I glide, I simmer, I sink.
Such abyss endless above,
When I'm flying,
Dance upon the glimmer of sun
And water binding the moments.
That's the feeling,
The feeling when I think of you.
Molecules found excited
In the wake of your mention.
How can a moment last forever?

Sweet red heart,
Burning heat in the afternoon brimming,
You arouse the wild me within
To a place without forgiving.
Every action with intention. True blue
Bustle for active understanding.
I crave you deep and heady,
Bow bent, rain brimmed,
Beautiful storm.
You are the link of love's argument.

Somebody once told me to write from a white hot place,
And I figured it's somewhere center, and integral- a part of some core we all live to face,
But it only recently became clear that the heart isn't it, but the love that fills the space.
I have known some versions of it, but never this maddening measure...
A burn, like a fever overtaken.
I'm surrounded by questions.
Am I good enough?
Is this real?

Could I manage this beautiful storm and live to tell the tale?

This white hot place is filled full, and I am afraid of a burst before too long.

All I can do is overwhelm with the love created, and hope to not fall down

And be overtaken by the greatest gamble of my life.

Sometimes it's good to gamble...

Have, Should, Want, Hope.

I can't help but think of Girl From The North County by Bob Dylan when I think of you.
Then I can't help but think of a bit of Whitman, when he said, "You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor see from the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books. You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me. You shall listen to all sides, and filter them through yourself."

So far in this I've evaded all true worth of self projected. Let me see about that part now...

I have sang your anthem before.
I have bordered between a good and a bad man so many times.
I have been, and often am, lost and crying
for a signal light.

I should have taken to books.
I should have believed I was better.
I should know by now my sad, repeating patterns of inconsistent action.
I should have thought about this.

I want, well, to know what I want.
I want sound mind, soft heart.
I want to be at peace with someone through this journey.
I want to be wanted, just the like.

I hope to find answers.
I hope you're not mistaking my meaning.
I hope I'll be successful at the things I love and know.
I hope you'll love me, all the same.

Pink brick,
Cream canvas.
I have measured this life
In momentary bits of madness.
Car wheeze, smoke stain.
Laymen terms for most things...
It's a project, and a fit.
It's a hard look at a tapestry
Forever unfolding in the passing
Of a wakeful sleep.

When the quiet night takes me,
Stops the prowl and awakes me
Briefly,
Well, I feel a feeling
Where I need not care
If the world is meant to spin me
Or just be spun by time and
Other such nonsense.
Universally, we're all limitless.
Still in a sleep, but also alive.

Radio went down and we all perked up...
What was next, if not this bliss?
Something else had our attention:
We were never the same since.

And it went on a lot like love;
It pulled, it pushed, it broke and bound.
We thought we had something won,
But our hearts still hit the ground.

Our lives, so made of fine displacement,
Shape and shift in constant replacement. 

We are pieces on a board
Plucked and moved by
Twisting fate;
Nothing lasts but tastes so sweetly,
Burning words and looks discreetly
Given from perfect eyes
That move like music
Heavenly created.

Stoned

I'm an audio-lamplight walkabout
Forest fire,
I'm a rough edge scrape step, stumble,
Fallen, seen in harsh light,
Scrutinized or criticized, loved or
Hated by the ones that walk around.
Too much sensory love for
The things that pull a heart so easy.
I am beaming light bent backwards
Easy, and I fold simply like
A paper plane from an older hand.
Familiarity in the crease of time when
You think about it for a moment.
God, the buildup for this beauty,
Well it's got to be something. Maybe
I'll explode into a million pieces,
And scatter me into the atmosphere
Amongst the infinite grace of
Environment.

Home

There is no quiet, there is no quiet,
Always something on. A game,
My father's monologue about
The way work is going,
Mob ties, NFL fantasy drafts.
There is the patio,
Where in the distance I hear the hum
Of highway travel, and the trees,
Riddled with chirping things I cannot see.

The air is thicker here, with a heavy
Blanket covering me. I retreat outdoors.
I do not watch sports, and I'm lost in
Most of the common speak.
I am a loner, here at home. They don't
Mind, at least I don't think.
Still there's all this noise. Always.

Like in spring and fall, when I open
My windows to let the air in-
Endless cars go by. Trucks, fast bikes,
Sirens. There's always so much noise...
Still, it's funny. Given good silence,
Though a rare thing,
And all I want is to hear something
Out there again. To know I'm not alone.

Part 2

It was that there I found a little peace.
I remember a decision; one so great
That it would shake the very foundation
Of which I'm made. I sat first on the
Crest of a small hill. In my childhood,
I would sled upon it and feel that cool
Beauty scar my face for hours, even after
I would come home, tired and occupied.

I sat and remembered, so vividly, the time
I took in my hand a green leaf, to
Signify the moment I chose you.
I was scared, perhaps frightened by
The idea of your wake, but I tell you,
I didn't want to miss out for a moment
In what it could do.
And now all those years, and all
The adventures I had in that place...
Well, they just don't stack up to
Your arms over your knees preaching
And asking for my hand for once.

