. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Chat With a Stranger



You:
     stranger
     pale-faced man of the evening
     i like your style and your silent stare
     don’t ever hide that shit from the light
     ya dig?

Stranger:
     i do look pretty pale in this lighting

You:
     aint that the god’s honest truth
     but aint nothing wrong with that among this world

Stranger:
     my skin is so smooth it reflects the white light well

You:
     don’t let them tell you otherwise
     don’t let them take from you the one ounce of
          courage you have left

Stranger:
     lol

You:
     that is the sound of anguish and agony, rollie pollie
     the sound of your agony crushes my spirit
     i am at a loss to feel hope
     i am wandering beyond MY own courage now
     in territory unfamiliar
     among faces i do not recognize
     scream again, pale friend
     scream those words

Stranger:
     are you writing a poem?

You:
     the night magic
     that’s what this is
     that’s what i call what you do
     the teacher, the pale rider
     the couch surfer
     may i pose a question?
     do you own those walls behind you?
     come alive, man!

Stranger:
     nope

You:
     do you rent them perchance?

Stranger:
     I do

You:
     and the trash receptacle
     do you have ownership over it?
     look alive, petersmith!
     the one against the wall behind your shaggy gruff
     who among you owns it?

Stranger:
     it belongs to the city

You:
     look alive, pandle eyes!
     it’s time for you to come to the aid of your country
     to step for once from the burning ash of your life and
          become a new seed

Stranger:
     you are thinking too big, man

You:
     step with me, king fish
     take hold of the truth of the gold in your heart

Stranger:
     start small and grow

You:
     follow me to the pallid regions of denial
     let’s let slip the notion of our parents

Stranger:
     is it really pretending?

You:
     we are shifting in the womb of infinity
     you and i
     the brothers pale, they called us
     in the reign of the Third King of these lands do we sleep
     whose women we take as wives and whose children
          they pour forth from their inflated bellies

Stranger:
     i think saying we are not connected is pretending

You:
     i’ve moved on
     look alive, smuggler
     it’s not time for sleep
     those days are gone
     like the chords that connect us

Stranger:
     lol it’s about time for me
     sleep is vital

You:
     no
     the cords are gone
     the chords silent
     we are not connected
     no
     we never
     were

Stranger:
     we are all the same

You:
     you are a fool and a braggart
     now you must suffer this injustice
     or move along and make some other act of contrition
     someplace else
     where gods and men sup from the blood of the land
     like cook's they meld our minds to do their bidding
     and you and i

Stranger:
     only men think they are gods

You:
     well we were never connected
     you and i and the gods
     we ARE different!
     and always will be

Stranger:
     what is different?

You:
     separated by time and by death
     the pale rider and the jean king

Stranger:
     these are all made-up words

You:
     one from the badlands and one up to no good
     you see the disconnect, gene handler
     we don’t even recognize each other anymore

Stranger:
     time and death
     this is what we know
     but it is only a human concept

You:
     two brothers cut from their mother’s stomach bile
     puked into the life
     the brothers pale and slinger
     the handle brothers
     diligent but never suspect

Stranger:
     life has been interrupted by obsession with control

You:
     whippin’ dicks and dirges
     making the moon move from its own perch
     to touch the lips of the lady love and mellow her the fuck down
     ya dig, my pale bride?
     clumy malloon of the cityscape
     that will be your moniker from now on
     the yellow malloon always sad but never going anywhere
     the baffling stares you’ll get
     the haunted telephone calls at 3 a.m.
     the trifling days gone in a mad wind

Stranger:
     what are you on, man?

You:
     i can’t answer you with any answer other than
     life
     madness perhaps
     but nothing else
     the drug of conception is enough for me

Stranger:
     life is the only answer i accept

You:
     the mescaline of my mother’s breath
     the domain of her contagious love affair with the
          man who became my father
     you know her
     young charlie in charge
     young blanket mascot
     young pale wolf
     asleep at the wheel
     as life struggles to crash and crush you
     the headlights golden on the golfers living the mad life
          you never could
     clench tight your butt cheeks and put the gun in your mouth
     tonight aint gonna be just another saturday night, ya dig?
     you ol’ rat turd
     you pale dog honey suckling
     doing the due diligence
     keep alive, brother
     keep sharp
     keep your eyes and your wits and prick stiff
     the board that breaks will be the board of your downfall
     you with me still, stinger?
     i need your heat to keep me warm
     this train aint driving itself
     GOTdamnit, soldia’
     blow some smoke and let’s chase this trail

Stranger:
     i’m trying to figure out your direction

You:
     to the darkness only, stevenson
     to the trail that brings me to my own tears
     the southern boy at the bell stops whistling the slow sad
          tune of my existence
     he lives here with me
     in the darkness
     whereto we must ALL go

Stranger:
      so are you trying to convince me to go to the darkness??

You:
     you know this, young farcical
     i want nothing to do with this said darkness, male lion
     i want only to be reprieved
     to say the struggle is not in vain
     you little sailor!
     you have never felt so alive, have you?!
     you pirate of the purple hearts of life

Stranger:
     i have not

You:
     when you speak, i am cursed
     i hope you understand your power, little midriff
     you’ve awakened a sleeping devil
     he sits heavy on my fingers now
     giving weight to what once was airy and free

Stranger:
     how did i do that?

You:
     the curse inside of you of course
     of course there is a curse
     you knew this but did not divulge
     you like a creeping cat crept past my downed guard
          and into the backdoor of my soul
     you are a pest
     a feline pest
     pale as the ether
     the blanket bastard
     the blue blanket bandit
     walker of the filth
     child progeny
     i loved you once
     a love now gone
     you gun slinger

Stranger:
     what are you trying?

You:
     we met in the night
     always remember

Stranger:
     are you trying to get into my subconscious mind?

You:
     always
     you
     will
     always
     be
     the
     pale rider

2013

.

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