The Moon Leaves

The moon said,
I've had it
and got the fuck out of there.
Went straight south.

Took a dip in the cool pacific tides.
The sky shone black for several hours,
moonless.

The crabs on the beach looked up
confused.
What the hell?
they thought,
as they scuttled about
on the cold sand,
beneath the dark sky.

Soon however, the sun poked its dumb head up.
Miss me?
He yelled, with a fresh drunken swagger.

What a lush
The crabs agreed.
The sun stumbled around in the young sky.
Spilling drink onto the beach.

Did the moon tell yas?
He stammered.

The crabs just looked with confusion.
That son of a bitch.
Yeah, he's leaving.
Doesn't like my yellow ass no more.

The sun puffed his cigarette, and blew smoke all over the sky.
Yeah, I think this is it for good.
I think he ran off with one of the other space rocks,
some gay comet or something
Haley... Who the fucks knows.

The sun swished his drink around, spilling huge drops on the beach.
They formed huge pools.
Man do I miss his craterous skin,
He said, sulking.

The crabs below just looked up at the bright sun.
Why's he telling us this?
They wondered.

Well.. I hate being all alone..
The sun slurred.
I'm gonna try to get him back
He flicked his cigarette, and it fell to the earth,
destroying a hotel complex.

The sun then turned his yellow bulbous body,
and vanished into the sky.

What the hell happens now?
The crabs pondered,
As the ice closed in
from all around.

Dreamless Days and Haunted Nights

I'm... so tired. My eye lids weigh thousands of pounds, yet I can't sleep. Never. Not for a wink. Delirium and insanity dance through my brain. Hallucination dreams needle through my mind, confounding me, haunting me. I will have no peace without the pills. My body however, is beginning to reject them. Those little white cylinders. What are they anyways? Bite size doses of black magic, packaged up innocently. When the bastards get in, they burrow like moles. Eating away at my stomach lining, as I cringe before I finally find peace curled up in a sweaty ball.
The wooden floors abrade my back as I pray to some non-existent god for rapture. Please. Anything. Start a new apocalypse, a faster moving one. One with quick results. Anything to end this cursed somnambulist lifestyle.

Each day my twitch grows more erratic, and more people lend me shady eyes. I live each day as a waking spirit, haunting my own hell. Moving forward through the day only to return to my vile nest. Warily certain that this night could possibly contain some peaceful sleep-- but it won't. It never does. Not until I choke down those dopamine dispensers, and croak to a fake slumber. The wiring in my brain must be loose. There must be dust on the receptors, or gum on the components. Either way, the signals are not transmitting properly. Maybe if i could get in there, with some kind of tool. I could find peace. Peace through self surgery. At this point, anything seems like a great idea. My soul has melted to the floor, and my shadow prays me to go on. I want to go to the closet, and find a wire hanger. I want to do my great experiment. I want to find the oasis of peace at last.

But I don't. I just sit in my wretched state. Staring at the faded lacquered walls beside me. Finally it catches, another hallucination. I am awake yet asleep. Torn between two awful worlds. Unable to process data in either, I sweat and try to shriek. But all that emits from my mouth is a static electronic tone. I'm trapped. Trapped in my own mind. I finally awaken from my trance. Pools of dull maroon blood emit a thick iron smell. I can hear a dripping rhythmically coming from my ears. A bended coat hanger lies on the floor in the blood. Is this nightmare over? I stand up and immediately fall down. My world fades to white. Time to wake up and go to sleep. At last.

Into the Sky

I started at the bottom of the massive stalk
staring up toward the infinite sky,
I climbed.
My hands clung to the strangely hairy
green massive plant.

My palms were tacky enough to stick to the base.
The random offshoots of leaves
and branches
were my foot holds.
I started to notice the darkening navy sky
looking at me,
judging me,
as I scaled the massive plant.

The stars and moon were jetting by me
moving faster and faster, as I gained altitude.
They became white speckled blurs
as they melded together.

The cold nip of the breeze was starting to make my eyes water,
and numb my ears,
then my toes
and finally my fingers.
I did not stop climbing, however.

By now, I could see no background.
The stars and moon had left me.
I was now climbing into infinity.
Climbing with callused and numb hands,
toward uncertainty.
The end of the world?
Or beginning?
Who could be certain.
All I knew was that I must continue
scaling
this
prickly
green
vine.
Into the non-ending sky.

Volatile Emotion

Volatile Emotion

The blood shoots off your knuckles,
like fireworks.

Damn blood.
It flares and flies,
like a kid's birthday--
minus the clown that would be pissed
because his "magic" is undermined,
by a few desperate drunks
in an untidy bar fight.

Those creeps control the world
with random profanity.
And gap mouthed scowls.
I'll bet they'll kill each other,
with a swipe of the hand,
and a swig from the bottle.

Muscles flex with unguided aggression.
Priorities diminish like weak religions.
The world fades, as they wish for destruction.

Let me tear this fuck apart.

