Dave Brubeck, Take Five

Step up to the alter of rhythm
And tell your story...

Cool breeze, you're just swaying,
A little dance so others can too.
You keep it light, and just right,
But the tide comes in, and there is
No way you're getting out of this...
You keep it, but it found you.
Took your whole self and set a standard
By which all others would stack against.

Then it all passes,
And you are back where you started.
Cool breeze, that's you.
You just keep swaying easy, my friend.

I'm chasing myself through the eyes of a woman,
And she is a beauty I'm beginning to understand.
Born of cool temperament and change,
She's a storm of transition that shakes my foundation.
Collected moments, all of them graces.
Part of a better play for the savor of an instance, where I meet a force equating my own.
Fall on me to do these things. Fall on you to breach this man. But I am breached, and you are broken open,
And we are something like the lost and found bin,
Where things go to end their place with others.
I am wandering stillness, and you are ready, I think, for giving to new adventure, but you are slow like honey, cascading over me sweetly, but shyly,
And your soft heart isn't quite prepared to fall completely.
It is not easy being open.
It is quite uncommon to allow the deep to take its measure.
What crashing things with soft bodies and consequences.

There are no guarantees in this game.
We aren't opponents.
We are mixed ingredients.
We are collected stones from different beds.
We are sublimated water from different places,
We surround a common ground,
Neither of which holds any claim.
It is an agreement, with the weight of
All our heart to it.
Maybe that seems heavy-handed,
But then why is it so simple?
Maybe you're trying to make me fall in love,
And maybe I'm trying to convince you you're right,
But in the end, through all the niceties,
And the sweet words,
We have to stand plain and true.
What is your truth, and does it meet my own?

I am a lousy gambler.
I gamble my heart much, and every time it takes a little of me away,
But that's my gift, I guess.
I've been given such gifts before.
I keep them closer than anything.
Yours was cherished more than most,
But I was afraid.
Today I feel brave.
I seek you out, but you're your own.
I'm chasing myself through the eyes of a woman,
And she was born the sweetest of any,
With a heart like my own,
And all I ask is another chance.

So there's the thought. My truth is...
Well I believe in you, and for me.
I believe I might just be the right thing, for once.
It's hard to say these things. I could lose again,
And you could too. But I can't let fear decide what a good notion lends to the idea of better life.
You can't save me, but I'm not lost or in trouble. Just without that one thing, so dear to our hearts: real love.

2:07am

But I didn't stutter,
Not when I said I felt it too.
I may have tripped a little,
But I am clumsy sometimes.
I run after a thing, always.

I don't know what this is,
Because I don't want to speculate.
When every moment excites you
Why try to dissect it?
Turn it loose.
Turn it loose, and win or lose.

In the stop I'm thankful.
So many things aren't as real.
What can be, in this reality?
Do I dare gamble my heart again?
What more is life for, in the end?

I keep running toward the light.
I see something bright and intense.
I want to greet its luminescence.
It is something I can't fathom,
And I'll swim into the depths of this.

Discourse

From a burning golden glance,
With broken light from tree limbs
Cascaded down upon brown shoulders,
On a blanket of deep green grass
A heart is calm in a moment unending.

Ritual union in silent seasons
For a hand reaching towards a hand,
To ask for a dance in the fading light
Of this time broken by pieces.
And the past is a weight against chance.

In a touch everything is movement.
A symphony of molecules excite,
But all is calm, all is soft breathing,
And for once for a long time content.
The heart can be like stone or want.

All these fractured words are brittle.
Such a life that riddles with change,
Yet the night is peaceful,
I see something becoming beautiful.
I cannot will it's message, but I feel it.

Women know.
Truth is the easier thing.
Life is not a message in words.
There is the world,
And for whomever it turns.
And the words are inert.

Dripping faucet
Keeps the time in a quiet kitchen.
This is the small source of memory
That lingers on foggy window panes
In cold morning glow,
With rumbling coffee pot sounds
Awaiting a suitor for the ritual.

Born with a thin upper lip and
A temper tattered and cooled by
The nature of others, I await simple grace
In an easy practice of thoughts and
Cigarettes. There is so much noise
In this world. I'll take a quiet stride.

And there has been love, with much
To follow. There have been paper cups,
Dew laden grassy expanse, fields on fire,
And yellow glow of nighttime beginning
Brimmed with the whisper of day,
And the brute force of blackness that is
Night.

You and I were curled amongst our own graces through that passing, once or twice. And you have been there the same.
In your world, the same as mine, a
Repeated rhythm refined in the summer
Breeze underneath woven folds of dark green underneath trees, a gentler world.

I am older and wiser now. I have patched
My hardened being into a steady lull of
Quiet seasons, soft and tender like fern leaves whispering softly with wind light.
Oh, I am all things at once unending.
I am everything, and absorbed in it all.
All the change either a question,
Or action. A simpler system, with gains.

All of life is practice, so always be practicing. Look for the new skill learned in daily dealing. Look for appeal and search for the ideal in every moment. Be incandescent. Burn through every hard thing, and do it with grace. Do not practice too often the easiest things, but rather the hardest. Hone a comfort out of a discomfort. Be resolute to change continually every part that isn't fully formed in your dealings.

