"Jury Duty"
You believe I'll Lie
yet you still say "Hi"
and if I pass by
without asking why,
then I've revealed my subscription?
And I can't say "no,"
can't board, walk or park in place
and I can't pass go?
Can I at least borrow a dollar?
Judgement warm under your collar
but you won't make change.
You deposit some conviction
with no bank in range.
Please accept this as valediction.
You are no doubt studious
but you won't like my diction.
Dubious your tradition.
It drives me up the wall
and crashes me into the pavement.
Nerves under swerve
and you can't handle the clutch.
Navigate much? Trick question.
If you've truly learned your lesson,
your path would be indicative of such.
Now I'm sure I sound absurd
so you peel back the plot
to expose my words
for the sake of your labels.
You've found solace in the fables
you have claimed as fact
and those who would react
find themselves right back
to the root yet to be dislodged.
Fastened to stints of grief
is a window from which
you have drawn your belief.
Mind and heart must collaborate.
Neither must saturate the other
lest one tries its best
to calibrate the other.
At that point, it would make sense
to cast both asunder
when what one calls correspondence
looks a lot like abscondence.
Now we lose communication
if it resembles litigation.
You won't budge and I won't nudge.
Told you I'm not here to judge
but I'm keen on observation.
Always searching for the facts
beneath everything we lack
and I know you'd do the same.
There is a differential, though:
Institutions you have named
just to mar them in persistence
will endure your flawed existence
and my purposeless retort, seemingly.
It would seem to be
an exercise in futility
to expound on one's ability
to denounce another willingly.
We converse to save face
yet we grow weary from the pace.
I rest my case.
I've taken my turn.
Court adjourned.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Secret Hiding Face"
I'm so far behind my dreams;
and the ones that involve you
leave me unraveled at the seams.
Bunched up.
Hunched over.
Legs stuck.
Fell over.
I just hope I'm still falling;
because if I should land
then I demand that vicinity endears me.
I want to see clearly that which I covet.
Above it all you stand:
atop every command,
any plan,
any vision I've commissioned
for the sake of tradition…
…yet you rest under admission.
I wish to profess
but I could never express
lest I brandish transgression
like a weapon never used
fused with reckless abandon and traction.
You are my favorite distraction.
Nothing of novelties that of pearls
but more like places in the world
I thought I'd never reach.
And if these words must be swallowed
lest my stomach becomes hollow,
I sit here anxious awaiting your speech
to the chagrin of starvation.
So rich your fervor like animation
imparting imagination to me
like past moments forever new.
I sit here often stoic yet softened for you.
Heroic to those who need me.
Just Poet to those who see me
the way that you do.
I weave through lines just fine
but can't read them to you.
I knead some through you.
I press them down.
Depressed and drowned in brine.
Regression to a time
when admiration had few names.
This hood placed above my brow
Is my only option now.
How I tread slight and steady
Indicative of whether I'm ready
For what is rendered in perception.
Discretion never under seizure.
Quite the feat for the believer
unafraid of what remains to be seen.
I have been to the edge of affirmation.
At the summit I have closed my eyes
To awaken on the pavement.
The leap came with no instruction
Per the art of introduction
But I was brave.
No induction.
Nothing governed.
Through feelings we are enslaved.
Time will pave the way.
What we learn today
Cannot speak about tomorrow.
Anticipating sorrow staves enchantment
But the relaxed may face entrapment
in the face of humiliation.
Awkward interpretation.
Words that shouldn't need translation.
Maturation at it's peak
Yet and still I barely speak
Without weakened knees and grinning,
heavy breaths and blood thinning.
Wish to tell you how I feel.
Funk of fear so rank and real.
Wish to capture what I've missed.
Wet this air. Despair so brisk.
I just wish it were outlined.
Much maligned without the signs.
Signs I'd love to light and linger
Yet I sit here biting fingers…………
…………………………………I like you.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Currency"
Haven't made sense since
there was sense to be made.
