How I Spend My Days

I am waiting to stop waiting
Looking for the strength to proceed at full speed with eyes clenched shut
Trying to find my voice so I can sing the world into adoring silence
Figuring out the proof needed to convince my math teacher and everyone else in the world that I am unique and favored by God in my uniquicity
Struggling to see beauty despite the struggle that's always with me
Happy to be happy even though at night I'm sick with lonely
Taste-testing every girl I can get to agree, so I can find someone to take my virginity and hand in an eternalish vow of unnervingly strong love
Freaking out over stupid shit like a fear of falling from small heights.

Probability and Angles

“Oh hey what are you doing what is up with you tonight my friend”
“Not too much can’t really say I’m up to anything what are you up to?”
“O I am just not doing much of anything with a couple of my friends if you get what I mean”
“What”
“Not doing anything if you catch my drift”
“O okay I see”
“Yeah should be a good time”
“Where are you going”
“Pat’s house”
“Ahhh Pat”
“Haha, yes Pat”
“How is Pat lately I have not talked to him lately”
“Pat’s been good he is graduating early and he’s got a job at that record store and shit”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah he has a girlfriend too she is pretty hot and…”
“and…”
“And pretty good if you know what I mean”
“Oh you bastard”
“Haha”
“Heheh”
“I’m gonna head out, see ya later man”
“Hey, mind if I come with”
[an awkward moment. the momentum of the situation appears to be at a crossroads. 1st young man has an unreadable countenance. the potential of antagony hangs in the air. the café is full of people and the sound of their conversations flows like pebbles being washed down a steep rock slope. the warmth surrounds them, the heat turned up to balance the below-freezing temps outside. 2nd young man has flushed cheeks from the heat, 1st young man seemingly unaffected by the temperature.]
“How about another time buddy, I’ve really gotta go this time”
“Okay that’s cool that’s fine”
“Alright cool see ya man”
“See ya”

Tired [of)

I am about ready to give up
So tired I am leaning over, not quite capable of sitting up straight
And I am yearning for a love and a place to live and a life that's my own
And an eventual peace
A smooth brow at last
Before this too-old heart in this too-young body decides it doesn't want to beat any longer without the kind of reassurance I am waiting for

sex fantasy

it's pathetic and nasty, but
i can dedicate this poem to a couple different people
because i was going to write it to have the message of, "i want to be your lover"
which is the primary reason for art
but still
there are a few of you that make my legs weak
and my tired face pull into a smile
and i'll tell you what i want to happen
i want to move away to another city far away with you
and we can drink tea in a hidden café
walk back home along the docks and the warehouses
up into our attic apartment
all one room, so we're never alone when we're both home

and then we could lie down in bed, kiss, and make love
then talk, or just be quiet
read awhile in the afternoon light
then i could get up, and fix us a snack
some spanish rice or stir fry or such
then we could sit and eat and write
or do what the world says need be done
but way up in that small warm room, we're the happiest of anyone
you & me are the happiest of anyone

"Hello World, our President is white at the moment, but he'll be black later..."

Oh, Obama won, who guessed it.

But that is okay, if he shuts down a bunch of pro-life emergency care shelters or repeals the Hyde Amendment, I will take a rock and throw it through his window. And on the rock will be written, "You prick. You didn't have to do that."

And then this blog will be lacking on updates unless they have computers in federal prisons.

virtue-trap

if I had to choose I guess I'd say that my main problem is a lack of contentment
but I don't want to write about that, and I don't think anyone else wants to read about it
the emotional struggles of a middle class white boy in America

I don't know what else to cover, though, that isn't soaked in the oil of cliché
too many poems have been written on depression, or the love-pangs of adolescence
and not much of worth can be added there

on the other hand, I just wrote a poem about writer's block
which has been done too many times to count
this lack of new material, this is what it is about
the reason poets snap their pens, and authors divorce their muses

Almost there.

I could die right now
My heart could give out
Or my brain collapse

For I have felt the sun
And I have eaten fruit picked from the tree
I have loved and been loved
And most of all I've accepted the fact that I won't ever do 10% of what I want to do
but that's okay

I know lovers will cry,
but I've cried over people too
and seen months without a light at the end of the tunnel
so they should be alright, I've made it through myself

But can I survive so well adjusted, so early?
Am I not a sitting target for smiling death?
someone that won't even fight it?

I don't think I want to die

Feminism and Masculism

This is a short response I wrote for school in response to Gloria Steinem's article, "The Good News Is: These Are Not the Best Years of Your Life".

I thought that Steinem’s essay was very well written and that she has many good points. The article made clear the reasons for college being the worst time for a woman to be truly radical or revolutionary, and why the middle age is where the real feminist activism comes out. It pointed out many of the flaws of our current male-dominated society, and the effects those have on women.

However, reading the article made me think about the role that men have in the sexual power struggles that are a central form of conflict in our society. The standard feminist ideals center on overthrowing the males that control the culture, and making the roles that both sexes play anew, and ending discrimination and differentiation between the two sets of roles. I believe that this total overthrowing by women is not necessary. While, yes, our cultural attitudes need to be fixed, they should not be fixed through force by the ones being victimized. This continues the cycle of victim rising up against victimizer, and continuing the power struggle. There is nothing wrong with one group having more power than the other; the problem comes in when the one group uses that power to force the other group to submit. The problems between the sexes are caused by male ignorance, incorrect ideas about women, and a huge lack of respect for women. The ideal method of fixing our culture’s problems lies not in having women rise up and overthrow the male dictators; instead it is in having the “dictators” realize the role they are playing, and step down from it to choose equality and respect. If men could be made to realize the way they are trained to think, and choose to think otherwise, most of our problems could probably be fixed within a generation or two. I realize this may not be the likeliest possibility, but I feel it is an ideal worth shooting for. In a sense, reading Steinem’s article on feminism and radicalism has made me into what could very well be considered a radical masculinist.

Sometimes I just can't wait

i went and kissed you
just after school
and you smiled and hugged me
said "i've been waiting for you to do that
all afternoon"

i don't know how to tell you how beautiful i think you are
the way your hair shines in the sun
or the way that you smile that just melts my heart
you make life seem realer, and i'm glad you do
because sometimes it's just too washed out and colorless
for me to tell what i'm supposed to do
or endure

can you spend every moment with me
i get cold and so do you
maybe we could be cold together, or even keep each other warm
i'd hold your hand and try to think of things to say to you
while life just moved on quicker than ever
with both of us just walking on the side

Poem started before the breakup and finished after.

I've been looking for somebody just as broken as me
And I mean that in the best way possible
And I found you, so see the above sentence
Take it, turn it over, put on the lamp
Look at it in a new light
We are both ridiculous, which is why we didn't work
But I love you and I lust you and I need you till it hurts

And that is Alright, that is Just Fine
I can still sleep at night

I'm content and fully accepting of my mortality and the possibility of death. I'm also only sixteen.

How does that work?

Should it?

For those of you that don't know, David Foster Wallace, one of the most talented writers and thinkers in the history of everything and a personal hero of mine, killed himself last Friday at the age of 46. I'm not really sure yet how I feel about everything.

The Past Hunts You

if I had the guts to open up my arm
and reverse-engineer the blood in my veins
I would strain out the gold and the god and the love
and separate them each
put one in a little jar here, and stopper the other up in a bottle
put the last one in a little cloth sack, and stash it under my bed
then I'd take a map and erase all the names of the places
and fill them in with the names of all my friends and loved ones I forgot or left behind so long ago
I could get on my bike and know where to find every one of them

Young Person's Poem

I'm gonna crank the volume knob as far as I can make it go
see which blows out first, my eardrums or the speakers
and then forget what they said, about how I have to obey
I'll chase the feeling of deciding my own future

"You will work you will work you will do nothing but work"
but I swear I will make a difference, and work for myself
because I'm young yet and can chase whatever feeling I want
and fill in all the blanks with my own answers

Riding through the night with soon to be friends of mine
we play the music too loud, or none at all
just love and don't kill and smile when they spit in your face
that's the best future, that's our own future

After Coma

my first breath after the coma was like a leap out of the sea
plunging into the atmosphere, first time in forever I decided to pump the air into me
suck it in, blow it out, suck it back in again

my first sight after the coma was the dappled afternoon ceiling
then blurred eyes shifted falling sideways down to you
close my eyes, open them again, close them, open again to you

first scent after the coma was the perfume of a flower someone placed close by my bed
small and pink in a little porcelain vase, perched on a shelf, to the left, above my head
breath it in, smell it all, breath it out, breath the smell in again

the first sound after the coma was you walking over to me
you couldn't say anything, just smiled and touched me
but it was louder than words, louder than music, louder than silence
first feeling after the coma was the love that was there with me

First day of school today. Eeep.

