Self Addressed Stamp Envelope-Erich Michaels

StateLibQld_2_171951_Intimate_portrait_of_a_man_writing_a_letter,_1900-1910

There are paths I walked in my youth

Enough times you might still see me there

A needle stuck in a groove

This is my life [tick]

This is my life [tick]

This is my life [tick]

Stop and tell me my future

Stay and read my leaves

Tell me that despite

My widdershin path

That I’ll be all right

If I don’t believe you…make me

I wrote a letter to that young wanderer

Using my address from that time

Across the top: Erich Michaels (adolescent)

In it I said:

Yes…she will break your heart, but…

Enjoy the ride

Also, don’t block out her name

She deserves better than that

That tattoo will be a regret

Not just because it’s needle and thread

Bottle of India ink, prison-chic

But because it doesn’t represent you

Have a little more fun in college

Yes, grades are important

But, so are friends

You’ll regret not going to graduate school

But I’m here to tell you

You’ll marry a wonderful woman

You’ll raise her fantastic son

And you’ll make a baby boy

Who fills the parts of your heart

That you thought were condemned

This will be your new path

You’ll be right where you’re supposed to be

And everything will be alright

This is my life [tick]

This is my life [tick]

This is my life [tick]

Just

Let it

Play


Erich Michaels describes himself as  “just trying to share the human experience.”  He has a bachelor’s degree in creative writing, but find himself writing SOPs (lather, rinse, repeat) in order to make a living, which can be detrimental to the creative process.  You can find him on the road to recovery at Erich Michaels.  Every journey begins with a single step, right?

Interpretation of Shadows-Olde Punk (RamJet Poetry) & Christine Ray (Brave and Reckless)

Interpretation of shadow

culmination of the pale deaths

cogito ergo, en utero

vagabond goth kids thrash around the room

time slow, I don’t know

I never want to go home

right here with you

I fell down again

tripped into you

spilled my soul

we are the midnight heretics

let’s smoke a bowl

and talk about kids and politics

I wonder what your shadow says

I am left stunned, paralyzed

by your movement in the dying light

 

Friday night blues

Misfits in Hybrid Moments

Tired Dustbowl town

Torn blue jeans

untucked flannel shirt

skull cap cool

Riding our skateboards

Nowhere fast

Biding time

Ringleaders

of our gang of two

No need for sidekicks

when we chase

twilight shapes together

We are everything we need

 

Time and space seem to conform

to your every desire

You set a fire in my heart

that still burns in the next county

I tattooed your name on

my fingers with a Sharpie

and a sewing needle

That day on the bridge

by the creek when you

said that you loved Layne Staley

I watched you gather the shadows

and banish the dark

Everything stood stark

Bas-relief of your religion

I swore I would become your disciple

Following you home barefoot and stoned

 

Comrades-in-arms

You and me against the world

Things so clear, so simple

And then. . .

You are looking at me differently

Long sideways glances

Words unsaid hang between us

Make me uneasy

Make me question

Make me look at you differently

A thousand exploding possibilities

Our first hungry kiss

Butterfly wings starting a hurricane

on another continent

We shed clothes

My tomboy armor

You lay your trembling heart against mine

on my parents’ rec room couch

Our shadows fuse, dance on the wood paneled wall

 

Slipping into each other

Like the lyrics of a Red Hot Chili Peppers

song

From a changing perspective

I learn what I thought was wrong

My head flips an ollie

This is so much better than Molly

We are writing a whole new story

Into the chapters of a small town

So far into you I can hear every sound

Slam and crash in our punk rock romance

Our souls laugh as our bodies

entwine

Now I know what your shadowy signs

Had to say, “Come and love me fool”

Etched into my forever

On a young and hungry Saturday


[Olde Punk writes RamJet Poetry  and Christine Ray writes for Brave and Reckless]