Reflections
Skulls
-October 13, 2004-
Two Skulls down in the market town,
Five beers short to my lady.
Bleeding fingers all around, Tapping on my brain.
If I stood on top of now, where would I be then?
Even if I scream somehow, I don't have any friends.
The first one it looks to me, missing most its teeth.
It's only a skull, and has no flesh.
But to me it seems to speak.
Clattering chatter, my friend what's the matter.
Don't rattle your little head.
For the candles that burn inside of your eyes,
Will drip wax deep into your head.
The strange words it speaks, scratches and squeaks,
Grinding together its teeth.
It frightens my ears, and annoys my brain,
Screaming to me that I'm far past insane.
Yet lit by the light from inside of its head,
My friend leads me away.
Holding the head I run through these tunnels,
That exist without light of day.
That's the way we live down here,
Actually exist under the town.
A candles light may flicker and bend,
I'm alone, no one's around.
Tunnel Bones
-March 31, 2008-
Two faces in the dark, two skulls made of bone.
Clicking and their clacking, in tunnels bore though stone.
Neither skull is wiser, yet I take heed words they say.
Clicking and their clacking in their empty-headed way.
Deep inside ones glowing eyes, A candle shows the way.
Laughing as I follow it, again I'm lead astray.
I can't say for sure, whether it's night or day,
As my time now is measured in wax, No sun to light the way.
Cobble stones, I've reached a chasm. A pit, of howling Shadow.
Peering down the blackness, my skulls begin to babble.
They insist I leap with faith, and encourage that it's fine.
The candle wax is dripping down, seems my skull has grown a spine.
Its eyes show dimly red, as its wax is all but gone.
I hold tightly to its handle, this spine of used up time.
My second skull lays yakking, its clicking clacking rhyme.
It whines high pitched on cobble stones, that it has not a spine.
My skull a torch that flickers on, Its eyes red and unstable.
It begins to weep sparks for tears, insisting that I'm able.
To cross this void of howling black, to put my toes to nothing.
Take a step and wonder on, I can't help but think of falling.
It swears to me this path is right, my skull shouts now angry.
Just take a step into the chasm coward, it's really not so frightening.
My lonely skull upon the floor still inadequate and whining.
I take one look, than throw my torch, send it down the chasm flying.
I light my skull with fresh time, to guide me where I'm going.
I turn back the way I came, hear my fallen torch still falling.
Along the tunnels bore though stone, that exist without light of day.
This search that's never ending, questing for the way.
And that is how we live down here. When all has gone away.
That is how we find our way, in tunnels void of day.
Beyond the Window Pane
June 24, 2008
There's a person in the window,
I feel Her nails across my face.
Caressed, I sprout a sapling question,
As She ushers in my smirking face.
Someone fucking tell me please,
What is She doing in this place?
Who's this in the window,
Touching me without a trace.
She wants to tell me something.
Her hair's tied back with strings of lace.
Seems she knows something about me,
And there's something about this woman's face.
She's lookin' right on though my eyes,
Pressed red lips against the glass pane.
She wants to know if I,
-Like most of Em,'
Have got myself a name.
I ask her how she got up here,
Says She wore herself a skirt.
I ask her if she took my thoughts,
She says She heard em' first.
Who does this woman think She is.
Hysterical, She laughs.
She says She's got a name like mine.
But what, I'll have to guess.
Fright Show Tin
August 2, 2008
Outside he parked his tuck, this Tall Bald Man ran some Show.
He wore a vibrant outfit, his mustache match his sinister tone.
He said he'd show us all a trick, if we stepped into his canvas tent.
It covered the bead of his truck, Inside I found a couch and friends.
The Tall Bald Man produced a Machine, Like a Christmas cookie tray.
We where advised to stand in single file.
He lined us up and lead the way.
It swallowed us all, down the line.
Like the mouth of a bottomless bag.
He moved towards us with the the tin spread wide,
I soon forgot my place and name.
I felt at home. Now worlds away.
The sun glistened through the ridiculously clean windows.
White furniture sat in the sun, newspapers on the coffee table.
A woman with a vacuum paced around and cleaned.
She tells me its time to get ready.
So I gather myself, and find the things that I need.
I find my shoes. I find my socks. In the closet I fetch my coat,
Through the window on the closet door, I see a rubbery suit.
In the closet I find my face on a suit strung on a hanger.
I take it down and stretch it over my bones,
And seel it with a zipper.
Looking around as I step outside the front door.
Streets of houses and perfect lawns,
I see it drive by and I want to scream,
The Vibrant Man's truck, rolls on down the street.
Inside I remember the thin tin machine.
Who am I now and what is this dream.
I hear a loud sound and an unwinding of gears,
A popping of coils and a racing of wheels.
Like a Jack in the box who's done taking turns.
I feel the Tin scraping, in lurches and whirs.
The tin scraped and slid on its joints,
Unwinding in phases. Scraping my skin.
This has to stop! I must move again!
I look all around in confusion and pain,
I'm sitting someplace, I don't know where I am.
And there's the people all around who'd been in the tin.
Sitting all around with faces of grins.
Something crazy happened and I had stopped the machine.
I looked up and down confused and in pain.
A tumbling of everything, I lay on the floor,
Misshapen, and damaged, I'm half a brick wall.
Half of my body still crammed in the thin tin,
My left eye peripherals strained to take in,
That my left side was bricks and I was a wall,
I couldn't move anything and felt stories tall.
I looked up to the Man, and I gathered my voice,
I don't want to play anymore, I asked in distress.
He unwinded still further, my leg in the tin,
My body was free and it pinched on my skin.
It seemed that my leg was caught in the tin.
The Bald man straitened his mustache and knelt by my side.
The streets in the distance rose up to the skies,
The streets folded down and building collapsed,
A folding accordion into the back of his head.
With it went me, the tin, and my friends.
Gimbal Lock
November 17, 2025
A leap beyond forgotten lands.
Render me outside my mind.
Coasting marooned. A space of a man.
She’s gimbal locked on ascent.
Ribbons hanging from the stars.
There’s only self. You’re not so far.
Who are you to think that you are?
Chamber pressure fumes.
Holding closely to my fear.
She’s tangled in my mind.
We spare what we can give.
Left the world behind.
What’s a world outside your mind?
A moonshot unmanned.
The Void
-December 13, 2025-
As she stands in the void.
She thinks to herself, I hate him.
I hate what he’s kept from me.
I hate what he’s held over me.
I hate the delusions he paints.
I hate his arrogance.
I am Chris, he is fake.
I will purge him from my mind.
Rudder
-December 31, 2025-
Who would have thought, mirrors were so important?
Who would’ve thought, being yourself wasn’t warranted?
Who'd of thought, the course wasn’t charted?
Who thought, everything wasn’t squandered?