a poem about Hannah

If all there is is to love and be loved
You did better than the rest of us
Because I'm sure Jesus hugged people, or would've
Maybe they didn't have hugs back then, idunno

But you did a really good job
Like, a really great job
And even if you didn't believe, you were better than the rest of us
because you did it right
I mean, not everything, no, you messed up here and there
but not like in the big scheme of things
otherwise I probably wouldn't be crying
I don't think any of us would be

But you did good and you will be missed
For love and hugs and smiles and so much more
And I'm writing this without even thinking if you're watching
And I'm sorry sorry sorry but you know I love you still
and we all will. always will.

heebies

I got the heebie-jeebies, and I know now why that's what they're called
they feel like that.
you shiver, as they crawl up your spine and down your arms and you flap in the non-existent breeze like a stupid stork and uhh
feel the bugs crawling on you and you can't help your thoughts
sometimes it's easier to believe that there's no right or wrong way to act, until someone does something wrong
you just don't want to be the one to do it, and oh god
the heebies and jeebies
get off of me you bugs

Two standing together, one apart

little children standing on parking ramps with sticks in their mouths
are breathing in poison, trying to look cool
look adult. but they dont

they look smaller
childish
little kids playing with dangerous toys to convince themself and the world that they are grown

and they're not
but they will. too fast
far too fast already
and they don't get what I already understand, you have to play in the sand box while you still can
because soon you'll be too big and you won't fit inside

Me and Eden

Just over the ivy strewn wall is the garden that they all call Eden and I am not yet inside
just beneath the leaves and vines I hide
Crouching in the litter, biding my time
I am humming to myself, and thinking secret thoughts even I cannot divine
And I would revoke my membership in that eternal land of joy, if I could break the inscrutability and hold the thoughts that are mine

RUN

I need to jump in a car and get out of here
I'd love to walk, but I can't do it fast or long enough
The road won't vanish beneath my feet, and the sky won't touch me with its light
So I run! And my breath crunches the air, and the impact of my feet jar my spine and
I run! The scenery blurring on the edge of my vision and the startled people stumbling out of my way as
I run! Living, while they plod in the mud to get to a job where they sit and work for nothing but money!

Same old statement but with a greater insistency

There's a sky overhead and a bridge underneath
and I'm bouncing on my heels and grinding my teeth
Waiting for the right moment to speak
now I think it's arrived, and I open my mouth so to pour out my mind
Telling you all everything, it's just like breathing

I'm saying that I, I am a star
a reassuring phrase printed on a sticker, stuck to your ceiling
Something to guide you when you're lost in your nightmares
a get out free card for when you feel like you've lost all meaning

I mean, I know I've said this before
but I'm pretty sure I'm a key and a door
Someone who will change everything if I'm asked to
just ask me to quick, and you won't be confused
You'll find out that my derivative anthem has real meaning

A Summer Evening With A Best Friend

this is a cloud in the sky that looks like a dragon
and this is the reflection of your eyes reflecting my eyes reflecting your eyes reflecting...
and that is a little boy riding his bicycle
and this is a city park and it's 8 PM and I don't know when we got here but it's been awhile
that's alright though, that's just fine

so we can stay here a little longer, take a few more sips of wine
enjoy the evening air, breeze coming off the water
maybe go on the swings, until you hiccup, and stumble, and I have to catch you
and it's time to go home, so up you go honey
I can carry you off to the car if your legs are too tired or just not working right

now we can enjoy the sunset with the wind keeping us awake
with the windows down, and the music loud
some local band that's filled with friends that's singing about a lake
and a girl
and some mistakes
and the world
and the lyrics don't matter, it has a nice beat that I can drum along to
with my fingers on the door
and your smile sings in harmony while your foot taps on the floor

Brief Break

I will be in Chicago for a church service trip from the 20th-27th, so there won't be any posts this week. Sorry for the delay.

Run Run Run

Let's not slow down, let's speed up
Let's hit the gas, gain momentum
Hitch a ride out of town, you & me
And hang out with the sunsets and the rockstars
Look for eternity in children
And newborn youth in the old

Ah! Man! that's what I want to get away from too
the rigid rigidity of my poetic form, the concrete-infused rhymes and punctuation
I want to write poems that live! that breath! that lust!
that stab and run and drive recklessly and live more fuller than their readers, than their editors, than the dull men setting type and chaining them to pages
I want to scrawl my poetry! in sharpie on a bathroom wall, with a ballpoint pen I found in the street in a notebook I picked out of the trash, spraypaint on the underside of a bridge, jotted onto a postcard- these are the forms I want my poems to adapt to!

I am tired of sitting at a keyboard
Staring at a screen
pressing keys down, and giving you all exhausted rhymes that don't aspire to live, just mean (but to live is to mean, more than anything else!)

Ode To A Chair

Oh, chair!

You lift me up, you defeat gravity without any effort at all
You've held so much weight, so many bottoms
How many years? far longer than I've lived
Chair, you soldier, working on through spills of food, burns, scratches
Initials carved into your skin
Chair, you trooper
You are braver than me
You sit silent and bear your load
Drag your cross without complaint
Chair, I salute you

I just read The Road and it made an impression on me, but what kind I don't know

"Hey"
"Hey. Why'd you wake up"
"Are we okay"
"Of course we're okay"
"Are you sure"
"Of course I'm sure"
"I don't feel safe"
"Baby, you're safe, I'm here, I'm watching, you're fine"
"…"
"Okay"
"Okay"
"…"
"…"
"Are you sure"
"I'm sure"

lines

god

i should have capitalized that

but the agony of pretentious poetry that uses words like "agony" to describe the feeling i get at night isn't something i enjoy

like the heaviness or denseness of the sentence above, presumed literary content

fake

crap

just dust on the ground

and i am too full of stuff to not explode, but i need you, i need you

erasing what's behind and following my tail and nothing is nothing is nothing is real like what's real is real is real

Surgical Thoughts

I want to cut you open, break your heart, then electrify it and make it race
Make you live like never before on a surgery table
For just a few moments, before we all die

But if you knew how I felt, this would all make more sense

And I want to take the streetlights, pull the light bulbs off
Make you a bouquet of these beautiful lights
Or take all the stars, and make you some earrings
To dangle against your softly lit skin

Oh, if you only knew how I thought, you'd let me into your home
And give me a place on your couch

Oh why do the birds always fly south for the winter
Why do they always fly south..

Don't Like Love Me, Love Me

Don't make me cry
Don't make me fall on my knees grab my head in my hands choke on the lump in my throat
the involuntary contractions the saltwater leaking out
Don't break my heart
Don't make me feel like all the love in the world is just lies like I'm endlessly naive I'll get lied to over and over and over like it's my problem relationships are tough the little differences the little stupid differences that get inside my head


Like a blurred wet photograph, love me
Like a faded print tablecloth, love me
Like the sun in the sky or the blue in the sky or the broken pieces in your eye
Love me

Fall in glove

If I could fall in love right now
I would not, except with you
If I could breath the stars and sky
And see in endless shades of blue
I'd only breath the smell of your hair
I'd only have eyes for you

So please don't leave me so far behind
Darling please don't give up hope
One day we'll see the morning sun together
In a quiet room, all alone
And I'll mark wherever you are as the place that I call home
But until then we'll just have to deal
With what is cast our way
And struggle through the endless nights
The numbing ceaseless days

Oh honey
I can't finish the words
This just won't come out right
I'll just cut this off right now
And wish you sweet dreams, and goodnight

Emotional Investment #1

I couldn’t keep my eyes open. They just shut. At first all I could see was the light shining through my eyelids. My limbs were heavy, and I couldn’t seem to move them at all. Gradually the redness faded from my vision, and it all went gray. I could make out nothing at all. My limbs lost their feeling of heaviness, but now I could not feel them at all. I felt as if I could wave them about, but I could make contact with nothing, or even see them. Suddenly, as if a wave was washing away the grayness around him, a figure emerged. He was great, huge, far bigger than me. But he was also far off, enough that I could see him all without having to only see one part of him at a time. Looking, I knew who he was; Infinite Sadness. His robe was frozen in a tangled wind that did not blow, and his face was a mask frozen in the act of howled agony. I could almost hear his scream hovering in my ears like icy water, not moving, but detectable. When I reached the end of my endurance, I snapped into awakeness, my eyes still closed. The red filtered through my eyelids. Tears began to well up, but I feigned sleep.

The streetlights floated in the air. The pavement looked hard and orange in the light, and seemed to radiate energy. I started running, as light as a bird on the wing. I rushed along, and barely felt the impact of my feet on the sidewalk. Everything seemed to Be, and I could not help from laughing. I lost a part of me in the moment, and cannot remember when I ran out from under the lights back into dark.

