Wednesday, November 16, 2011

a letter to a love of mine

hand and hand, we walk down 14th street

and I look at you and wonder why are you so

badly withdrawn. look at you here --

no emotion to anything, not even the

softest touch of the summer breeze

or seeing a bum old bird lady cry

could make you feel any sympathy -

there you go, manufacturing those

dark iron walls that protect you from

sorrow. but what you will find is that to

not feel is sorrow as well, for you dwell

in the same dark cave most of the time

nothing to search for, nothing you will find --

you wish you had some type of praise to give

or that there really was some higher power

who controls all of us, who makes sure we all

go to heaven. but you know you don't.

damaged - because you chose too soon

and blinded by what the human experience

is supposed to be. trees behind you, blow

wind into your ears, and sometimes i can see

that your brain feels connected to mother

nature but never other humans.

you tried once or twice, but it all crashed

and you expect everyone to be normal

but in realty the concept can't exist

because everyone isn't normal so

to not be normal is normal and

everybody is.

aimlessly you walk, and wonder if

everyone is just hiding behind their

skin. you stop to look into their eyes

but the depth is thin, you can't tell --

you don't have the sixth sense

to read minds or understand

the meaning of life through

someone else's perspective.

you get shy when they look back…

at times you feel you'r stuck in a whirlwind

of what everyone who allegedly cares

for you wants you to become…

and at this point you'd rather be a bum

because the anxiety you get from

feeling a need to impress them

makes you feel even more empty

and more lost with who you are.

you can't even tell yourself what you want

because the answer would simply be

nothing, or something materialistic

that would band aid your sadness for a day

and in a lot of ways a quick fix used to be

all you needed --

not anymore, woe is you

for you want insight and love and peace

and all those other nearly unattainable

things that only the people in the movies or

the buddhas and shamans find. you're surrounded

by a shallow ocean that drains your

creativity and your very own peace of mind.

hopeless, but pretty, so you'll dream

just one more time and if it doesn't

work you'll pray to a different god and

hope for better results. … ..

maybe aphrodite could return your heart

and perhaps satan could

sell you back your soul --

maybe this coldness

will slowly melt into what would

become something warm again--

and a lover or friend will

come back and you can live in

a place where turquoise petals

fall from trees which you could catch and use

to wipe away your clear tears.

perhaps there's a

letter you could send, or a bargain

you can make to gain back your strength.

or at least get back your heart,

even if it's black and blue and in pieces.

i really hope one day you'll find

whatever it is you want, and just know

that you'll always be my true love

you'll be able to feel the sun shine one day,

if you could let it.

but i can't stay to help, i've gone west

i've tried my best, but it just isn't me you need.

-marilyn metzger

long island, 2011

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

stuck inside a mobile

Now the rainman gave me two cures
Then he said, “Jump right in”
The one was Texas medicine
The other was just railroad gin
An’ like a fool I mixed them
An’ it strangled up my mind
An’ now people just get uglier
An’ I have no sense of time
Oh, Mama, can this really be the end
To be stuck inside of Mobile
With the Memphis blues again.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

for Mallory

You meander around, though your existence is disintegrating rapidly

the battle to fight time is always a losing one.

Tattoos fade and turn into zombie colors and your body forms into a womans' figure

all that's hidden under the flesh, will always break through the surface

cells, swimming through rivers of whisky, will drown and decrease in numbers

yet, your heart is big, and wide, like bug eyes and fireworks on the fourth of july

but it's also drained, and nearly empty ;

those who surround you just want to slurp up what's left inside.

I wish a giant hand would spread open the sky, and guide you to what is still good.

I can see that your dreams were once as big as jupiter.

bunnies hide in the grass on your lawn and tell you secret messages

that can lead you back to good memories of the old sphere you once frolicked on top of.

- Marilyn Metzger

Long Island, 2011

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

the Tale of the Other Woman

far away, outside my door

i could hear the shot gun blast

wondering if he was safe anymore

hopin' he got outta there fast.

my door flung open, i heard him gasp

he said, "think i finally killed her"

he took off his gloves and boots and mask

it gave me chills like the bone of winter

i patted his back and offered him tea

for now he was distant and forlorn

said "just sit close to me, sweet pea"

in his arms, i felt so alive, felt like being born.

we loaded up the old crimson truck

with bags and guts, hair and brains

we roared loudly away and the chickens clucked

a bumpy ride, we kissed as we switched lanes

i looked in the back seat, but just couldn't tell

the color of the seat from the color of her blood

"together and free at last!" out of the window, i yelled

and soon she'll be buried in the mud.

we turned off the lights and hopped on down

my tiny hand carrying the smaller bags,

he was towing the rest of her on the ground

he stopped, lit a cigarette and took a drag

we were finally bringing out the old

ecstatic and in love, but shaking

wondering if this glittery feeling of gold

is really real or is he just faking?

so we found a spot and dug and dug

then began to feel a sweat

"we really did it" he said, i shrugged

she wasn't gone yet

there were pieces of her long blond hair

getting stuck to my shirt..

i kept seeing pieces of her skin so fair

poking out of the wet dirt…

she was standing next to him in spirit

i could see it in his tired and fearful eyes

his regret of her murder was so clear it

was like his pain was written in the skies

the final scoops of the dull damned dust

were sprinkled over the layers of hate

"we shouldn't have done this, we are just in lust -

i shouldn't have took her life, but now it's too late"

he weeped, and moaned and started to walk away

i followed him down, through the eery trails

"don't you see, this is supposed to be a glorious day!

for now our lives can be nothing short of fairy tale!"

he turned around and said "just go home

i want nothing to do with your conniving tricks…

you evil creature with a head full of poisoned foam

it's not her, but you who should be dead under the sticks!"

before he could say one more hurtful untrue word

i smacked his mouth with my muddy shovel

he fell down hard and groaned, his speech slurred

i grabbed the knife from his bloody belt buckle

i stood over him, "take back what you said!

i'm not the evil one, it's you

you'll always be the reason why she's dead!

i laugh and i know it's true"

i put him to his death that night

for he no longer deserved to exist

chopped and killed with all my mite

left his body there, alone, in the early morning mist.

i was driving away fast and started to grin

when i realized that i was the one defeated,

for now, their souls fly together in the endless wind,

and i'm still the mistress but the one who was cheated.

Marilyn Metzger, Oct 2011

Long Island