Be a part of the great fluidity of life's message. This is preachy, but not really wrong. It is a call the the finer points of which we could all be living. It is a caption with an ellipses. It is a discourse of degrees and direction, longing for proper directing. So direct that grit into something worth a thought, and let time be your beckoning answer, rather than your master.

4:09

It's four in the morning
I'm stalling, I'm swimming.
Not drunk, not even,
Just locked inside a padded
Room of thought.

Say things I didn't like to say.
Felt turned over, and under.
So goddamn lost now I don't know
Who I am or what I want.
In finding what I thought I
Was searching for

I lost the central point of who I am.
Don't know why that happened.
So goddamn lost now.
I see flashing color behind
Dark, cascaded rouge glowing.
I see peering eyes, cut me easy,
Like a looking glass turned backwards.

I feel memory, in every particle
Of my being. I see no resolution to
This drama of my soul. It's a sickness
Or it must be.
The tempo of my heart changes
Constantly, for the better part of
Each day.

I am water, or I'm downing.
Either way I'm soaked in the thinking
That I'm having, holding on and
Letting go, all at once.
Never mind, it's fine. It's just timing,
And the nature of the heart;
Too many times torn apart.

You know
It's funny,
The way we make each other feel.

One hand lends to comfort,
But the other is cold,
Like glass in December,
The way your breath sticks,
And you draw pictures of what you want.
Things click, but it doesn't last.

Too early in the season for a winter heart.

I've operated in opposites
So I could understand the game.
I'm born to bite the bitter truth that
Lies between two reaching arms.
I have come to know what small
Feels like in a sense.

I could have painted this long ago.

I'll not revel in sadness.
It's not my place to disagree.
However, the truth of the matter lay
In keeping with a promise buried in
A capsule made of gold, and strong.
The one thing I cherish most of all:

To know myself, completely incomplete.

Slightly Intoxicated, However...

I am
Cascading moments of saturated
Sound, and memory.
Balk at the extreme,
I look to flowing fields of something growing.
Light bends in a prism to become
Color all over.
That is
The feeling
When a syncopated rhythm
Finds my hands and feet.
The first of two loves found again.
Whether it be a lazy melody
Or a crashing assemblage,
Being lost in the music is
All I really need.
People come and go.
Taxes are paid,
Rent is due.
There are groceries to buy.
Priority
Is within the spirit.
And the spirit is a wandering child.
Let it wander forever unending.
I feel the fibers of my being come apart
From sensory perception.
I feel...
Something without a name.
The moment we attach words to a thing
It is defined.
Let us revel in this ambiguity.
Let us feel, rather than define,
The open rhythm of such display.
I couldn't debase it with words.
Long winded and trying,
But the impression won me first.
So I will go to quiet depths.
I will understand my place.
I must focus all my cause
Towards a thing of belief.
Because loving is giving.
I shall give to everything I create.

That a heart would forgive
When forgiving was first formed;
A touch of something divine.

We are all so brittle, we things.
Hardly anyone is a person.
A collection of short stories
For a rainy day of reading.

I could have gathered my plums
While they were still within reach.
But I starved to watch their beauty,
And they spoiled as consequence.

How things grow again is natural.
Let us be as those.
An early blossom for new hands reaching.

The Last Day of July

Dale's Pale Ale
And the manifold perspective
Of wandering hearts all so misguided.
These days
To wrap my head around any thing
Is impossible.
It's all feel, want, need, desire,
Scared, scarred, broken, working,
Living, loving, well maybe,
And every moment is
Just a moment,
And you will attach what you want to it.
I'm starting to think
That we are all lost children.
Our damage is in degrees, but
From the things we first felt.

There's probably some design
That dictates this awkward mess.
Then again, we could all just run the chaos.
I choose to believe,
Out of simple, primitive fashion,
That what I want is my aim.
And so I want things, and people,
And people are hard things to want...
In the end I am something imperfect
And a little misguided.
I'm okay with those variables.
Let's me know I'm playing fair.

My darling,
This is a reality,
But it isn't real.

Quit your fussing and let me take the wheel.

My baby,
Trust my measure now,
I'm in love with you.

Quit your fighting and let me do what I do.

You are hurt,
And you think you deserve it,
But that's not true, no,

Give me my time to stop the hurting in you.

I want us.
All of my heart says I do.
We should see this through.

I won't give you the hurt you always knew, and I knew too.

Lately everything has been upside down,
And I'm casting wishes upon pages,
Taking vitamins and thinning out,
Running marathons in my mind
About the things I don't know.

I see the universe in twos.
Always a pair, in every way.
I calculate accident percentage,
I know where to buy my fruit.
I can find anybody's lost remote.

I see the last episode of this present life.
I see the counterpart of many halves
Made whole again in forward days.
And the hardest thing is to be loved. 
And the easiest thing is to love.

Remember me as an old photograph
Stuck inside the tattered pages
Of a forgotten book.
I, in my youth, was fearless.
Don't take me by the changes I've been charged with. They have done much to make this man disguised in time.
We are all once upon a year young and fearless.
Life can take you places you didn't think existed.
So be an old photograph, forever, in your mind. Be that fearless wandered, bereft of weathered time.

