as i walk past random houses
i can’t help but wonder
if there is anybody trapped inside
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as i walk past random houses
i can’t help but wonder
if there is anybody trapped inside
there is beauty
in a fleeting beam
of sunlight
as it wanes
and night sounds fill the twilight
wind whispers through the glades
shadows lengthen
wearily
as they to lay down to rest
Fuck I’m so sad
Tiny flame dwindling
Like a frown at the edge of space-time
On the ledge of space-time
Where I can see the whole universe
Arranged in columns of stars
And light sparks between clouds
Of nebulous gas
Giving rise to creation
Creating this feeling
Of divine isolation
In the cold and the dark
Where the orbs spin
And distant flames dwindle
And twinkle
As though it’s the same thing
The sane thing
To be distracted by light
Like moths swarming a bulb
Seeking warmth / Seeking death
In the sizzling caress
Of the flame and the glass
Like a glass window pane
The pain is ingrained in me
It goes on and on
Like some old song
Cobbled together
From all I’ve done wrong
And from old nursery rhymes
Rhyming slang / Guitar twang
The phone rang
In my memories like a harpy
Yet I cannot sink
Cannot think
In this darkness
In
This
Abyss
Unmoving
A bubble escapes from my lips
As I gasp
What is this?
My body suspended
In a body of water
Suspended in space
My heart’s starting to race
And my thoughts can’t keep pace
With the weight of disgrace
And my shoes are unlaced
What I’m trying to say is
I’m trying to stay
Grounded
On the earth
And its tectonic plates
Rocky pinnacle untouched
And ever unseen
So remains like a dream
Long forgotten
Long turned rotten
In the back of my mind
Like a miner
Pickaxe striking at
My amygdala
Wounded snake
Driven mad
Rising up now and biting
Not because I am angry
But because I am frightened
Of men and their nets
And the battles they’re fighting
Lightning upon the plains
Scorches whole fields with blame
I’m so lame
I’m so lame
And fuck I’m so scared
Wish I’d been prepared
For this
all we love
and all we are
will quickly pass away
“the void! the void!”
i shout it out
they do not shout
because they are afraid
“the void! the void!”
fills up our sky
our minds
our hearts
yet for so long as we exist
we are a voice against that void
however ineffectual
we are something brilliant sparking
they call it “intellectual”
but what point is there of being… intellectual
in a universe like this?
no rhyme, nor reason, justifies why we exist
“anomaly! anomaly!”
that is what humans be
and most are merely bleating sheep
who do not wish to see
and if they saw
that gaping maw
they’d scream
if sheep could scream
and they would wonder “is there more?”
beyond this sight unseen?
“unseen! unseen!”
within a dream
lies all that we have lost
we carry each loss forward
each one bearing its own cost
is it PENNIES sir
or is it POUNDS
or is it EURO DOLLARS
are euro dollars even real?
i think and my rhymes falter,
what is this life?
what is it?
i do not comprehend
i know not where i started
and i know not when it will end
“not yet!” i say
“NOT YET!” i say
there’s things yet to be done
NOT YET becomes my battle cry
like the beating of a drum
NOT YET
NOT YET
NOT YET
NOT YET
i will find a way
to meet the future that approaches
and face the passing of each day
it’s falling from the sky
we’re all gonna die
i don’t know what to do
me either
wanna get high?
(and watch the sky together
come apart in streams of light)
wanna bleat
like a sheep
and fall in a heap
forget who you are
and pretend while you weep
tears that are dry
cos you can’t even cry
cos your brain has been altered by SSRI
so consider the rhyme
consider the season
consider the reason you’re reading this wisdom
this wisdom? or is it
something else instead
is it memories of people
who’re already dead
and recounted by fingers
that can sense the unsaid
I love,
All the little scraggly birds,
wide-eyed and feather-ruffled,
Tossed aside by the wind,
Into garden beds or against,
Reflections of the sky.
Good Morning Michael,
Who are you?
Can you tell us a little something about the things that you do?
What’s your story about?
What type of things do you write?
Are you familiar with deception as a fictive device?
Gigantic rents in the sky,
A speck of sand in your eye,
I’m like a creature that has wings and yet refuses to fly.
Well that’s nice,
But what do you know about current publishing trends?
Do you start work on a sequel as soon as one story ends?
I’m like a murder scene played backwards until nobody dies,
Gotta keep this shit tight,
Like a CD track at night,
Played in a car with engine idling that’s stopped at traffic lights.
Well you’re certainly creative, so there’s no problem there,
But you’ve still given us no reason for the reader to care…
Oh, I am nothing to you,
But you are something to me,
For I dwell in a space too far for even Hubble to see,
And your existence is the stars that light up my night sky,
Without the stars I’d be alone and have no reason to try.
these hills are a place
where it is always night
not the mean blackness
some knights possess
but a diffuse sort of darkness
lit by the distant pin-pricks
of exploding gas
and the moon
catching the light
from an unseen sun
and dripping it like honey
such that these hills
and this ever-night
is lit by milky amber
hues that carry the promise
of magic
the poet sits
on a simple throne
made of stone
for you he waits
he waits for no one
you are no one
Michael Scott Hand 