My vision began shaking. The anger overtook me. My hands could not remain steady, and there was a lump in my throat. He reached forward and shoved my chest, and in the same movement I grabbed his arm and twisted him to the ground. I kicked him hard in the side, stomped on his chest, and slammed him in the temple with my heel. I slapped him and spat in his face. I screamed, and told him what a disgusting useless pointless fake utterly disgraceful waste of blood, air, and sex he was, how repulsed I was to even touch him, how much I hated everything about him, how I would order his death in a second, how he meant nothing to me, how horrifying it was to know he still existed, how I was at a complete and utter loss as to the point of a pale greasy sleazy shameful worm such as he. Then I ran as far and as fast I could. And then I cried until my eyes were sore.

The light played through the blinds as I lay by your side. And I knew, nothing could be so perfect as this.

But As For Me

I will shave my head, I will change my name
I will bedeck myself in jewelry and not act the same
I will endure upheaval and change in a struggle for my name
I will cross roads a hundred times and see something new again

While the wind pounds at the windows of my home
I'll be hiding under a bush thirty blocks away
And while the sun fries the eyes of the blind
A church will be my dark cool refuge from the day

I'll seek out the weary and the shamed
The garbage members of society
And ask them what they do to survive
And learn what I can before I die

I will destroy the middleman
I will breath in through my own nose
No oxygen from pipes or pumps
No children-woven clothes

[I will drive on muddy roads
In places where yankees should not go
I will splash through water stained with oil and fear
And run towards what I know I must find]

Father's Day '08

We visited my grandpa in his nursing home today for Father's Day, and I was left alone with him for a few minutes while my dad went to go find my mom and sisters. My grandpa has had several strokes, and finds things like talking and remembering who people are difficult. I normally just sit off in the corner; I don't know what to say to him. But we had a brief conversation this time:

Me: "Hi grandpa."

Grandpa: "Yeah!"

Me: "Happy Father's Day!"

Grandpa: "Who are you?"

Me: "I'm Walter, Mark's son." *gestures down the hall toward where my dad went*

Grandpa: "Oh, okay." *smiles slightly*

He was looking directly into my eyes throughout all of this. It was unusual, I had not actually spoken to him and made direct eye contact for probably a year or more. From the look in his eyes, I could tell he was trying to place me. Or maybe he knew who I was, and was just...I don't know. I cannot guess at what he was thinking.

It occurred to me later that he had, in a way, returned to being a baby. He is no longer capable of feeding himself, dressing himself, even going to the bathroom by himself.

I'm sorry we never really got a chance to get to know each other, Grandpa. Happy Father's Day, though.

Message In A Radio

Baby

Don't you weep. No don't you weep for me, for there is no one as lucky nor as gifted as I, for I have seen the sky torn in two and I have felt the light caress my face and

Darling

Don't you pray for me. Please don't pray, I've already gone and talked to God, and we figure the two of us have everything worked out okay, and there's nothing but smiles now, nothing but smiles

Sweetie

Don't you miss me now. No, you can't miss me, 'cause there is no one who is as happy, as light, or free as I, who can fly on the wind and soar through space and dive every depth and win every race and

Love

Please believe me now. Please believe, because I can't, and I'm still not sure.

Honey

egfiuhgiuaehfihgeuihgaghaeohgeohuodhgviuwhgrhurouhsghi3q2235258794285732328930
5270397#################################-----------------------------------
-------------------------__________________________________________________

the sun
fell
and I
tried to catch it
but it burned me very badly

To: The Global Artistic Community. RE: You.

Please stop. Please. You are killing me with your art and your self expression and your plumbing of feelings and your search for meaning and truth. Please stop it.

It hurts. I am an artist too, and what you do- it attracts me. I cannot help myself, I cannot turn away, I have to look and gaze and experience what you have done. And it hurts me. On the inside I am blind, confused, sore, raw, and I cannot confront what is there without flinching.

Please stop. If you are really the loving, feeling community you are..you will heal me. Or give me time to heal. You will put down your pens and your pencils and keyboards, your cameras and your paintbrushes. You will let me scab, and heal, and grow a new self. And then I shall be ready for your introspection and your feelings and your pretensions and your elegant language, and I will be able to approach it and join in and be able to wring meaning out of it, and we shall all be the greater for it.

But.

You will not stop.

The world is a machine, a corporate process that consumes, changes, recycles, spits out. everything. nothing left untouched. And you, you artists, you feelers, you introspective thinkers; you are part of this machine. No individual can make a change on you, unless it is a streamlining of the industrial process by which you operate. And, above all else, no individual can make you stop. It is as if I had opened up my window, stuck my head outside, and yelled, "Please World! Stop your orbit of the sun! Stop your rotation! Slow down, be still, if only for a few moments that I may catch my breath!"

That will not happen. It can not happen. But it is what I need.

But, it must be confronted, just because you need something to happen is no guarantee or reason for its happening. Or even the possibility of its happening.

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine.."
- I Cannot Remember Who Wrote This

"Everything I make is trite, and cheap, and a waste of paint, of tape, of time."
- Bright Eyes, Waste Of Paint

"If I were to write something that truly captured all that I think and feel about the world, it would probably be in all capitals, one word, probably not one you'd find in dictionaries, something along the lines of, EEEEEEEEEEERRRRYYYAAAAAAFEABHCDAKBJNAEAEGOGAEHUAGOHU!!!"
- Walter Mongin, To: The Global Artistic Community. RE: You.

id bring my camera with me

We were dead, no brains left in our heads
Just wandering around, taking pictures of a broken God
But it was still far greater than we could mention

And some of us wept, and some of us slept
And some embracing living forever

I am weak, but I can control myself. I am weak, but I am stronger than you. I want to die, but I will live forever. I am surrounded by lies, but I will speak the truth. I am tired, but I can dream while I am awake. I will move mountains, and I will drink seas. I will scrape the sky with my hand, and I will warm my feet in the earth. The wind cannot blow me down, and space can not burn my skin. I am invincible. I am a giant. I am God's child.

You will not defeat me now, you will never defeat me, and you have not defeated me in the past. I will destroy whoever I do not love, and I will love everyone. You can not change who I am, you can only accept it.

I will breath in the dusk, and exhale the dawn. Do not fear; the dark will not hurt you, and the light will not blind you. You are freer under my protection than you were ever before.

I feel the want to destroy, but I will turn to the need to create instead.

I am nothing; I am everything.

I am-

You Are The Light Within My Eyes (Darling, Do Not Blind Me)

You are the bones within my legs
(Darling, do not break in me, do not let me down)
You are the wind inside my lungs
(Darling, breathe in me, buffet me around)
You are the decay inside my cells
(Darling, please wait to grind me down)

[You are all I need to live
And You are why I will someday die
You will always give and give
While I will accept, and cry, and cry]

You are the chemicals in my brain
(Love, do not twist my moods)
You are the food within my belly
(Love, do not make me sick)
You are the thoughts making up my mind
(Love, do not leave me so far behind)

[You make me who I am
And define who I am not
You give me no middle ground or choice
My will is filled with rot]

You are the impulse telling me to jump
(Dear, do not smash me)
You are the feeling telling me to run
(Dear, do not exhaust me)
You are the things that belong to no one else
But I cannot call my own
(Dear, do not leave me)

A Story About Love

The light penetrated into the house; it forced its way in through the windows and lit up the rooms with a light that only served to make it easier to not trip, and did nothing to illuminate the spirit of the place. He was sitting at the kitchen table (actually, a card table he had found in a neighbor's garbage pile) waiting, when he heard a step on the porch stairs, and the door creak open. He got up and opened the door to the stairs, and as he caught sight of her she froze. The light seemed to pin her to the wall, accentuating her paleness and the lines on her face.

"What'd the doctor say?" She stared at him. He asked again, and the focused look in her eyes broke; "Oh, um..Can I come down there?" He moved out of the way and she finished descending the stairs.

"What's the news?" She looked at him over her shoulder as he began to shut the door. "No, leave it open."
"Why? What's wrong?"
"I- I'm leaving." He stared back at her in something between disbelief and uncomprehension.
"I- I don't have long to go, and...I need to live." She walked into the bedroom and swiftly packed the suitcase standing by the door. "I love you, you know that, but..I need see and do as much as I can before, well...Before I can't any more. And I need to do it alone."

He sat down suddenly at the table, seemingly stunned or concussed. She walked back out holding the suitcase. "I left your half of the money on the nightstand.." He stared dumbly at the floor. "Darling, don't make it be like this, can't you tell me you love me and goodbye one last time?" Her eyes began to moisten as he continued to silently stare down the floorboards. She walked over, kissed his forehead, and murmured, "I love you sweetie." There was no reply, and after a moment she said, "Bye.." and walked over to the stairs and ascended them to the outside world. As the front door shut, the light seemed to dim even further.

