phantom in the machinery

5.

i wish to belong nowhere
no world
no way of life
no particular time or place
exit this crowded space
turn the lights off
on these misdirected dreams
find my way to an unswept street
to a dark house with no number
to live among the uncounted
to stroll the rutted roads
behind the boulevards
to tightrope along
the unterraced edge of disaster
to lose myself
in the alley ways
behind the billboards
with painted smiles
in the midst of natives
nobody prays for

Part 5 of a 5 part poem to run this week

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Phantom in the Machinery ...

phantom in the machinery

1.

i sense the acceleration
but don’t care
to stop the fall
too tired
to stretch far enough
to bridge the disconnect
the slow-downward
drag of the wind
strangely comforting
back-floating
red eyes locked
on the night sky
looking for confirmation
of something-anything
to save me
from nothing-everything
fully aware
of the smiling
motherfuckers who thrive
on my complacency
& applaud my stylish
deadly habits

2.

once i was beautiful
jesus hair falling behind
burning blue like a storm
crazy for destination
now i borrow light
like the moon
overexposed like a bad photo
transistors shot-a bad radio
a formless phantom
composed of exhaustion
shaped in the image
of isolation
dreaming of leaning
out over the river
from a ghostly railway bridge
prepared to sacrifice myself
to know
convinced the universe is a mistake
looking for an escape
a loophole
that leads around god’s rules

3.

january
wind cuts
like a chisel
through cemetery
rows of expired
parking meters
tombstone reminders
that time
never sleeps
waiting grave markers
for this graying
prodigal son
stumbling
done-in down
naked streets
still unwilling
to swap
half-worlds
of unfillable space
& gratuitous
suicide
for a valid world
of comfortable
clichés & pipers
playing
sweet songs
of coming home
night-clad nomad
following
feeble streetlights
that mark the way
from failing grace
to an empty room

4.

night cat moans-3 a.m.
a bed of nails
sleep troubled
by recurring dreams
hating the night
because there is no rest
hating the day
because it moves toward night
scattered thoughts
like loose bits of sand
the harder i squeeze
the faster they slip away
solitude
the condition
of my existence
rage
the element
of my being
if the earth were
filled with t.n.t.
i’d put a match to it
tear the night air
with absolute noise
the ultimate terrorist
no religion-no causes-no agenda
taking no hostages
making no deals

5.

i wish to belong nowhere
no world
no way of life
no particular time or place
exit this crowded space
turn the lights off
on these misdirected dreams
find my way to an unswept street
to a dark house with no number
to live among the uncounted
to stroll the rutted roads
behind the boulevards
to tightrope along
the unterraced edge of disaster
to lose myself
in the alley ways
behind the billboards
with painted smiles
in the midst of natives
nobody prays for






DB Cox is a blues musician/writer from South Carolina. His writing has appeared in Underground Voices, Sein Und Werden, Dogmatika, Thunder Sandwich, Dublin Quarterly, Aesthetica, Bonfire, Gator Springs Gazette, Heat City Review, Snow Monkey, Southern Hum, Southern Gothic and others.

He has had three chapbooks of poetry published: “Passing For Blue” (published by Rank Stranger Press), “Lowdown” and “Ordinary Sorrows” (published by Pudding House Publications). Main Street Rag recently published his first full-length poetry collection, “Empty Frames”.

You can reach him This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it

Last update : 08-09-2007 23:42

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