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OBEI was born on a cold rainy day
8 AM - a morning cuddled up to itself
in a hospital whose wife died

I don't remember very much
the carpet, or the paint upon the walls
but I remember words, and voices

I remember being dropped and bent
the nurse in shambles running backwards
I remember seeing lights

Beauty for a moment wrapped me golden
burnt me through for many days
I felt the world compressed into a dot

I should have turned to stone at that
ascended in a tower from my eyes
left my beating heart wrapped in a box
TortugaHope - that is a word I like to see.
I like to see it clean and unmolested,
sitting in my upturned hands for me.
But hope is wider than two flattened palms
(slower than the engines running deep).

It hurts to know you've missed the forest
for the trees - it hurts to leave
your soul drinking coffee in bed.
It hurts to know it's sitting still -
to learn it won't forget your face.

For years I've lived in aircraft carriers
fixing tiny things in tiny hallways,
getting lost in pipes and furnaces,
walking in on funerals for innocence -
pretty things in bed with Charles Manson.

The other day the sun spoke down to me.
It said, "I've never had a shad
Submarine CableI feel too much to speak.
Go home, America.
Turn off electricity,
take a nap in your exploded towns.
Wake and dance like wicked children,
drink more beer, have a kid or two,
unfurl out of packs of wolves and cigarettes -
clicking like a finished reel of film.
Drink the puzzles floating in your cups.
Day 17: How To Bury Your MotherStart with the feet; push down
handfuls of earth over stubbed toes
and childhood injuries--

(remember the time she pulled your hair,
called you a bitch and said your father
could never have wanted you).

Press the soil around her calves
and into her knees; let it rest there
as a symbol of the years you parted--

(remember calling her and asking
if she would visit; the way her voice
echoed yours but she never came).

Cup handfuls of dirt and splatter them,
her waist disappearing under the weight
of gravity, just like her abandonment--

(remember wondering if there'd ever be
another place called home; the space
of her now inside you).

Let the
Artificial light makes for bad photographsI am a fool
for swallowing the stars -

now we must take rocket ships
full of light bulbs  
up to the sky,

hang them on imaginary
lengths of fishing wire
and hope they might float.

Light perches
like birds
on telephone wire,

gripping onto life
with nothing but

air
Strange HotelI know numbness.
I know uncertainty in taking breaths -
asbestos always lurking in a gasp.
I know the fear of death without a cause.

When I was a child, and afraid,
comfort was a hobo hanging on a tree.
But that was years ago; he died,
and from the tree I built a bed.

This bed has been the bottom of my barrel.
I have blackened lungs and smashed pianos,
burnt the Song of Solomon to dust,
turned my only brother to a widower.

This morning, when the sky blew up,
I wept and shook an anchor out of me.
Now, there's nothing left except my hands,
My feet, and something vaguely like a dream.
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March 1
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:iconm0rtal-dysfuncti0n:
do not

forget

to

drown

--

critiques are more than welcome

--
poetry © :iconm0rtal-dysfuncti0n:
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:iconwingz69:
=WiNGz69 Mar 1, 2013  Student Writer
How wonderfully disgusting. And I agree, the spacing of the poem is interesting.
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:iconm0rtal-dysfuncti0n:
~m0rtal-dysfuncti0n Mar 4, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Ah, I love "wonderfully disgusting." Those words were going through my mind when I wrote this piece. Thanks~
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:iconwingz69:
=WiNGz69 Mar 4, 2013  Student Writer
I had a feeling, and I'm glad I got it right. Well done :)
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:iconm0rtal-dysfuncti0n:
~m0rtal-dysfuncti0n Mar 5, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Haha~
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:iconxknightfirex:
~xknightfirex Mar 1, 2013  Student Writer
interesting one. now pull something from that head of yours that is HAPPY? i mean, i still LOVE all of the poems you have been posting but a few of them dont seem quite as "happy" as they could be. if i am missing the point or the meaning of them PLEASE let me know? thanks for your time reading this :)
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:iconm0rtal-dysfuncti0n:
~m0rtal-dysfuncti0n Mar 4, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks~ I appreciate the fave, too. And you are right. My poems are never really happy. This may come as odd to you, but my ability to write happy is at fail. Haha, I only write dark pieces and melancholic things. This is mainly because I write to vent and get rid of my personal emotional discomforts. While my poems may not always reflect the conflicts I am feeling, they will always have a dark feel to it. I have like...one poem that is happy. Writing happy just really isn't my specialty, if you will! And you're welcome. I appreciate your support, once again. I answer comments, always! (:
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:iconxknightfirex:
~xknightfirex Mar 4, 2013  Student Writer
no, thank YOU! i know EXACTLY where you are coming from with the melancholic writing style. i, too, have just recently really been getting into the "happy" feely poems. i look forward to more :)
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:iconm0rtal-dysfuncti0n:
~m0rtal-dysfuncti0n Mar 4, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Aw, you're welcome! It is really not my style to write happy poems. Haha, I enjoy writing darker pieces. I'm so glad you enjoy my writing! (:
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:icontherainontheirparade:
~therainontheirparade Mar 1, 2013
This is a lovely piece! I love the way you have it spaced, it adds a lot more to the writing.
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:iconm0rtal-dysfuncti0n:
~m0rtal-dysfuncti0n Mar 1, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Aww, thank you so much. I am really glad you enjoyed my piece! (: I appreciate the fave, too~
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