For You

A long scanner in the dark tries to break the static, with a caller on the line, looking for an answer, but the answer is time, and time takes its measure the same as always. A brave thing it is to dance, and stock up moments for recall, the bliss of memory's keepsake, to be turned over and over again, like prized records spinning around the lazy hours of afternoon comforts. The soft light that bleeds through blinds creates a blanket across the wooden floors. This is yours. This is your place of changing and exchanging all that you have said and done and been before. There have been many who found their way inside, but none were ready, not even I. But how I wanted to be, and heady was the wake of my bow through the waters of your heart. I understand, now. I am no life raft, no just a buoy floating along. You know you're close to it all, but you've got a journey to troll. It's just another rap in the dusty, broken book of change that sends you here and there, so on you must go. I am not sad, no not the least. I am quite thankful, that your warm heart brushed against mine a moment and reminded me that these things are the best of all. We were meant for a time, and perhaps someday again, but my butterfly, you must glide to your own fair flower in the wake of your proportionate measure, and not one person or thing can tell you otherwise. Remember this: the beauty and bounty of your being are timeless and wonderful. I've seen your sweet spirit, if only for a moment, and I have noticed how it glimmers long and bright inside the ripples of my heart. We are children of sunshine and water. We behave with the inconsequential lust of our hearts. You have made me a better man. I want to say thank you for that.

My heart hurts
I don't care who knows it.
Fell in love with a wave,
It crashed me into nothing.

Now I don't know where I'm headed
Don't know what I do and don't regret
Just feel hollow, core all gone.
I crashed into nothing, this is my song.

Wake up sweating
Pounding in my chest.
Don't eat, don't sleep,
Can't imagine feeling like less.

Someone ripped a delicate thread,
The one that opened me up
End to end, and I can't sew
And I don't know if I have the thread.

Strange boy, stuck inside this man.
Was he always sleeping?
Did he forget to be brave all this time?

End to end
Half measured meaning, hiding
Behind the shell,
It has been cracked
And now I feel like a living hell.

*What is now cannot be forever.
What is lost must soon be found.
I'll bury this version, that much is sure.
Brave the pain for another round.

I'm a weirdo.
Uniquely the same as everyone else.
I am lost, like a child sometimes.
The very breath of me is taken straight from the waking
Of my eyes in the morning.
I lose control, so much.
But I always have two feet to stand upon.
I don't want to numb this problem.
I want to feel it sink deep into me and
Cultivate some new thing out of me,
And bind my loose ends and untie my tight holds.
I guess I'm broad and simple.
I live for the learning of it,
Probably don't take enough chances,
But love and do the best I can at all the other advances.
I want love.
I want it very, very much.
I want to be wanted, needed even,
To be a place someone else can go
When the world makes them feel this way.
Who would offer up such a measure?
Who could willingly unfurl their heart to mine,
Bind in a unison,
And go on this adventure of life together?
This is the only question I seek to answer right now.
Because I'll find a new venture.
I'll make a thing for myself that appeals to my higher nature.
I'll best my best again and again.

What good does it do to someone who wants nothing from you?

Selfish, careless love.
It's all I'm seeing in the world.

If I keep my heart on my sleeve,
If I keep allowing myself to be crushed
Will it change a person's mind someday?

The beginning of the end
Is a quickened heartbeat, close to another,
Not out of excitement,
But to close the moment without a fray.

The beginning of the end
Is a distant step away from love,
Measuring the distance to ensure safety
When the collapse finally hits,

Ah, but the end is also a beginning.
It becomes a beautiful cocoon of change.
There is always struggle to break a chrysalis,
But the end result is living without stop.

....

I chain smoke and realize I need to button up my loose ends.
In love with a ghost. She's the brightest light I've ever seen.
But bright lights don't shine long.
All the beginning began and ended somewhere inbetween.

She's not going to keep me.
It's just another pass at thinking about one's life.
I've been a stepping stone before.
I'll hope for a doorstep I'm welcome to cross.

Try once, I'll fight.
Try again, I'll bend.
I'm not that stupid, not anymore.
I love wholly,
And everything else is second in line.
What else would bind a people,
If not that one good thing?

Careless love.
It entered into us like a wave.
You rescued me from myself.
I rescued you from a sad past.
Now your scent ruminates my mind
Like stale flowers that were gifted,
And I just don't want to let go.
I can't believe I'm writing this.
Because when I write it it usually comes true.

So now let me write that I'm madly in love with you,
And you feel the same way too.
Please come to me and feel the love for me
I've never had. Someone has got to love this man...

Someone, goddamn.

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.

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.

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.

We all want to be desired, that is no question. To that, I do not deny. But you can't see inside my head; you do not hear my heart. All that I am is not formulated by the company I keep, the clothes that I wear, or the things that I do. I am as fragile as anyone, and too afraid, but ever yearning for love. All beings need love. Love is freedom. I am presently bound. Do not judge, but ask if you are curious as to the workings of what I am. Not afraid of truth anymore. Not afraid to be wholly myself to others. I am me for a reason. Time will reveal that reason, along with careful mindfulness, and being present with each day, which is infinitely different from yesterday, and also tomorrow.

