White Album In Negative
LiamBrooksArt@ETSY. Will Dockery , P O Box 7394, Columbus GA 31908. Will Dockery & Liam Brooks
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Skirt of Green The Atlantic is the best for me so much more “personality” than the Gulf. Crashing waves, riptides, the waves are tricksters... They sneak up and belt ya in a friendly but solid manner. And no need for Skyclad beach--countless times I’ve watched the good ole mother ocean strip the bikinis right off the girls who then submerge neck down in the drink... Wearing a gown of endless seawater... a skirt of green.
14 -Will Dockery
Bluebird She makes me think of a haiku though unfinished. Bluebird on white snow shivers her timbers. So many tears on a moonlit mile through Aokigahara forest old man tips his snow cap. Snow balling a white kiss a love seconded. -Will Dockery 3
When The Mill Shut Down
Complete this story now
When the mill shut down we hit the pavement with a thud then we all got up and kept on walking.
A lot of it has been told but not as blunt as it is in my mind.
Some to the work house some to the poor house some to the whorehouse and the grave.
There may be no excuse for the path I took but... I think everyone should know what sent me to this dark cold land.
-Will Dockery Some to the work house some to the poor house some to the whorehouse and the grave.
-Will Dockery
When the mill shut down we hit the pavement with a thud then we all got up and kept on walking.
-Will Dockery
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When The Mill Shut Down
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Picture book stares back Until 21 years later you wake up And it is all like a long ago nightmare Too late to repair No apologies will ever be enough Nothing left But a brave face Laughing at the beautiful evil. -Will Dockery
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I’m thinking a book of real poems that I might read in 2017 while the guitars play.
I was betrayed heartbroken banked out on the Speedway a dozen times with a hundred putrid metaphors of course I never counted before the final one I reckon this one hit the nerve holding the handle with a suitcase to Hades.. Until you ascended and I found myself free. farmed out of senior service of Her Majesty The Angel of Esquiline Hill sweet dark angel of the ozone stigmata... the slick red mud of the river bank Twilight Girl But I never wanted this freedom. This drifting on a black sea throwing dice and coins phantom gunboat in an underwater railroad while you sleep tight with the fishes. No light in sight And none expected. -Will Dockery
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My pain, you’ll never know that I found impossible trying to get over to rise above my feet walk until they are sore over in the suburbs Old Corning Town across state line and Georgia law across old Dillingham bridge.. Yours will forever elude me M’Lady Katherine your eternal beauty sidewalk spinner in the eternal wobbling and your claims of love never acted on... And is it really tragic watching it burn from on high up on Weight Road or just my self pity my self hatred just another dirt track demon buried behind a smile and a tattoo on his arm that says “Maybe” a little of both probably. Like Rag Picker Joe
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on crutches.
Exile Christmas morning 1995 About six months into exile Still some hope And a whole lot of love. Delivery of presents Santa myth trashed for my children Not my design Against my will. Got the okay to stop by I step in from another world Bearing gifts Smiles to mask my smashed heart. Memory and dreams This may pass But the final statement The final fuck off gesture To me. Proof that I was no longer real I no longer belonged Was not that I didn’t get a gift Not a single one. But when I asked her She said she had given him a shirt.
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Where I’m at
Modern memory In the morning In the moment All the rage Fight back with passion Fucking the hookers Was a fuck you to her And those caught in Friendly fire That burns cold and dark In modern times. -Will Dockery
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That black summer of 1995 It was the year Of no happy ending 22 years later And it still puts me into A very dark cold place. An eternal emptiness Where I don’t dare smile Lest someone arrive To take that away again. This is not a pretty place, or life I laugh from sheer madness I suspect. Perhaps I hide the madness well? Anyway, you know me The person I stand outside in In this mask This brave face hiding Nervous dust.
Art is our bid for immortality We must face death With courage and curiosity Notes from underground From an Undiscovered country. To be honest Never had the courage To write it down But the time has come I need to tell my story What really happened. On June 25 1995 The first day my heart was sent To Exile. -Will Dockery
It was the year that put me... Here. Where I am aware, Kind of late, to my sorrow Loved ones and music is what matters Nothing else really matters My art will survive me If there is a here left After the smoke and fire Has cleared..
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Life during Reconstruction times And after a certain point it was like blow on my dice I want to roll them go ahead and see just how bad it can get in tis black, and blue night Help it along show me the code for that secret madrigal.
Black day December 25 1995 I sucked it up Smiled at the kids with holiday toys Tried to my nightmare of pain. Sat in my old spot North side if the sofa Smiled a goodbye And walked away into the big The moor To Shadowville, already dead inside Never to return.
Well when she died it changed a lot like that song about becoming stardust and golden just an abstract concept on another level. Then any hope of a happy ending was set nothing but hellos and dream tears the Gods made that choice.
-Will Dockery
Doom!
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Playing a gambit but still playing it straight. Sent a fluffgirl downstairs shaking her pompadour Silver badged shadow boxing lady cop, she carries a gun. She sits at the piano with a song tight as a nun. Clicking her flashlight working old mimeograph. We face our reflections in the city of fishbowls. Smoking with a journalist over by the window. Drinking strange mead hesitates on delivery. Working underground flimflaming in the fog. Picking minds for breakfast couplets. Shakes her Dickinson hair Strolling by Salisbury Fair. Crabbed picture reflects as she inspects herself. Winter is rugged on the frail apple-tree. Wrinkled man in a snow cap hip shaking through Spanish Moss.
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She quietly turns and runs, from a silly basement bar. Too much fun, it was mostly a waste. Helped her stagger to her trailer after drinking beer and sniffing paste. Some of this and a lot of that she shakes her tits with tats. Grinning from the stage with her over sized dentures. Clicked her door to the night shutting out new adventures. Tight lipped little loser stapling his chapbooks. Shakes her Dickinson hair Strolling by Salisbury Fair. Clicked his flashlight asked was it him or them. Saw the bloody handprint no flatlander expectations. One gone before she was born the other never born at all they only exist because she remembers them.
He's wound tight by she who intoxicates. The stone bag empty, Sampson follows the thunder. Press her hands back she's flat on her back again. Kiss the space her face is open wide. Stars sparkle bittersweet, dripping from these bearded lips. Boss burbled gobbledygook chewing treacled tobacco He feeds on her mind like a vulture as she cries out jargon. Shakes her Dickinson hair Strolling by Salisbury Fair. -Will Dockery
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