequence or repercussion; it only does what you ask it to, be that wiping fresh a dirtied slate or offering moisture to an arid face.

I disassembled my entirety, part before piece before part and piece

I am mechanical; calculative—dividing out the old and worn, a sum of parts infused as new, fully aware, some slivers can never be removed.

  

What She Deserved

She.

Deserves.

Better than me.

She

Deserves.

Better than Hypothetical disasters and overanalyzed bridges not yet crossed,

She’s special

In that special

Kind of way

She’s

Perfect

In so

Many

Ways

         And I,

                  I fear I’ll never be so-so, on my best of best days.

But most of all,

                  She deserved better,

                           Better than me

                                    Telling her she deserved better than me

                                             Because, it’s her emotions

                                                      It’s her beliefs,

                                                               She’s loves me

                                                      And she certainly deserved better

                                    To be able to tell me when things weren’t fair

                           To tell me when/if her feelings changed.  That she was strong enough or if she needed help.  That she deserved a chance to see if she could help me if she wanted to, which it turns out she did, in any way she could.  She deserved to make up her own mind and tell me when she foresaw a problem.  And then the chance to make recommendations upon; to help me to work with her to solve any problem that potentially appeared. She deserved more.  Far, far more than I gave her.  

So it then appears, that by my belief that she deserved more than me. I made decisions on my own and in turn proved she deserved more than what I gave her.

Now I can only hope,

She'll return

and I'm not sure I deserve her.

But I hope she still feels I do.

  

PLEASE DO NOT LEAVE YOUR CATS IN THE PARKING SPACES

This was the sign outside the supermarket.  The message was all in caps, right next to the potted plants and the tiny tables where today, not a soul was sipping tea or enjoying a sandwich from the deli.  Instead, at 6:30 in the morning, a time I find easiest to shop, I stood there on the tiled ceramic just outside the electronic doors, waiting for the rain to cease.

Whenever I'm waiting I always scan my surroundings, looking for this or that, just allowing my senses to swallow up anything that breaches it's barriers.  This morning wasn't any different.  

First I people watch, that's typically my starting point.  Seeing there was not a soul to be found I started looking all around, for anything to keep me preoccupied, as I patiently allowed the rain to complete it's song and dance.  I followed the various planters and moved onto the seats and chairs.  I looked at the seats and thought it was interesting how, although covered by an overhang, the water amassed in beads, both large and small, atop the glassy tables for two.  I imagined that some poor stock-boy would get the privilege of drying the tables and chairs off.  It really wouldn't be all that difficult though, seeing the tables have a glass surface and the chairs have no padding, just decorative iron twisted and turned in various directions.  Either way seemingly easy enough.  

The rain just wouldn't stop and I was about finished with my information intake, when I happened to note the sign in question.  Please do not leave your cats in the parking spaces.  This is what it said.  No joke.

Instantly I understood that some prankster was playing a joke.  Yes, this had to be the case.  The sign was made with the type of removable letters, the kind used on movie theater marquis, that are easy enough to rearrange and make your own message with.  

I'm assuming the difference between the message displayed and the intended message was nothing more than an R.  Yes, a supermarket asking the customers to not leave their carts in parking spaces makes a lot of sense.  However I scanned the tiles, even looked behind and between the potted plants, but the R could not be found.  There was not any spacing between the a and the t either.  Surely a prankster could have simply swiped the r and moved the a and the t close together, but perhaps this was not a mistake at all.  Perhaps there was some larger issue at hand.  I instantly drifted off into a rain induced comatose trance.

I pictured an empty parking lot in the middle of the night.  A car drives down an aisle.  It stops in the lane, never pulling into a parking space.  The driver leaves the car running but gets out and with him he's carrying a fluffy little critter in his arms.  The orange cat is placed in the handicap spot.  The man starts to say a few words when he notices another car speeding through the lot.  The man says a rapid goodbye, he called him sponge, and jumped into his car, driving away faster than the speed he used when he first arrived.

Over on the opposite end of the lot, the speeding car that scared our cat abandoner can be seen driving quickly up and down the lanes, as if he's practicing for some obstacle course.  He slows down but briefly, opens up his door and places a cat in each subsequent parking space.  He wasn't tossing the cats out, no he was slowing down, opening his door and then leaning out and gently placing each cat into the parking spaces, kind of like phone book delivery drivers used to do before legislation made directory publishers clamp down upon their delivery standards.  The man dropped off six cats and then drove away at an increased speed.  

We now had an orange, three whites, a pair of blacks and one that looked, well bluish in color.  There were seven cats in total now, each with their own parking space.  If I weren't a hologram watching this scene unfold I would've surely wrangled the cats up and brought them to the nearest animal shelter for safekeeping.  Unfortunately though I could only observe.  A little meowing was taking place at first, then it picked up with each of the cats playing their own role.  At just about the time the symphony was starting to click a white van pulled into the lot.  It parked over in the area of the lot that had the least bit of lighting, as apparently the lightbulbs in that section had yet to be changed.  

A man and a woman jumped out of the van.  The woman opened up the sliding side door and three children filed out with shopping carts.  They all congregated at the back of the van as the man was opening the back doors.  He jumped inside and began handing things to each of the kids.  The woman made sure each cart was completely filled before she loaded starting loading up her own.   The children frantically scattered throughout the lot, and yes each of them had a bunch of whining, mewling kittens with them.  Each gained a spot of their own.  There was too many to count, much too many it appeared, as by the time they finished there were only two spaces empty now.   

The children jumped back into the van as the man and woman filled the last two spots.  The man unleashed his Savannah and told her to sit still. The woman left what appeared to be an extremely large Maine Coon.  They rejoined the children and the van pulled away.

