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Lantern In The Half Night Sky

Poem By Mat Gould

(…sink ‘em deep) Copyright Mat Gould 2009

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where the horizon ends

a few bones the weight of the world holds I doan think it is really that heavy I'm going to where the horizon ends I doan care what is there maybe I can jes look into someone elses eyes and see the same thing but I still wanna go and find out how poem echoes from the sea and off of the sun-

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a solitude, a rendering

written for the need we can all give into it without knowing we are failed intermittent or easily a doomed soul against our self in another love affair and never forgot I didn't meet her for drinks or poem it all got away over coffee at 2 A.M. I haven't been awake since but I feel the heat of day the want of night I can be without a dream but not an ache there could be more to all of this but that is how it ends-

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with a gun in her boot she was sitting at the bar with a gun in her boot a baby doll face and all night long legs look her in the eye and its your time to die flip a penny pick a side it is the dumb luck we depend on cash it in and not a damn thing changes that terrible ache the skin crawls and the ice will always melt I doan care how cold your blood is-

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we have to allow ourselves to do such things

with

the common purpose of discourse I am sitting here in a bit of a stare at the dead landscaping and the aged brick that maintains its color amongst the salt bleached concrete as she sits there with her feet up on the window sill she is not the shop-keeper but looking nonchalant gives her an edge and right now she owns the place but that is another moment that has since passed and I am back to the few faded bottles

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that were placed on the electric boxes in an alley I walked by on my way here someones romance someones boredom someones last shot at accepting the end of a reign and over here on this section of the street one side is full of cars and parking meters while the other side is an empty fenced in dirt lot the traffic is constant the clouds are brilliantly still and her hands are in her lap-

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the Juke Joint we walked up Lexington

and came to the corner that is where we heard the sound like a private riot in a blue lit room we had some night left and I could use another drink...

"all night long"-

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under the drainage pipes of heaven the sun was coming up from the sewer I had climbed the roof-top so I could break into the solar system we will always take our last chance the world has the scent of imagination and urge we are blind with courage how precious we can all be shoulder to shoulder we are each others lopsided infinity we are the missing pieces of extinction we are the axis in revolution and we are the raging hive of language thrust into the starving void and we are

executed against the walls

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under the drainage pipes of heaven with our hands held out full of diamonds and asking for embrace-

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a poem from the rain it has taken the rain so long to break like a hard good-bye we jes turn our back and look away instead we add another last time so we always have something to say it has taken the rain so long to break... remember that little bar at the end of the street just before the edge of town where the barista was so lonely that we stunned her when we walked in… that is probably a pretty good place to be right now-

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sweating at the edge of purity (pt.2) she says "there is more to me than you will ever know, love" probably so yeah I would imagine so we speak out loud but jes under our tongue in a break-beat tone where our heart is our face and we can hardly see through the lack of light at a back table in the corner of some sea side lounge in the middle of the day as always there is no one else around

we can sense the waves getting closer we are the shore and

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yes the tide knows where to find me just as she says "but I am as easy as you would like"-

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the gospel of which we will always be singing

dropping bottles from the bedroom window (she stays naked behind me) looking down on last nights fire the remnants of which will always be burning the broken glass will cut your toes will cut your throat but one will need a knife for the heart for a loaf the crumbs of which will always feed the most when she rolls over I remember why I love her the thought of which will never be fair doan care what I think jes think that I care and there will always be ashes and it will only take a book of matches to start all of this over again the light of which only last so long

we will always need more feeling

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this is simply real life shit the gospel of which we will always be singing yet we find it hard to believe-

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every heart is a matador

it fits for a minute or so if there is a time frame not long enough but it will have to do oh you know how it goes a terrible ache we get used to just an old feeling like posture or habit and we bite back diamonds break diamonds but who can defeat the tide every heart is a matador w/t a pulse of thunderous enormity stars doan fall together but they keep each other brilliant for as long as they last-

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here again

it was early enough in the day to think there was a soft forever or a reason to remember kick the sun bouncing float the sea escape every desire except the one we really want or just to make a paper sail boat and put it in a puddle but all of that is jes about over-

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a riot comes to town I woke up before every days morning train came crashing through this side of the city the sun seemed misplaced unreasonable I had nothing to throw at it last nights easy rain was already dry somehow it was quiet at first I opened the door this is what the world was waiting for the cat looked up at me "mew" "you too" I said and then the onslaught like we had forgotten where we are-

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return of the champ I was adding it up what such things stand for and fight against I just know to count it up like a roll of pennies and to keep it in my fist pain is an easy target it moves in a staggered and stumbling way the fear resembles the light as we head straight for it with the serenity of indifference punching at the ghost gaining in stride always keeping up always maintaining a chance to overcome and take on each shadow one by one-

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when the breath stops in front of your mouth

I had jes started breaking myself in letting every wrinkle catch and hold what such crevice will oil up the old leather of skin and warm up the old engine gagging on fuel and shouting fume I jes stood there in the cold I praise its honesty and it all felt so good yeah it jes felt so good-

