Cosmic Dissonances

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Cosmic Dissonances Page 2

by Owen Bittner


  Skin

  Born of ignorance, taught to young

  Judge the color of a man’s skin

  Do not care to know who he is

  Never see the person within

  Easier to pretend to be all knowing

  Pervasive hatred - cancer of the world

  Less effort to not work for a cure

  Disease passed down from the old

  Through our myopic world we feel safe

  Never stepping out to take a chance

  Our skewed beliefs the only true way

  Labeling others with a sideways glance

  They Said

  See the world, serve your country

  The recruiter said

  Free health care, meals, and college

  The recruiter said

  Respect of peers, admiration of others

  The recruiter said

  Learn to kill, protect the world

  The Drill Instructor said

  Nothing to it, ooo-rah Chesty !

  The Drill Instructor said

  Paper targets, that’s all they are

  The Drill Instructor said

  Keep your head down and eyes open

  The squad leader said

  The shits hitting the fan, gunner up!

  The squad leader said

  FUCK! PRESSURE on that wound Marine!

  The squad leader said

  Dear {Recipient},

  I was incredibly saddened to learn of the death of

  {the deceased}.

  The Letter said.

  Wilt

  Speak and get head thumped

  Try to hide the lumps

  Bruises spotted, ignored

  just apathetic chumps

  Broken arm, fractured sternum

  “Hurts me more…” sermon

  Protector becomes abuser

  me a needful burden

  Apologize for misbehaving

  Awkwardness raving

  Guilty of being a kid

  only love craving

  Drunken rage, assume his guilt

  Fists knock me off tilt

  I internalize his rage

  Life wilts

  wishing Well

  Where was doG

  before it started that morning.

  He works in mysterious ways?

  How about a heads up or warning.

  Allowing tragedy

  demanding prayers for mercy.

  As a beaten dog is thankful

  when we cease our fury.

  Permit to happen

  choosing not to intervene?

  Or as powerless as we

  to prevent the dog’s pain.

  Killings because

  no God is in schools today?

  Extorting protection

  He was watching all the way.

  Benevolent deity

  trust in Him they sell.

  Like tossing a penny

  into a wishing well.

  Words Convoluted

  Hardened of contempt, lamented words left unsaid

  live and learn, better to have loved they preach

  They dispense words but do they ever live and feel

  experiencing a minute of what they teach

  The feel of something new, expectations of pain

  to live, to exist, ghosts of our past we host

  Heir to others pain, raging internal and terminal

  unless defecated onto the one who loves most

  Taken for granted that will always be there

  safety net as always, a heart should be more

  Tail wagging awaiting mother Hubbard to tire

  of the handsome new face same as the guy before

  Convinced to trust and love, all lies of your game

  corrupt fusion of words fantasy and true

  Twisted words contrived to satiate your guilt

  proportion known only to you

  doG

  I love you.

  have a warm bullet.

  Popular enough? Better get some prayers.

  You might pull through it.

  I love you.

  kill in my name.

  Pray different? They hail me Allah.

  Blessed be your aim.

  I love you.

  your child must die.

  Question me? Oh ye of little faith…

  Do NOT ask why!

  I love you.

  i am all knowing.

  Evil prevails? I stand idly by .

  Hell’s triumph glowing.

  I love you.

  intolerance rules the day.

  Why care? They do look different.

  They are evil anyway.

  I love you.

  one and all the same.

  Innocent victim? Aren’t we all…

  Pray to me- I know your name.

  Paper Targets

  Paper target, effigy of life

  speck in the glass of my Leupold.

  Copper-clad embrace restrained by brass

  patiently awaiting lethal release.

  Paper targets

  all they will ever be.

  One click to the right, dope to zero

  through the wind my chaos will hold true.

  Two days in crawling, omniscient taker of life

  fusion with surroundings, never seen.

  Agenda detached from conscience.

  Paper targets

  all I allow myself to see.

  Life is precious…yeh, life is Precious…

  false construct of idealistic life and lies.

  Contrived to satiate the masses’ horror

  at the things only other countries do.

  Expendable if discovered- disowned

  invisible heroes or villains one in the same.

  Paper targets

  soon silenced.

  Intention trapped in the hairs

  chamber full of unleashed rage.

  Exhale as trigger glides smooth

  anger and wrath flame forth.

  Vapor trail finds its mark.