With the way he was holding his head in his hands, it was hard to tell who was dying faster.

A Brief Epilogue Of A Middle Class Family

The man walked into his childhood home. The lights were out, and he stepped forward with his arm out, trying to find a wall with a light switch. His hand met something solid and cold, and spasmed, sending it falling off the mantelpiece. A few seconds later he found the switch and light flooded the living room.

The drone of the vacuum permeated the house as it ate up the fluffy grey ashes in the carpet. The man's mind was locked inside his skull; his facial expression was unreadable. He finished the task, unplugged the vacuum, and carried it outside. As he tossed it into the garbage can, he murmured, "Sorry Mom, but it's my choice what to do with him now." A haze of grey flew up into the air only to be met and captured by the falling lid.

He reentered the house, and sat down in the old recliner stationed across from the tv. He stared at the tv a few moments and then lept up and smashed it in with his foot. He turned back around, grabbed the chair, and pulled it onto its side. He then proceeded to pick up a lamp and hurl it through the window before turning out the light by punching the switch, finally getting into his car and pulling out of the driveway quickly and recklessly, only to collide with another car speeding down the road, ending in a messy collision that had absolutely no good consequences for anybody.

Dusty Old Bones Used To Shine

I went to find some water
To sooth my parched dry throat
And there I found a girl
She smiled back at me
With a ring around her neck, I don't think she could have breathed
Even if she'd wanted to.

But this is far less than what there was
And there is so much I didn't know
But I tried to help, as I grabbed for her neck (to break the chain)
She had such a terrified look on her face
And my lantern was broken-
I couldn't see anything at all-
Before I knew what I had done, the funeral had already begun
And by the time the light hit my face, she was already in the ground

I cursed the sky that I couldn't see
And the dead earth laying under me
Then I walked away or blew away
I was lifeless, crumpled paper

Usually I'm okay but sometimes my mind kinda spins kinda wanders out of control and I don't know where you are but I know you're okay I hope you're okay I hope you're alright nothing's happening, I hope nothings happening, but I'm sure something's happened oh God no God no no no- And my mind just drops just falls just flies right away and I can't grab it or catch onto it or hold it in place or anything, it just disappears and I don't know what it's doing where it is but it hurts it's making me sick I'm sick and everything just feels dim you know? Dim? Like, it's, you know not quite there no it is there but you can't change it it's just a backdrop you're etched into you're just an etching you're nothing but a little scratch on a wall and I'm stuck I can't breath move I can't move from where I am and suddenly I'm still frozen paralyzed but suddenly I break through and cry and freeze again with tears on my face as the world outside growls at me it growls and I know it'll bite me, it's going to bite me, don't let it bite me.

Please, baby...Please.

This will not last nearly long enough.

The party was just worth it for the few minutes on your porch
All alone with just you and the world
The murmur of our voices is kind of like a careless sleeve on a wet canvas
Blurring and smearing the scenery
Making everything a little stranger and more different than it was already
It's a few minutes after 1:30, I should probably be going home
I think about asking if I could have the couch, but I don't yet know you well enough for that
So I groan and get up, say it's time I hit the road
And you smile sadly and wave goodbye with two fingers
In retrospect I probably could've stayed the night if I'd've been bold enough

All that's keeping me up is the hardness of the concrete sidewalk
I can just make out the glow of your cigarette as I turn the corner
Like the stilling of your addiction as you inhale the smoke
This won't last
It just won't last

Whirlwind Roma(Maturation)nce.

It was her day, but it was not freely given. While the pews were packed with friends and relatives, they were also filled with whispers and rumors. "I just cannot see them together for more than a week." "Did you know that they just met a few days ago?" "She's making a mistake.."

She smiled nervously as the pastor spoke, and looked sideways at the man standing next to her. He caught her eye and turned the corner of his mouth up in a way that resembled the very, most reduced level of a smile. She turned her gaze back to the pastor, squinting slightly in the light that was coming in the window behind him.

Her soon-to-no-longer-be fiancé was a good man, and would care for her dearly despite the slight age gap. He had no serious faults or vices, and was not hard to please. He respected her as a woman, and enjoyed the respect she gave him as a successful, well-rounded man.

Outside the leaves were unfurling, only to turn red and orange in a few months and drop to the ground, lifeless and dead. But nobody mocked them from inside that small, old church. Nobody took away from them the lesson the girl had, either.

You did not so much fall into love, as get pushed into it.

All is full of love
The sunsets and the sunrise
The eggshells and the lampshades
They are full of love
For you, and what you are
And who you are
Just take yourself and realize it
Because all is full of love
The sea and the stream and the chemical choked pond
All are ready to laugh
Every one is vibrating in time
To the greatest beat of all
Every bacteria or hand grenade, every sword or gun or plague
All are full of love
You cannot deny it.

I Am Who I Am, And Always Will Be. But That Doesn't Mean I Can't Be A Better Person Than I've Been Lately

3 years have already gone by

Sometimes I am hit by the splendor of things
And the tragedy
And they often conflict with the idealistic ideas that I hold so dear
How can I stand when I am so very small?
How can I breath when the air is so tall?

Then the clocks break down as clouds explode in the sky
And the wind is a parade as I discover I can fly
But the dirt is quicksand that sucks on my feet
Pulling off my sneakers and soaking my socks
My ankles are chilled, I am grounded, shut down, locked

So I'll break bottles until I see God in the flash
And I'll twist off apples from the old tree out back
I will wash my dirty clothes in cold water so clean
And live in hope of meeting someone who knows exactly what I mean

If We Find Each Other, We Won't Be Completely Lost

He slid down the gravel slope, stumbling and kicking up dust. You could tell by the awkwardness of his movements that he wasn't used to the area. When he got to the bottom, he looked around. It was an odd effect; the massive stone columns and the bridge overhead gave him the impression that he was indoors and out of scale. For all he could imagine, it was a huge table with a family of giants eating dinner above him. He strolled along, gazing at the graffiti and old cans of spraypaint. Suddenly he heard a sharp sound up ahead of him, and looked up.

She had just ducked behind a support, and he could see a bit of her hair hanging out past the edge of it. He quietly ran toward her, and when he was about 10 feet away, she peeked out around it and shrieked in laughter. She took off farther down the underbelly of the bridge, with him pursuing her.

She ducked behind another pillar and his sneakers left marks on the concrete as he skidded to a stop and changed direction. After about ten minutes of this, he was exhausted and had lost sight of her. He was leaning over, with his hands on his knees, trying to slow his breathing, when she called from behind him. "Hey." He stood up and turned around, and she walked toward him. They reached out towards each other, but just as they were about to embrace, a man called out, "Hey, stop right there!" They looked, saw a police officer sliding down the gravel slope at the other end of the bridge, and made a break for it. As they ran, their velocities slowly changed until they had split far apart, and were scrambling up opposite sides of the gravel ridge. He looked to her in desperation, but she only smiled, panted, and mouthed "Run!"at him. Then she jumped up and climbed out of view, and he did the same.

Like A Statue Of An Angel

And it is all because of you
that I dream of statue angels
All because of you
I have given up hope of being saven
It was your eyes that sucked the beauty from the sky
and your hair that pulled the grace from the wind in the trees

Please take me over and cleanse me
Save me from myself
Be the beauty I've always wanted in life
and the painted sunset, or the picture on my wall
Something to remind me that there is never nothing
And you cannot forever fall

Be the floor underneath my feet
or the soap-bubbles in my bath
Be the light inside my eyes
Just please be something that will last

The Wide Range Of The Introspectrum

all that i want is to not feel like a human
to be a wall, or a tree, or a sky, or a stone
or a bird, like the bird in your mind
the one that sings of the glorious things
that you can never quite find

the thoughts that hold all meaning and truth
encoded inside you next to Eternal Youth
some little specks of philosophy, inaccessible to you
but you need them so bad, you just know

so you drink, and you drive, and make some new friends
and keep looking for a new beginning somewhere near the end
while i'm biding my time and waiting it out
dissecting myself, my body and soul
peering and poking to find what it's about

Visitor On A Summer Evening

You were standing at the sink, doing the dishes, and you were beautiful. The setting sun was casting a dusky yellow light on your face, and you were humming to yourself.

I drove 300 miles to come see you, and I didn't even tell you I was coming. I didn't even know if you wanted to see me.

I took a step or two forward, reached out, almost touched you, but stopped. You were oblivious, I moved too softly and the floor was too well built for creaking. I ached to say something, but- I left you, and you had recovered, and who was I to wreck that?

I turned sharply away, and you spun around in shock. I ran from the room, through the hallway, and burst out the front door. As I jumped into my car and drove off, I could see your pale, frightened face staring after me out the screen door.

