5 Gs to 500

The temptation of doing dirt
Some easy crime
In some quick time
Seems almost sensible
When evening woes are setting
Like repetitive sunsets.
5 G’s, 1 brief case, a car
A man in a Cadillac
Saying it’s an easy gig
To the man Arizona.

But I turned the offer down
And the paycheck from work
Mocking me for it this Friday
Only five hundred dollars
Is barely enough for rent
5 G’s to 5 hundred
Hardest part is
It was her birthday yesterday
And I couldn’t afford
Anything for her.

ⓒ Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

Peace.

This is it?

This is it?

Early morning sunrise
Is unreal—
Looks like a hungry man
Smearing cold bacon fat
Around dirty dishes
While muttering something
Inaudible–
Best unheard because
His words shatter eardrums
And social orders
Like china out of a canon
Pointed to the floor—
And what if that is it?
Pig grease sunrise
Directed by a man
Who has potential
But never uses it—
The fat stays in the sky
The feet stay on the ground
The fat stays in the sky
The feet stay on the ground.


~Liam 4/19/07

Day Trip

Day Trip

So I drove – I just had to get out. I got on the open road headed north because I have been south too many times before; I know what lies down that path. North, however, is mysterious: the hills seem to grow upon you like giants sneaking up on villagers. If you exit the highway onto the back roads you will notice that they wind as if the car you are in is electricity through the synapses of a rather gifted mental patient. The trees stretch overhead in a foreboding manner – as if they are hands attempting to brush you away; as if they are saying – “No, go away – you are not welcome here.” And you believe it and turn around only to find the road you traveled upon has some how altered form. The road now turns another direction leading you horribly astray while those hands reaching for the sky are telling you to turn back. You cannot, it is too far now. I found this to be true – so I kept driving steady and unyielding - letting my frantic-manic-drop-down-all-of-a-sudden guide me through this unknown place. You see I had driven to where the air is clear, where you can look out of the bay and see the islands dotted off the California coast. Out here where the smog from the city, which is broken like glass, can not penetrate the steep incline. I went here because I was immensely troubled; in fact, I was hesitating upon a much larger issue: the issue of leaving and never returning. Never again setting foot in the dank apartment in which I willfully decided to place myself – never again seeing my so called friends and family from whom I feel so estranged to them that I am almost more comfortable with strangers in small town gas stations. Never again going to my job amidst tall buildings where mad men try to genetically alter mankind to be impervious to disease because, well – let’s just face it: the human race is dying out. But they still want to find a cure, dilute it so you will not be completely cured but just hooked, sell it from behind a counter where their agent in a white coat tells you: “this will make you better”, and keep you coming back for more. Never again saying I am sorry to parents who are set on proving me wrong at every turn and then supporting my endeavors as if the mixed signals they send me in my early 20s are meant to make up for the signals they sent me as a child. Thus, I drove to find my own path through trees with only the thought of her slowing me quick ascents and descents.
I began to run low on gas and searched out a gas station. I walked inside to find the clerk looking at me with one eye – the other was lidless and the fake eyeball was extruding from the eye socket in such a manner I felt that it was searching through my being. It felt almost as if I was looking into what could be as I looked at him from my one eye with the other also fake but with a dropping eyelid. I felt a great force greater than myself saying; “This very well could be you!” And I quickly paid, took my gas soaked in the blood of some soldier so distant from myself, and left. I drove back on the highway: straight back to the place I wanted to be the least. I returned for her and her alone. I drifted past the hills that snuck away like cheeky children and the misting coast like the tears evaporating on a summers day. I parked and walked to my apartment, reached my hand out for that same old fake bronze door knob that is fading from years of use, turned it, and allowed the weight of the door to open itself. Inside it was dark, almost damp as if I had walked into a cave. I closed the door and collapsed onto the uncomfortable, but free, suttee. I sat and pondered my day of almost escaping. Next time – I will take her along with me and then we shan’t return.

New Poem:::Home

Home

I would rather be anywhere
But here
For you see, the roof is too low
And the floor? It is just too high!
O sure, there is a car out back
Into which I could climb and leave
Find a place with low floors and high roofs
I would have to take her with me
Of course
And trespass where only the rain
Dares go
When the sun steals the glory
Shinning gold through ticker-tape clouds
The world, in awe, praises it
But we
We will run into the grey rain
That melts the make-up on the faces
Worn to hide the true persona
We are desperate to keep from others
And then we will become concave
The world?
It will spin as people die out
Vast cities will be cavities
In the earth’s crooked teeth
Many will wonder where we went
Some will suggest another planet
More will say it was aliens
But really we escaped
--That is where I want to be.

ⓒ Liam Elliott 2007. All Rights Reserved.

~Peace.