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waiting on the thaw

swatting at the presence of our creeping self the mornings cold air slows the spiders down to a struggle it is not so hard to pick up a shoe and put the hit on them it is not the first thing that I would do but sometimes I lose myself in the startle and such a reaction happens it is like forgetting you are in the dark and stepping off the edge of the world you always knew was there-

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roaring into the borealis revolutions battle-cry born to the morning

slashing across mountains I can take it from here so jes let the heart beat it out of you we have all fallen much harder and for much much less to fight to yield to hold upright and hammer upon here we are in another small war battling with each grasp a bomb that won’t drop

or ignite we find ourselves in the lanterns light kicking death back into the grave without mercy without fate carving what we witness from the first stone we throw-

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strong arming the craft

I walked out the door with a simple amount of hope teeth biting teeth this has to be true grit and it lasted but a weakened few seconds amongst the wind and earth spitting from its ferocious heavens yet I put my head down and burrowed through God you would think I was in for a fix but I've had to give that shit up I just needed to hustle shake off the current disaster you know get the blood flowing pry the eyes open I didn't notice at first but the more I look at her the sexier this beast of life gets we are just full of it whatever it is-

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demanding a fire on every shore

the second cup had blood in it and it came with a few hours of daylight left I walked into the sun filled street as short lived as it was both of us standing there without debate it took very little of the fight from us as we headed toward the cold and the dark now with a little extra gusto and something to give us a reason to do it again tomorrow-

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hitch-hiking back from the other side of the distant ebb leaning into the highway I can't see it yet but it is oncoming it will be speeding on the wrong side of the road passing anything slower anything keeping it from getting to where its gonna be with death sucking off its demon behind the wheel flames flying from the back of its head flames flying from the tail-pipe flames flying from a river of tar flames flying from everywhere that’s all that can be said and I saw it coming it is never far away-

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Dog on a chain

here I have settled for no more or no less than the evenings reliable end and it seems I have left nothing entirely to neglect nor forced toward squander any appeal unless such a trinket was already on the brink here I set forth at the same cold window commanding the ship back from the pale tide of this simple bright moon hoarding half of its privilege for the shambles and perhaps even a shard for the rabid here amorous amongst us unconducted yet divine we croon of a cruel, cruel solicitude-

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once, a beautiful day reminded there have been colder mornings junk sick days and probably some sort of night I jes doan recognize and this morning there was a Raven in the road picking the bones of a road kill rabbit I stood there not far and not for long and cheered silently within myself it looked up from the guts of death pardoned there will be colder mornings-

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tops off bottoms up coffee and rain and the smell of books close to my face music goes stale the glass of the window stays cold I have this mess around me gloves and bags and memo note pads and a wax wrapper 3 poems I wrote last week throwing them like lit cigarettes across the bar flipping them at a hundred different magazines I will never read or hear from people having lunch while I go take care of parking tickets and mail and then as usual drag this bag of bones back to the shrine-

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It wasn’t a Wolf that is not my dog at my front door it wasn't a wolf it was jes a dog that didn't really even look like one it was hungry it was cold but it wouldn't get close I rolled over in my sleep I asked into the night something about the barking outside it doan go away nah none of this goes away not the pain in my back that holds me up not the neighbor who won’t quit shooting his gun on Sunday afternoon and not these starving hounds who seem to notice the ghost burying bones they will never come back to get and not these troubles nah never the troubles that jes have to keep

happening I put my fist up and keep my hands in front of my face it is like fighting the wind at any time

there

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could be an attack an attack of any kind look at the footprints in the snow maybe follow them under the house or off into the woods or right up to my front door come to my front door and ask me if that is my dog-

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It will be the Lion whether I did it or not I have a romantic alibi blame it on me there is nothing to claim I will fight the Lions I doan need no casket when I die and it is possible I will come out of this with another head for the hearth and it is possible that the Lion and I will turn upon the gallery with our bloody mouths and our broken ribs and tear the chanting from their tongues and gag their hollering throats leave them with only their hearts and this look on my face that I will not be the one that really hurts you it will be the Lion waiting behind me-

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as is the fortune of the weak

the wilderness blazing with its bare branches chattering from its every depth the treetops overlapping the sky behind the hills the coyotes and everything else are hiding staying well below the mist on haunch and belly a bit of gristle in the jaw a sacrifice from the pack "hunt the wounded, and wear their head into the next battle" as is the fortune of the weak-

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laid out at the shrine there are Gods for everything look at us naked banging against each other in full opera like devilish mongrels tearing away at the lush instance as we heave each breath aloud in a paradigm of force the guts and glory of a mere resistance as the phantoms we fathom swallow us whole-

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the sudden is suspect

a close eye to keep on my own not so far from the wet street of the season that is still wearily keeping its touch in our lungs and in the way we dress there is jes no trust yet even though cats are stretched out in windows we won't keep the curtains open all day and we quickly cover our winter bloated bodies with

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sleeves and extra underwear it will take more than a few of these paradisial afternoons to keep me out praising the stars for being here the whole fucking time-

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Mat Gould is currently at large and therehave been random reports of hiswhereabouts. blood…fume…lantern is hislife work.

there are so many yet very few, forsomeday afternoon, and for the first andlast of everything-