poems and writings by Charlie weeks
Descending back to fetal positions
The ocean of time turns from tie dye
To black and white through the eye
Of the needle fantasizing commotions
Needlessly devolving back and forth
Beyond the highs up greedy outposts
Designed to extinguish hope for most
As a future ghost dystopically dissolves
Some dreams aren’t designed to leave in
Combating contemplation
Erasing all inner debating
Conflated by my last mistakes
With nothing left to take
Away from this last day
Tracing fading tracks
Along a roadway forgetting
A continuous lifetime’s worth
Of rusting road blocks erected
Long wandering a way’s trek
Till I find that appropriate sign
Saying it’s alright to fall in love again
Too busy tearing myself apart
I can’t stand the insider glance
Can’t stand such passing chance
Can’t stand the rough rough dance
Refined condolences lasts in lost romance
Who, what, where, why
What do they mean?
I’m cashed out clean
In my dreaming schemes
Rendered foils of toiling
Around to blank sounds
Dropped while raining.
After fighting for that spot
Given to restraints infinite refrain
Continuously taming lost loose shock
Before returning to cheap comforts
Found in precarious self-containment
Subjects spewed held back words
In sequence, all at once.
Where a frame of mind
That’s unable to discern
Whether anything is good or not.
But it’s just so raw and honest
Despite it seeming like nonsense
Upon an immediate first read or two
But only to leave yourself
With a smirking grin breathing
Through the smoking gun
Of your mouth just a few hours later
Three dots mark
The possibility
For further remarks
As a fourth one
Tends to reveal
Not much else
For one to say
One day maybe
As pauses begin
To rot as thoughts
Still go astray
Probability in hostility’s leisure
Caring as cultured ordinance
Seethed supplies’ moving
Slow hauling conceit’s wave.
The monsoon of exuberance
Took pride in consumed particulars
Responding to exact amounts
In solemn predicaments
Song-schooled toiling roots
Of the movement’s responsibility
Grabbed as toast morose
Corroded gaps in reasoning
Seasoning to numb senses
Overwhelmed by the offensive
Decrying permanent diseases
As far as the ocean can see
Arguing tropes with hopes
Spun solemn marks spoken
With a mess of messages
To continue poking holes
She held old memories
Of masculinity crossing
Androgyny in his long hair
Kept shiny and cleaner
Than his troubled soul
He’d repeatedly sold out
For instincts he was taught
To not feel nor think thus making
Him such a walking contradiction
I’m beginning to realize
That the more I observe
And interact with people
The more sane I am.
While those around me
Not so much.
But hey,
Isn’t that what they all say
Who go mad end up
Saying in the end?
Different languages grossed confusion
Teetering off crossroad yield for masses.
Signage titles confused antagonism
Towards simplifying hourly drag races.
In old cruisers painted with angular rays
Reviling for clarification’s point of view.
Purposed while resorting to the abstract
Painterly signs to decorate chipped rooms.
Honoring the muse before a sunset cruise
With lilac hues glossed over dreaming.
Glamorized retribution
Readily achieved hope
With transpiring ghosts
From the past’s fortitude
With an expiration date
Crossed out to continue
While spoiling audiences
Retelling old stories hints
Shutting down glorified doubt
Singling out instilled habits
Settling into institutionalized
Sprouts of living situations
Mocking harems to monarchs
Driven as masculinity whores
The good luck bolstering an ego
Selling out castles of vanity
Rather than contracted leasing
Madhouse conundrums
Spinning to motionless living
Popping tablets for madcaps
Passing tragic lifestyles off
As valid means of blind living
Took a toll hanging off tragic polls
Caught soliciting nuanced sincerity
Before falling back out of bed
Surreal sarcasm settled dream sequences
Built from humiliation screenings
Conducive to illusion’s task force
Growing a knack for finding meaning
To fit in a suitcase cradling around
With broken handles stained hope
Multiplied recessive blue jeans
Spawning discomfort giving ethereal
Coordinates down desert highways
Seeking pyramids on another continent
Looking at directions, can you see it yet?
Double dip that chip for wet sensations
Sensuality’s sin crumbled in silence
Resembling rejection easier to make
More than uncomfortable confessions
Saving your receipts of the adulation
You paid for separate from a hotel bill
Colonizing town-to-town a willful self-obsessive
Remarked to the deaf talk radio show host
Forgetting the vehicle he was driving in
Was last year’s model reminding him
Of the long road trip complete and ahead
In vast landscapes surrounded by nothingness
Black dogged fog fills the empty stage
Set with a lone spotlight slowly adrift
For an imagined gaze you try to ignore
That self-consciousness tries to control
While leaving shadows nobody noticed
Jagged movements of a pacing neurotic
Leaving behind a pleased the audience
With pointed fingers and howls seeing
Seen from a freak show’s standing room
As rhythmic footwork never mattered
Entertaining such pointless honesty
While a stage floor illuminates illusions
Revealing all that was left of the remnants
Where performers and freaks had no place
Left to return that’s drifting in the dead zone
Devoid of passing lights in worn out wood
With nostalgia’s trapdoor left for the outcasts
Dawn’s yearning arrest shadows
In the face of continued journeys
Following no accelerated traces
Hindering speeds of imagined races
Words incensed by surroundings
Sought refuge from nonsense
Whose controlled spontaneity
Must have meaning
as rescue teams
With tunnel vision began the search
Where inside’s derision won’t revise
Comfort’s chronic daydreams change
As Nightmares digest expired food
Left behind for the mentally oppressed
The agent of destructive enchantment
Screams in tribal dances interpretations
As passive body language stands in angles
Coupled with awkward dialogue over
Cultish commonalities’ vague notions
Of neutrality cringing to the naked self
In the mirror but feels better in pictures
Where groups punched the wise man
With intelligence fleeing to corner edges
Around hot rocks whose hands got burnt
Cowering in corners with nothing else to learn