Our Safe, Smoky Womb – Poem by nakedEric

Our Safe, Smoky Womb

by  nakedEric


I can make this wiggle with precision

Your eyes grip the round corner where he inserts a cable

Tethered neatly I stand before everyone

Ready to disturb silence with my behavior that echoes

As per electric despondency

Like the pied with his pipe, like the bible with his priest.


Guitar one opens fire on two beats

I feel ready to come in four

A chord to light the tickle in their ear

And a solo to impair their blink, a sheer need to watch the dedos

Tickle tightly wound steel; you feel a moist wah, then follow me

Back into the melody I wrote in an alley

Trying to kill myself with instruments

I borrowed from the doctor’s lyrics to a nameless pharmacy

Scrawled on blue paper, the rhythm section calls it

Our own form of blues.  We are legally stoned

On soma for an age that’s spilled our safety

To make room for more money in the outfit of a system

The best part of delusion is our illusion of choice

But as I center my self on the stage I can see longing eyes

Asking for an escape.  Our quiet connection is the noise I create

And the moist sand of my voice

Making us all children again burying daddy at the beach.

Nobody can come close to robbing us of this purity

For now we are an elite race of our own

Our flaws are like badges sewn to flesh coloring the night

With my brethren of strangers gathered to hear me

Touch their feelings, some sans passage to the surface

A note bent from an A# penetrates with my staccato

And breathes deep as I inhale your soul for a moment.


The dry evening pours from the sky and I am looking at my audience

They are so much more than can be corralled in cubicles

I want my new friends to be happy and hear me telling them

I understand without words, only music, like entertainment

But completely different.  Here we are without a net, we are stalking the

Midnight secret; together we learn more about this sacred ride

A dive into a moment for the sake of the experience itself

Not contingent on consequence or married to guilt.

I sing strongly, proudly as my intro melts away

This venue holds the key to my release only when I lock myself inside.

Now the audience sings along.  They know my song and

I welcome the warm chorus

They say he is the man who knows me more,

They say his music touches my soul

And speaks lullabies so it can rest one time

Before the bitter paralyzes it again

Today is Sunday. A holy day for all who know

That sometimes it is that which you can never touch at all

Which moves you more than substance, trite words in an office

Or a love letter from the girl who’s planning to leave you if you don’t marry

It ends with I love you, but means I own you and you say I love you

And mean I love you.

These unspoken truths are outside in the dark,

Checked like baggage at the door

I grin at nothing but anticipation of the lead I am about to trigger

The audience respectfully silent as I hit notes that are boulders

Forming a bridge to these fans of mine that will be

Always carried in their hearts

And they feel it.  They came here for this

They came here to share in a bath with strangers

Who are never at liberty to say

What they feel most passionately in their hearts

Because our world wasn’t built that way.


But for one sacred hour on this Sunday in New Jersey

I deliver secrets from the chasm, the chaos

To a room full of strangers dotted with friends

Who help explain why I do this every night.

I make this wiggle, these steel strings wound taut over wood

So that I can lead in the exodus of these regular people from their lives

And without violence they kill themselves, are reborn into innocence

A raw child in a womb, this smoky saloon

Is our holy temple of freedom where we worship each other

And, for an hour or so, are delivered into bliss

By the tones I allow to touch strangers who love me like a friend

A friend I need.  My bliss is found as they disarm themselves

Of the warfare they use to survive their lives and loves

My goal is to set them free

And every night I play them these songs

I am not the rejected lover or the sensitive fool

I am the lone soldier rock star

Who somehow is cool…



Rotten Mind – Pome by nakedEric

Rotten Mind


A mind like this is soil beneath our feet

Ready to grow whatever you bury within its soft belly

Not a pleasure to be missed I make it mine

That girl in the mirror is turning her back on me

That girl in the mirror was the love of my life

I switch tenses to engage my will in a game

That pain-raining woman IS

The love of my life left without me, my jeans she washed for me

A guitar I still play when I write songs about how I miss


The played out fetch of a mind is what I see today

Unraveling a mass of cords that equal thoughts collide

And when I enhance this scene with a pill

No one ever will know how it makes me still

The death of the hell that lives in my mind

And the master of the complaint is that it is not directed

It is a tangled mass of nothing and there is no reason

So suffering is selfish when reasons abound in this tickled world

I, nothing, no reason, no tragic muse

Just a rotten mind with a penchant for disaster


Take me here you want me to go

Believe me when I die in your home

Trust the wind that never lies

Still I am with tired eyes, thirsty

I need help and the world hurts me until I cry

The death of this is a weak escape

I engage this rotten mind every single time

And today I met her

Today I met a girl and fell in love

She looked not in a mirror, but right at me

She looked at me like a little god

Somehow this was sublime

Somehow I rot and still feel fine

Love, my enemy has come to save the day

I will write again when she (surely will)

Turns the other way


How I Learned To Live – A Poem By Eric

How I Learned To Live

Down, even though my arms rise slowly above my soggy head
Gravity displays itself. Sweet music played in notes until too late, unaware
Despair is peaceful dealing with pressures triggered by the heart
Those who love can feel this way
Only those who can love can feel this pain
As if three hundred years were not enough, the rolling of us counts on stories
Written in the shore. Too much water and they’re washed away
Afraid to make a stand
The past is cast for angels here so we can understand
Pressing through the surface, I was bathed in familiar pain, in water
The sun had just begun to shave light clippings from the day
Now adrift, the silence complimented the fear
Of the deepest, darkest, place I knew
Would it be like the bottom here?

