whatareyouthinking

You’ve torn through flesh of animals
And crushed the nuts of trees.

You’d hang with others like you
To tear all that enters to pieces.

Yet today you slimy sharp stone
Send me a biting signal. The nerve.

Buried beneath pearly white
Lies a canal of bottomless agony.

Like an alarm with no ‘off’ switch
That must get unplugged to stop.

In different times, you were
Indifferent like the Buddha,

Detached yet still on task, intact.
Now all the years of your toil

Consolidated to this message of pain.
A vengeance I can no longer endure.

I will level with you. You must go.
This same fate awaits your friends

Who pull the same.

An unlikely store front
With action behind its glass
The motion of resolution
Proceeds with assembly line efficiency
With no product of their labor in sight
People pushing, pulling—repetitiously
To the beat of cast iron clapping
Hands hanging bodies from arms
Racing to elevate their masses again
Some struggle through weighty endeavors
While those at a nearby spot
Reluctantly lend their hands to help
Another approaches the bench
Pressing the limits of muscle—but not of steel
Thunder pounds from feet of sweat-soaked runners
Running in place of where they’d rather be
Aligned with their goals
Their machines in a line
Bounce as the rubber beats the belt
Buckled from wear and tear
And all of this within walls of mirrors
The reflections of before pictures
Of bodies yet unrealized
Awaiting fulfillment
People change
They leave

Out from the icebox outside
into a place where I change
my own climate the way I change
channels on TV. Soon to forget
the things that came before
the things I see before me now.

A rectangular hole in the wall
gives a second story perspective
while its viscous liquid filling
shields me from feeling
the effects of the air
from the other side.

Unclouded sky and un-obscured sun
set the scene of summer fun below,
while fowl which never flew
south seem to conspire with subtle
winds of deception which supplant
a sincere summer skyscape.

In a daydream I exit through exit
doors downstairs to enter my escape
to this space where all things summer
seem to take place. I pack a swim suit
just in case. I sense my body embrace
the heat. And the sun burns my face.

But I exit and awake in the state
of disillusionment. My mind freezes
as the illusion of summer fades fast
outside. And the cold reality
touches my skin.

Park yourself in the armchair
Shift your intellect to neutral
Prepare for the next transmission
That pulls you into over-drive

To see conspiracy where it’s not
And no conspiracy where it is
The point is just to point and click
To keep every rumor alive

Right or wrong it’s still your right
So express your rage
Freedom of the pressed
They come to set your stage
And fence you in for security
While they rattle your cage
Since everyone knows everything
In the Misinformation Age

Another red letter day
A caps lock lockdown in progress
Bring deluges of delusions
From fonts overflowing with urgency

React from your conditioning
To this chain of splitting hairs
Out from the old. Into your inbox.
Then forward to spread its misery

Right or wrong it’s still your right
So express your rage
Freedom of the pressed
They come to set your stage
And fence you in for security
While they rattle your cage
When everyone’s an actor
On this Misinformation Stage

Everything is true. When we’re scared.
Everything is scary.  When perception is impaired.
But truth transcends this altered state of minds.
And seeing takes more than just not being blind.

© 2010 J. Marshall

Once upon a time
was one / who under-
stood life’s mysteries
Stood under the lof-
ty over pass / pon-
dered the things above

And spoke his words ab-
stractly / standing be-
tween concrete pillars
His hands armed with a
healing touch / and with
that, the touch of love

Longed to share his soul
in short / with all the
others passing by
Although he spoke ov-
er their heads / they saw
him as one beneath

He gave them all what
they needed / but they
would not receive it
Because in the end
no one believes / a
man who’s missing teeth

Brushing over what
he said / while they were
foaming out their mouths
These so-called seekers
of truth / were blinded
by his missing tooth

And spit at the per-
ception / of the gaps
in his countenance
And flossed over his
words / as if they had
wisdom (teeth) since youth

Overlooking their
checkered lives / squared with
crimson and blackness
Filling their mouths with
silver things / and crown-
ing themselves like kings

Drilling into his
past / they meant to dent
his reputation
Claimed themselves merely
partial / to the fresh-
ness clarity brings

He wished to heal them
but they kept laughing,
aghast / at his smile
Their root of evil
dwelt beneath / their cav-
ity of errors

Amalgamated
their forces / to rid
themselves of his talk
No cap to their mad-
ness, they vexed / this
toothless man with terrors

