Cerberus Unchained

I could only hold back for so long

go slow for so long

stroll through these ruined streets

for so long

ignore the calander

for so long

circle the drain for so long

until I cracked the whip

and let my beasts run free

snarling, growling, snapping at the shadows that race by

” Out of the way!” they spat

to the

uncaring   cries of

” Come back

slow down

where are you taking the sweet, slow and patient woman we called friend?”

 

Far away, look straight ahead

leave the corpses of my yesterdays behind

in unmarked graves with plastic flowers and moldering teddy bears

Will anyone visit them?

 

Maybe.

 

But that someone won’t be me.

 

Trains of The Journal Project- The Chariot

If I Could Fly Away

FLIGHTS OF FANCY

Trains of Thought

The Great Escape- Intensive Journal Writing

If I could fly away right now, what would I be leaving behind?

Chuncks of concrete

rusted metal

gunhumpers, silly boys who don’t wear socks, women who pull their hair back into greasy ponytails, drunken whores and delusional lovers

came

crashing down on streets named after trees that don’t grow here anymore.

Home is where Netflix lives.

 

Murica, Feel The Bern, I don’t see color I see the person

I am fair and honest and true.

Is my phone charged? Does it need to be fed?

Home is where Instagram says it is.

 

Chunks of concrete, rusted metal

crashed to Earth

with a thud

held together by

a sticky web of  silly boys who don’t wear socks,  girls with greasy hair tied back into a ponytails, the drunken whores the  deluded lovers,

the Berners, the Humpers, the starving phones

blended and forced into  embraces by each other

they are

poisoned rain falling from a flat and listless sky

feeding the corpse of a dead world.

Without A Map

Trains of Thought

The Great Escape – Intensive Journal Writing

I keep losing my way,

it runs off without me

and I can’t keep up

because

my way

is

angry, vicious, blind in one eye

but somehow it manages to

shake me, lose me, elude me

when I need it the most.

My way is lost but it doesn’t care

I do.

I’m sorry I have lost my way.

Notes

Singing Over Bones-

Trains of Thought
The Great Escape – Intensive Journal Writing

Photo A.M. Moscoso

 

Will the bones beneath my feet

look up at me and start to sing?

Will they tell me who they  were, their favorite colors, their favorite foods?

I think the bones beneath are fast asleep, they won’t wake up, I think they dream

But  the marble that we leave above their heads

speak so loudly

it’s enough to wake the dead.

Photo A.M Moscoso

 

Photo A.Moscoso

 

Photo A.M. Moscoso

The Writer that Almost Wasn’t

Trains of Thought
The Great Escape – Intensive Journal Writing

Weighing Words

 

Franz Von Stuck

 

My eighth grade English teacher

used to give every single one of my papers a D-.

 

That was as close as he could get to failing every thing I handed in- he couldn’t do that with tests if I got the answers correct, but I lost points on those papers too because my A’s looked like O’s and my I’s looked like L’s.

You get the picture.

So my essays and themes and short stories didn’t get failed because I at least handed something in and turned up for class everyday, he told me.

He also did try to get me into remedial English classes, but the only thing that kept him from doing that was that I tested at College level for reading comprehension. He was convinced I had cheated and I had to retake the tests again with two monitors watching me the entire time.

 

So I got a D on my final report card and on the last day of school  he made fun of my essay in front of the other class by reading it out loud with the words butchered because he pronounced the words with the a’s and o’s and l’s and t’s with the letters that he thought he saw.

Did anyone laugh? Not really and did I get upset? No. Because the paper he was making fun of had just won me tickets to see the Seattle Sonics play a game and he knew it.

 

A few years after I graduated from high school I heard my former English teacher’s son had died in mountain climbing accident.

I tried to feel sorry for my teacher  because it was the right thing to do, but you have guessed correctly if you assumed I could careless about the pain and loss he felt.

Our words and how we use them come with a price and a cost and that’s why we should choose, very carefully how we use them- as an English teacher he should have knows that better then anyone.

amm

Masks

Trains of Thought
The Great Escape – Intensive Journal Writing

Cabinet of Curiosities

( Work inspired by my photos and personal mementos )

Photo A.M. Moscoso

I want a new face

a new heart

a new pair of eyes

and a new tongue-

a sharper tongue, a more clever tongue

then the one I have in my head.

I want a new mask

or maybe three

Maybe one of them will tell me

who I am supposed to be.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

The Duck Pond

This was inspired by a Writing Prompt where you pick three spooky words and write a poem or story based on the words.

I chose Banshee, Corrupted and Creep.

 

Banshee blood

corrupted, cursed and revolting

it’s pooling in a pond where I used to feed  the ducks.

 

Who will cage it?

will anyone  swim in it?

Who will watch it creep towards the shore?

Will anybody grab a bucket, sponge scream out in fear

more likely then not

everyone will  pretend as if it’s not there.

 

Banshee blood

corrupt,  cursed and revolting

I wonder if the Ducks that I used to feed

wished it wasn’t there.