I had to leave my country

 I was born in a garage.
 far over the hill,
 where small streams
 and tree ferns bunched and danced together in the slow breeze

  I made my way over that hill,
down toward the small city,
where I was to live.
There I was reborn into mundane village life.

 With wood and tools and saws,
 hammers and boredom and nails and concrete.
 I walked out of the garage and into a car.
 I painted the car many colors.

 Then became part of the car.
 I opened the car door.
 I walked freely on the footpath,
 where people could see me/

 Where people could analyze me.
 Where people could see the clothes I was wearing,
 the words that I was speaking,
 the gestures that I was making.

 The body language that I couldn't hide.
They judged me and they said all that they could say about who I was.
 
Then I walked into a school,
 and I found myself learning.
Then I walked out of the school and into a job,
 and I found myself working.

Then I walked into a relationship and found myself fucking.
Then I walked out of a relationship and found myself alone.
Then I sought more and more and more and more,
Until I had to leave my country...

The abandoned feasts

We needed the communist to get in
We grabbed Alex he looked communist
go to the front of the line
we need to eat

But the drama queen pushed in
everything went horribly wrong
We lost the privileges we were about to have
As the drama queen could only convince

He didn't look the part and noone bought his appearance
People need their appearances
And so our cards didn't work at the booth
and we had to barter for our food

Turkey invaded the caucases again
As Russia began to implode
They were always ambitious
hyper optimistic

As we traveled down the black sea into their territory
we saw the abandoned feasts locals had left out for the liberators
We too would have stopped and eaten
but God had given the land ample rain as if rewarding the Turks

And so the food was going bad quickly
So we went back to debating who among us looked like a real communist
and if that would really have made a difference in the food line
I myself had stolen the menu, dreaming is better than nothing

Where was the small me

 The big me went in search of the small me
over those rolling hills and strange valleys
until the big me recognized itself in the smallest insect
Picked it up and carried it home

The insect was hyperactive
so restless it wouldn't be still
the big me tried it's best to make the insect calm
They slowly began to bond and exchange noises

which turned to personal words
which formed conversations
then they were able to become something
lost out there in the rolling hills together

Sunset sorcery

 What am I to do with a world like this?
What are these new powers I never asked for?
I see the forbidden vein the blavatsky myths.
I see the sunset, alas where is the dawn?

Those in darkness strive toward remnants of light.
I'd tell you to go back, because it just burns!
I am wrapped in the sky of the eternal sunset
The gates of day's end

The dark sun and it's shrill haunting rays
It's radiation pouring through me
Until I affect it's flow
What vessel am I?

Red belt the one below white

 Nineteen ninety eight.

Crimson floor, new age of despair.

Curtains long red too with white inner sleeves.

It all spelled sorcery.

For it echoed coincidently.

The exact tones of the oncoming sunset.

As we punched the air,

pretended we could tell the future.

And I ... Simon Bernard Elliott.

Just day dreamed.

Until a fist put me down.

AND I BLED FUCKING CRIMSON.

On the crimson floor.

up the crimson curtains.

The seriousness peeling off like a face mask.

At first the muffled howling of laughter.

Then it died down to the few women's attempts at pity.

Carrying me off to wash the blood off me.

Day dream over, now life's full of Simon you need to be more careful.

But it wasn't over, the images just kept coming.

From the strange sunset folding the horizon.

Violence is just another guaranteed piece of this reality.

Must i ready my fists and my defence?

Or will I be bleeding like a punk over some basin?

Ask

 Without curiosity you curl up and die in the state or place you failed to ask was safe.
The answers are dressed and packaged on the shelf where noone's looking.
Without a why how are you going to understand the next layer?
Or didn't you think it went that deep?

Glad to know you never had questions about anything I could respond to.
What an interaction when all we need is friviolity, all we need is silent nods.
Life is effort and we are going to sweat!
Don't dare ask, or break your personal rule as the spins it's friction giddy.

What a time to engage in wanting to know.
So what? So I can form an opinion.
I'll just ask you, when?
When i get the courage.

Catalina de Erauso and the shark

She was the spanish pirate
I see it in her movement
Across the sea
pulling the treasure

surviving the waves
cutlass at her side
SHE IS THE LINSTOCK
THE LINSTOCK

seeing glass out onto the enormous blue
Sharks like me circling
Unapologetic king of the deep
I peak from the surface

See her scaling the ratlines and shrouds
So she can get a better view of the oncoming vessels
Her smile lights up the sea
All the way up in the crows nest

The dutch vessel continues through
The portuguese reduces speed
I the forsaken predator conjure the sperm whale
To break the hull of that caravela

Protecting my little spanish freebooting corsair
And giving my brothers a bountiful lunch
As i follow her brigantine
You can only see my fin

Ella era la pirata española
Lo veo en su movimiento
A través del mar
Arrastrando el tesoro

Sobreviviendo a las olas
Alfanje a su lado
ELLA ES EL BOTAFUEGO
EL BOTAFUEGO

Catalejo hacia el inmenso azul
Tiburones como yo, circulando
Rey del abismo sin disculpas
Asomo desde la superficie

La veo trepando por las jarcias y los obenques
Para tener una mejor vista de las naves que se acercan
Su sonrisa ilumina el mar
Allá arriba en el nido de cuervo

El navío holandés continúa su rumbo
El portugués reduce la velocidad
Yo, el depredador abandonado, conjuro al cachalote
Para romper el casco de esa carabela

Protegiendo a mi pequeña corsaria española
Y dando a mis hermanos un abundante festín
Mientras sigo su bergantín
Solo puedes ver mi aleta