Education

to saint petersburg high school (a devil green)

The twisting tunnels are stained with
Memory; hidden are those thoughts –
Where a lost life and life lost meet,
And tell tales of their unknown futures.

Dreams are suspended, when, hands worn (young!)
Unlock secrets encased in steel . . .

3 – 7 – 13, the combination goes.

Tomes of knowledge, lo! What a
Strange hiding place for futures, when
The world can be chosen from a zippered bag.

Then the crowds swell, their faces bright
With (joy? sadness? loss? freedom?) as
Their lives intermingle, a common denominator
Found. (What is that shadow
With radio in hand? Why do I fear
The yellowed parchment so?)
Child, you are beckoned, and
Eyes widen: bewilderment. For here,
Small, insignificant, is a ledger.

What? – I see only letters.

Why, there are the yarns of Fate!

Mother measured, Teacher cut ...

The threads: they are mine.

"Son," they whisper, "Son,
"Spin thy thread."

And, when I looked over my shoulder:
The black gowns, the airborne caps,
The scrolls – all waved, all beckoned.
I have forgotten something ...
No, it was left behind.

I wondered how
The tolling of a bell could create
Destiny, when
(Pen in hand, mightier than a sword!)
Every minute I sat, daydreaming,
A chapter was unwritten.

Yes, they taught me life,
But I never learned how to live it.

© Copyright 2000 — 2010 Jeremy Likness. All Rights Reserved.

Drinking Coffee in a Dead Café

written in a dry city in spain

Sitting in a forlorn room,
Forced to be a twisted gaze,
I watched the shadows drip from

(pleasure)

As the dancing figures dried.

There was an old man from downtown
Whose cane rivaled our own;
His tobacco had long grown stale
And the match was not his.

In the streets ...

That is where the dusty memories
Revel; their drifting forms coalescing,
Forming, creating, molding
Time – the god we forgot.

He crouches, waiting
In a stone crypt, and that is life.

Where do you go when the ants are mating?

They rise from the ground
(Playthings of Ezekiel)
The air is a cloud of insects, yet
The queen will murder her love.

Where, whispering
In the boughs of deceived trees
Dies the blind man?

Nowhere.

There is only the sunlight,
The moonlight: the starlight.
Memory has served us,
And will go with us.

The war was for nothing.

© Copyright 2000 — 2010 Jeremy Likness. All Rights Reserved.

Daydream

sitting in a classroom

He sits with evil eyes,
Watching,
Worn hands on stomach,
Caressing
Red glow that stems from hunger.

His worn lips part,
Smiling,
Rows of sharp teeth,
Shining,
Two pointed ears,
Listening, hearing

"Run!"

I think
I thought
I would
Have said . . .

(awake now)

© Copyright 2000 — 2009 Jeremy Likness. All Rights Reserved.

Dawn

Into the veil on a whispering breath,
Tinged pink with blood and a lingering despair,
Borne on the shoulders of the one called Death
Whose ageless sigh permeates the still air.

Shimmering Thought for but a moment transpires
Betwixt Know and Recall where meaning is forgotten.
A gentle moan and then Action expires,
A wisp of smoke and then Memory turns rotten.

A burning eye permeates the great shroud
To gaze upon stones and rivers called Life.
Obscuring Truth is Deception’s dark cloud
Bonding together the wound with the knife.

Mere thralls of Time, forever in his sway,
Our sound is stifled and the silence burns.
We would complain but are bound to obey,
So we hide in Light until Darkness returns.

© Copyright 2000 — 2009 Jeremy Likness. All Rights Reserved.

Dancer Dream

Sitting in my cardboard box
I watch the world melt in raindrops.
Everything is glowing wet.
The metal cars should crumble to rust,
But there's no room for rust in a changing place.
I see the paper dolls, I think,
I think those paper dolls are all around.
"Touch me here," a voice might beg,
A paper doll might turn to flesh,
And still I sit here, waiting.
Will I melt in rain?
Or am I soggy paper, waiting,
Wondering why I don't rust,
Ignoring the flesh around me?
I tasted sweet lips, soft,
And wet like the rain,
With a fleshly touch, a touch
That drives the rain away.
I will not rust, I ask
Only that you touch me, with
The depth of your eyes, real eyes
That see flesh, not paper, my paper,
Our paper dolls belong on shelves
And we belong to ourselves.

© Copyright 2000 — 2009 Jeremy Likness. All Rights Reserved.

Crime

To my first friend, ever

I have been lucky to drop a handful of copper on a dirty, uneven counter.
The dark skinned man with a dark lock of hair frowns,
Counting the dull ones, counting the ones that shine.
I wait for a pack of generic one hundred filters,
Savoring the stale taste of cheap smoke while
Someone sits on a torn sofa, dropping
Ashes onto a stained carpet, watching
Black and white dots swarm on a fizzing TV set
While spinning the chamber of a loaded .357.

I have been lucky to beg for a handful of paper on a dirty, wooden floor.
The tall, thin man frowns,
Counting the crumpled bills, counting the fresh, flat bills.
I stand by the pump at a convenience store,
Listening to the flow of cheap gasoline while
Someone waits nervously, sweating,
Feeling pressure at their temple, while
A shadow plucks at their wallet, holding
A loaded .357.

I have been lucky to chew on stale chips,
To drink sour water and sit in a wooden chair,
Feeling sorry for myself while
Someone is wading through trash, searching
For a husk of corn or a bone with shreds of meat, clinging
Like life, when suddenly
A flash, a crack, a cry, and crimson
Drains from the wound left by a loaded .357.

I have been lucky to spend all day driving, looking
For tell-tale signs of pay checks, filling
Endless applications, hoping
I'll never be so alone, sitting
On my couch at home, smoking
And loading a hollow .357.

© Copyright 2000 — 2009 Jeremy Likness. All Rights Reserved.

Crawl

The Devil done settled so I'm headed South,
Downtown where my brain won't fry
My tears stay dry, this corner,
These corners know me well.
Don't make me drive through memory,
Them footprints burn, my foot
Stamped this place before, but now I'm here again.
Jesus, I forgot my mouth could phrase goodbye
But here you were so quick, so quick,
So . . .
This is where you left, I'm left,
Still here, but left behind.
My religion has lost its desperate faith, I
Burned my god with booze and flesh,
Said "F--- the Cross" and danced like a . . .
Darn, I'm a maniac.
I could try to find my life again
And bless your loss with bitter tears,
But the sad well, that soul well,
No souls huddle there tonight, no
Cringe like when we used to smile,
Now it's just this hollow shell, my
Empty Hell.
Yeah, I'm headed South, going way down,
Ain’t no b---- gonna make me fall
When I'm already low and I already crawl.
Yeah, I reckon I don't give a sh--,
But here I am downtown.

© Copyright 2000 — 2009 Jeremy Likness. All Rights Reserved.