Tag Archives: goals

Dusty Trumpets

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Let me love you
furiously
like death loves the young and
fire loves a tree.

Let me take your hand
and put it on the trigger.

Let’s turn everything
into just plain murder.

Let’s give them all Hell
for having birthed us.

Let’s scream off the agony of being
and beat down the cages just to
bully the hungry lions.

Let’s rage against the day
against the night
against the vast indifferent sky.

Let’s shake the sleep out of the angels,
step on the toes of giants and
embrace the writhing Leviathan.

Let’s burn into forever.

Let’s awaken the dusty trumpets.

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The Dust Of Long Dead Sheep

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It’s always time for the rodeo
when I’ve accepted the fetal position
as a way of life for fear
of putting on the clown suit.

Doubt comes barging in
like a mad cocaine pirate
that I welcome on-board
with streamers, ribbons and balloons
as my dreams vacuously congeal
into dried husks so often that I pray
for monsters under my bed
with dollars in my teeth.

It’s all relative to whatever
disaster I touch and mold into shape
using the clay that mother gave me.

I almost feel like begging
for the knife in these alleyways
filled with uncertain strangers with
cartoon lives
but all they do is
kill me with conversation until
I trip on slumber wondering
why the pen is so heavy
when everything seems so much like air
on which floats the dust
of long dead sheep.

You Can’t Write For Them

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Like I Have a Choice
A buddy of mine came up to me
the other day and said:
“I finally read a few of your posts
and I really like your writing
but I found that a lot of your stuff
is really dark.
What the hell happened to you?”

“I fell down some stairs.”

“You should try and lighten it up,
people like reading about normal things.”

“This is my normal.”

“Yeah, but I mean,
you would probably get more interest
if you weren’t so twisted.
You should definitely try to
get out there and find some good things
and write about that.
I swear, man, it would really help you.

“I’ll get right on that.”

“And you seem to post a lot. Is that all you do?
You edit your books too?
Dude, that must take up a lot of your time.
Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Hell no, those things are dangerous.”

“Man, nobody reads those self-published books.
You’re lucky to sell one copy.
Why go through all that trouble for nothing?
You’re a smart guy.
There’s so much you could do.
Why put it all into that?”

I really had nothing to say
as he stood there grinning at me
like an idiot
thinking that he was helping me and somehow
completely convinced
that I had a choice
about any of it.

Get a clue, Pal.
I don’t write for them.

I write for me.

You Can’t Write For Them
You have to throw your guts at it.

Your heart and your soul,
take them out too
and give it a good toss
at the page
sitting there blank before you
waiting…

It’s your friend.
It’s your enemy.
It depends on what kind of
day you’re having.

So write about sunshine
or murder
or whatever keeps you writing.
It doesn’t matter what it’s about.
It only matters that you enjoy doing it
because it shows.

But you can’t write for them.
You can’t spend your time
wondering what they might think.
That would be a slow death
that would take you nowhere.

No, you’ve got to bare your soul,
right or wrong.

People may not like it.
Some may even be offended by
what you got going on in there,
you Sicko.

But there is no other way
and if you stay the course
you will grow
and eventually they may catch on
because you may have
something beautiful
inside.

Good luck.