Offered me your two cents
like there's rent to be paid.
Kept your pennies in my pocket
where I used to keep your locket.
Picture frame full of shame.
Not one photo. Just two names.
Haven't made sense in awhile.
Tried to make some of the trials
but if this ended sensibly,
I doubt there would be much to see.
I sense longing in your torment:
signature of recent moments
when we were one in the same.
We still love to play these games.
It would appear that we stand
only to show how far we'd fall.
Still haven't made sense of it all
but if you care to recall,
we are the structure with no walls.
The silence in the halls.
The often unheard mating call
that can't travel through the squalls.
We are something else
and absolutely nothing sensible.
Affirmation for the cynical
that delight in being critical.
Sensual but not serene.
Centrifugal without the beam.
Downward spiral sitting clean
with the nerve to have a gleam.
Glorify the shattered dreams.
Dance in frantic jubilation.
Rip the woven at the seams
and illicit some gyration.
Since only we understand,
Sense will follow our command.
Spread the scent no one can stand:
Dirty shekels in your hands.
Stench of sex and groundless lust.
Needless moments deemed a must.
Aftermath where all is hazy
and the heart has become lazy.
"Baby" beckons no reply.
There's no time to dry your eyes.
All the lowly left to die
hover over you like flies.
No country for your contrition
due to your true lack in vision.
You won't look past lover's lane.
Lessons you won't learn again.
Splitting time with window panes
and the sane that mock your madness
but at least you know you have this.
All say no. How many say yes?
Wonder if you've wondered since
your last campaign for recompense....
once thought pensive in your process.
Hid the bulk and said a lot less.
Nothing honest on display.
Rather senseless your delay.
Truly listless I will stay
'til you decide to steal away.
We make the mess then wipe it clean:
caution to the wind obscene
enough to make one question life
and every tall order for strife.
Borrowed time we've never lent.
Came up short searching for cents
for understanding seldom spent
on what may never make some sense.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Trick Mirrors"
Knuckles made of brass
And the past that I slept on.
Girls who grew up fast
Want the men that they crept on.
Blast from the past.
Buckshot from the future.
Gain financial aid
But the governor abused her.
Sum of the slums
Equivalent to the navy.
Can't deny Brenda's baby.
Dad's name was Marcus, maybe……
Lady draped in red.
Tattoos to her ankles.
Can't seem to stay fed
but you can't miss her navel.
Thank God for W.I.C.
And the welfare assistance.
Four letters spell F.E.M.A.
Acronym for the resistance.
Chose politicians
but we can't spell their names.
Created this system
Just to cast more blame.
Bolster the backlash.
Protect the last stash
With what remains of your life.
Starve you child. Beat your wife.
Brag about the struggle
Like the frat and sorors.
Outline the maligned
After plotting out the scars.
Death after last breath.
Meth and the pistol.
Land ruled over jewels
And thick women named Krystal.
Blood on the pavement.
Tears in her eyes.
We race to the scene
But won't respond to her cries.
Long walks initiated on streets.
Downwards spiral of deliberate fashion
Fashioned to forge forks in the road.
Penitentiary perdition or deadly destitute.
Truth told to closed hearts
And ears that widen selectively.
Collectively protesting another's roots
Whilst clinging to the stoop.
Rarely bread and fruit
but surely loose cigarettes and loot
From those we spitefully purport
While we sit on the porch.
Proud to be until we
Encounter one who can't see
How one wouldn't grasp at straws.
We mask our flaws in mockery.
No support for the survivor.
Those who make it out
Face our groundless doubt
Because they aren't what we're about.
The crab and the barrel
brimming over. Spilling over.
Those fortunate to grow older
Wish their younger days were sober.
Somber feeling with no healing.
Dealing with the lowered ceiling
pressed against new generations.
Never ending conversations.
Persecute them for their music.
How that wear it. How they do it.
Disgusting gyration movement
But no basis for improvement.
Parents left to wonder why.
Scrape acceptance. Smear the lies.