In childish tones I thought of you. Your face and how it should look today.
I’m sure you’re off winning like you do. Your casual demand for life
You drink it at every well.
So many are your soul’s delights. You shared me with them for a while.
I love you so very much for that. I want to kiss you on the face.
I want to look into your eyes.
Again I begin this list of things I want to do before I die.

The skeptics argue about life after death when it’s so plain for us to see
When you pass, you are a memory, your life a picture for all to see
Well-lived it can be magic
Bravely conquered it can be fantastic
Long after the pangs of grief file away into their proper holes
The golden life is elevated into the sky like a bird
And you glimpse it with different eyes.
This is the afterlife about which we grumble and debate.
I like it because it’s one you earn.
Give all you can in life and you’ll be given posterity in return
Be gentle, kind, and giving while you’re here among the living.
These powerful gestures hold us up while we’re here
Then when we’re gone romantic eyes look back at these kind pieces of your soul
These are what they remember. That is, if you care to practice life this way.
No mire from the liars will make to this tome, but suffice to say, if you live with greed
Greed leaves you to die but all alone

I know that time always attacked me like a pack of wolves
Each hungry, biting, chewing me bit by bit, until I had no more flesh to give
And strange as it seems, when the world pushed me down to drown
It’s when I truly learned to live.

I Wrote A Poem For Britney Spears – Look!

Please note that I am completely serious and not apologizing for my screwed up opinion here.  This was inspired by Britney, I will not hide, but I will try sauerkraut later this evening.  Enjoy!

She’s So Dead

I told you so, she boldly
Lies before her fans now cold and moldy
Makeup artists making their last stand
A swan song for the ugly duckling
She didn’t ever care who she was fuckling
So now why should we care now that she’s dead and gone
I rue the day that these shallow blondes who are propped up
By fanfare and media throngs
Become the woman’s idea of an empowered femme
Little growing girlies way to small to flaunt their
Short and curlies, same to me as little common slutttt

The trash we love and the glitter we praise
Has a leader who’s so toxic she’ll soon autograph her grave
And when she’s dead she’ll beat this eager press that turned against her
And she’ll die into legend, like a soft bed of relief afloat in silken water
She’s so dead, can’t you see?  I think you see just fine.
You just choose to be simple, boring, and blind.

But I think we know we’ve hit a new low
With the new pop slut superstar glow
When we see that now children and their parents are hurt
By the influence of intoxicating, glittering dirt
And the desire of teenies to do just the same
As what their favorite stars sell them tattooed with their name.

From heretoforth let it be clear
She’s so dead just a walking veneer
Of all that will embarrass us and shame us
In retrospect, a future to be lived


After she’s dead so maybe we can
Start over again..

Hello world!

I feel like declaring my love for bad girls.  I passionately love strippers, porn stars, and rockers.  I am aware that they only date drug-addled wife beaters, so I HAVE SOME WORK TO DO SINCE I AM NEITHER OF THESE.  Sorry for the caps.  I accidentally hit the caps lock.  I’ve been know to do that since I type with my penis.

Here’s a poem:

Up the stairs you’ll find a place to unbuckle these shoesies

and when you do you’ll see my dog.  His name is Buckley.  Your name is Chad!  Hang Chad Hang!

Never let them tell you than your brave endeavor to learn my secret was in vain.

I left you with strong goody(ie?) bag and the sun is mightly on the plain.

HAVe you no idea what this subtle yet growing noise is from the lair.

Geez, you reached this second landing, from this aforementioned parade of stairs.

It’s me and Beckie, the girl you paid for at the club last night.  I told her I loved her and she spent the night

arguing the benefits of vegetarianism and a platonic relationship between lumps of penis in her mouth.

We have no relationship so don’t scream HEY!

Hey is for horses, so gallop down those stairs and ramble on to your white jacket.  Super gay.

I want to take a nap.  My life is spicy, you are a lonely nice guy with no feet of his own

just a leash and a wheel below allowing the powers of C’Mon AMERICA! to

steel you where they may.

Just a note they told me so

they’d make me under the mask in sight, a living spot of reduction, a date, a lapse

the dog indecisive.  Beckie is hungry

your lamp is sweet.  My life is lonely so I pepper it with flesh.

Fleeting and mysetrious

like the path of the tide when it runs away to an opulent sea

never to be recombined in that manner

ever again.