I hope this puts to rest all your fears about that man who snuck up on you in your kitchen that one evening, darling. He was no predator, or ghost. Just someone who had made a mistake. I love you.

My Only Sunshine

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You make me happy when the sky is grey
I can never tell you how much I love you
So please don't take my sunshine away

The other night dear, I lay sleeping
And I dreamt I held you in my arms
I smelled your scent so sweet, and felt your hair on my face
But when I awoke I saw it was a mistake and I cried

I will make you happy, if I can
And I will do it every single day
Through the good times and the bad, even when I'm cranky
So darling, please don't take my sunshine away

And if you do, dear, it will be cloudy
And I shall drown myself in the rain
The drops shall stand in for my tears
And the mountains will echo the song of my pain

If The Romans Lived In Glass Houses

If home is where the heart is, I live inside my chest. And if I am unable to lie convincingly, people can see right through me. Therefore, I have a chest made of glass. Also, if my chest is glass, the rest of me therefore must be too. So, we have established beyond all doubt that I am an organism of living glass, seeing as I cannot lie convincingly. And as my chest is my home, I live in a glass house.

I have a garden with rocks in it, and every day I spend at least 7 hours forcing myself to not throw them, to leave the rocks in the garden, to not pick them up and pitch them and watch the panes come crashing down, like a shower of brittle snow, beautiful and sharp and dangerous, but mostly beautiful.

There Was An Empty Pack Of Cigarettes And A Bottle In The Photobooth, And I Wonder..

The girl in the photobooth polaroid liked kittens. She had brown hair, and liked to wear flowers in it. She had brown eyes. She liked wearing a faded print dress with flowers and sparrows on it. She liked tea with a lot of milk, and sometimes coffee so strong almost anybody else would spit it out as soon as it touched their tongue. She had smooth teeth, with slightly bigger than average spaces. She had a beautiful smile. Her laugh was musical. She could play the guitar, sing, and keep time with handclaps or a tambourine. Her skin was soft, and her body gave back just as much heat as it took. She was full of love, and never harmed anyone or anything.

The boy in the photobooth polaroid had bad breath, a weak chin, and in all fairness was kind of an asshole.

Arthur Brown, 22, Plays The Guitar And Sings

The thawing clothing smells disgusting, but it's a job. Playing music in a cafe in a mountain town, full of skiers, snowboarders, snow-shoers, photographers, lovers, miscellaneous people. Besides, my car is busted and I can't find anybody to fix it. It's rusting out in back of the motel that I've become a permanent visitor to.

Oh well. It may not be the greatest, but it's a life. At least I'm making a living playing music, I hadn't thought I was ever gonna be able to do that.

But my feet are cold and my shoes are soaked from the slush in the streets and I don't know any of these people and I don't care about them and I've got nothing back at my room and my car's a wreck and I've got nothing at home, and I don't even think I've got a home any more, and you know what? I don't care about anything, and I don't want to be here, I want to be anywhere *but* this godforsaken town of shallow, beautiful people.

My acts' on in ten minutes, I oughta put that emotion into my next song.

If Car A Is Moving At 139 KPH Towards Car B...

The dotted yellow line got eaten up by the hood of the car. Its appetite was ravenous, apparently; the dots were only visible in the screen of the windshield for a second or two before they were consumed. The car moved quickly, quickly, a bullet shot by its own impetus.

The sun gleamed down, reflecting off the body of the car. It was a hot day, and the air felt as if it could reach out and burn somebody.

Suddenly the appetite for dots was filled; the car veered into the other lane, and appeared to want to eat another car. Cannibalism!, screamed a lone cloud in the sky.

A person cried in shock and alarm. Then there was silence.

Another Poem With A Theme

Sometimes I can't feel my feet
and I'm pretty sure it's either because they're not there
or I'm just too drunk to think
I never touch alcohol, so I think it's the first
and stare off into the distance on a summer afternoon

On occasion I fall in love all over again
and it makes the world so perfect
but then the flaws come back and make themselves known
and sometimes I'll be feeling pretty low
but that just means the highs will be that much higher
they nearly always are

And no matter how I act or feel
I'll always take care of you
I'll always do the best I can do
no matter what the weather

Guinevere

I loved you Guinevere, I loved you
In the silence in the heartbeats in the leaves in the loam
I loved you Guinevere, I loved y ou

An d st ill inth e brok en pa nes o f g l
a s s
I loved you Guinevere, I loved you

The leaves, they fall far far too fast
Spinning down into our past, and brown and crinkly on the ground
Too dead to cry out the saving sound
"We loved you Guinevere, we loved you"

Give Us This Day Our

We are made in the image and likeness of God but. where is the image, what is the likeness and who is God? Is he a big human, are we little gods? Is it our minds, our fibers, our fictions, our loves, our flaws, our? The wilderness is floating overhead, and I am lifted from everything. I will return to the One that gave me birth, and I will fragment and hover and blow away on the wind like warm stale air pushed away by a breeze. And I will become the breeze, and fly up to heaven, and dance there, and laugh with the other breezes, the other souls, the dead and the not yet living. And we will spin and wheel under the sun that is the Father, and it will somebody's birthday every single day, and there will be parties and cake and ice cream and there'll be a sprinkler in the sky, like rain but even purer, and we'll dance in our swimsuits or our birthday suits if we prefer, there'll be no lust and no shame. And when we're tired of walking on the ground, we'll walk on the air. And when we're tired of being awake, we'll fall asleep in lovers laps, and everyone will be our lover. And it will all be pure and shameless and I won't feel bad about it. You'll be there all the time, whenever I want you, and it will be perfect. And we'll run off by ourselves and gorge ourselves in a strawberry field, and Einstein will be 3 rows over hiding between the bushes, and we'll laugh. And oh, Darling! It'll be heaven, I promise! It'll be just like Heaven, and the sun will be just like God, and there will be Jesus and the Holy Ghost and Buddha and Mohammed and John Paul II and Darwin and Elvis and all these people! They'll all be there, and there'll be ice cream and mashed potatoes and limes and lemons and everything, it'll all be there and we'll never run out and we'll feel the Lord in everything like electricity, He will sing our bodies electric with His magnificent song and I won't have to cry anymore, you won't either, because we'll all be dead, and if we cry it'll just be for fun. It'll be so much fun!

Image & Likeness

Now I haven't been around for very long yet
But I've still been waiting for a long long time
To kill the evil that is bred inside
The flaws and weaknesses that are uniquely mine

And when my failures have gone
There'll be nothing in me that's wrong
Just a low key person who can wake up
Happy every day

But for now you'll find me driving on those country backroads
That lead somewhere special, but where that is, nobody knows
They lead to the center of the world and my heart
And I will dig and drive and fly until I am completely blown apart

In All Times And All Places

Puella quam amo est pulchra. Meisje I liefde is aardig. L'amour de la fille I a les yeux les plus jolis dans le monde. Die Liebe des Mädchens I hat weiche Haut. Θα περπατούσα σε όλο τον κόσμο τρεις φορές για την. Nuoterei i mari più profondi ed arrampico le più alte montagne. 私は彼女を愛する。나는 그녀를 사랑한다. Eu amo-a. Я люблю ее. La amaré por siempre.

Wilderness Remains

I glance down at the road, so warm soaking up the sunlight
and lay down on my side, and let it kiss my cheek
My compass falls from my coat pocket, and spins wildly around
it cannot find North, it does not know the way
So I am lost, and the wilderness remains

Now I drink from a stream in the side of the ditch
the water runs dirty, filled with germs and filth
My stomach churns uneasy, but my thirst lays slaked
while my head spins wildly
The wilderness revolves, the wilderness remains

Standing under an overpass in the cool of evening air
a stenchy wind ruffles my long tangled hair
My eyes are itchy and tear in the breeze
the city is a jungle, and I have fallen prey to the beasts it contains
The city will consume me, the wilderness remains

The long walk home

the animals cry and sob from the space between the headlights and
space
the streetlights flicker in my confused vision, but my hand is being held and i have no primal fear
only a slowly beating heart that tells me you are here
so i will keep walking and not think
of what waits for me off the beaten path
in the bushes and the shadows

a smell of incense floats through my brain
tinting my vision and perception
will you love me when you're dusting, spinning through the summer air?
will you love me even then?
will you not abandon me when you're molecules and elements
recharging the universe?

i believe my home is in the sky
i will be lifted high, past the jungle i am tangled in
i clench my fists and rock on my heels, 'i will not not die, i will not die'
my ghost is mine and mine alone, not for yours and theirs to own

i will find my way among the rocks and stones and move beyond their grabbing dragging down
between and past the maps that only show the shadows in this endless town

What I Did On Holiday

lately i've spent my time trying to listen to songs
that bring out that feeling
where you sway and sing, 'hallelujah'

and lately i've been running my dog in thunderstorms
and getting blown about
washed clean by the rain and the wind

recently i've been kneeling in the corner of my room
sick to my stomach
the weight of the world like an anchor in my belly
keeping me here

lately i've been missing you more than ever
more than ever before
or than i thought possible

P.S. I love you still but I'm sure you don't feel the same way, do you?