Damned to disgrace and defile.
Fuel for copious denial.
Toil and trial in self defense.
Intermingle with the fence.
Still a month behind on rent.
Pitching fits as wide as tents.
Fifty dollars in your purse.
There was more before the thirst.
Can't afford the change in price
But each first sip feels so nice.
No ice. No milk. No care.
Broken barrettes in their hair.
Skin so shiny, smooth and fair.
Not your daughter. Wouldn't dare.
Not unless you're there to see.
Not where you thought you would be.
Gave your future to their father.
He truly couldn't be further
From the angry son who chose
to put back on those same clothes
and take risks on crowded corners.
Addict mother hugs the corner.
Lost her before he was twelve.
Keeps her picture on the shelves
high enough for him to reach
Cash from the last deal he breached.
Teach the preacher. Predict time.
Find it all amid the rhyme.
Reason washes nothing clean
If one will not change the scene.
So much made of class
and the time that we slept on.
Flowers wither fast
Only after they are stepped on.
Tread in consideration of generations.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Red Wine"
Documented my patience.
Watch me race after venom
But not the water to chase it.
All my selfish decisions
Obscure but clear in my vision
Especially when we're throttled.
I love when you grab that bottle
and pour yourself a glass.
Nothing less than buxom.
Sat here by your lonesome.
Knees together
like they want some attention.
Complimentary tradition.
I love to sit and listen.
Thoughts that swirl and sometimes glisten
While you take your little sips.
Dripping from your lips
Are things you'd only say influenced.
So fluent that I understand your plight.
Came over every night
Just to increase your selection.
No true thirst for deception.
No desire to slight detection
Although we fluctuate our pace.
Simplistic direction:
Pop the cork and fill your face
With fermented notes once graced
by the hands of every place we've never been to.
I love what you're in to.
This just might offend you
But that next glass just might bend you
Over like the mind of most men do
And I can't say that I'm different.
Just fortunate you've befriended.
Can't offer you past amendments
but we could possibly dine.
Summer salad is fine.
I like Italian on mine.
I arrive before nine
But there's no dinner. Just wine.
You've been dreaming.
Lights are gleaming.
Slowly speaking.
You've been drinking.
We've been thinking.
Barely blinking.
So much plotting.
So much scheming.
All is steamy.
Pass the glass.
This tastes creamy.
Brought my flask.
Left the cork back on the porch.
Skipped past dinner. Tossed the fork.
Made a violent mess of things.
Left some blotches on the strings.
Couldn't get all of the stains.
Poured stale portions down the drain.
Soaked brains slip from the last sip.
Eyes grip like palms around the cork.
Plunged into our thoughts
Twisting firm with desire.
Floated higher through the pain
Spilling over us like rain.
Watched you strain just to cascade
So I cast aid to your vigor.
Far too parched to let it breathe.
Sat it down and let you seethe.
Merlot splashed over malice.
You don't wonder when
You'll crack that chalice.
You just pour it in.
I can't watch
But I return each day.
Wick placed under sober means.
Remember how they burn away
And fade slowly?
You know me enough
To take in my advisement
and hammer out the chastisement
until all that remains is enticement.
And we wonder where the lights went
When we only see the red.
When we sink into the bed
Amid this life so many dread.
We are free to clear our heads……
……Have another glass instead.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Marzipan"
Sheets sticky with indulgent streaks
that Tide's extra strength will never Gain.
Delightfully dirty this mind
recalling each delicious stain.
The strain of overflowing.
The constant pain of knowing
just how long it would last.
I'm chasing remnants of our past.
If I chip away,
I will save all of the crumbs.
There isn't much to say
between index and thumb
and the tongue that licks them clean.
This blood boils over your body oil.
Had endless dreams about your hair sheen.
Imagining every last scene.
My malted milky mallomar........
you made me travel so far.
Spent some ages down south.
Made some sense of my mouth.
Laid renewal upon shoulders of the willing.
Me.