I'll show this bastard a lesson.

Goddamn,
the blood runs like a stupid river.
Fast and misguided.
Like the majority of cellular life,
Just searching for a purpose.
Some stupid placeholder
to keep occupied.

The moment is done.
The fat drunks gasp, wheeze, sniffle and bleed.
They are broken machines, in need of an oil change.
Their blood decorates each other,
like a Christmas sweater,
erratic and unnecessary.
They can't seem to recollect,
the purpose of the fight.
Hey, my bad, I'll buy ya a drink.
Sure thing, make it a double.

Petri Life

Bingo. We'd done it. We just created life in a Petri dish. Living cells constructed from inanimate matter.

I watched him from a distance, examining the dish under the microscope. His body language did not show the same excitement that his eyes did. I could tell he was positively astounded that we'd come up with results like this. I continued to watch him from across the lab, enviously noting his brilliance.
John was still, yet his hands adjusted the microscope with precision. He was truly an artist. An artist tweaking and judging his finest creation. Life.
As his lab assistant, the science behind it was way above me. All I could really grasp was assembling proteins and particles and zapping them with electrons. All of the real science must be locked in some dark corner of that man's brain. It must be a labyrinthian prison of knowledge. I continued to study his face from across the lab. The surgical white light created a halo over his head. He finally collected his pipette and added an amber dye to the dish. I decided that now would be a good time to break the silence, and approach the master.
My steps echoed off the polished lab floor. Still he did not look up from his microscope. The stage of the microscope must be a divine symphony for him, and he, the conductor. It held his complete focus. He was now making detailed scribbles on his yellow note pad. My steps still did not perturb him. I was right next to him.
" John."
" Yes, Nick? "
" Just wondering how the research is going. I can't believe we've actually created life."
"Indeed. It is rather interesting."
The words stopped for an awkward moment. I could see his wrinkled face was still deep in thought about the Petri dish.
"So."
"When do we go public with this?”
His face turned beet red. He looked up irately from his microscope.
"No"
"It is entirely too soon to even consider such a feeble thought."
His breathing was heavy. He was clearly taken back by such a comment. I apologized and backed away like a shamed puppy.
I walked back to my desk, and pretended to be busy with paperwork, yet I continued to study the scientist from afar. He was tinkering and testing to no end. I could see years of dedication carved into his face. His hands did not shake. He was born to do this.
It was now 2:30 in the morning. My eyes were craving sleep. However, as I looked over at the scientist, he was still alert, active. Prodding and noting. I decided to go over and seek permission to leave.
My steps sounded like a marching band. I tried to muffle them, but it wouldn't be done. John looked up and watched me as I approached.
"I'm exhausted, can I go home and get some sleep?"
"Ah yes. It is getting late. Probably a good time to call it a day. Good work today Nicolas.”
I took that as permission to leave. I knew that he would continue to work through the night however. He was a man committed to his craft. I left the laboratory and headed home.
As my head hit the pillow, I expected to be asleep. My body would not have it. I could not stop thinking about the discovery. All I could see in my mind was John, busy at work, unrelenting. I had sleep hallucinations about him shooting electricity from his fingers into the Petri dish. Nurturing cells to life, like some robotic grandfather.
Finally my alarm went off, and I headed back to the laboratory in a rush. Today could be another breakthrough day. I pushed open the lab door and expected to see the doctor still busy at work from last night. He was strangely absent. Likely he was out getting coffee. I went back to the incubator to look at the Petri dish. It was absent. Strange. Perhaps it was being handled somewhere else. I headed to the main workstation and noticed that John’s logbook was placed cover up, quite orderly. It was left in such a way that I knew he wanted me to see something. I opened the thick journal. All of the pages were blank, the data gone. I noticed a slip of paper that had fallen out. All it said was, " The world is not ready".

It's a Mighty Long Road

Huffin' and puffin'
Sputterin’ and Churnin’
down the historic road.
Passing cactuses,
signs,
and little else.

Flying
through the scorched desert at 106.
Red sun blazing in the rearview.

' Hold on buddy '
I say to her.
I know she'll listen.

That shit spewing
oil bleeding engine of the 90's
busting her ass
to drive us home
across a continent.

From the sun dipped southwest
to the heart of snowman country.

33 hours in a steel machine.
Pushing forward,
fighting delirium
as rest stops
and sketchy gas stations
meld together.
Forming a hollow shell
of depressed outskirt living.

Miles mounting miles of dry asphalt stretch forever.
The bleeding white lines interlace
like neon pulsating lights.
Trying to persuade you into sleep.
But you can’t.

Sun sets.
Sun rises.
Sun sets again.


Too much time behind a sweaty wheel
with little sleep and less sanity.
‘God those mountains look good.’
I mutter
as we continue through
the winding West Virginian mountains.
Speeding through snow capped hills
like it's my calling.
Each sharp turn could take our lives,
but at 80 I grin
like a child
as I round each one
laughing like a lunatic
while my friend holds on
for dear life.