Few words were implant-
ed / the scope of his
vision receded
And under the ov-
erpass / died the man
with the missing tooth

Though rarely extract-
ed / his gleam of in-
sight never decayed
Now a plaque on the
bridge / serves as a re-
tainer for his truth

© 2010  J. Marshall

I’ve heard the stories
of the ones who’ve made it
How much I’ve tried
to make their lives my own
For in an instant for them
everything changed (for the better)
If that’s a metric for the masses
It explains why I’m alone

Where is that storm?
Where is the
thundering
enlightenment?
Where in a flash I picture all things new
And the film is removed from my dark room view
And develops into certainty
For the lens I see life through

I’ve tried to walk the steps
of the ones who’ve arrived
But seemed to stumble
before I reached step two
One foot planted in the process
the other in confusion
And from these roots
my frustrations grew

Where is my storm?
Where is my
thundering
enlightenment?
When I ponder their lot, their lives, a lot
If they weathered the storm for what they got
Or even whether the weather
Had to do with it or not

© 2009 J. Marshall

I awoke from a dream
With a toothache in my soul
Then Novocain filled my chest
So fear could drill its hole

River of thoughts damned my mind
Lava laces a thoracic knot
Sensation tricks me into thinking
Something it is not

My feet are balls of fire
Red radiates from my head
Skin fills a mold made of heat and sweat
Dead, this cavity feels dead!

How can I redeem the time
Spent merely as projection—?
A shadow of a man
Cast from this former man’s reflection

It’s been a Long Cold Winter of Summer
With springs of black and white
In the fall of the former glory
I await to take my flight

© 2009 J. Marshall

Within him was mysterious substance
Given at birth for through his life to share
Yet much to his complacent contentment
Even in isolation it was still there

So he kept all this Goo to himself
Not knowing what he was withholding
Til his emotions turned to molten rock
Leaving this once serene psyche scolding

Unconsciously cooling his melting soul
He began to give away some Goo
But only to get ill goo in return
Til he said, “Screw you. No more Goo for you!”

Sought solace from a few who claimed they knew
But whose aims were still ill-gotten-Goo-gain
Was like the blind squeezing a blind pimple—it hurt
But didn’t burst, just escalated his pain

So what would he do with all of this Goo?
When he knew not where to go to share
And keeping the Goo was clearly taboo
This whole affair just didn’t seem fair

So he searched for the Source of his Goo
And learned the lesson of self-transcendence:
That True Goo is given without expectation
Then passed on to one’s spiritual descendants

So he sought some worthy souls and a cause
In effect, a community built upon Goo
Forever flowing but never running out
Though it happens for few doesn’t make it untrue

But when the Goo of Goodness is withheld
It gives toxic fumes of fermented glory
Turns your inner heaven to some sort of hell
And it’s up to YOU to change the story

© 2009 J. Marshall

Swimming in a stew of ideals
Mired in the gravy, trained
To obscure the necessities of life
The shirt of my being leave stained

At times I starved while at the feast
At times I was fed too much of the same
Off to go hunting for something that sated
On to keep playing this wild game

Though I could always pick fruit from the nuts
And discern plastic in search for what’s real
But some things seemed better than that which was best
Poison berries buried poison beneath their appeal

Still on a day I can’t see night from day I pray…

To light those paths which lead to light
And burn the bridges that land in death
Let me not confuse a dark night for darkness
Or artificial light for eternal breath

© 2008 J. Marshall

Acting is if he was one of the boys
As he interacts through awkward noise
With words and movement, mere decoys
From the heart and all that it employs

He makes an impression and hopes it sticks
Or clicks with who’s who in workplace cliques
As perceptions ensue, his soul will transfix
From the politics of workplace politics

And he says…
I wish I was there
Now that I’m no longer there
I wish the walls were my ears
The part of me that cares
Wishes I no longer cared
To chase away these fantasies and fears

Aftertalk is the talk
That carries on once you walk
Away from that which you were just a part
As your image gets molded through the mouths
of whom you’ll depart

Once at home he ponders what he’s all about
As he seeks release from his internal doubt
And wishes he could hear the Aftertalk play out
Or at least live to learn how to live without

And he says…
I wish I was there
Now that I’m no longer there
I wish the walls were my ears
The part of me that cares
Wishes I no longer cared
To chase away these fantasies and fears

Aftertalk is the talk
That carries on once you walk
Away from that which you were just a part
As your image gets molded through the mouths
of whom you’ll depart

© 2008 J. Marshall