Dear darling it's been almost three weeks
and thirteen days since I did the dishes
The sun is hot streaming in through the window
and dust is thick in the air and on the floor
I promise you I'd keep a cleaner house
if I just knew you'd be coming home

But the air is dry and hot
and the flowers are wilting
The yard is slowly turning brown
there's no motivation inside my head
The paint is peeling off the wall
strategies for dealing with life are surpassed
By my custom-built idea of living with it

So now crying is like breathing and sleeping to me
i do it all the time, sometimes not knowing why
And drinking, too, I do that a lot
i guess my intellectual aristocrasticity has decayed since you left
But for some reason I don't really mind
my moral superiority was just a stance
Taken by a child, from picture-book examples
i don't know if they were true
But I've never thought they were lies

Vacation

let's break the sky into a million pieces and scatter them inside our heart attacked hearts pushing the boundries of space and horizon twisting the boundries of love and time and leaving us alone in a special place with each other and no one like the the stars all glistening and twinkling in the sky above us that's all ours and only ours, i bought it and kept it just for you my love.

let's run through walls and sink through the earth and walk back through time and find a place where no one knows our faces or our names we're perfectly anonymous naked on a ridge of dirt and plants and rocks and stones over a great city no one ever knew of in a land no ones ever heard of in a time that nobody remembers just together and never apart.

let's lie down in the summer on the cool grass in the hot sun in the quiet forest and forgive each other for not being in our arms every second of every day and fall in love over and over again like the waves in the sea or the air as you're talking to me.

Justify your answer.

It's time for the final doubt
For taking one last breath before we prove our hypotheses
That living can be happy even with another person
You said that twos and threes and fours and fives
Are the happiest people you'll meet
I think we might end up justified

Auto lights playing on the wall and the ceiling
It's the principle of the thing, leaving the window open a hair
I swear it's spring, even if there's snow on the ground
Flopping your arm around me, in your jammies just for now
Warmth is all you're looking for, if I was so innocent..

Busy streets, messy with possibilities
And a plate of scrambled eggs, greasy with affection
That cracked the shells and mixed up the yolk and white
I think we might find out that we were justified
For falling in love with flaws and old photographs
Flannel shirts and lank wet hair

It Lifts You Up With No Effort At All

let's not be trite and cheap and tawdry
let's not have glamour with lights that flash
how about we grow and strengthen
and show our earnestness and life

and move and breath with violent symphonies
expanding pushing changing pressure
becoming more like trees and stars
things not living like you & i are
things more greater than our animal strife
the blood and sweat is wasted currently
the rhythm and the beat of everything moving
universe lifting lifted lifter

wet and damp and cold the rain comes
stinging my face and numbing my hands
wind explode and revive reawaken
bring me back to life and shaking
cold but steady legged, bright eyed and waking

like a-

a poem written like a song like a thing with sound and a rhythm and a melody like a something that came pouring out your soul and you couldn't help it just came and you vomited and you were sick like a party like a something last night can't remember what you did but you did it it's there in your memory like a stick in the mud that you drew pictures with and the rain came and washed it all away but you remember and take it and pour it into your hand and flows out your pen and you're crying but it hurts oh it hurts but you're creating and you're making and this is better than you've ever felt before better than closing a deal or the first night first time first whatever but it hurts but you're better now worth more as a person just like you've wanted always trying to put something between you the empty void you know lies at your core like a shallow pond with new sudden depth and meaning and matter and it just flows and finally you realize that it's over but you can't not do it again so you get some sleep get some rest eat a little then you do it again and again and again and again till you've beaten yourself up and we're done here now there's nothing else to do.

For Margaret M.

i fell in love
and my heart stopped beating
and my breath stopped breathing
and i fell in love

i leaned over and kissed you
and my mind exploded
and my hands decided they should shake
but i leaned over and kissed you

then i tasted someone else's mouth for the first time
and i started smiling
and my heart started growing
and i tasted your mouth for the first time

i woke up in a sweat trying not to cry at the thought of losing you
and grabbed at the blankets
and rubbed at my eyes
after waking up from a dream where i lost you

i started to find out what living was like
after i kissed you
after i realized i love you, and you loved me too
and i'm starting to find out what living is like

dre@m

it's kind of like dreaming
this whole life thing

you live like you're happy, and then
you wake up

you cry like you're sad, and then
you're startled awake

and the thing about dreams is
they don't really come true

but if you're lucky it'll happen to you
you'll think and you'll ponder; you might even obsess

get into therapy, find a priest and get blessed
and one day you'll find

that this life thing's like dreaming
you just have to dream like you're alive

Thrownings

scat t er d s i g n a l s
s pra y in g s p r e a d ing a c r o ss
t h e s k y
l i k e a u t u mn l ea v e s

l i ke ou r l o v e

The Water Cycle

I was on vacation
and the sky fell in
and the locals screamed
and I took a picture

I was in bed
and my stomach got butterflies
just like you were about to walk in the door
but then I remembered you don't walk through doors
around here any more

I was in a church
and I thought it was a funeral
so I was praying for an anonymous soul
'til I looked up
and saw it was a wedding

and then I realized that the living never die
and tears are just water, and rain from our eyes
to soak through the earth
and propagate, and evaporate
and float up in the sky

City

She said "Give me a dollar or hundred for gas
And I'll get out of this town
I have sunglasses and a japanese car
I'll drive so long you can't call it far, because the word's too small"
I responded that the world's too small to get away from here
I've tried before, and when you leave the city you just drive and drive
Until you come to another place that looks just like this one
With drugged up girls who are oh so smooth
Whispering me plans about how they want to move
So far away

When the shivers run down your spine, you'll pretend that they're not there
When you're playing a game with this high stakes, you won't tremble a hair
And the grease and the slick and the sewage in the city
It's the blood of the town
With the soda cans and garbage
Used up needles and half eaten food
If we can clean the blood, maybe there'll be peace in the city
If I can scrub your blood off the walls, that will be peace in the city

And there are too many secrets out in the open for my poor tired mind to take
And too many things I don't want to know and too many things I have
I feel like my soul is locked in some sub-sub-basement
Far below where elevators fall and escalators crawl
Give me a thousand dollars and a japanese car and I'll escape from this place
I'll wipe the grime and the dirt from my face

Driving time

driving;who knows where
cooly invading, the scent of pine
:it's like an olfactory bath: you say
i say that's my line, i say weird stuff like that =
we laugh

and look at the stars

'traditionally the man drives' 'who cares about tradition?'
and i'm okay with that
you shiver and i pull the blanket back on your lap

and
who

cansaywhere

we'll

end
up



not i, perhaps
not i

Hang My Head Low

and I will walk past the beaches where the lonely seagulls cry
and greet the fishermen with a wave and a twitch of the eye
and I will hang my head low, and I will swing my head high
I will sing a bold strong marching tune, I will laugh until I cry

I will wander through through a town that is drenched straight to the bone
I will step into the tin-roofed shack that I call my home
I will start a fire in the stove, and write you a short poem
I will write you a long letter telling you much I love you
Then I'll pull back on my jacket, and start again to roam

And I'll hang my head low, and I'll swing my arms high
I'll drink until I'm sober again, I'll dance until I die
I'll laugh until I'm angry, I'll smile 'til I cry
And love you in the morning, when the birds yell on the shore
And love you in the evening, and when you are no more

My Child

he is thirty feet tall with skin like black granite
blocky and huge, 40 tons heavier than i'll ever be
and he says why can you not see that you are mine
you are my child
i say that i am never, will never be his
can't you see i'm not your child?

he is carved out of stone that was quarried in my soul
and he says, why can you not tell that you are indeed mine
you are my child
i own you and hold you
and keep your head bowed down
you will love me like a father
and i cry

why must you try to lie? i am not your child
you are mine, but only of me
you are mine, my child
my burden and my gloom
you cannot use me, when i made you myself
i am you and you are i
when will you see that you, you are mine, you are my child

and he laughs, and i struggle
to accept and control what is real what is here
find the border line between the awful person i am
and the things that i fear
he says take these problems and turn them to wine
break yourself of addiction, surrender entirely
for you are mine
my child

and i know not what to say
but i am not his, he is all mine
he is mine
my child
my cursed, dark, 30 foot child
watching me with eyes of stone
holding me out of my own home

[Author's Comment; "I see my own flaws in their most vivid form as a great stone child that threatens me. The nature of certain addictions and flaws of personality is to grow to a point where they seem to be more powerful than your own personality. As in, you are a mere coating on the addiction, your personality and identity are a garnish. It is a struggle to turn your point of view from being a growth on the dark addiction, to being a real person with worth who has a growth, a tumor growing on you."]

