but not too morbid

and now he's dead. dead dead dead. face of the boy forgot is stapled to the door. just remember that he's there. don't forget twice -don't recall thrice. he's stapled faceless and unremembered to cupboard block.it was dead. dead as a bird hit by a car. sprawled across the sidewalk, forgotten and smashed. how sad -the life of a dead bird. for it's not a life, but a dead.

a series of song visualizations

i was listening to a variety of folksy blues and jazz this evening...from tom waits to howlin' wolf. i thought it might be interesting to write what came to mind..what i could visualize, with each different song. to see if i could capture the feeling at all coming from each tune...

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Rustic & steady, aching with longing. But content with the slow, deliberate, meditative actions. Like that of a heron, knee deep in swamp.

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Low gaze lost in a memories ache. A slow rocking keeps him in the rhythm of his sorrow strong. The shadow cast from his hats brim obscures his deep set burdened eyes. His youthful promise lost in multitudes of heartache. Cigarette burnt to a stump.

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Sloshing in the spit fresh spittoon from the circle of sun tanned, wrinkled old farts, bobbing knees from the tap of their feet. Fingers wired and caked with age, still plucking away at the strings of hallowed instruments. Gaps in teeth, dusty eyes, sparsely weaved hats. Broken porch supports the howling weight. Singing: "OOOOOOOOH, you know I love you Baaaabe!"

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He's a man of his own. No one can take his will or soul. Alone and needin' nobody. No company but his musings by the firelight...He's the lone wanderer in the prairies of fox and owl. Though his weakness at heart -he hides with knife and glare, is no other
than woman; buxom and warm, ready to hold his head and kiss his tired eyes. He can't resist her.

Veiled

he was deeply burrowed in his home. the home that he hated but risked his life to keep. his mind was no longer entirely his own. tormented by his mysterious shadow, he rarely went anywhere outside of his earthen space. in fear of harming another.
his home was crookedly cozy and dark.
there was a single window in the far corner veiled by ivy and rotting leaves. his fireplace was caked with dried mud, and surrounded by the gnarly roots of the tree above. sheets of dust could be seen through the small slits of light coming in from the slanted window. in the corner rested a decaying cozy chair and on the floor beside was a stack of old crusty books.

He; the rooms inhabitant, the rabbit, sat in the chair.
his small arthritic fingers resting on its frayed arms. his eyes drooped as did his ears. pain etched around his mouth...his long teeth aged, cracked and brown. he was muttering. as if continuing a long purposeful debate. tho, he was the only one there.
his breath rattled in an eerily crazed, near deathly way.

"What is happening to the sanity?" the rabbit inflicted with schizophrenia asked the deserted room. "what..where have I gone?"