He who would bridge tooth and sink nails
until your ship began to sail.
Frail I look in perception.
Rugged in appearance.
Appealing to potential clearance
but can't shake the interference.
Peruse my path without a cane.
Kept it narrow. Made it plain.
My desire never sane.
I'm licking my fingers again.
Do you ever wonder?
How often do you notice?
We have displayed it certainly.
I lay here next to uncertainty
and I am forever restless.
My best wish and worst fear
would be to draw you near.
That in mind, I want you here.
You need to know.
I've so much to show you
but that moment would be brief.
I may never stave this grief......
I've fashioned you in flavors:
labored in silky ribbons
stretching over every cloud,
proud to dip and drip with purpose,
feigning nervous with precision,
splashing wild into these palms
with no calm before the storm.
Spent my time trying to stay warm.
Night is coldest under covers.
Enticement hovers in my torment
and the torrents mar my vision.
All I want I have envisioned:
melting long enough to linger
but you still elude my fingers
as you coat my mind again.
It all rinses in the rain.....................
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Everything In Between"
Looked truth in the eye.
Hoped to catch it in its lie
But my aim shrouded my focus.
Through this aversion, I have noticed
That some ends only exist
To take us back to the origin.
Those who finish and persist
Will eventually be born again.
The path in between
Be it far from pristine
Seldom completely clean in nature
is still meant to be savored.
From the late text
To the latex,
to the lack thereof
To the mutual evidence of love
Rest moments likely reserved
for those who will preserve
And promote what they hold dear.
Far before the fear
Are the days measured in breaths.
More exhales per hour
For those riddled with regret.
Patience coincides with power
Needed to cultivate our youth.
Seedless membranes yield strange fruit;
But the lush will land with grace
Lest they prefer landing on their face.
Origin perceived serpentine
Up until light peers through the cracks.
Acts formed around one's younger years
constantly in the mouths of mothers
And the ears of jealous brothers,
covetous aunts and worrisome grandmothers.
Mother defined by daughter's expanding mind
Sure to be judged on what she finds.
The avenues are endless.
None are sinless. No one sins less.
Men less concerned will not discern
Between her origin and her departure.
Her forfeiture dependent on what she shares.
Her survival contingent upon her care.
Growth forged from what dashes despair.
Her hair the hourglass of her existence.
Early persistence some claim as reward
Paid back as penance to become wards;
Wrought under the watch of those wise
Enough to cloak their eyes
And present it as her shelter.
How they aim to swarm.
They embrace her skin so warm
With no beseech. Just breach and harm.
Far from grace many will fall
Yet among some, many stand tall
Not for sake of survival stories
Or the spoils of grieve and glory.
Simply just to trace the path
Set forward from looking back
To observe how little matters
And how much less should be gathered.
Here she counts her months in laughter
and her years in wholesome chatter
Between the mother she calls daughter
And the child she prays for much harder.
Her glasses rest in place.
The frame perfect for her face.
A lifetime of knowledge traced
by wincing eyes still giving chase
To every single moment around her.
She would raise a loving mother
Whom she hopes would raise another.
They will one day become her.
I used to hope that I would be
Around long enough to see
Just how much they've grown to be
The symbol of love laying before me.
I looked her in the eyes.
Never could catch her in a lie.
There is much mangling of truth
But what is certain never dies.
Its origin is as vast
As the path that it purveys.
How long what manifests will last
Is written in each hourglass.
Every strand beneath a comb,
every doll on makeshift thrones,
every tea pot in the home
And rocking chair now left alone.
Every single chastising tone
Over scratches and broken bones
And that distinct, familiar tone
When we would talk on the phone.
Every wife is not a mother.
Some sisters have no brothers.
Some grandparents are no longer around;
But what I have surely found
Is the truth that what we see
Was and is and will soon be
For what has left us in the end
Will certainly return.
Reborn again. †
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Idle Thoughts Part 4: Milky Vanilla"
I didn't request a double.