Al Green - For The Good Times

For the good times. Maybe it's the cloudy day, or a mood come on strong, but I need a rescue from my ways, and now it's just soul music and looking forward. I'm still an amateur at this. So I'll think about the good times a while...

Free Me - Otis Redding

There are reminders for me and from me, and I even suspect, mostly on someone else's part that this song seems to say about a few days gone by just a breath of time ago.

On Monotony

Every night becomes an invitation
To some new knowledge given,
But sometimes a night just withers
Away in a simple, quiet fashion.
I love the thought of a new everyday,
But maybe I've got to resign myself
To the truth that some days are just
Unimportant collapses of particles,
Cascading across horizons at intervals.
Well, oh well. A guy could do worse.
Up close in life I fail. Always do I
Quantify every idea and image that
Crosses my mind. I look at the root-
Never the branches. I often miss such
Beautiful blooms that sway sweetly
In a nighttime air of confident bliss.
What a fool I've become, these days.

New Breed Kids

New breed kids,
Color and shade, bright light
Music, drowning sonic waves
And sunshine moment
Through paved jungles of easy
Persuasion. Lost ones; lit faces
In noisy places. Disconnection
Connected together, disillusioned
And drowning with acute perception.
Know better than the rest. Informed.
Sex addicted, solipsistic wonderment
About them. Energy enlightened
Fifteen seconds at a time.
But time only changed the platform.
All that is remains to be the same that
Mothers and fathers did,
Their parents before,
And all the human spirit ever would.
Reflection is still a scarcity.
This world takes too much time
From individual cultivation.
Kids see themselves through
All eyes but their own.
An honest look without a mirror.
A glimpse at inner roots embedded
Into the fine dust and heat of
Humanity.

Sour Apple

For the first time in my life
I'm hungry for a thing I cannot name.
Yeah, maybe it's love;
Maybe I don't get that jive.
Could be ambition, some nameless
Presence I might encompass.
Maybe it's the stagnation of
Lonliness. Hard work- being alone.
I bite the bitter part of a better life,
So someone else can get the sweet.
Truly, I'm the composition of a fool.
All my life a teammate, never the star.
Who's gonna look at me and light up?
Who would want this mess of a man?

Uncharted days lay dormant for
Footsteps reticent to press the ground
And be firm for once. Of their own
They may make a purpose yet.

I am breath malingering forward
Lazy, and with such effort at times;
You can gift the world, bright-mannered
And brimming with all your best,
But if you fall they all forget you.

Love has got to be
Some kind of fluid thing.
Seems like it always changes.
If you know me you'd probably think
That I don't know the first thing
About it; you'd be mistaken.
I have seen it's signature. I have
Felt it warm my nature.
But I know the cold spells as well.
I know what it means to lose
The warmth. Lost it much. Probably,
It was my fault. Likely I carved the gap
In every tender moment that
Could have been.
How do I apologize for of
Disruption and heartache? Where do
I begin, and how should I resume?
7'~~•|

*I fell asleep writing this and those last bits at the end were there in the morning when I awoke. I do not know how that happened.

Humanitae

Made a vow to myself long ago...
Swore I'd never settle for less
Than the absolute best
With love, and all other things
That matter.
I felt quiet love.
Thunderous at times,
But mostly a sigh in the late hour;
Timid gesture when it should have
Been bold.
I felt thunder always.
Knew she was a sweet girl,
But she roared like a lioness and
It shook me fierce until I gave up so
We broke.
And all the almost loves,
All the lovely inspirations I knew
Were worth every time
I was wrong; always wrong but I
Loved it.
What I mean to say is that
I forgot to human my meaning.
I lost how to nourish the roots of
Why I'm lost and detached.

Look it,
You're still a dark horse
Of my dreams. You still do things
I couldn't predict,
You're still temperamental
And perfect; I just can't conduct myself
This way.
Look for bits of you about.
And when I want to share
It just doesn't seem right.
You're right over there,
Yet a thousand miles away at night.
I combine everything this way,
Because I don't think we've ever
Fully parted. Different doors;
Hearts not finished what they started.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Be it so,
And let the melancholy get me
Once more. I'm ready for that heady
Delight to blur the night sky;
Put me in a trance,
Fit a bit of slow, cool wonder in
My life. So simple, so beautifully sad.
Been given good time with this life.

Good Love

Good love is on its way to find you.
It's gonna be on your doorstep;
It's gonna be at the foot of your bed.
It's gonna be laying beside you,
Brushing its fingers through
Your sleeping head.

If there's anything more worthy
Of pursuing
Than good love,
I don't know it. It doesn't exist.

It has no name.

And maybe there's a God,
And maybe there isn't.
That doesn't matter.
Because the manifestation of
Any such thing is and always will
Be present. Love is that division
Between sanity and slavery.
A powerless pull towards
That which is blind bravery.

My feelings wobble;
Never do I change.

Mathematical feeling...
Never cease to cause repeat
In all the world; a flower given,
And a smile for the first time
Are heavenly entreaties towards
Such beautiful things as love.
It's my arrest. It's my lament.
I am intoxicated, I am forever lost.

