Pitfalls,
Long shadows,
Dusty thoughts
That leak in darkened rooms.
Overcome by this twilight,
And a quiet departure
In an early evening,
Where I now face my self again, alone.
If the soul has a purpose,
Apart from my own,
Then how do I listen?
All of life is either a long dream
Or some too detailed present view,
And I miss the rest of what becomes.
Short-sighted, waning like the moon.
Just a sliver of the self,
The rest hidden in dark recesses
Of quiet cold,
No sound, no big exchange.

Every morning I awake to a black and white world before me,
And the gray in between
Is most prominent on the heads of men,
My own included.
Dormant rhythms of deep reflections cascade across my
Waking horizon; just a hush, barely a whisper,
But with volumes of echoes full of feelings I cannot escape.

A little older, not letting go of that youthful rasp, I stumble
And remember why I gave it up.
Yet I cling, Yet I linger...
And soon it will be shawls and whither. Soon, too soon
It will be bright brown shoes, umbrella dances and
Soft misty breaths like tea pots hissing,
And the deep tones filter through me sad and strange.

Let me say to you all,
With specks of humanity fallen by
Hard winds and sudden changes,
That though my life has seemed a slow
And careful process of cowardice
I have learned much, and seen many.
I, like many, am misguided but
Well-intended. We are those that feel,
Do not ask if it is right, just invite all of
The properties that compliment
The scene. Sometimes I'm tired of this
Strange melody, but then I remember,
It's better to almost break than to creak
Away a slow death night after night.
No, I'm almost there. Almost a man I
Could endure to be. Nearly singular.
Quite close to bone-deep integrity befit
To express a self worth knowing, or
At least showing the true face
That you will come to hate or embrace.
Well, it's all a journey, anyhow.
You want my deep? It's yours. I'll throw
That mess away to finally be free.
Why is it so hard to fit in?
Feeling like a strange step in a
Good stride. Outsiders. We all have
Got a story. Hindsight bears a tough rap,
Following future action meticulously.
What is memory, but an ever changing
Persuasion to adhere a given motion.
I haven't had it tough.
I've been through things,
But I don't know shit, in the end.
So much to learn,
And I numb my head to avoid the breaks.
Probably I should get things straight,
And salvage this desire to bring about
The possible good to come.
The possible good I am.
We're all good, so long as we try.

Bar post content, spun by spattered rhythm played aloud through cheap speakers. The smell of thin cigars, lazy ice clinking in glasses,
And cool air for a change, making the mood a bit melancholy with the thought of fall fast approaching.

Tinny deep voice keeps drowning out my thoughts. Seems I can't focus any longer
On the things I want to write about. Too long been doctored up by some means of blurring the whole world different-like. Can't conceptualize the living world of which I'm a part of.

Broken bottle crashes and saturated
Surface with the smell of beer and
Whisky. That's just work for you.
That's the signifier. I'm a wet horse
Run into a cliff, I'm a night bird.
I'm slow, I lumber at my own pace.
I give my all, spilled sticky on the
Clay tiles, with faded colors
Of dusty footprints.

Oh I'm just a simple, quiet fool.
I have foregone the moment for the
Moment's thought. I drift like a lazy
Little boat, barely tied down. I bow much
To the broken parts of my being.
I don't know if I'm where I should be.
Heart doesn't do much these days.
Low income housing situation.

End of the night I'm out.
Cold one, smoke, wipe the sweat off my brow. Wind that head down to
A walk and some music.
Become transparent.

I love the idea of new, because there's
Got to be something different coming
In this fragmented world of which I live.
Fresh and alive,
Relenquishing all I can match for the
Taking. I'm going to come up right,
Going to surface proper this time. I've got
To recognize the luminescence as it
Breeds it's wayward longings in me.

I'm a wild animal, but best quietly kept by
A good being that can tolerate my rasp.
And I falter much, but I know my best is
Met by the one that can harmonize my
Silly melody for this world and all its busy
Ways of coping with every change.
Life is such a feeling of procession and
Of time. Don't miss out too long, else
You'll miss the beat and pulse of all that
You've been longing for.

So this new thing, this occurrence that
Might excite the right atoms in me, to
Ignite a semblance of explosions, could
Just be the persuasion I need to grasp
That individualized nature necessary for
Good understanding and grace, for a
Future long needed to breathe easier.

But this is four parts of spliced thought.
I've given a lot, with little gain. So I took
A long look and realized this guy needs
Just a bit of courage, and perhaps some
Direction. Could have been any damn
Thing, but I chose to be a little bit
Of everything. Little bits of goodness.
Thanks for the attention; better go back
While you've still got the spotlight.
No, it's slow and easy I need. I've got
To have that bit best for me. Got to find
That which shows a light that feeds the
Warmth only found in familiarity.

The last embers of a long forgotten flame are dying tonight. Yes, it's been long over;
The warmth given has ceased to bloom any spectacle of feeling resounded. Still, there was a tiny piece of heat left, however a wind came on and finally took it away from me, for good, I fear.
It was my last chance at a half-decent man, inside another's that I'd take as my own. Now I'm left with little me, the fool so used to breaking things easy.

I bid you farewell, and that you live a good life. I hope most of all that you find blissful love.

Fuck Time

I'm no athlete,
Yet I've been running so long
From the innumerable recesses of my mind,
In bits and fractions. I never look for answers,
Just take it all as something given.
But I've been an ungrateful child, most times.
I've looked for disaster, invited it even,
And I've churned the mire a minute to deduce
Pure fire, intrinsic, and never static as I waver
From place to place, face to face.
Always searching for something worthwhile,
And it probably was,
But I moved too fast, forgetting some things take time.
Time is a killer to us.
Frame your life in lengths of it,
Tell stories by it,
Remember, shiver, smile and cry;
Who's the wiser when that expanse doesn't matter?
After all, living is a symbol of time.
But we are immortal. The body dies,
The matter mixes back in, to something else,
Most likely more life.
All living things share a pulse,
One driven by distant deep of unknown origin.
One energy divided, one energy decided,
And this terrible end to each other apparent and fast:
Time and consciousness.
Well, fuck it.
Time can hasten or slow;
I don't want to miss things but I don't know
What the hell time has got to do with me.