Generous and subtle,
Another portion poured
As if it were your favorite chore.
You pretend to slip.
Perfect way to lose your grip.
Heavy hands suddenly throttled
and you knew I'd catch the bottle.
Sat it down. Looked around.
Still in her bedroom, it seems.
Can't quite call this a dream
But all is surreal at the seams.
Brink of reality. The cusp of fantasy
All while I'm sitting here.
Revert to normalcy.
It may be time to go…………
…………I'll just sip slow.
Everything is hazy.
What's in the drink you gave me?
I still feel my feet;
But they wander the street.
I'm still pursuing you?
If it's all the same,
I'm not really one for games.
I don't even know your name.
I just acknowledged the flame.
I'm without polish again.
Dress shirt from the cleaners.
Generic demeanor
And a closet full of sneakers.
Got these dress shoes
From a friend who never went to church.
Shoe box value kept its worth.
Searched for keys and found her purse.
Sat there between frown and smirk.
Could've sworn I left this room.
Why are we still in this bed?
Thoughts of you still in my head.
You don't snore. You breathe.
Makeup on my sleeve.
I guess it's easy to believe
That one in my current list of wiles
Would've followed you for miles
Like it would erase my trials.
"Shots belong in glasses; not vials."
That's what she would say.
Came back here today.
Tonight, rather
Just to watch the band play.
I love the bright lights.
I've had the sweaty brow.
I'm still ready now
But I'll just nurse this whiskey.
Peculiar is me wondering if you missed me.
Feels as if it's just me
and you're staring instead.
Fault lines were glowing red.
Now I don't know what I read.
No pickup lines were fed.
Just a little conversation.
City blocks longer than nations
We traverse for hibernation.
It all made sense from the start.
Still don't know your name.
Never asked you for your heart.
I guess that's called lagniappe.
Between the laps we walked instead,
thoughts racing through my head,
that nap shared in your bed,
and this napkin now dark red,
I guess the mood is mellow now.
The napkin is yellow now.
I guess red was the warning.
I was read as charming
but not enough to cost you.
The subtlety in your view
Says "I can't wait to accost you"
As you take away my glass.
No doubt you were my most recent past
Fully aware of my past
From conversing about the future.
Sat here looking like "I knew her……"
"…………I know her! No, her!"
My befriended bartender
more thick than slender
With the heavy sheen.
Skirt replaced by jeans
But skin still that of vanilla milk.
My feet never felt better.
Let her continue her shift.
My eyes shift across the wall.
Examined it all.
Then let the frustration fall.
My memories once plagued
Now appear so very vague;
Crumbling as they fade
In the dim of these lamp shades.
And I'm walking down the street.
And the music was a treat.
And my past is not discreet.
My glass of milk light on her feet.
Refreshing. Yummy. Delicious.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"The Blush Effect"
Conversing supple like that of
lotion over silken pores.
Easy are the interactions.
My distraction from everything and nothing at all.
I recall leaning against those walls:
the halls of my last place while you anticipate.
Always ready for a taste.
Words that relate in mood.
Found myself smitten as a believer:
Stanzas I deliver
to the enchantment of my receiver
clutching her receiver as if I'd leave her.
We both knew better, baby.
Maybe if the night were longer,
our connection wouldn't seem so brief.
We wouldn't have to ingest the day again.
Our plans would resemble
more fruition than condition.
We would calibrate instead of rehashing
or stashing it all away as sunlight approaches.
Through it all, it would seem
that your fancy involves my ire.
You rub against each thread
until my warmth is present……
……………………then you pull away.
You stay long enough to perfume the air
but even one so fair as you
refused to see it through.
I love every minute that I'm in it.
Too enchanted to be enraged.
Too full to vent frustration.
Generosity in your fascination with me.
I've often failed to glance at what you see.
You sidestep my modesty
and honestly do away with my humble.
You let me mumble
yet you barely even stumble
over my befuddled state of affairs.