The heart will draw the bookmark
And put you out of place
But what a beautiful exchange...
I feel the ache of swimming memory
Wandering inside me.

Apocalypsis

I remember the faces.
I remember the neon,
Endless pavement,
Music, laughter;
It's always in the back of my mind.
Now I'm lucky if I
Don't hear anything.
Only the familiar. Only the
Simple silence of wind.
Institutions crumble. Any ideal
Dismembers itself. Grit to fight
The everlasting survival
Is now tantamount. I didn't
Choose this; I was forced to
Push the boundaries of my being.
I miss the music. I miss the magic
Of real comfort, all consuming.
I still feel the same. It's just harder now
To find the light in a dark, dry
Place, so cruel and cold.
But there's simple logic here.
To live is to exist...
I still hope for love.
I'm still present and
Roaring for a good thing.
We all do our bidding.
We all hope our fears never
Rearrange us into something fierce.
Gonna keep my pack tight.
Have to move smart and follow
What is absolutely essential.
There is time for human;
It is not much often.
Spear down a star to pierce the core
Of hard hearts who dare control
The absolute point of human spirit:
Admiration for the unknown.

Oh, but the blessed things and ones,
Those that light the way and brighten
Everything for one sweet moment,
They are such that all of us once in
A while achieve.

Furtive motive driving something...
Tacking down the grit of raw ideals.
Pressing hard our hearts to test the
Limits of our boundaries. This is real
And we get lost a lot.

If you can end the night soft... If you
Can extract a little grace somewhere in
The passing day, then just maybe it
Might all end up just fine. Save any bit
Of the best of things

For The Good Times

Hey you,
Thanks for all we had.
Your love, though I didn't say it enough,
Was the very best.
My deliverance
Into this world
Has been molded by the stuff
Of you.
Go out and find someone
That will love you like that.
I'll take a lifetime of memory,
Good and bad,
And call you my white whale,
And search much
To try again rightly with
Anything close to how it was.
I've just got to figure out
Why I try to kill all the good
That finds me in life first.
Then the sun is warm.
Then I won't be so afraid.
Fare thee well, gumdrop.

...and none of it was fiction,
Just misplaced fact.

The silence is an ocean of afterthought.
Late at night, awake in bed,
Slipped through the cracks of my mind
come crawling moments past,
and the restless nature of what they
mean stays constant; I'll never get
Even a decent night's sleep like this.
What then, when my tidal flood drifts me
away from any grasp? Not root, no leather, not a branch, no soft, warm hand. Am I produced madness, lost in a forest of my own ridicule? I have always been a fool. Always fallen easy for warmth, beauty, and speed. But this absolute hum of nothingness I hear is a great adversary, chewing up my fight, so now I'm very much "in it." Proceed with caution. I really don't know what I'm doing anymore. I think I lost a bet with time; now I drown in all it's passing,
in my mind.

Lay with me once more.
I won't speak a word,
Just enfold you and recount
The familiar heat and breath;
Feel the softness of your silent
Grace, and feel that blissful fire
Feed warmth inside and out.
We need not speak
Of the rough edges of our past.
We don't have to dissect
Whether it goes beyond this.
I am tired of words,
And their exhaustive nature.
They never complete feeling.
I'll come to your low-lit room,
Shut the door and open up
The last bit of me you'd want.
I burn nightly for this blistering
Dream. I catch fever from thought.

I'm not about to invent
Some half breed better way
To go around the cycle.
We claim some surface,
And it's big and it's bright,
And a howl wakes in the moon
To greet the semblance of
That thought. So we run
So fast and hard that the beating
Of our hearts is rapid,
Positively racing before our
Imagined scene,
And the troubling thing is
That those beautiful circumstances
Might not ever happen.
Either that, or they did and
You missed the comet.
It flickered bright,
But for some reason
You were scared of the light,
So it burned away one night.

Music like hypnosis
Climbing up and down my mind,
Like spiral staircases and elevators,
Fraught with fantasy and fiction,
Induced by liquid concoctions;
Medicinal, herbal delights
Categorized by their indifference to lucidity,
And their incumbent wake
Of me streaming in and out
Of consciousness aboard them.
I am capsized
By the constant cravings
Of everything so deeply human,
Raw and unkempt.
But I do not adhere
To any one given thing too much.
I am a creature of habit,
I am a connoisseur of moment.
I am an angler for excitement,
And spontaneity,
And physical bliss.
I have no, nor have ever had,
Any accountability
For the aftermath
Of these things.
I am forever temporary.
I am always on pause, and play.

My own mind
Is such a beautiful,
Chaotic mess.
I live with this,
But I fail to find
A bearer of such
Massive strain.
I'd drive you mad,
Like everyone close.
So that distance,
The one I often choose
To adhere, is the only way
I know how to not
Break good things.
When I'm close I mark
Everything I love with
Hardness and cold, so
They become rigid, brittle
Things of rubbed out
Affectation. Proximity
Is key with me.
Must control or I will
Fall and fold and
Become completely apart.

It's just a world.
It's simply existence.
A brief moment in
The unfathomable
Age of the cosmos.
Stuck in a rut;
Universally insignificant.
But heart, brain,
Emotion, they all make
All this shit matter in
The first fucking place.
Good to feel good,
And know just what that means.