I couldn't believe my eyes.  There must be a hundred cats but for whatever reason they all sat in their parking spaces.  Not a single one meandered or roamed.  In their spots these cats must have felt like they were now at home.

As I scanned the landscape I noticed Persians and many an American breed.  I saw Abyssinians, Balinese, Burmese and Chartreux.  There were Mao's, Himalayan, Mynx, Pixies, Siamese and Angoras too.  All different shapes and hue, all different sizes too.  Big and small, short and tall.  There were pretty tabbies and ragged ones as well.  But none seemed to care where they were.  

I thought to myself, some of these breeds are expensive.  Why would people decide to abandon them?  What was going on?  I did not know, I couldn't think this through.  But hours I spent just watching the cats perfect their songs.  One after another, similar yet different sounding.  Yet before the encores could begin, in drove a Prius, into the lot.  Instantly I thought there were no spaces left, I hoped this person didn't have cats in there too.

She parked the car in the middle of a row, rolling down the window and was obviously perplexed by the view.  She got outside and rubbed her eyes.  I could tell right there she worked for the store.  She picked up her phone and made a call. 

I was curious to find out who she called and what happened to all the cats and kittens too.  But just as the vision became clearer, the rain ceased and it was time to go.

So see what can happen when a misspelled or altered word appears.  The entirety of meaning can create confusion while the mind can travel miles along roads absurd.

I truly hope this was but a misprint or a practical joke.  For if the supermarket was having this type of problem here, I fear the Satanists will soon hear too.  If that happens I can only hope there are enough cats present to scratch and claw their way, leaving the evil ones in dismay.

****Anyhow, the sign is real, if I had my camera handy I surely would have taken a pic, but the rest of this was just me having a bit of fun.  Hope you all enjoyed.

Mortar Fire and the Sound of Independence (Soldier Chronicle Volume Three)

Mortar fire and the sound of independence

Sky lit in brilliance

Reminds me of our endeavor,

As if I would ever convince myself otherwise

I forgot the names by now,

I wish I would have paid attention

Gave camaraderie a try,

Yet then, well I would also

The beaches coveted the brush,

This jungle from all sides,

Thick entanglements of plants, trees, vines,

And bugs, so many bugs,

Footmarks led pathways I would fear to see,

Who, and what would they steer towards me,

Estranged, weeks perhaps,

How the body changes when left unattended,

My escape was a stumble upon,

Some lucky hacks hidden in the brush,

Tree supporting their covert lifestyle,

Scared kids with ink long gone,

Waiting for a bus to fly them home,

At that point, then,

I offered nothing but a plea to join their crusade,

Most accepting those writers were,

Having me around set them at ease,

Guess they felt safer with a man like me, around,

Appearances cast deeper images than our words suggest,

And the weapon,

I enjoyed their spirits, albeit reminding them it really was myself against,

But their spirits were higher than when I arrived, therefore I didn’t have the

Heart to tell them I was out,

I met them by luck,

But luck is not what got me to them,

It was disobedience that saved my life,

The lieutenant announced we’d be coming in from atop,

Surprise that morning, glory all night,

I explained my ears were keen,

And I know familiar sounds over the hill,

My gut instructed me to disobey what I knew was right,

What I was trained to do,

And so I dropped below as they rose above,

Seconds later I heard the firefight,

I heard the enemy swarm past me, as I hid myself away,

I returned and buried the dead, all of them but myself,

I heard it then I hear it now,

If only I’d listened, the families claim I could have saved them all,

I know better, which is not to say obeying was the wrong command to follow,

Each day now, since then, I see their excitement in their eyes,

For by their hands some unnamed assailants would die,

I tried to explain, I told them, but again I say they were close to one another,

I was merely a clinging shadow, they didn’t care to know, one they avoided

If only I made an attempt perhaps a different ending there would be

To this horrible tale I live to tell.

For Which I Bleed

Several hours have since past

Since I last counted the days

Since you left my side

Broken, like a crippled child

Alone, a brand new world revealed,

From the womb they get thrust right in

Taught forever about wrong and right

Then they get diagnosed, something is not alright,

 The Parents are by the child, at its side,

As they bury conviction, suppress emotions,

Weeks may pass, months perhaps,

Where their inner anger clouds decision,

Constructing rationale for irrational thought,

And just about this time, these ideas start making sense,

To have no choice, no other option

To feel a sense of failure,

For first the self, and then the child,

Soon it travels to all extensions in your life,

Finally that feeling of failure turns to blame,

It’s everybody else’s fault to which everything falls apart

But the infant does not know, cannot understand,

And derision it is deadly to the touch, deadlier without,

To the child tears and sobs become the sounds and sights of life,

At least to the one they know, they life they will soon recognize,

Themselves as the center, the cause,

Just looking for a reason to be wrong,

But that comfort never comes,

First comes reflection, then a connection, finally an acceptance,

At this point rehabilitation is years long and rivers wide,

For all the misunderstanding they’ve since mastered,

And from each tear they’ve ever crafted,

But these ones are still able for rescue,

Then there are the others,

Those who’ve lost all comfort from a tear,

They’ve since moved to closets in the dark,

Removing so much of what is real,

They create a detached composite, a comfort zone,

All this pain easily evaded, if the parent chose to do what mattered most,

Instead of allowing fear to dictate what matters to them most,

If they only did their job, at least if they tried to,

The outcome much different perhaps, the child’s life changed a fact

The child’s life changed, a fact

In situations like this, for example,

I shed my coat and extend an arm,

Where the simplest of embraces to the most desolate of faces,

May extinguish the residue from a life of harm,

These all and many more, are but a few of the reasons, for which I bleed