Lunch Break Haiku

It's beautiful out.
I'm tired of the basement.
Ten minutes to go.

********************************************

I'm psychologically done for the week. Why are we all still here?










"Working all day for a mean little guy with a bad toupee and a soup-stained tie. He's got me running 'round the office like a gerbil on a wheel. He can tell me what to do, but he can't tell me what to feel..." Fountains Of Wayne Hey Julie

We Were Wrong

"I can't breathe"
she said to me
as I float beside her
in the debris.
The city warps.
I saw a corpse
waiting at the corner
heading towards the ports
with his thumb up in the air
and checking for cab fare
in his walloped wallet;
there's nothing there.

The waters rose.
We all froze.
We were wrong
and nobody knows.
We're stuck here
locked in flooded fear.
We were wrong
and there's nobody near.
We were wrong
that it wouldn't be long,
that the howling rain would cease.
My God, we were wrong.

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"If it keep on raining, the levee's gonna break. Everybody saying this is a day only the Lord could make..." Bob Dylan The Levee's Gonna Break

N.E. Corridor

I've been running late all day and, just to prove a point, the universe is sending trains out slightly ahead on schedule, so I've been sitting at the station for 25 minutes after watching my train pull away. My cousin'll have other birthdays; if I make it in time for the after dinner brandy I'll be satisfied. The early fall breeze fondles the hem of my sun dress. The sun is old and getting ready to tuck itself under the horizon.

The next train finally pulls up and I grab my purse, my gift bags, my dress bag, and the high heel shoes I can't bear to where just yet and I head for the door. Hands full and off balance on a moving train, the door to the next, slightly less packed car, simply refuse to open for me and I nearly concede to stand in between cars when you hit the button with the palm of your hand. You nod for me to go ahead. "Thank you," I squeak and you smile, kindly and in a low tone you answer, "You're welcome." It's your smile that made me notice your eyes and suddenly I'm feeling sheepish and a little embarrassed. Gingerly, you place your hand on the small of my back to help balance me through the doorway. I take a seat; you take one just in front of me and I can see you in the space between the seats settling yourself in. Every so often, I swear your eyes flutter backwards to me, but I'm sure it's only wishful thinking. After securing my belongings safely in the window seat beside me - organizing things a little better for the upcoming trek down 34th Street - I take a deep breath and glance out the window, but the central Jersey scenery cannot keep my attention for long.

Tapping your feet along to whatever sound reaches your eardrums from the tiny white bud in his ear, you licks the tips of your fingers and turns the page. It's a big book. Maybe Econ 101? Maybe Western Civ? Maybe just something...dare I say...for fun? I wish I knew. What are you reading? What are you listening to? Who are you? I'm falling in love with the back of your head. Won't you give me a little clue? A blinking BlackBerry steals your attention away from the black and white pages, but you soon returns your gaze back onto the text. A girlfriend? I'll tell myself it was your mother. The sailing train jerks our car slightly, sending our heads wobbling like Bobble Head dolls in unison, but the voyeur in me won't be dissuaded by the train's ungraceful motion.

A full head of dark hair stretches down your neck until it meets the collar of your shirt, just a black button-up work shirt with the sleeves rolled up half-way to the elbow. Can you feel my eyes on the back of your neck?

Do you know what I would do to you if you only said "Okay, let's go" with that bass voice of yours?

No, let's not go there. It's fruitless. I'm only saying we'd both get something we wanted.

The sun sank as the train pulled into the station and our ride together is nearing an end. With my purse and various goodie bags draped over one arm, my shoes stowed away in one of them, and my dress held up by my other hand, I carefully step into the isle. You stand, waiting for me to pass by you and you step out behind me, into the doorway, and out onto the platform. "Goodbye" I think to you. As I descend the staircase up into the station, there's a tug on my arm and a pair of lips at my ear.

"Okay," it breathes, "let's go."


*********************************************

You know it's fiction: the trains are on time or early.










"So let my hands stray past that boundaries of your back to get you breathing and get this started..." Brand New Logan To Government Center

Rainy Day Songs

Raining day songs
sing smiles in the darkness
and wrap you up tightly
in their melodic arms.
Those clouds,
they follow me
like precipitating shadows
(what a dreary honor to bestow),
but I set my turntable to 33
and watch the wax spin around
as the gloom is absorbed
in the dizziness,
in the scratch of your throat.
I stepped in a puddle today
and all I heard it say
is "I need a raincoat."


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This is a decoy.

Also, I just realized that The Jayhawks have a record called "Rainy Day Music." So, that's cool.








"This dizzy life of mine keeps hanging me up all the time. This dizzy life is just a hanging tree." Counting Crows Hanging Tree

The Real Thing

I don't want to say it anymore.
If that's important; I'm not sure.
I hit a nerve and found Truth:
a revelation quite uncouth.
Drug out from a fog,
like a cat by a dog,
kicking and screaming
tricking and scheming,
her haven invaded,
she was easily persuaded.
She told your story,
in all its glory.
Suspicions confirmed,
you squeal and squirm.
There's no use for discussions
or their pointless repercussions
because your face says it all
while your mouth only stalls.
In this light
I might
swallow a bottle.

I was the model.

I was the shepherd
before my vision blurred.

I was the real thing
and now I'm just the rain king.

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I went all of July without a post; I was not gonna go all of August.

This is a little bit unfinished, I think, but I couldn't pull myself apart enough to get it any closer. It's about Truth and whose side she's really on. It's about what happens when you just choose to believe what you've been told or what you want to believe until Truth actually reveals herself (or is pulled out), sort of the self-decay you initiate, sort of the opposite of "ignorance is bliss." I think it's also about realizing that things aren't black and white and words twist and it's easy to manipulate and be manipulated even as a relatively sensible and smart person (so imagine how it is for us crazies). Even in the realm of what things literally ARE and ARE NOT, there's still a spectrum of ways of conveying it.

This was tough to write and I don't know if it's any good. I'm not usually an "a-a, b-b, c-c, d-d, etc." kind of "poet," but that's just how it started to shape up and I figured I'd run with it. I don't know if there's any impact.












"Don't try to bleed me; I've been here before and I deserve a little more. I belong in the service of the queen. I belong anywhere but in between. She's been dying and I've been drinking. And I am the Rain King." Counting Crows Rain King

"Pull me out from inside. I am ready. I am ready. I am ready. I am...fine. I am.... fine. I am fine. Counting Crows Colorblind