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Christopher J Weddle

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Member Since: May, 2008

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Farrago: More Stories
by Lucille lucil95783@aol.com

Second literary collection since Pastiche: Stories and Such..  
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The Morning the Mechanism Broke
by Christopher J Weddle
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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The morning radio waves are gray graves swallowing my heart in static and Kurt Cobain feedback. The sun melts awake after a night of pouting moon and swooning lovers put to bed by the insistence of savored stars glowing tremble-ish. The water pipes roar themselves soar when the shower wakes me with water warm morning alarm, and my arms reach out for soap and the hope of redemption.
 
So soft waiting. Fainting or fighting must one begin. Electricity surges burned blue. Everything will fall fast and soon. Sounds funnel through cardiovascular limbo, and the inertia of emotion fuels fission. Nothing as precise as thunder, as a wrecking ball, as the jury's verdict: Guilty as insinuated.
 
Everything falls, but first we have the prologue of termites. The slow gnaw. The patience of cancer. An engine revs into an explosion of parts: the block cracked, a rod snapped, but first the oil breaks down, gaskets disintegrate.
 
And so the malfunction begins with Blue Eyes casting off cat-eyed Sun Boy to hide her moon-mind. She wields apathy as her greatest weapon of protection. Her silence is the electrolyzation of the open-hearted emotional changeling who cuts his teeth and feeds his appetite with flowers perfumed in the midday sway of watercolor sky. She changes the language of her kisses as she rolls tides through her eyes. Her gaze ensconces Atlantis. How many ships have wrecked on her siren coast? How many men whispering her names are hidden in the cofferdams?
 
The breakdowns continue to wrack Sun Boy's brain. Murder piles itself on neglect. Kym never glowed her smile at work that day. Phone call search lights fleshed the pale city. A meeting was called to make known what was felt. Dead. Trapped and killed without remorse. Her face and breath wrapped in black tape by the crack fiend's hands. She floated somewhere between her paintings of Heaven and the mystical maybe that her parent's prayed for. Her red hair flowed out forever around the sun and soaked up epitaphs of burning gas.
 
Sun Boy's sleep plagued by the same bad dream. Night shook and no sheep were counted. The nightmare sweated his sheets, and carried his matress across the River Styx to battle his shadow.
 
No redemption without confession. I am Sun Boy, and everything falls now.
 
I will come out of the cold cave as a tiger waving Damascus moonbeam blades and words of molten lava. I will flick my pain in the night's star lace with rattlesnake flinch and fists of arrows. I am Sun boy. I am the archer. Give me my ram's horn. give me my fire launching bow. I will blow down the amethyst brainquake, drive my lover into a corner, and demand that she pay attention. Held captive at voice-point. Tears heavier than sinking rocks. I will erupt the raw tsunami inside of me.
 
Give me armor from space debris.
Temperature rises 56 degrees.
And everything falls now!
 
Rust rain racks my thoughts with hollow conundrums.
Pelts my skin with paint of tainted angels hooting
And booting me knee first and thirsty onto the city sewer grates.
My brain is a bursting bomb: hydrogen inseminated
And split in the shake heave windowpane whipping rattle smash clash thunderstorm.
 
Realization is a wham slam slap crazy punch drunk skull crunch,
And life is a diluted dream.
 
The light beams are reflected, redirected, and caught in a clusterfuck.
The lies are printed.
Goddess statues dented.
Pigeons evolve and subsist on cremation dust.
 
I'm reeling from feeling too intensely the effects of euphoria,
And my heart is a hammer beating me to death.
Arteries stretched to bursting point.
Dropping me hard on the sundial point.
 
My heart is a hammer
And the gods are taking bets on my will to survive.
The fates are snipping strings
Cutting and measuring
Laughing and pleasuring
Themselves with my demise.
 
Icarus is melting his wings.
Sisyphus is rolling his rock.
Lipo throws fiery poems on the river
And it all takes place without me
On the sun-side
Shadow-side
And in the valley is where I hide
Tromping and stumbling
Unable to glide anymore
Unable to abide anymore.
 
Lightning leaps in my cold wire core
And my heart is a hammer beating me submissive to this poem.
Desk chained and fettered in ink
Clashing flash phrases
Brain implosions
And word crazes.
 
The blank page is staring me down to teeth.
I have to get the words right
I have to get the words right.
I must find a form for this void that is consuming me.
 
I'm cloaked in confusion
Sweating nails with gunfire velocity
Driving wasted thoughts in the noon moon
Leaking lunar brains in the blue Milky Way shimmer
Cancer coating the mystical darkness.
 
I'm waving straying praying to the muse
And I refuse to lose again.
I stop begin stop begin push the pen.
If I can get the words right I can make things better.
 
Slam Bam hammer beat heart
Bam Slam heartbeat hammer
 
Cut me slice me vivisect my limbo
Light a candle in my darkness
and transplant me holy in the golden sunflower kingdom.
Give me words to say what feeling is doing this killing
Stop me from milling in my unkind, muttled mind.
 
I'm clinking
I'm clanking
I'm drawing blanks
The wind whoos and dances my flame.
 
I'm trailing smoke
I'm a punch line for jokes
I am a rubber-band man snapped back
To whelp myself red and white
I'm in fright without delight.
 
I need a conclusion an absolution the final solution to this abstract puzzle scattered on the blue green mean wave sea.
I need shelter from the shock shake storm clarity in form a key to the lock that bars me from the milk honey paradise.
I need a wise woman a wise man a gentle king a guiding hand a mage a sage a vivid page a full lung blown breath to inflate my balloon and carry me home to Auntie Em.
 
Will someone please cry olly olly oxen free?
 
The lights fade down dim diminished
And all I need is a solace kiss
To be called and missed
Love loved and love returned
Rejuvenated in the cleansing burn
Languidly loose and unconcerned
Floating longways sideways high
To float to fly
To reach the pinnacle point of magenta passion
Where our lips are binary stars.


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Antologia Poética Amante das Leituras by Alexandra* OneLight*® Authors & Creations

Featuring selected works by 18 poets, this first edition of "Antologia Poética Amante das Leituras" (Reading Lover's Poetic Anthology) offers a vibrant example of the creative dive..  
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