  Paper target sent to the dark.

  resignation

  tired

  Another day survived, more to go

  Many

  Years too numerous, scars and senility do show

  Slain

  When did the living cease, replaced by existing

  Albatross

  Becoming a burden, discarded utensil, used-up thing

  Escape

  To finally sleep not again to wake

  Obituary

  A few lines on the last page will make

  Apathy

  No one crying, not one will be grieving

  Invisible

  A silent death, as was her life, a hushed leaving

  Sickened

  The stench of resignation permeates

  Alone

  Family too busy, other plans they make

  Seeking

  Regrets lie as heady as her looming death

  Wheezing

  Carcass hoping her next will be her last breath

  Etched

  Life and love not to be rewritten

  Pursuing

  Hell Hounds nearer, she’s not yet been bitten

  Wishing

  Swiftly they will take her away

  Lies

  She will be missed by all is what they will say

  tofu

  Ambiguous blob

  Blank soul pasty existence

  All things to everyone

  is what it is

  Poem with no rhymes

  Don’t expect too much of it

  It’s just a haiku

  expletive

  Fuck- my favorite word

  Not your grandma’s old haiku

  Fuck- my favorite word

  selective

  Blind of the world today

  Not seeing by choice not blind

  Its not my problem

  ennui

  No need for b
ullets

  Apathetic mannequins

  People kill with words

  VD

  Valentine’s Day God

  Relationships Sunday mass

  Ten percent given

  Love

  Don’t try

  to fix me I’m

  not broken, though the fall

  might kill me for a moment I

  will fly

  breakdown

  Don’t cry

  for someone who

  will not cry for you, for

  there is beauty in the breakdown.

  Fuck them

  perfection

  drifting

  softly landing,

  intrinsic perfection

  mid-Winters glistening blossom,

  Snowflake

  blossom

  Life, in

  every breath,

  each life we touch, here for

  but a moment then return to

  the stars.

  Traces

  My scars

  Watchtowers of

  the past, cautionary

  lighthouse for future and of my

  present

  2 4 6 8 2

  castaway.

  passion given,

  bad decision, blood soaked

  love choked dead tissue reminder.

  cast away

  Busa Porn

  Planets wink at me from upstairs reminding me of illumined light-bright pegs randomly plugged into an ebony cosmos. Basking in the sensory overload of warm air peppered with crisp cool pockets giving rise to chicken-skin and shivers up my spine from the soft tickles of nature placing a breathy kiss on my belly. The pungent 110octane TurboBlue offends my nostrils, the cool sensation of a fresh tank permeates my jeans cooling my thighs against the warmth of her engine as she guzzles the dense midnight air with a snort, exhaling with a reverberating snarl from the rubber dusted and oil stained-city street.

  Thirteen-hundred cubic centimeters of lecherous pulsation breathing through four radioactive lungs tuned to perfection, injectors forcing dead dinosauria to mingle with fire and atmosphere thrusting the beast forward like that of the space shuttle escaping gravity’s reign. Right-fist full of testosterone-addled temptation, serrated shifters’ imprint grated into my left boot, Kevlar reinforced helmet a bulletproof defense against insect-goo filled projectiles targeting me at triple digit velocities. Moonlight waltzes across a dance floor of flawless silver and white enamel;

  The piercing scarlet eye of dangling cyclopic traffic sentinel challenges my ego to leave before the emerald pixels are wholly lit whilst the devastating torque of my two-wheeled missile challenges the fat Bridgestone for traction supremacy. I scan the serene city

  backdrop for unsympathetic constables who have absolutely no concept of how to enjoy a fine late-summer evening, leather-clad ticket book at the ready to crush such a fine occasion as this with a citation. My spidey-senses tingle heralding the imminent signal change; throttle cables stretch sweeping the fluorescent orange finger of backlit smiling-face tachometer to the sweet spot orchestrating a calculated tango of traction and acceleration. The fiend becomes violent as rev’s rise, her demure voice angering into a mechanical crescendo of percussion and brass, titanium and alloy; high-octane hydrocarbons singe my nose while a shrieking banshee assails my sensibilities. I stretch my torso over the lowered and strapped front end, adrenaline fueled pump thrashing in my chest bracing for the rush of one hundred and sixty-some pissed off horses, my left thumb anxiously poised to tap the button releasing fifty more when second gear arrives. As the cross-street signal ticks golden, I breathe a hushed count of “one” and with a controlled release of my clinched left fist the miscreant’s clutch feeds the bitch as much as she can take without stepping out. The amber shift-light winks while 70 flashes by on the speedo; I slip the violence-for-pleasure-seeking psychopathic Suzuki into second while fingering the nitrous button and Houston, we have lift-off.

  the Abby

  The sun is setting. Again. I have lost count of how many times it has set since I have been here – Two? Four? A dozen?? The coyotes –or wolves or whatever they are with their little dog-gang, and fangs, and nappy fur– the whatever’s will be here soon sniffing and nipping as I remain quiet, stiff and unable to move – frozen and lifeless has become my way of life. I realize I have been this way since long before I saw his charming smile… before I lost myself. What I find ironic is that in losing myself I finally know what has been true in my life – and what has been a lie. I see that belief has been nothing more than a wishing well when the devil comes knocking, my faith the coin tossed over my shoulder with dreams attached. His words are the only truth I have heard in such a long time: “relax, it will hurt less if you don’t fight it” he whispered with disarming compassion. And he was right – once I gave in to the pain it really did hurt less…. He was so charming – he told me I was pretty and he made me feel pretty… he said all of the right things – right up til the moment... Even then I felt almost an appreciation for the precision of his art, of his perfecting my beauty as he called it. Pretty fucked up huh.