Stark naked,
Lying on a cold hard floor.
Green and white tile spilled
With hues of the living,
Fallen from lack of strength.
Oh I feel, I do,
But my head's mixed up and
My heart's jaded from this
Mixture that we humans make.
I made this bed of coarse
Difference divided. I had to
Prove to myself just how far I'd
Fall apart. I lost heart in all.
I gave myself to the tidal tumble
Of fast and swift, effortless pain.
But this belief I hold to be so:
Let yourself lose control,
If only to regain the course most clear.
So I'll ride a wave a while,
And feel a mess, and lost.
But my heart might ache daily,
And I might feel like love
Up and left me,
Still I'll take the ride and smile
If I can. Some things will waver;
Not my journey.

Lay me in bed like a baby
And spoon-feed me a new reality;
I've been starving myself again.
If this awkward rhythm never ends then
I shouldn't bother pretending to be sane,
Rather just sink into the abyss of a stilted
Dream, one where I don't have to be afraid
About losses and gains, understandings and
Responses. Resolutions found by breath,
Sight, and movement alone.


Of course I've lost my way again.
Of course I've missed the point again.
How can so many others think of good in me
When I only know this insufficient being
Staring back that I see.
In a mirror,
In a pool of dirty water,
Used to be
A credible heart;
Now a vagrant,
Bitten by the bitter breed
Of lonesome appetite.
Better alone
Than cursing others.
Better this way.

You can't hurt
What you can't feel.

I am lone reed,
Dressed in frozen droplets,
Tumbled heavy by a breeze.

Wind cool slowly,
Drive the life inside all
But my own, so then show me

How to again
Make use of this lost heart.
It breathes a fire, it won't let go.

When the passing
Of this convalescence
Ends, I should make time to live.

-- --- ------ --- -- --- ------ --- --

"The sparrow tears the reed
But the seeds fly on
To begin again."

You were never so sweet as you were sour. And I was cold more than warm.

In the mirth and the mire,
Waiting through this patient fire,
Arrives an answer from above:
Much is struggle,
All is love.

And it were quick that
Burned their heart;
A sad spectacle, a flash, a
Ribbon, tightly lost
Inside a breeze.

This and many moments
Of purely joyous, expansive,
Intimate, felt, heard,
Awoken, laughable, sweet,
And so dearly loved.

It is but the sadness that's
The deepest form. It aches
As if you became it much.
Too much talking, not enough ears.
But love holds no limit in the singular.

Sick on whiskey, beer, and bullshit.
I spun it, you spin it,
Others grin through their teeth
With mouths full of it,
So what's the point in trusting anymore?
I'm riding solo. There's a woman
Thinks she can claim me.
There's another that never stopped.
If all of this is about love then
I'm surely fucked. Because what is
This life apart from heart and heat?
I was always meant to fail at good love.
I'm not sad, because I never give up.
I don't mind the bloody pulp. I don't
Feel discouraged with the sadness
That surrounds my halo. I'm a heart
For the world. They use me as wished;
I gift them with uplifting until our
Time runs out. Then I let them go.
Fly on, sweet ones. I didn't mean a thing.
Temporary harbor. Imperfect lover.
I shared your secrets and kept them.
I gave you all I could. I'm going to drift
Along this life endlessly. Take stock in
Something other than a guy like me.
Take stock in peace and ease.
I'm not the one. I'm no one.

You are the beauty I never understood.
I spent a long while trying to
Compromise myself to
Compliment your elegance,
But I never really touched it;
Never got that glint like I figured.

Loyalty is a kind of beauty,
And despite my wayward nature
I would follow you into the deepest
Dark recesses of anything,
Yet I feel it's not the answer, any longer.

Oh, how we broke each other so.
We parted after such a silent battle;
This is that sad treaty we must abide.
Everything will be different from now on.

I'll never not feel the you of your love.
Please always remember mine. We,
Though apart, will never be strangers.

And now the sad music plays our part;
Two lonely beatings of one broken heart.

Let my memory burn for this forever.

Routines

She's got those routines.
They get her through the day.
She pulls my strings and
I'm never around to hear her sing.

It's been a while since I heard her sing.

I took my mind away,
To get myself some sense
And try my best forgetting.
Sometimes you just remember a song.

Sometimes you want to sing along.

She's a sunrise too early
Come on by a delirious morning
With no way of knowing how
My whole life changed in a moment;

You love; you're afraid to show it. 

[Such beautiful first exchange.]

At night when I shut my eyes
I see cascading fragments over years,
They pull and push me like waves.
Tumbling cool green foam takes me

Into the despair of my awakening.

