Passenger B Poetry & Art

Profound affection have I for all my dolls!
Wistful Patrick with his mossy eyes,
Mute remained he through all days and nights,
Thus I pulled the stuffing from his chest,
To lay my sultry, swollen face to rest,
My Paddy doll, the most polite of all.

Pure admiration have I for all my dolls!
Astute Michael with his goldfink speech,
A parcel inert as ever I reach,
Thus I tore the larynx from his neck,
To possess of him a tiny speck,
My MJ doll, treasured beyond them all.

A predilection have I for all my dolls!
As disrobed judges do they preside,
Torn limbs evidence as I am tried,
Of how I failed at humanity,
May their measured ruling for me be,
To live as a doll, numb, like them all.

September 8th, 2019 by Passenger B ©

I lied today, then lied some more, and lied again.
One reason is there for the little rhymes I pen.
Storms wane, and although try I might, I never can.
No time is lost on earth but pining over stubborn men.
I’m sorry.

August 31st, 2019 by Passenger B ©

Hail to the privation I knew not yet how to miss,
An utter desolation, mistaken, once, for duty’s bliss.
They weigh like pregnant cloud banks, the humid memories,
Heaving their stomach contents — at the mere sight of virility.
Wisdom pledges anguish, a mind corset never willed,
And so knowledge begets reprisal, always by loss instilled.
Perhaps by now I should hail amnesia, a sleepy mercygrace,
Avail myself of small white pellets, to put me back in my place.

August 25th, 2019 by Passenger B ©

You are the wilderness in me,
The vaulted sphere untouched by man,
All I can neither have nor be.
A voluptuous droplet – me –
Into your frosted rigor banned.

Your glacierburn now sears in me,
A hungry napalmlust, insanity.

You are the wind across my plains,
The longing sigh of borderlands.
You are my passions and my pains.
And all the tokens craved in vain —
My pleas as fruitful as on sand.

August 24th, 2019 by Passenger B ©

We were like mountains breaking apart.
Were pounding like fists on a slowing heart.
And touching me at a spot so wet,
You competed with years of blood I’d let.
We spun a tale of mutual rape,
Until either dawn or bones would break,
Then returned to warmth to lick our wounds,
But, once healed, longed to be hurt anew.

2009/2019 by Passenger B ©

Journey northwest, towards the Cascades tonight.
Bring along your cargo, doubt and pride.
Blaze through the Taylor Mountain trails, leave your hide.
A soldier, reluctant, jaw clenched tight.

And if we could still burn cities to the ground,
Bathe our entity in the unfound skulls atop the mound.
If we could walk through murder suicide, our land?
If your mind and teeth cannot caress, beat me then.
Would you not grip me tighter, twirl me around,
Bed me on the pitiful husks at Puget Sound?

Instead you flew to Tallahassee tonight.
Left me accused — speak, what other lie,
What treachery of compatriots, what crime
Shall I commit that warrants your faith and time?

And if we can’t still incite the vapid horde,
Then I myself will hand you crowbar and chord,
If we can’t walk through rotted timber woods, our land?
If you can’t see the truth for the trees, kill me then.
Would you wed my corpse in his basilica?
Bury me with your casualties at Issaquah.

August 24th, 2019 by Passenger B ©

It’s a new high, it’s the old low,
Betwixt what I dread, yet seek to know.
Like pulling teeth and splitting hair,
The exchange mayhap a tad debonair.
Has vacillation bound these tongues,
And habit replaced awe before long?

“Mayday, Mayday!” A mayfly’s lament,
Its cocoon cast onto the firmament.

If absence makes the mind grow fierce,
How to stretch the hours across the years?
A scholarly play, a delicate lie,
A demand my breed can’t satisfy.
If a junebug I were, would it put us at ease?
Or is this, all this, but my paranoid reprise?

“Maynight, Maynight!” a mayfly’s last tune.
Come join me some night in my new cocoon.

June 23rd-August 14th, 2019 by Passenger B ©