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Inner Piece II by Tom (WordWulf) SternerHowe


Inner Piece  (II)

I DECA - Interlude
At dawn they loosen the chains
skin tears steel remains
The jailer spits on the floor
rattles his keys in the door
shines a light prison eye
lines of bars no Earth and sky
makes small talk scratches his ass
belches and passes gas
touches your girl’s picture on the shelf
same hand touches himself
chuckles and locks himself outside
where he is a prisoner and monsters hide
You curse yourself the single tear
and damn the life that put you here
No smokes and filthy screws

II Deca
One:                    
Drop your ink bottom bottle out
no wellspring of knowledge there
Artisans standing idle attention
fifty guns aimed heart and mind
No mercy shown and faith be damned
they fall then others make the line
Sheol the lady holds them all
abode of darker spaces
Water clear shine like glass
disappears upon the image of itself
Poets human bondage witness
Glass blower’s breath creates a seed
of emptiness wall of need

Two:          
A room full of empty persons
whose Children parenting class
must teach that which should be known
drop ball echo soundless void
Sentenced to recovery rehabilitation
assumption of previous culpability
Two nickels and a dime won’t buy
passage in a land of quarters
Four parts the dollar makes us whole
our tiny boats tippy canoe
Babies hiding in the basement
earn us a following of broken dolls
tidy down in four square walls

Three:          
We are delivered foundling
into a nuts and bolts universe of dread
False light and surgeon’s knife
instruments smile mother’s pain
This nether world of strangers
so unlike we like we
share some thing night living damned
Air no liquid pryzm peace
instance of thorn no rose to hide
These pierced explosive event
birth an altar and death benign
Where the bubble might have been
a shroud held close diaper pin

Four:          
They rode a camel through it
hurricane with a woman’s name
She earned a new coat of lies
a jungle of parasites within her skin
The beast rode her and named her
wanton woman who fair chances
Flames inborn and begging ignition
there’s a humpback do it again
The picture is too real
where life is the wrong size to wear
Are we going back there again
Take your picture in the parking lot
pants down shooter gonna get caught

Five:          
Pretending Summer lasts all night
lay down beside an open wound
Call it Earth call it mother
Certainty is Sunrise and Moon sleep
There are no certainties human
beings obsessed and certainly damned
lay persons erecting pagoda
trying Gods on for size and effect
Dream and call them a visit
hopeful prayers in the temple
mournful cries of despair
Who is kidding whom they might
scare say boo shift to the right

Six:                    
In a shouted whisper valley voices
come as soughing willow sighs
uniting pale Summer shoulders
drawing them mountain shrug of days
What minute twists of eon they share
embarrassed cough
behind the hand of Winter
Severe ailment plucky human seed
worn as a garment of fishwife
Rotting wonders does she really care
one Child asleep in her lap
another dead at her withering nipple
She holds them even nurtures the same
what milk unto blood the body game

Seven:          
With a freshet of Sun in his eyes
a flask of under blanket wine
morning dogs nip at his heels
lips pucker pull nipple flask
and night is come wrested away
His friends call him Jesus in the afternoon
They laugh and fall off the bench
She looks fine behind the shade
Half closed eyes make silhouette
flaws made hiding and undisclosed
table dances with lesser angels
There is black light a view screen snow
sound to match where dancers go

Eight:          
Counting the other man’s money
whose sweat is punished falling there
Tainted crisp currency of prophet
seizeless net and write it off
Exercise in the gloom room
hundred pound wait full body press
will eventually push hold you down
The door opens at nine bells
ringing ‘cross tenement concubine
wears a tight load of errant seed
a nest between her legs
Where dead birds go to hide
egg reptile rip her wide

Nine:          
She makes breath on the telephone
He decides to carry a loud stick
to protect himself from far woman
There are seven such maladies
Ain’t no wonder the world
and what degree infinity
Taxes those exes from Texas
are all blows beneath the belt
dire sent and thrice meant
as a curse of foul witch
Join the circle swagger
to this wandering Children lost
hearts come the tempest and tossed

Ten:                    
There are tin men on the radio
found hiding under the knob
a twist of which summons
Served and rightly quashed a People’s Court
Divided net ace after ace
go unanswered sing and follow
the bouncing ball of life after life
Follow come on you follow me down
Violence thrives in the city night
Owls swoop devour wisp of soul scent
as bees bumble sex the flower
Will want decide or noxious need
flora human where demons feed

(continued)

Madman Chronicles: The Warrior now available at:
http://www.publishamerica.com/shopping/shopdisplayproducts.asp?catalogid=3425
To discover the most dangerous writers alive, go to www.howlingdogpress.com and www.howlingdogpress.com/OMEGA.
There, in OMEGA 4, Weapons of Mass Deception, you will find a selection of poems by Tom (WordWulf) SternerHowe.
Websites: http://tomsternerhowe.freeservers.com
 http://pages.prodigy.net/sterner-howe
Music:   http://truefire.com/list.html?store=original_music&viewauthor=3554



Posted: February 17, 2005 

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