The Me I Am

The Me I am
Is strange, is pensive.
Highly sexual.
Two-faced, rebellious,
Most introspective.
Fantasy-ridden,
That is to say detached.
Where is the moment?
I lost it. Always lose the point;
Always find a way out,
Even if I won't take it.
A little tragic, a bit dramatic.
Harbor, hover, distance,
Smother. Seek the deepest
But be impatient; an
Instant gratification wager,
Always losing every gamble.
Purely mammal, not quite
Human. Feeling it all might
Be absurd. Illogical emotions
That kill me much. I search my
Own rhythm but so off time,
And now the clouds cover
Every attempt to reinvent
Existence with new purpose.
I think it's a prison, a dragging
Lifeless thing sticking
To my stride; won't let me out,
Can't let me tell me lies.
Face my mirror,
I am apprehensive. But I'm
Also playful. Joyful. Silly. Warm.
I know I can be, anyway.
I will argue much, out of this need
For so much attention. Think
I must have been so sad and
Lonely long ago. Childhood hurts
A pain so beautiful that
Every other thing in life cannot
Cast shadows over
The very firsts of any experience.

Bursts of incommunicable
Wonderment overwhelming
Such sweet happiness and sorrow.
I am not very proud of me,
But I'm ok right now.
What more can I have?
Every beautiful thing in me
Feels good and gone.
It's all mixed up, I'm all mixed up,
I know I'm not right;
Feel that absence, so scared
It might not ever come back.
I am a good man.
I just don't know who I am.

"Bless the things we do and
Do not say to one another,
For they dictate and define us
Far better than we ourselves
Could ever ascertain."

So I found the border between
Where we've been and where
We may go. There's a wall,
And I can either knock it down,
Scale over it, or ask permission
To reach that other end.
This discovery haunts me greatly.

Bless the things we do and
Do not say to one another,
For they fill our heads with
Something better than another
Day alone, even if it's so damn
Bittersweet and hard, like candy
Too long left forgotten in
The bottom of a purse.

Bottom of my heart,
Don't know what the hell to do
About any of this.
Think I might just have forgotten
How the hell to love at all.

But I'm hoping it's not true...

I'm always, always looking for that
Perfect accompaniment. Stand firmly,
Planted by me simply in whatever
Goddamn thing we're engaged.
I guess I'm simple in the end.
I don't need much to keep this big,
Stupid heart going. I just want another
Misfit to roam about with. Someone
That can save my wreck when it comes.
Someone that might let me take lead;
I won't steer the thing the wrong way,
I promise. I tell ya though, I get lost
A lot. Visceral distance brought on by
Lack of understanding of my own
Damn self. I neglect the most potential
Things for a silly whim of the innate,
Particular to my brand. We run; we can
Also very much take a strong stand.
So it's come to this: lost and so much
More confused and abandoning the
Notion of proper love as the thing.
After all, I haven't always given proper
Love to those that mattered. I've hurt
Those close to me much. In the end
I suppose I've learned the kind of pain
You could know from a firm shake of
Everything crashing down at once.
I lost myself and probably for good.
This new guy might be all wrong.

It's been hard making an impression on anything,

Walking around this town like a ghost.

Ghosts can be haunted too.

And I'm beginning to wonder

If there ever is a place that makes sense.

It wasn't in the foundation.

I feel such disconnection. 

I think I buried my life in thoughts of 

Fear and inaction. 

The past is so vivid, so fresh. 

I look at me and wonder how I lost myself.

At what point do I need to go back?

Never can we go back.

This present is a slow mess.

Walking around like some kind of ghost.

I want to be real again.

Want to celebrate the day.

Want to figure out what makes me feel

So out of touch with this physical world.

Just a sleepy ghost wondering.

Never knowing what is real anymore.

All the while life is flying by so quickly.

So that memory persists...
But I can't waver from
The feeling I get about resurrection.
How does it all begin anew
With such long history at play?
It never could. But it would take
One hell of a renewed sense of purpose
To propagate that dead matter.
No amount of endless pavement,
Nor bright lights, nor fantasy
Could create some of the moments
That were simply natural.

Maybe we just didn't know what we had.
I don't understand my time,
And you we the best filter.
Like the whole damn world
Didn't make sense, unless I asked
You first.
All that is gone now. The bitter
Memory persists, but we can't get back.
I could be closer but I'll not try.
I'll stay on the sidelines because
I'm afraid I can't take it again.
Fucking fear.

Thoughts About A Past

Hello.
You've been going in and out
Again. Are you settled in this format?
Maybe those roots got pulled.
You sort of grew up;
Took a few hundred vitamins and
Started looking for a balance.
Thought you might have almost had it.

Goddammit Daisy, you make me smile.
You were pretty much my world
For a while. We kicked it down,
Drug it around, and finally
Took a good look at it in the light.
Now we're both quiet.
Quietly wasting away the night.
Goodnight.

I know there's a good man
Buried beneath all this;
I know that he exists.

It all comes down to this:
Found is the avant-garde
Tomorrow could bring us.

When I'm losing my mind,
And the street is empty,
A flicker shines a light

And I'm awaken fast,
Rupture sieges the whole,
I am built to control.

This man is good but lost.
He works to find the path.
That one that learning's on.

Stop with the self denial,
And the thrashing at your own spirit;
You're near it but can't see,
I'm not that good a man
As you think of me.
I have wandered, head and heart,
When I thought the chips were down
And I could tell you were sad and blue.
I might not be the man
You think you knew.
I've survived in this life
By cutting through it
Like a knife. Heart of the matter;
I found it out quick,
And people are all the same, some ways...
Yeah, you see. And that is all
Just mostly some of me.
You know much, but darker curtains
Skirt the much of stuff
I haven't shown the world.
It's mine, blessed and wicked.