You could say I took it for granted.
For that, I'm sorry.
But the green grass beckons my step,
And I descend to a place where
So many things occurred in passing.
Where I first leapt at life, in a most
Awkward way. My favorite things
Were tall trees and stars. I was
Simple then. Didn't grieve, didn't ask
For a price to give. I just became.

I stopped at a picnic table and lit a
Cigarette. I watched the sauntering
Smoke rise, relative and real from my
Hand, mimicking the notions of my
Thoughts and actions. I smelled the
Burn from my adolescence linger,
And I realized that it's all bullshit.
Life is what you make it, only don't
Lie to yourself too much and you'll
Probably stay upright and welcome.

I know that day approaches. I can see
Little light peering through thick
Curtains. And soon I will awake,
Coffee in hand, back porch for the black
Cup with a smoke. I forget my hard work
In the head that swears I'm
Doing it wrong. I should have abandoned
It long ago, but I'm stubborn, quite
Possibly insane, and yet I remain;
To kill time, I'm afraid.

Part 1

"You've got a good head on your shoulders,
You just need to work on the heart thing." An
Old man said to me, as I talked briefly with him
On a cool autumn evening,
Sun brisk and fading thick behind quiet trees nearly
Empty from the wind and general change.
I walked many long hours, searching for what everyone
Wants, an answer, an affirmation; sublimated freeing
From the present stance of little knowledge...
That kind of stuff takes time, so I kept pace with tumbling leaves gliding lazy across wet walking paths around a shallow lake.

That night I had a dream. I was at my old elementary school, watching a little boy shooting hoops at a short court. He wasn't very good, but he looked happy, fumbling with the ball and running about, nimble and lithe. I asked him if I could join, and he threw me the ball and said, "shoot one." We played three games of horse, and he won two, with his signature backwards shot from ten feet away. Afterwards we sat a while and talked. It was getting dark. The overhead light, white and humming loudly, beam above us, with a growing collection of bugs surrounding it's ominous glow.

I sat on a small set of steps next to the court, the boy on his basketball. I asked him if he should be getting home, and he said that he shouldn't leave me alone this late. It struck me as funny, but I simply nodded in appreciation. He asked me where I was going, and I said I didn't know. I told him about my back porch, and long nights that come with leaving home. I told him about cats, and that love is beautiful but it can break you. I spilled my entire life for the past twelve years to him, all the while he sat on his basketball, leaning back and forth, with his elbows on his knees, holding his face in his hands, seemingly not listening, not a care in the world to him.

After I finished my dialogue there was a brief silence, then the boy stood up, bounced his ball a few times, then held it, looked at me and smiled. He said, "you've got a good heart, you just need to get your head straight". Then he walked across the playground, fading finally between two fences that opened up to an alley leading away. I stood up, walked around the court a few times, then carried on in the opposite direction, to a little park in a small valley between big houses low lit.

Young and golden,
He got a prize of beauty,
And felt the gaze often
Upon him. Then I came by,
Caught those eyes,
And maybe took her away.

Young and lazy,
The love I had I'd had so long,
So long I forgot to water it proper.
Then a boy came by,
Caught her eye,
And then she went away.

Old and blue,
Busy too long with
All you do, don't think too hard.
Probably a reason it broke.
Maybe the soul is singing.
I hear echos and choral lull

Rake grooves in my heart
To be filled by momentum
Towards a greater light.
A good man thinks long.
A good man's charge is brief.
He will fall, fail, and ignite sometimes,
But now and then he shines.

Bright light brimming,
In the deep black places,
What are you doing?
You're supposed to ignore
The fool in the back,
Quiet and unsure. Not
Worth it. Not to be considered
For the time to take your
Eyes in full, with sharp gazes that
Kind of hurt my chest
And cause a slight shortness
Of breath.
You worry me...
For how you'll affect my life.
For how I'll affect yours.
Of course, I could be off.
Probably nothing anyhow.
One-sided flutter of hopeful wings.

Television age.
Read something, I dare you.
Pick that brain for potential
To be right without an instant index.
I guarantee you'll do well;
We retain much more then we think.

You know, all the tools to open up,
To be recognized as real as you are
Still exist, but it's
Persona grata. You gotta give yourself
To someone else. Not just a glow;
Not just a happening elsewhere.
No wonder people are so fucking lost.

Ok, this is a collection of thoughts,
Taken as they fall from me.
Maybe the point is that we denigrate
The idea more and more to be real
And straightforward with one another.
Maybe that's just my fight.
Perhaps I'm a boat without harbor.

You see white sand;
I see another place I shouldn't dock.

Bright star, distant mirror,
I hear the whirl of your wake stir
Deep and heady thought;
I feel you but I don't understand.
Can't stop, even when
The bright light grows dim,
And I wipe the sweat off my brow,
Thinking all too much
That there is something bigger...
Some vast expanse, some use
For this glance high above
My current circumstance.
I crave the fruits of this world,
But I'm too reticent, afraid of change
And to lose all of the
Acceptance that I've gained.

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.