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.

Under The Pressure

The age of you
Was a glimpse of beauty and change.
I didn't know how important it felt
To help you pick out the right boots,
When you were shopping and I was
Distracted by something,
Coincidentally reminding me of you,
So young.

I'm torn, but I really think I could've
Done a lot better. I linger on that,
And wonder what it would be like to
Hold you again as mine. The urge to
Steal a kiss is powerful, but I dismiss.
You do not want this. You do not wish
That I should linger on.

It doesn't matter, really. My feelings
Are mine, and I'll come to my own
Conclusions. I know there is going to be
A moment when I finally let you go.
I don't want to lose your perfect and
Beautifully disturbing nature.
You were founded by golden light,
Sequenced to a chance at perfect bliss.
So you lost some cards; me too.

We were always wanderers.
We stirred up every calm, because we
Love to explore. Bravery is traded;
We forgot that. We let our devils
Bring us down.
We were soaked by tidal floods
And we drowned.

Columbus

Somebody wrote a song for a girl,
And somebody sailed halfway
Across the world, but none of it makes
Any sense to me, any longer.

I like my toast dirty blonde,
And I like my coffee creamy and sweet.
I'd like the quiet without a head
That didn't always try to compete
With the fragmentary nature of memory.

Lost in a sea of vision. Everyone has
Some agenda. I float about useless.
I perform tasks, try new alphabets,
Decipher pure reason in the mundane.

I do not achieve much with no aim.

I make plays at what the heart is, and
The art of love but it's failing. It's simply
Two feet off the bed, brew the pot,
Calisthenics,
A little mindless toil.
A little reading, shower and dress.
Walk and listen,
Task, confirm, complete.
Home, whisky, read, think.
Leave,
Drink.
Sway, think, think, spatter,
Write, fumble.

And in the morning, before two feet down
I recollect such exchange,
And it is empty of meaning.
Communication disarray.
I think I lost sight of something,
Such that was the essence of my being.

Sex, lies, deceit...
Like everything I've got is
Some secret. Truth is:
I don't know a bit of truth
Most people don't already know.
Primal instinct turns me into
A nightmare of a man for that urge,
The one, that in many cases, has
Turned the world upside-down.

Behind every great action is a woman.

Lie to myself, I don't know this.
I don't know just how I became
This hungry thing of constant searching.
Burns deeper than any ember long after
The fire seems out.
My core is so persistent. Don't even know
How many lifetimes I've spent trying
To find that perfect, lovely thing.
Perfect is subjective, but I'm looking
For the counterpart
Who would choose a wreck like me
To whittle away the days with.

My subjective is love.

I'm so enthralled by the notion;
It's the only thing that quickens my heart.
I breach every day with a wish,

One where I might find
Comfort in the ending.

Copper

Copper in my pocket,
Three cents change from a lady
At some gas station in Lamar.
Spent the rest of the day forgetting.
Every time I return I just resurrect
All these last moments I love,
But try to ignore.
I'm working on a sequel here...
I'm trying to jump a step ahead,
And I just trip a bit in the stride;
Like I'm born to fall a bunch,
But dammit if I don't have the will
To forge ahead, stupid and strong.
I digress. All of this, all this crazy ride
That life places before you,
It's yours,
And not one
Can say different.
Be plain about your actions,
And solicit none of ambiguity.
With resolute measure
Resound all the longings of your heart.
Life is brief,
Might as well stop fucking around,
But feel the present,
And find relief.

For the next few months
The only question I'm going to ask
Of all I know and hold dear is:
"How can I help?"

What I wouldn't give for a cold beer
In this desolate atmosphere,
But back porched and lazy,
I submit to the resources around,
And slip long and easy into
An atmosphere of perpetual thought...

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.