Favor takes all kind of help.
Dusty jar upon a shelf,
Slide into a palm receptive to embrace.
But oh so quiet and sad;
Afraid to give too much and
Be devoured by the change.
Can't shake the past,
Don't want to.
But it lingers like a finger
Rapping table top anticipation
To what ends the eve will allow...

Kids.
So esteemed.
Caught in something.
It was big.
Tough pardon;
Evaporate.

Give me a piece of bread
I'll take it.
There ain't no favor
I can't wage.
You might be thinking
That I'm odd.
Most of us wander;
Leave without cause.

Let's just burn it.
Give in to this good thrill.
Shake and shiver
Out through the open windowsill.

You go on talking that trash.
Let's see you
When you meet it. I bet this
Moment's proud
By the way you've been reading.
I've seen it,
Feel like a fool once you see.
Then you'd be like me.

Let's just burn it.
Give in to this good thrill.
Shake and shiver
Out through the open windowsill.

Post content.
Spiral rhythm sky line
Rippling on repeat;
Treading time lapses
Found incomplete.
Surreal sonata...
Dance, dance the children do.
One a wish,
The other two come true.
Beautiful ignition;
When it cascades that horizon,
The explosion delights
In favored, awkward eyes.
Play on then, drifting
Like a firefly.

Was gone for a very long time.
I held myself to a prize,
But I lost it on the other side of life.

She looks like me,
She sings like me,
Trying to find her in the mirror;
Burn into that light again.

Blank pages never stopped this fire.
But I burned a hundred just
To stay warm at night.
And the long, late hours I admire,
But in the soft sunlight I am scared.

Because she looks like me,
And she sings so sweet,
And her eyes I meet inside the mirror;
Will I burn into the light again,
Or just burn out without a fight?

Was gone for a very long time.
I held myself to a prize,
And I'm coming back from
The other side of life.

I am simple.
I do not need much.
Good hearts, true vision,
And a warm place of my own.

I have measured this life,
And manifold it's a fucking mess.
But I navigate anyhow
Through the monotony of absence.

Do I dare disturb
What strange visions surround me?
Do I challenge all this
That has now found me, that's abound?

There is a sleeping spirit inside,
It lies in wait, it permeates from
My eyes, but I fight against it;
Too afraid to let it out and find me.

Because I'm grasping at what
Used to make me laugh, and
Stumbling faster against time and
Change, I've lost the meaning
Of almost everything.

But maybe time will sort me out...

Teetered on the perfect noose,
A dusty grave I did intend;
But followed me did my sore wound
Around like clouds, all the same.
Bet ya think I'd learn by now
About all the things that test
Your very best, your heart-
Any other part worth saving in the end.
There's this quiet lonely that
Surrounds me mostly. It's not so
Bad as you would think... Well
It's easy, anyway. Only I
Can't drive me crazy. Only I can
Keep me from another collapse.
But sometimes it is nice,
When I want some trouble,
But just a little. Hard to understand
The man I am sometimes.

I don't go to movies anymore.

But I'm optimistic I will one of
These days.

So you're passionate with no aim;
You've got a lot to talk about and
Learn from, but it's always the same.
You never bothered to understand
What is inside you, you take the long
Road out of town, that way it's simple:
Everyone rejected me.
Haven't you learned? It's all a mess.
The whole lot of it is shambles;
You have to fill your cup
With what's around you.
Any good given, take it. Any one note
Troubadour is welcome, so long as
It's promised that truth prevails.
My great fault is a lie.
I have paid for it a thousand times.
I accept it's full weight.
I only hope you can
Appreciate this awkward toss
Of fate.

Where the fuck were you
When I wasn't capable of
Sorting myself out?
You didn't carry it all, ever.
I stood before the tall,
Wooded banks and said
Let's go ahead. Let's try again.
Maybe it would have been sad,
And quite possibly dreadfully
Distant, but I guess I missed it;
Don't get it when you come home,
And say it's over.
Share that place with a stranger.
Make me run away against my will
Because some band-aid saves you
From yourself. I could have saved you.
If I can't help anyone else I'm doomed.
I don't care about me a minute.
Quite actually I bore me to death.
But now I'm left with this sad asshole;
What else can I do but be busy?
Everyday something to attend.
Somebody please fill my day,
Else I'm at Lake George looking for
The white duck in the fold,
And thinking how I feel like a
Little boy, lost in the abyss of what
Might be my final movement
In this slow sonata of my life.

If it weren't for the late nights
I'd be lost too deep in thought
About abrupt stops, big hits,
And the everlasting remembrance
Of almost love and truth.
All this change is hard to take.
All these different faces,
Meanings and places replayed.
Apparently I'm something valued...
Grasping differences abide themselves
While I reconcile bland differences
Between places; just the esoteric value
So very falsely created in vain.
I can change, I can change,
Can't do it the same.

So I pace around sometimes.
Yeah, I'm restless for a change.
Dammit, anything bigger than this
Would be just fine.
Am I so wrapped up in myself
That I can't see the beauty?
Shit, perhaps. Lazy and sloppy,
I resolve to now do what I please
And watch the fine wreck of me.