Edible Aftermath

I thought I saw the face of God,
that unmerciful sod,
the one we pray to,
Asking for help,
When life backs us against the wall,
And we yelp,
Writhing in agony

Only to realize I ate an edible,
Digesting my fill of THC,
That relief one yearns for,
When you’re ready to hit the floor,
When the ravages of living in this experiment called New York,
Is taking its toll on your soul

© Gregory J. Broderick 2017

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An Admission To Mother John

Of all the people I truly miss,
So much so you’d think their absence was a diss,
SLUNG,
by the ravages of time passing ever so painfully by,
Is you reminding me,
To simply let it be,
To quit hiding in the shadows,
And participate in this thing called life

© Gregory J. Broderick 2017

Untitled #109

As I approach that first year,
I can almost hear,
the now faint echoes,
Of the Church of the Ongoing Human Concern,
their once bright light now an ember,
flickering,
flickering,
Praying it exinguishes

So that one day,
I can finally know that feeling,
Of having lived in a cult bubble,
And laugh about it,
Knowing my soul doesn’t need a hit,
Of one sided generosity masking as altruism,
To simply function

© Gregory J. Broderick 2017

Orange County Jail 

A place where dreams died long long before,
the whore,
the banger,
the wife beater,
the pusher,
the cheater,
the thief,
the junkie,
the fucking rummie,
Arrived at the gates of absolute rust

Dressed in Christos brand of gaudy orange,
They admit through their soul,
sullen shoulders,
As absolute sense of sadness wafts and wafts about,
Fear penetrating the room,

Dreading,
The sense of finally knowing,
It’s all OVER

© Gregory J. Broderick 2002, 2017

The Day After Leaving (The Church of the Ongoing Human Concern)

As I walked away from what I knew,
I felt blue,
Knowing that as I left,
My friends,

The ones who truly loved me for me,
The ones who truly let me be,
Who (me) the Good Lord (sic) wanted to set free,
From the bondage of conformity,
Were too few to mention

Walking away,
I embraced the New York fray,
The lights,
The sounds,
For once i embraced the lack of sober minded hounds,
Those ever present spiritual minders,
Reminding me to be pure,
“Primary Purpose” they said,
Helping others whether they get it or not keeps YOU SOBER

I gave my time,
Marching to the same weak rhyme,
Throwing away my love,
To those stuck in the never ending cycle of the ongoing human concern,
Burning the candle to the very end

I truly became empty,
A shell surviving on auto loop,
Hoping something would wake me up,
So I could drink from that cup called reality

As I embraced my first day out,
Doubt,
The impish cunt rubbed her hands together,
Waiting to strike

Staring into the unknown,
I watched the sunset,
And I began to fret,
Wondering where do I go from here,
Beset with fear,
Realizing at that moment I just left a cult,
And I wanted to figure out,
For the time in my life,
Who I truly be,
Questioning whether or not my leaving was really,
And truly,
a good idea

© Gregory J. Broderick 2017

Descent From Apostolic Grace

As I walked into the bathroom stall,
I felt like Lucifer,
3 MINUTES before his fall (from heaven),

I saw apostolic grace,
As I fell,
And fell,
Freefalling

I unzipped,
My cock beautifully holstered into the mouth of Tyrone,
My nubian angel,
Blowing my load,
And as i came that moment

As I imagined Lucifer’s fall from grace,
I looked into Tyrone’s face,
Knowing our act was illegal on base,
I felt my own fall,
Former Apostolic lad was I,
Pastor Hibbert lied

For if my own unholy act earned me a place in hell,
As I felt my first orgasm,
As clear as a bell,
Remembering that feeling of grace,
As I fell from the face of apostolic heaven,
I’m glad Pastor Hibbert lied,
For the old straight me died that night,
Only to be reborn a queen

© Gregory J. Broderick 2017

Goodbye New York

As I leave the salted pillars,
The arch of the *GWB a piss poor substitute,
I see a bevy of cars leaving modern day sodom

A reminder that the longer I stay,
I spend my day(s) pondering life,
Sans the urban strife,
That lie west of the Hudson

*GWB = George Washington Bridge

© Gregory J. Broderick 2017

Glory 

As I embark on my daily ride,
Escaping that depressive tendency to simply hide,
I look into the landscape ahead,
My preternatural ability to seek out new things to dread,

SLIPS AWAY

Finding that the sun has come out to play,
I find the strength to rise above the New York fray,
And smile

© Gregory J. Broderick 2017

Lessons from Living in New York  (postscript: draft 1)

Remember all,

Never simply the one or two who rested their hands on your shoulder as they uttered:

this too shall pass

but remember all,
ALL,
of your darlings

The ones who sat with you when times were bleak,
The ones who lay down next to you when the world caved you as you began to freak,
The,
fuck,
OUT
Asking for absolution from the collisions of mental terror between your ears

Remember the ones who loved you enough by rejecting you,
As you turned blue,
Wondering why,
As they drifted into the land of being seen to be seen,
As they preen,
Through the bright spots while masking the penultimate sadness as it lay deep in their psyche,
Because they are afraid to simply just be

Remember the ones who harmed you,
And as you turned,
A darker shade of blue,
Veins bursting,
Seeking revenge,
As you lay hurt questioning why

Remember the darlings who caused you:

1) heart ache
2) sorrow,
3) sadness
4) anger

But also remember the darlings who made you:

1) smile
2) sing
3) embrace
4) love

All of what makes the bright spots in your life ever so bright,
As they made life worth ever so while,
So remember all of your darlings:

1) the good (AND)
2) the bad

For killing your darlings kills the part of you that needs your soul to remember the good and the bad,
Remembering your darlings brings you into harmony with what slips away from time to time,
With definitely no reason or rhyme:

Your sense of self

So never put that on the back shelf:

Remember all,
All,
ALL OF YOUR DARLINGS

© Gregory J. Broderick 2017

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