2:39am

Spare me a little time just now,
Cause I'm in a mood,

And I need the glare of moonlight

Cascaded off your caramel skin.

Some kind of fever- has to be that.

No other way to explain

The process of warm blood rushing

Everywhere instantly. Insanity.

I am no doctor. I do not deduce

What is or isn't advised.

I only know it to be some kind

Of condition. One where I feel

As green things when the sun goes.

And your environment is wild;

Steam and midnight smoke risen

From the leaking thoughts I cannot control.

I contain it long and much. It aches

Somewhere deep and heady, 

And to be isolated with your presence...

I fear what I may attempt

In my condition.

In my mood. A fever, deeper

And deeper, driving this madness.

Fertile terrain I cannot traverse.

Well,
If you're not going to spill your lot
Then what exactly are you doing?
I mean to say,
If you're not going to expel all your
White noise, all your reserves
To what you see fit,
Then how do you operate?
The expected grin of a chance,
With even a whim of possible success
Is just about right for this man.
Still gonna shoot at the moon.
Still hoping to hit that perfect variable.
Least likely places,
That's where it comes from.
So I'm able, a little troubled,
But always willing to gamble again.
The stakes get bigger every time.
I've learned that there is no cap on
The willingness to burst apart someday.
I'll do it all.
Might kill me.
Fuck it.
I'd always
Do it again.

Good and bad,
I enjoyed the hell out of you.
The grit we shared;
The tough bits that shored our hearts
From movement to higher planes;
Those in-betweens were mine,
And yours. We felt supreme.
My pride,
For the love you bade
Aided in my overconfident crash
Into the reality of this living
Aftermath.

In the end, what's become and
What is, the symbiosis of distance;
Well, let's face it: I never let it go.
Dead to rights, I guess I don't know
How to not fight for some way,
Some thing to make you keep me
In a place for me alone for you.
A perpetual reservation of your heart.

Too much to ask, I know.
With low lit nights as these and
A faint hum of passive traffic
Come and gone, I know the truth.
But another year's gone by;
So many less than when I had you.

Passive boy, he lingers in
Long, late night hours and wonders
About all the good in life,
And where it's been going,
Or where it lies.

So his daylight is laborious;
His nights, a seclusion in fractions;
Particular points about people
And their lives.

Some are quick to disguise. Some
Are so hidden they do not realize
What they've become. Some are straight,
And never waver from their
Beautiful roots of blind bravery.
They can see what I cannot see.

There is no formula, I'm convinced.
Not for this waylaid bunch of misfits
Running about this tattered world.
And He wonders all of this,
Looking for answers, finding riddles.

Passive, perched on a post to see
The best, and gain a vision. A small
Accumulation of some truth,
Some answer to this mess.

Crunching The Numbers (previously written)

You say it like it's past us;
Paid the fee, took the ride,
Felt the thrill and thought we would die,
Then it felt like the end,
We all cried it was over,
But it's coming around again.
You can feel it as it moves
And you are scared of what it will do,
And what it will prove,
And so am I, so am I, in love.
Well it could break us into
Fine dust, or it could save us
From our hearts going bust.
We're not broke, we just budget,
And the economy is bad.
We invested a lot before but
Our stock markets crashed,
And we went running out the door,
Saying, "no more. Not a fraction more."
This currency is rough,
Full of gambles and chance.
I know my words are not enough,
You need an echo and a stance.
You need a pillar holding the bank,
Supporting steady when you tank,
And your check won't clear;
I need the same, my dear.

Where The Good Hearts Go

I don't often know where the good heart goes.
I've a faint idea, for a distant memory,
Of a child raised in busy daylight,
Binding time in quiet tree tops,
Buried in bushes with spiders and chirps
Of birds and buzzing bees.

Children do grow, and go into themselves,
Giving way to worldly wonders and
The influence of others;
We learn, and make mistakes.

A good heart, but probably a little aloof.
If you can't find other good hearts
You might lose the idea altogether,
Spent by broken branches of change
That crack your worried mind
Through unsettling eyes of doubt
And strife.

Good hearts go to good, at least they want to.
Gravity manifested in a flight of feeling
For love and largess of the beyond
To be humble, simple, brave, and bound
By good for good's sake alone.

