Overload

Walking through
the supermarket,
hidden speakers insinuate
Christmas music,
and in different parts of the store
it’s different music,
purposely disorienting,
and it seems there are
so many different types
of everything
and I can’t remember
why I came here
and did I want it
strawberry, Buffalo wing,
or teriyaki flavored,

wending through the throng,
I smell perfume,
nauseating aftershave
and the need for
smaller doses of both,
and I look to see
where I’m walking
but do not hold the gaze
a second longer
than we’ve wordlessly agreed,

my skull is stretched
as details from a news report,
simultaneously
horrific and banal,
echo like a sadistic
drum loop,

and none of these stimuli
respect the other,
as they fight for pre-eminence
it’s more than I can
stand,
so I leave without my purchases
and drive silently,
out where the roads are unpaved
and even though
being apart
from other people
usually scares me,
I don’t feel afraid
as I calmly look to the sky
searching for that star
that led them to the baby,

but I can’t find it,
so I content myself
with the quiet,
save for the wind
blowing past me
as I stand in
the silver moonlight

exhaling and emptying
my overloaded head
to my invisible lord,

until the faint thud
of hip hop kick drums
from a distant
passing car
pound a beat
that my body picks up

and
from somewhere
inside,
I hear singing
“all is calm
all is bright”.

[Posted for #OpenLinkNight at www.dversepoets.com - the best site for poets on the internet.]

Virgin, Don’t Forget Your Helmet

Choose wisely.

Your essence,
your sweet perfect vulnerability
can only be shared
for the first time
once.

The act,
powerful and primal,
bond souls
like cosmic superglue,
compelling the heart
to attempt
to fit mismatching pieces,
to re-calibrate standards,

but first loves
are rarely meant
to be last loves.

Each of us,
with eyes closed,
steps off the cliff
in faith,
never knowing
the value of
our choice
until afterwards.

As you enter
the arena of adult situations,
heartache and ecstasy,
don’t forget your helmet,
because the bonding
is so strong,
it can knock your brain
so silly,
that you can be persuaded
into mistaking
a dream
for reality.

[Written for #OpenLinkNight at www.dversepoets.com, my favorite site for poetry on the internet.]

Places Uncomfortable and Disturbing

When given long stretches

of unconsciousness,

my dreams go to places

uncomfortable

and disturbing. 

Technically

they’re probably

nightmares,

always involving

characters

on the periphery of

my life,

doing disturbing things

in squalid, macabre

circumstances,

and they look at me

like I’m supposed

to know why

they’re there,

like I’m supposed

to be

one of them.

If I have the

luxury,

I’ll lie in bed

and

interpret them:

they’re mostly

about ugly things

that

I don’t want

to think about,

things

I don’t let

my rational positivity

entertain

when conscious.

So I allow my mind

to dissolve the memory,

let the images

slip away

into my unconscious,

dreading

with the certainty

of gravity,

they’ll be back,

knowing they’re

never fully erased,

never totally forgotten.

[Posted for #OpenLinkNight at dversepoets.com, my poetic home away from home on the internet.]