Young Liars (not featuring TV on the Radio)

 

If silence were golden

You’d be chipping your tooth on fool’s gold

then spitting your fillings into the collection plate again.

Caught doing it for the fourth time

this fiscal quarter.

A real blunder, this one.

The improprieties pile up on one another-leaning precarious, struggling to see over the edge, locked in a mothball-ridden closet.

Molding with the passage of time-

Still vintage.

If vintage were the wheels, catching fire from heated, seized calipers, the entire contraption falling off and rolling into the glamorous lake, the pride of our little slice of heaven.

And I’ll sit by and let the torn rubber and the chemical smell of spurned brakes choke out the fish in the water, seep into the drinking supply.

revenge-a measure of it-

Finally.

Peace Unlimited

 

I want to paddle out to the middle of the lake and sit with my eyes closed,

The canoe paddle across my hips.

Let the water lap against the boat. Feel the breeze gather a small steam around me in the margins,

Note The sound of bird song, rambling and arrhythmic.

Allow it to slur together

The gentle flow of nature’s soundtrack

Attuned to nothing and everything washing over me.

Here I will breathe 

with reckless abandon

let my lungs know their depth,

satisfy a hunger they didn’t know they had.

Take a moment and admire the peace

of this place.

Then, after a centering sigh of relief, an acknowledgement of my place in the center of this lake, this moment, and the great mystery that is the cosmos, push forth a shattering wail from the core of my misery.

Let it smother the birds mid-warble and the gentle waves and watch as it sets fire to this tepid, pleasant body of water’s sense of harmony.

Shriek after shriek.

Full-throated endorsements of my torment,

in a rush like phlegm dislodged.

In the shape of fits and coughs and gags.

Wailing

Snotting

Pleading.

Until my point is made.