Your steadfast interaction
while initially unsettling
is admittedly as refreshing
as the first breath after my last sip.
I've lost my grip.
Shall we call this palpable tension
something seldom noticed and less demonstrative?
Can we say that I perspire
from this mug of hot chocolate?
Can we pretend that I'm not out of pocket
when I say that I've imagined
that deep, full tone all alone
with this lap as your throne?
Can we digress from the fits of stress
that vary from blinks to winks
to glasses of sherry and crushed cherries?
Is it me or is it warmer?
Your glances stronger than any other's advances.
You've fashioned me the charmer
but I've fancied you taking your chances.
So dubious……
My face is evidently flushed.
My last gasp lodged deep within my throat
and you just gracefully float
hours after we've staved our touch.
I'd say you're too much
but I'm a shameless glutton
making room for sigh and swoon.
This crescent moon will fill
before I chastise my will.
Smoothing over every "hi"
are moments that make "goodbye"
harder to look forward to.
Some texts take forever.
Some calls don't get through.
And now you have the audacity
to sit here before me;
nodding in calm admiration?
Patience,
be a living manifestation this moment,.
Please……
Rosy cheeks fluctuate in pigment
although this place is dimly lit.
Palms never before now
asphyxiated to trembling knees.
Blood rushing free
And you just look at me and smile;
all the while observing me
in wonder and amazement:
Less for awe and more for dwindled time keeping.
I'll impart formal greetings soon.
Just let the swoon subside.
You found me on this ride
amid an everlasting rush.
I already know.
Just say it:
"Hush."
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
"Rusty Swings"
The park is two blocks away.
I used to see it every day
but there are buildings in the way.
What more is there to say
of my current state of affairs?
Too young to go there
so it bears no mention.
Always was forced to listen:
"Not until you're older, dear.
Until then, just stay over here.
Nothing for you over there."
I'm not old enough to go anywhere.
Same stoop. Same buildings.
Still sitting here,
but I've picked up some years.
The shouts of energetic peers
used to fill my ears
but I haven't left yet.
Mom bought me this headset.
Same color as my controller.
Beat this game to claim my fame.
Cheat codes buried in my folder.
Glanced over my shoulder.
Looks like the air is getting colder.
Besides, the teenagers are there now.
I'll just wait until I'm older.
No summer jobs. No scholarships.
Just the ever present politics
that give way to arguments
about my lapse in productivity.
I don't know what they want from me.
I am not what they want me to be.
My point of view they never see.
Why should I care? I'm Twenty-Three!
I've made my own decisions.
Contrary to what was envisioned,
I am not here for display
but I share in their dismay:
The trees have been cut down.
Concrete surface. Flattened ground.
No sand lot to build a fort.
Not even a basketball court.
5:45. Barely feeling alive;
but those fries won't fry themselves.
6:02. Ignored a neighbor or two.
Dodged the rock that kid threw.
There goes my wind shield.
Through those shards of glass,
my peripheral vision still yields
a glimpse of the "For Sale" sign.
I may never have the money.
I certainly don't have the time
to bring back what I never had.
Ah well. Can't waste it being sad.
I've become wiser in my aging.
Spent my younger years staging
an all out assault on my liver.
More liquor than the store could deliver.
Years have cultivated tier upon tier
of an abundance of tears
flowing like an endless river
into the glass of one so bitter.
Not one known for wiles of wit,
from day to day I just sit.
Passers by have little to say
so I just look two blocks away.
It would appear they've added things:
Monkey bars, a couple swings,
a sand box for building forts,
even a full basketball court.
I sit and watch them running.
They are never vexed.
They know nothing of stress.
Children living so carefree.
As calming as it is to see,
that park will forever haunt me.
I live through them vicariously
but they're closer than I'll ever be.
Some of it my parent's fault.
Much of it my own volition.
Placed myself below the bar
to become it's cold extension.
Only ran for sake of pretension.
Built sand castles of contradiction.
Knew the rain would come some day.
Should have taken more time to play.
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
