As I sat awake one night
of toil
Wishing to sell my soul
A knocking sound inside
my head
Came rushing down like
soil
My breathing failed
My stomach ailed
I dreamt awake in pine
Realizing I was buried
Not yet dead; alive.
I fancied my pen mighty
I knew my pick was quick
But past is past and
future gold;
Just copper Devil's
tricks.
Men call the present “Present”
Meaning it a gift
Open the box and within
find
An endless mire of shit.
The knock becomes a
pounding
Rattling now like stones
Any poison would do well;
A thing to salve the
bones.
Howling snow as demons
blow
Their siren song of cold
Melt my eyes with lye if
thou
would only salve my
bones.
Prayers akin to women's
words
Scrawled upon the air
If only all the myths
were truths
This life we could call
fair.
A grinding spine
Testes in twine
Gelding men with school
I finally understand
just why
I call myself the Fool.
That cursed rattling
pounding
Shall never cease to
grow
Hence I wonder will I
ever
One day salve these
bones?
II
In fatigue, have I
salved these bones?
With Dirt you call drink
And a sign you call
home—
To build your home.
And with that ugly thing
it seems
I have salved these
bones.
Ah, but Hell, you decry
Awaits such as I, and
perhaps,
Impresses your ego
But all of us know that
the muck
And the snow and the
warmth
(from the gut)
From the Hogshead
soothes these bones,
A side-effect; maniac tones.
For tones are they not?
Are they not songs
insane?
Or inane, or a pain?
Apathy seems to save
Or at least soothe the
quivers.
At that point
Find
That the kind
(cursed kind)
Such as I find the
strength to deliver.
The marrow is rank
But the bones are at
rest
And never were they
bones at all!
The fact of the matter
is something far fatter
Quiet the Purple and
incessant drone
Of the numbers much
higher than mine.
At length--find myself a
mess, me
What a most horrible
thing to be.
The Horror of such a
thing
(I wish I could say)
Escapes me.
III
Ullo Modo!
I must salve these
bones!
Lest I cease to function
And lose more than
gumption
My mind will cease to
flow
My Devil Half blossoms
And Angels be tossed
With their trumpets
Far Below.
Bellow
Cream-colored milk
Once did salve these
bones
But strychnine it was
although Heaven Above
It did force to open the
doors
Golden doors
Something I
(or one such as I)
Within seek refuge and
not be refused
Though refuse the Many
call I.
So instead I sit and
reflect on things
Better off charnel and
rotting
For stink they cause--
I wish the stench gave
me pause--
But with custom comes
wisdom
And amber brings wisdom
That poison alone will
salve the bones.
A reflection in the
light
Flowing through colors
and symbols of life
A color conductor
Immortal;
From time beyond time
Needs must find that one
Realizes a thing or
three.
A fool turned to hermit
yet still a knight
Prized with the gift of
poem!
Little ye know
The To and the Fro
And the real reason
I seek
To salve the bones.
IV
So sitting awake on this
night of toil
I wonder, am I alive?
Excess rules on the Ship
of Fools
But often we seek
To Salve the Bones
It is far from just I
who seeks comfort
Succor and Aid for the
Ace of Spades
The World is alive with
the Dead.
Etched inside, the hymns
of the Dead
Let it go
And tell the Medico
That the urge to sin
will not subside!
Give me the thing
I need to flee
Or I’ll find my own way
Down to Under.
Shall I dig through the
skin
To the bones
And the marrow within
And sell it for meat and
plunder?
The pith of me is far
better one sees
To sell than to leave
rent asunder.
If I sell me
Will I salve these
bones?
Or unlock a box without
hope?
It does not matter
At this point I’d rather
Die, die, and die again
than NOT
Salve these Bones.
The problem is that no
salve exists
Aside from the one with
the dark hood
And the chains around
its wrists
So until then I just
have to take my punishment and give back more
I’ll stay sore
Until I find that repose
That lies for all of us
For all of us…
For us all.
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