Heart

Heart:
Beauty and pain.
A collection of knowledge
On a warm afternoon
Ascertained.
What light, what heat,
Makes its prowl?
Not a ghost, not a sea form,
Not a riddle,
How can I figure this out?
Love:
Love, love, love, love, love.
Search the heavens end to end,
They're just stars up above.
But oh that glow,
Soft on a winter night...
If I feign to hear it
Then I ought to have heard it
Just right.
Dream. Boy you better get dreamin',
Aren't you ready?
Here stands a man with two hands,
One heart,
Two eyes to see steady,
Two ears to hear the chirping
Of sweet, sweet, sweet,
Dancing people.
Heart:
Two fists open and apart.
Two hands to four,
No less, no more.
Time, time, time,
I'm awake.

No Title

Praise be the moments,
Where time allots a fraction
to rethink old and reflected ideas.
Gifted by a slight sliver
of a light that shivers an instant,
dancing on the walls of past
with new interpretation.
I remember her a new way now.
As if it were replaced,
or if I could see outside the room,
a bird's eye view
of a life I thought I knew.
And it weren't the cost.
I'm a rich fool
spending all I've got
on the longest shot to find.
It is always on my mind.
And I worry now,
if love is nothing like I've known,
or some camouflaged thing
come and gone,
a withering flash
from a crackle of fire
caught glimpsed in the moonlight,
when a mind dances
like ripples of the water.
This condition persists
and it is a part of me.
A lost limb of function;
can't be fiction.
A person is nothing
without some faith to believe.
However the path
it is such beautiful pain.
And the moments of a real exchange;
they are such that drive
this tired, weary spirit on.
Our greatest achievements
are born from our greatest faults.
Perfectly imperfect
Sentient beings.

Nature

Busy little bee, and the nature of this
Suffering;
A wilted flower, I follow your limbs
As they brush against the incognizant
Petals of my lazy existence.
Fortunate freeing by a drench, a drop
Of your lifted nature,
Favored visit, the light, sun-spatter
And a sway of memorable delight
Rippling throughout a meager life
As mine.
If you still need my nectar, please collect
In all that is in me to be had.
I am simple. I give all that I have.
From you will I grow again.

A Shade of Blue

Driven spirit, worth-secluded
beauty born of modest intention,
why do you resurrect this familiarity?

I thought I'd left it.
It was fielded, and free, away from the
constant compromise I put myself in lately.

But you bid this; you asked for the sleeping giant behind a quiet man
apart from feeling,

And now everything will be climactic;
pure chaos in small incremental ways.

And this small story, this muse,
it will be but one more beautiful step

in the culmination of a grand play
at what the common people call living.

We are but branches caught in tangle,
Gliding down waterfront places for a time.

We will be bold, and brave, and secret.
We will be punctual, concise, and plain about those things of us we love,
and can't change.

Smoke Break At The End of Day.

You see,
There's a lot of ways you could see yourself,
A lot of different planes to this beautiful mess of chaos, bliss, destruction and unimportance.
What I see morning times in the mirror,
Oh so different then the end of the night. And in between it's just a fog, a haze of happenstance and perpetual change abound in silent rhythms unfolding.

Then there's that long lull that is the night, after the fray of whatever caused it. Staring silent, parched from every exchange, and the bottom of something is all I seek. I take my days down with liquid brown and think long about love and every other complication of life. After all these long nights you'd think I'd know better by now to think of something better...

Whatever compels your suffering soul, embrace it. But how many times did I wish for that thing I might already have had, but just not seen?

Chin-up lad. You've still

Chin-up lad. You've still got some
Worth to gift the world. You were
Once a bright, smart boy who never
Settled. Sought your answers in the
Thick of it all. Took little shit;
Did it with grace and strength.
That's your core, boy. If only that good
Could run you simply you'd be just You.
Just something honest and straight
To feed a fire of better warmth,
To give as well as to receive.
Reconnection
In a disarray of reflection
Makes for this glacial pace
Of important change for which
I'm charged.
I cannot wait until I'm whole.
Such hallow,
Deeply rooted.
But that hurt was a lover,
And a teacher,
An addiction, a friend.
Beautifully splendid company.
I will never forget my
Dark, darling,
Fire breathing, charming,
Host of seven glorious years
Of my imperfect existence.
You make me miss
What once seemed like
Mere moments of simple nothing.