  Wait, what is that? Could it be… yes I think it is… WOOT!… HERE COMES A CAR!! I can hear it rushing up the road! Sounds like one of those annoying little fast-n-furious wanna-be’s with the fart-sound exhaust and stupid wing thingie hooked to the trunk. God I don’t know which is more retarded: the neon green spray-can paintjobs or those boys trying to be gangsta’ with their jeans around their knees.

  Ok, here it comes! If I can just… get… their attention… maybe they will find me! HEY!!! OVER HERE!!! HEY…h-h-hey… my heart sinks as the car zooms past in a cloud of dust the occupants too distracted by, well, who the hell really knows? REALLY? What the hell people! Do you not see me?? Though I am not as pretty as I once was I am still a person. Right? It’s ok – just chill Abigail… another will be along soon – But so will darkness. The darkness sucks… so much time to think… but time is all I have now so suck it.

  The night is lonely.

   

  Curfew

  I stare blankly out the bedroom window, shaken from my stupor

  as I notice the first of our two streetlights coming on –

  another day is coming to an end. I find myself listening for the

  screech of our rusty-hinged screen door, followed by the rattling

  BAMM! of the screen-less wooden frame against the peeling door jamb.

  I am still expecting, hoping, to hear that shrill voice of a

  gangly, too thin and tan eight year old proclaiming

  “I’m home and I’m hungry!… what’s for dinner?” –

  her sun-bleached hair flowing as she glides by with a grace

  betraying her usual awkwardness. Those days are long gone,

  far in the past yet as fresh in my present as this morning’s conclusion of

  yet another sleepless night. Dusk is stealing in fast ushering yet

  another night of despair shrouded in the reapers cloak of darkness;

  and as has become the custom of not sleeping.

  How many dusks has it been? That was always her curfew – dusk –

  if she wasn’t home as the street lights came on there had

  better be a damn good reason! I never was too hard on her though,

  always more relieved than angry when she got home because

  as we all know evil lurks in the shadows only to come out at night!

  We are all safe in the light. Eight curfews it has been since… since…

  Well… the police claim they have a lead

  – a “person of interest” in cryptic police-speak–

  but I have to wonder if this is just to placate me,

  to pacify the neighborhood and city,

  PR words to stroke us all into a sense of hope? A false sense

  of hope because I know we shared our last goodbye that

  bright Tuesday morning as she drove off in he
r blue Jetta

  to morning classes… My little girl, growing up…

  That is the last sunshine I have felt.

  Darkness is overtaking the dusk and in a perverse way

  I find solace in the empty blankness of the night.

  I do my best to hold it all together – including myself – but

  the not knowing is almost unbearably hard. The freakin’ police know

  more than they are telling… of this I am convinced…

  why are they not taking to me? Is she dead? Is she alive?

  Who has taken my little girl! The detectives tell me to

  have hope, to have faith! Faith in what? In the God that I prayed to

  on Sunday morning and the occasional Wednesday evening?

  The same god that has allowed some bastard to take Abby?

  Faith in the police? How is that even possible when

  it looks like even THEY are losing hope and interest?

  Is it wrong to hope less that she is still alive and

  more that she has passed so she is no longer suffering

  at the hands of who – or what – ever has taken her?

  A father shouldn’t give up… should he?

  Badges

  Another one… Another girl missing,

  add another girls photo to the collection on the wall.

  FBI profiler is working hard, far too excited to be

  putting his degree to use being Analytical and Critical.

  Thanks for the help, we’ll take it from here…

  arrogant bastards stepping all over our case.

  “M/O matches, it’s our man” big fucking whoop they’re

  no closer to solving this then we were months ago.

  Analytical and Critical. Reducing her to less than a person

  while stealing her life and legacy just as

  this maniac has done; in a year she is just another statistic.

  Such a pretty face, like the others, another co-ed’s

  fate destined to become another number

  in a report. Analytical and Critical.

  So we will do our “part” and try to comfort the father:

  “We’re doing what we can, We’re getting close…”

  I will try to keep a straight face as I do.

   

  that Smile

 

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