Musings for me and my imaginary pals-
The whining April night;
Humid, horrid and ungrateful
She hides in my blackest shadows
She shadows my blackest hide
Leaving me alone with Dr. Jekyll
And a dry bottle of whine.
The moon, this pen and pad are my companions.
The moon waxing in her magnetic charm
Far from friendship’s bosom
Yet close enough to taste the romantic elixir
Of longing and language.
The black April night, nearly numb now,
Waits near the gallows of daybreak.
A mercenary cloaked in the garb of the original nightlight.
The undulating evening in April
Where all my nightmares come alive
After I leap bravely into my cold bed sheets
The tide of the p.m. swells
Reminding my mind
They are brass
They are rusted
They are purple and purposeful
Some are only known by the fiend
That lays his head on my pillowcase.
Far from the easy water of the deepest well
Lay the lies of a lifetime,
Spread out upon the bedspread of guilt
Quilted with the silver stitches of consequence.
Judged by the night,
Condemned by the moon glow,
Tortured and strangled
In the silence.
The silence of the night;
When the mind won’t stop speaking into my
Spinning me around the clock
After dusk gives in and
Just before the dawn buttons her apron
Making promises that she will never keep.
These are the hours of loneliness only known
By the strange ones;
The manic artist,
The mad poet,
The lunatic writer and the musician who does not fit in.
Those of us who MUST heed to our art
When it starts screaming
And plots and schemes scratching out
Mentality’s suicide notes that never find their porch lights when the shameful itch begins to search for long fingernails far beyond the midnight hour
Laying on mattresses
Or couches of regret.
Playing in our own
Gods of makeshift realities
That leak from our mind-wands
For pen strokes
The night time is
for me and my worn-out brain,
After the band is gone
And the lights are out
I am alone,
And far away from dream dust.