The Stars Shine Like A Candlelight Bringing Me Home Beyond The Grid

I am a cheating lying bastard
and I feel I am happy with my life
I've made my peace with misery, we sleep together so many nights
I've fallen in love with happiness, she comes over all the others
I have done some awful things, that I hesitate to mention
I have learned to accept what has happened, I have learned to draw a line
The sky is overcast 100%
But I can see the stars
And you are a million miles away
But you've been with me all day
And together we'll sleep in separate beds
And together we'll rest our parted heads
The world will lie, but that's okay
Our truth is present in the silence that's inside of you
Inside of me, inside of you
I promise always to be true
In bright summer days
In cold winter nights so blue

"And I'm pretty sure we need this relaxation
A moment to live without this tension, not at our station
Not counting minutes, not knowing why"

she s l ee p s

she s l ee p s
sound l yy
in her so f t w a r m b e d
with my leg just-touching her's
i c a nn ot s t i r
i do n o t want 2 wakeher
i do not want to wake her

Slow Down, You Think Too Fast

last night I took a chair and sat out on the porch
and listened very carefully for the messages that the night shouts
they all told me "you aren't free"
I promised them I was, they whispered back, "you can't fool me"
I flashed on the yard light and shook my pale fist
who knew fresh air was so caustic to my ideas

and here is where my problem lies, my view's too wide, my gaze is too far
I can see the path right ahead of me, and around that corner, and over that hill
but the one I see ahead of me isn't the one I'll walk
now I see, now I can't see
and my verbosity falls on muteness, my hearing absorbs silence
the trail of my footprints making lines on inadequate

when can I dismiss the world mocking me in all its beauty and over-fatal majesty?
Gimmie a bottle so I can lose myself
Gimmie a place where my soul I can shelf
stupid awkward wording in that godforsaken line

the smell of the pain in my breath is sweeter than the sugar in all the lemon bars your grandma ever baked
happiness is transitory, depression is the pits
and f**k the world, f**k myself, beat this out, the sound of my living breath

The Author Would Like To Apologize For The Pun He Misguidedly Placed In Line #9

I got a voicemail late about 10 (ten) last night (day)
It was a girl who said her name was Ellen and she was the one to blame
that it had been all her fault and she promised never to react like that again
that I could come home, she wanted me back
and would never make me leave again

This confused my bachelor senses, at least for a minute or two
Until I realized her mistake, and gave a sad smile to whoever was looking in my kitchen window
(probably a bee or fly or insect or something, maybe a bird too)
Caller ID furnished a number, and I'd call 'er but I felt a little shy

she'd made a big, huge embarrassing mistake
and my mother's knowledge of etiquette that formed
a good deal of my inheritance had no words for this certain situation

So I took a walk through a moonlight park
and dissolved into the scenery, and walked on water
watched the pigeons proclaim their idiocy with every innocent movement
And sighed, probably at least 47 times

How about Sand?

The Lord (of the manor, not to imply blasphemy) said Let There Be Light
but the power was out and the lamp didn't turn on
so He (again, implying nothing bad) walked through His dark bedroom
past a lover that may or may not have been his wife
who might or might not have been his long lost 5th cousin
And stumbled into a nightstand bumping his head on a dresser
Trembling, reaching for a switch to illuminate his mistakes
He found it wasn't there in the form he anticipated, left bare by
an Incompetent Electrician, well, not really incompetent, just distracted
Mostly by the imminent birth of his first born (hopefully, for him) son
But partly by his struggle with debt due to a lack of luck
And anyway, maybe he couldn't be blamed for leaving the switch off and the bare wires exposed
Although, to be 100% honest, that doesn't change the fact that His Lordship's body completed the circuit

Which was more than a tad depressing, seeing as he had a tee-time scheduled for only 45 minutes into that strange and mysterious, abstract length of time known among the majority of the population of Earth as The Future.

Unfortunately, this is an obviously fictitious amalgam of poetry and prose, made so obvious by the rather silly fact
That the absence of electric current in The Lord's was established way back in line two.

To be 100% honest for the second time though, this conclusion was brought about by the author resuming work on this poetryose a decent length of time after he left off of it, and without fully reading through the original part.

His Authorship was always a rather silly fellow, and careless in his work.
Well, not completely careless, he fancied himself a tireless admirer of rhythm and rhyme
But also somewhat of a devotee to those Free Verse poets who mercilessly chop and amputate poetry
To stay fresh and new (though coincidentally making themselves stinking with the scent of ink-blood)

But yes, anyway, the most Glorious-ish Author of this semi-Brave attempt at literature (no, dangit, poetry, wait, is that literature? does that count?) thinks himself to be an O-Kay poet
Be that as it may, he probably still has a higher opinion of himself than is prudent
Or perhaps not, considering his long-standing self-esteem and self-mocking issues

Although, really who gives a crap?
/psychobabble = end/


[The Author would like to here insert an announcement; he will in the future be labeling his non-poetry attempts at writing with the label "Prose" due to the fact that "Essay" is not always fulfilling his needs, seeing as his writing has been changed by some of his reading of late, owing an especially large debt to the author of Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, whose name currently escapes *this* author. Ah well. Good sir (I'm pretty sure) I credit you.]

@

spinning
swirling
eyes wide open, world eloping
with my senses,
pulling, pushing, thrusting, breaking
perception, sight and smell and taste hearing
the pressure of the air and the pressure of the water
diving deeper, to the bottom of the pool
pressing on my eardrums, twin dams not yet breaking
blue water light impressions pulling me away
showing me a way
through myself, through who I am
pushing past everything
silence

The time of day is Half-Past Rainy With A Chance Of Hail.

there's a broken king upon his throne
it's cold as death but he knows it's his home
he turns his crown in weathered hands
and lets it fall to the ground
remembering when he saw the sun
when it seemed like The End Of Life had come undone
and happiness would reign forever

while the sterile curtain is drawn
the young husband holds her hand
hoping she will stay by his side
and not lose herself in a foreign land
where the food is odd and possibly diseased
and there are no natives, merely the faithful on bended knee

but the taxicab passes without stopping for me
and the rain trickles down through holes in my umbrella
there's love in the city, but then there's death in the love
from the grey concrete below to a cloudy heaven above
I can see that nobody is interested in electronics at this time and in this weather
the TVs are putting on a private show for the shop manager and themselves

Can anyone tell me that they're not a liar

That they're not a hypocrite

That the world isn't evil

And hearts aren't cold?


I'm sitting here waiting all by myself, waiting to be told

Winter Scene

my father; blowing snow in a snow
storm, sounding the alarm (his bold
loud voice) !keep away from blades!
streetlights explode and dazzle my eyes
cutting chopping killing perception
i tell myself it's okay to cry when your brain is been blown
inside upside down all about
spinning sticking gripping snowflakes on my wet cheeks
stinging numbing sizzling snowflakes

and love is dead in the garden in the ba-
ckyard
the roses i talked to all summer are dead
all plants and weeds lie broken dry
cold wind sheer down my throat
breathing breathe that freezes cuts kills like winter

Effort

You surround yourself with the words you took off broken bridges and burnt out hearts
Like an artsy emotional blanket to shut out the cold, like a stylish flourescent lamp to ward off the dark
But you're just another poet seeking an air of tragedy
Trying to appear somber with a 'genuine poetic mentality'
You only know what fear is, you do not know of pain
The feel of your fears sliding under your skin
And the myth of sacredness being taken down before your crying eyes

What will the people say when they see you torn asunder?
What will the critics think when you abruptly get pulled under?
Grabbed by the throat and drowning in despair
You lucky boy, you get to experience
Exactly what you've written so wittily about before
And now you realize how it feels, like being bound and gagged in the back seat of your own life
While it shoots right off a cliff
The day to day suffering, without a clear point
Not sharp enough to break through the veil, but thick enough to smother you fully

In practice you fall up with honors and royalties galore
But in the real world test you just fall through an open door
That's built into the floor
Of the house you proudly live in
Of the road you proudly stalk

Glower

She said that this is what comes of wrapping your heart in a halo
and swallowing candle wax for dinner
For using angel robes to towel off
and their harp strings for floss
I swear back, I could not help it
nothing can be forgiven, she informs me solemnly
I didn't think there was anything needed forgiving

But it's too late into the night to be wrapping your heart with a halo
too much fun waiting kept back by that gold band
Both the one on your heart and the one on your hand
"I'm sorry, I
Apologize
Evangelize
Accidentally surprise"
Quiet, boy, you've chained yourself up with halos and gold
Don't say you'll play the game (y
ou'll just do what you're told)

This is a great adventure
i can tell by the condensation on the window
And the halo gripping tighter tells me I'm better than this
i know i am, but i don't see how i can't can

We've been walking and talking and discussing how we've both been processed by this city machine
And I need to get away get back to where i can flex my lungs and suck in the air without feeling like it's suicide
and She knows I'm better than this

Safe Heart

I work at a bank. I wake up every morning, brush my teeth, get dressed, catch a bus, go to work. Every morning, every day. It seems I do nothing but work.

