Poems by Michael Casey

Untitled (1st April 2003)

hope life’s been good to you
since you’ve been gone
i’m doing fine
i finally moved on
its not so bad, I’m not that sad
I’m not surprised
just how well i survived
i’m over the worst, and i feel so alive
i cant complain, im free again
don’t think i’m lying around crying at night
there’s no need to worry, i’m really alright
i’ve never looked back as a matter of fact
and it only hurts when i’m breathing
my heart only breaks when its beating
my dreams only die when i’m sleeping
so i hold my breath to forget
it only hurts when i breathe

Sadness…again…

cover me in fire,
drop me down to the deepest darkest ocean
so i never have to feel that way again.
coloring on the carpet,
seven eyes on the ceiling
there’s a feeling that comes over you,
when you know that something has changed forever.
don’t lose your wings,
until you learn to sing yourself to sleep
i know it seems funny
but maybe we just said goodbye
i feel strange enough to cry.
please don’t bring me down with that look on your face,
because i almost didn’t make it,
and one day you might know how that feels.
i heard the mermaids singing once when i was very small,
but now the sound of traffic and human voices,
wake us until we drown.
seven angels seven plagues,
and the trumpet and they saved
i tell you man if it was me on that beast
i would not let you fuck with me like that.
its dangerous to see beyond the visions that we breathe,
but i can hold it in my hand
and know that there is something to this,
that will never die.
maybe we just said goodbye

Untitled (10th June 2002)

this hurts.

hypocrisy is a strange word
when said
it never exits the mouth
it stays there
on the roof of the mouth
hovering
like a two-headed bird
owl/vulture
both stalking pray
now living
now dead

…and the magician
who leaves judgment
suspended in mid air
his white gloves
chase a hollow truth
to the density
of death
he holds the rabbit
by its ears
and shakes the feces
from his top hat

all the while his audience applauds
he turns to his graceful assistant….

Civil War Correspondent

Words leave my heart dry
Words can’t save life
Love has no place here
No joy, no tears

Darling, time’s changed
Time leaves, time fades
Please see through my eyes
Save your tears for the next who dies

I shout but he don’t hear
I put down on the page
Darling spare me your tears
Just send me the light of day

Feel his heart wired
Heart like gunfire

Harmonielehre

It’s been sometime since I’ve updated, but I’m in school now, and have some friends to talk to. I don’t think I’ve honestly made alot of friends, knowing how white folks can be, but with Michael around I don’t think I’ll be seriously needing some. I’ve been lucky enough to meet two wonderful older guys, a 31-year old former model named Claude and a brilliant, concise 35-year old man named Duane, who I’ve been absolutely attached to since I got here. We started talking Saturday after I moved in. I hadn’t anything to eat since I didn’t have any money and all the dining halls were closed, but he filled me up with knowledge, and that was my bread and butter.

I miss having Eric around, and of course everyone back home, all my friends. It’s hard making new friends. I’m glad I have Mikey around to talk to, but I like talking to straight guys, too. My CA Matt is someone I enjoy talking to, and he’s even let me go out with him to Subway a couple of times with this hot nebbish PA named BJ, who I’m sure gets alot of kidding for the name alone. MMM-mmm-mm. I love hot white Irish boys. It’s a great thing Mikey’s one of ‘em!

So with money problems taken care of (fucking residency) I think I’m going to be okay for now. I’ve been playing Carl Ruggles in the dorm, which has given me the title of Sun-Treader after a very good work of the same name by that composer. I love the name.

As for my family, they’re okay. I miss them very much. Eric loves my mother very much, which is something amazing considering how many guys really love my Mom (Danny, etc.).

I don’t know what’s going to happen with my career, but one thing I’m absolutely assured of, and I told this to Duane on Sunday night. I will never have a desk job comparable to that job that I had at Upward Bound. Never again. That is a solemn promise. I realize I have so much more to do than just to earn money wasting paper. I want to be like Cage or Cunningham: travelling around the country, setting in the big cities and in the small, finishing up and getting better with my written works. My whole intention in life is to be a disciple to Cage. There’s something I love about that man–the fact that he revolutionized 20th century music with a piano with weather stripping, bolts, screws and nails in the strings still blows my mind. And besides his music is gorgeous. So I want to be the next guy to do that, but this time in the form of a great novel or something like that.

Anyway, I’m about to head to work so we’ll see what comes about.