But I have a secret. I know a secret. It has to do with the bank.

Deep in the basement, where the safes are, there is one certain one that I'm sure hasn't been opened in a very long time.

And I know what's inside.

It's a tiny heart.

A teeny tiny heart.

I hear it beating sometimes when I walk past the safe it's in. Sometimes it will be beating quietly, and I'll crane my head and jam my ear up against the safe. Then I hear it beating...whoosh...bloosh...whoosh...bloosh...

Maybe that isn't the sound it makes, but I'm not sure how to explain what it sounds like with onomatopoetic words. If you want a more solid explanation, it sounds like your lover's heart when you're lying on the couch with your head on his chest. That's what it sounds like when it's quiet. When it's loud, it sounds like your own heart does when you suddenly realize you're in trouble, and have to run.

This is a very secure bank; nothing has ever been stolen from it ever. I don't know who is keeping their heart here, but it won't get stolen either. I kind of feel sorry for whoever it belongs to, though. I think they forgot about it; who would lock their heart up in a safe, in the bank where I work, every morning, every afternoon, and some evenings too?

WUIEEC {Writing Under The Influence Of E. E. Cummings}

but the thing is she said its never too late to say goodbye
because you can always go back and you never have to acc-
ept what's going on; just deny deny deny because it's never too late to say good bye
and you can't stop being friends and hanging out just because someone died,, and who
is the cynic is this situation? idon'twanttobe one, i'm a [happy] person
not cynical at all, just frustrated
yes, frustrated is the word
frustrated with everything that's all around me fluttering and breathing and smothering
like the moths in my closet or the mice in my head that remind me everything isn't alright
and i'm sick of catchphrases catching people and bypasses letting people bypass the ugly truth,
that the truth is beautiful. and you just don't know what beauty is
liar liars liar lied to me, they lied to me :(

I never said I was unhappy (youjustheardmemoaninginmysleeplikeabulletsinmybellyandillnevergetitout)

so come on lets break free she
said to me no i said to her She wouldnt listen
she was having too much fun (i said
lets not have fun im too tired for fun and anyways i dont think its that much fun but She) said no wait
stop
listen
can't you hear what the people are saying [all the sounds their making]
that's the beat of life
the love and death the daily strife

and i said i don't like it much lets go live by the sea
but She said she liked the city better because there you never have to sleep

and i said i like sleeping in so i dont have to deal with sin
She said she said she said it was alright (that lovers have different tastes sometimes)
She kisses my tears when i happen to cry but she doesnt know how it makes me want to die} or just not care {about the things i happen t|o

i try to Block It Out but i cant leave Her behind
and im wondering how i can survive On The Other Side

Cyclical

Sometimes she feels like the cycle will never end
And it's all a misguided attempt that never should have begun
Sometimes she feels like cutting her throat
In her search for a better life

And this is just your favorite song on repeat
It'll fade until you're deaf to the sound
The chords get too familiar and the verses all blend
You can't even tell it's there, when it once was your best friend

I need you so much closer
So much closer
I need you so much, closer
So much, closer
I need you so, much closer
So, much closer
I need you, so much closer
I need my space
So much space
I need, you so much, closer
(Closer)

Epic Romance In A Photobooth

lover it's our last honeymoon night
or maybe the first and i just forgot
but whether or not i'm wrong or i'm right
i have something for you to do for me
duct tape my wrists and do it behind my back
roll me over and press my face into the pillow
make me think you're really gonna do it this time
make me feel like you'll finally set me free

whenever i wake up in a dark room
i wonder if it's heaven, and i look and see you
and think it must be earth
because you're all i'll stay behind for
but i need a hand to stroke my face
some lips to keep me believing there's good in this place
a body pressed against mine to help me forget
all the fairness, free will
this ridiculous shit
i can't breath, you're not smothering me
the only air i'll take in is what you exhale into me

handcuff me to a tree and blindfold my eyes
touch me all over and do it all day
then when the night falls uncover my eyes
and let me see the stars for once
tell me it's the end and cuddle with me while i smile
just drown me in the ocean while the angels sing their song
bury me in the sand and mark it as my home

Let's Get On A Ship And Get Out Of Here

I had a dream late just last night
We were lovers put together and pulled in close and tight
Our bodies fused at the heart, hip and shoulder
A freak of medicine, and a miracle of love
Someone sighing from the apartment above

And then we jumped

And when the police found the note it simply stated that
'there is no love or properpuntuation in this hellhole thatwecallanation'

and it was not reported on your local news
So the smiling faces wouldn't lose their glow
as they briefly murmured the news and said it's such a shame
those filthy hypocrites
I bet they never knew our name

Photo Albums have it right.

Where on earth (or off it) did innocence go? What happened? When did this life appear?

I can remember back before evil and sin tainted every moment of my life. Back when the plants were greener, everyone was friendly, and there was nothing bad in the world. Back before there was politics, and people being cruel and hating people they'd never met in their lives. Before we destroyed each other incessantly and did unimaginable things to innocents. Before there was a world built up around sex, and sex itself was just a concept. When no one swore, and hearts hadn't begun to harden.

What happened to those days? They seem to have disappeared entirely, beyond any chance of returning.

Do you remember them too? Do you remember the tickle of the wet grass on your arms and your cheeks as you lay on the lawn with your best friend in the whole wide world? The running in and out of everyone's house as you pleased; the lemonade and the homemade cookies..? What about summer storms where the sky filled with white clouds, which then turned grey, and then darker, darker, darker until they were black, and finally exploded out, flooding the street and soaking everything. Did you run out and play in the rain? Did you burst out of the house in bare feet and no coat, or did your mother make you dress up in boots, rubber jacket, and then handed you an umbrella as you left the house? Or maybe you just sat in the living room, watching the storm through open windows, deeply drawing in the fresh, wet air. And the 4th of July! All the families in the neighborhood gathering on the one streetcorner, the mothers sitting on lawn chairs with the littlest babies on their laps, and everyone else running around waving sparklers, while the fathers placed a firework safely in the middle of the street, calmly lit it, and then dashed back for cover as fast as they could. Whenever one of the firecrackers that flashed the bright white light and screamed went off, everyone would wince and put their hands over their ears. There were popscicles enough for everyone, and it would go on until the policeman drove through and told us we weren't allowed to light fireworks here. Then one or two of the braver dads would light a few more, and then it was off to bed. And in the fall all the trees were more beautiful than any painting, and there were huge piles of leaves in every yard. And in the winter it snowed a huge amount, and you would run out in blizzards for snowball fights and cave building.

What happened?

When did the world get this much colder, this much more complex? It went from your grandma's house with cookies and milk to your grandma's house where you argue about things with your relatives. Why did this happen? When did growing up mean getting burnt out?

Burn the Books.

This is the story of my life
but you, unlucky reader
have only found a paragraph
Ripped out from the rest

and the thesis sentence of it is simply stated

I'm just getting what I deserve
Don't give me water to quench the flames
They're just doing their job
And I don't regret any of this
Just what led up it to
No, I don't feel like I'm being robbed
I feel like I gave my possessions directly to the thieves
And I don't have the excuse of not knowing what to believe
I knew damn well the whole f--king time

But now I'm just lying here
With nothing left for me
Don't bother calling a rescue team
They would only be doing what they shouldn't be
Just give up on me, and do your best to forget
I've already lost this race;
I made myself unwelcome in this blessed place

Don't get angry at the judge or jury
For I was not condemned
And I never walked out on any of you
It's just when you've been lost by your own hand
It's hard to stay a friend

Land...?...no...

Now here's the part where I confess
I'm all alone, adrift and lost at sea
I'm nothing but the image of the person I want to be
Superimposed on regrets and a blank black screen
Can somebody grab my head and push me under
Hold me down until the bubbles falter
Keep me down a little longer for good luck

I've lied to everyone about who I am
I've even spewed out shit at myself
For a while there, I almost believed it too
But now I've woken up and realized
I'm really just lost at sea
A hot horizon going on endlessly
It'll be a holiday when I go over the edge
On the map of my life it says 'here be dragons'
I think I know how they get that way

How can anyone else forgive me
When they've already done it once, twice, three times over
Or six or twelve or a hundred
Somebody take a picture of my sinking ship
So the newspapers will be able to say just where he went down
And the obituary can tell everyone why he isn't around