Prime

Thanks for asking;
no, I'm fine.
What hurts right now
is I wasted my time.
Nothing to show,
not a nickel, not a dime,
but my blood is still pumping
and I haven't reached my prime,
just the end of a line
and I'd give it back if I could
and leave you stripped
where you stood,
choose "ignore"
and mean it like I should,
but you were always
so fucking misunderstood
and never any fucking good.
I just don't know what to do
with what's left of me.
I wish I had a clue.
I can't find myself
and everything else is askew -
anyway -
and now my thoughts are few
and you won't remember
and you're onto something new
and I'm stuck here
and I still miss you.

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

This poem is about digging a ditch and throwing all your fucking time, energy, and memories of someone in it.











"Fucking leave. And don't forget to leave your front door key and, after that, you can find your own way (find your own way) back." I Am The Avalanche Gravedigger's Argument

"You can't keep what you did not have, can't even give it back." Kevin Devine 11/17

"You're bleeding out your heart full of soul, so misunderstood, so misunderstood, so misunderstood, so misunderstood. I'd like to thank you all for nothin'. I'd like to thank you all for nothin' at all..." Wilco Misunderstood

"I've been looking for some time, in a room full of numbers, for my prime." Middle Brother Blue Eyes

"Another late night drive by you, I miss you so much. I know it's stupid, but I'm saying this to you. I mean it too." Hot Rod Circuit Supersad

Magic Wish

There's a wall
that won't come down
and chains
that leave me bound
and I hear your voice -
it's smooth and calm -
but I fear the fall,
the blast, the bomb.
When the dust settled,
this time, I want to be standing.
I want to escape
the lashing and the branding.
I want to know
in certain eyes
I can still be safe;
there is no guise.
A magic wish,
a beating heart,
but please don't say
I was wrong from the start.
Your smiles heal
innately,
but have you seen
my wrists lately?
I hide in dark corners
and underneath beds.
You'll have to come find me.
I'll need to be led.

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

This is about starting to move forward, but finding you can't, that you're frozen, that you're going to need to be pushed. It's about accepting the wreck that you are and praying others can too.

This also just seems appropriate for 11/11/11. :)


(Tara, this one's for you, girl. ;) )



"Chain...I feel the words falling a rhythm; I see the wind bearing its decision to never give in..." The Fire Theft Chain

"You got a piece of me, but it's just a little piece of me and I don't need anyone and these days I feel like I'm fading away...." Counting Crows Have You Seen Me Lately?

"You can't keep what you did not have, can't even give it back." Kevin Devine 11.17

All Over Again

You appeared in the fog
as if you'd been there all along
whispering the same old sweet-nothings,
singing the same old sad songs.
We said we'd have a drink
every now and then,
but we've missed the summer
all over again.
Now the leaves are changing
and so are the times
and I wish I had something more
than these wretched rhymes
to keep of you in my hands,
but there's nothing there.
I'd call out your name.
All I'd get is a stare.
Ice cold eyes
cut like glass
and silence speaks;
it doesn't pass.
Over, in another state,
in another time or another place,
you remember a sound;
you remember a face.
You remember how warm
you used to feel
when that emptiness in your stomach
wasn't real.

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

It's about how I hope some part of you will eventually regret it.







"It's burning up in here even though the bed is cold on your side. I'd rather die then spend this night here without you." New Found Glory It's Been A Summer

"I'm wasting away. I find time to pine when pining away my time. Within sin. With no redemption. We will find our souls and the shells they're kept in. All wasted away." Glassjaw Everything You Ever Wanted To Know About Silence

Bleeding Art

Some days I don't know my own name
and I wonder if you ever feel the same.
On you I will place all the blame
for a sickness you never tried to tame.
Did it tie you up, tape your mouth shut?
Push you down and punch you in the gut?
Or did it just give you a reason to cut
and run and stay in your self-made rut?
Because it came out from your heart
and it pulled me apart.
It lied to me from the very start,
but I turned it into my own bleeding art.
You are in all my colors and all my words.
You're in the fish and in the birds.
You're in all the sentences I overheard
and in ever picture my tears blurred.
So, when you look in the mirror, you should see my face.
My visage should make your heart race.
I should be embedded in that space
in the back of your mind that you just can't erase.

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

This is about other people's mistakes that wind up only hurting you and all you can do is write angry poetry about it.

I'm not generally a vengeful person, but when you screw me over twice it's tough not to hate you. I'm a sucker, though, so I'll probably always be here for you when you want me. You should really just want me more.







"She don't even know my name. She won't even look my way..." Ultimate Fakebook She Don't Even Know My Name

"Oh great, here I go again I'm stuck in this rut..." (Really, this entire song. All the time.) Saves The Day Three Miles Down

"Stay hydrated from from a double shot, get my nourishment from a punch in the gut, never really felt I had the best of luck. I gotta big big mouth that just won't shut up." Middle Brother Middle Brother

"You were the moon held high. You broke black with your clean light. You're words I can't say right anytime I try." Kevin Devine 11.17

Understood

I can’t reach out
and touch you.
Then again,
I guess I never could.
I saw us once
in a room with a view,
our intentions mislead,
but not misunderstood.
If you’d just love me,
I’d swear to love you too.
I wouldn’t throw that term around.
No one ever should.
The shadows you cast
are far between and few,
but my memory is, 
to a fault, pretty good.

I see you in the moon
that shines bright overhead
and in the stars;
so I pray for rain
and I almost feel you
here in this bed,
but I know it's just
a trick of my brain.
Come find me when
you feel yourself fed
up with your choices
and your perfect pain.
Let a good one go,
know the dread,
know you lost
and there’s nothing to gain.

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


The sky was totally clear Saturday night when I came home.

I'll probably regret posting this one at some point. I feel like it's really only partially developed, but I don't want to get to a point in my head where I can completely develop it, so I think I'm just going to let this one go. There's a lot going on here.

I still look up at the sky and wonder if you're seeing what I'm seeing...and wondering if you're wondering if I'm seeing what you're seeing. I need to stop it. At least the second part of that.







"My heart is gone. It drove to the shore, swam out in the night, way out past the lines. I heard that now it lives in the south of West Central Spain, drinking off the pain..." Saves The Day Daybreak

"I turned you into a conversation piece and the things you take for granted turn out to be the things that you need..." Kevin Devine Letting A Good One Go

"I’m at peace, sainted and waiting, for my perfect pain to speak for me again." Kevin Devine Awake In The Dirt

Company

You're just another boy
who ruined another girl
and if I were better
I'd also be bigger,
but I want to watch you burn
and I want to know
you'll never sleep
sound.
Bound
and gagged
by time and circumstance -
a sinister dance -
we rolled our dice;
we took our chance.
I'd still stand by your side
every day if you’d let me.
But writing your own tragedy
doesn't make you a hero
and perpetuating your own misery
doesn't mean I'll keep you company.

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

It feels weird posting a poem from home.

Hope everyone had a relaxing Labor Day! Have you hugged your Union rep today?










“And I guess I could be bigger, but I'd rather make you pay...” Pedro The Lion Rehearsal

“It's hard to be the better man when you forget you're trying; it's hard to be the better man when you're still lying...” Brand New Handcuffs

“And I've known trouble all my life and I'm sick of asking why; it's like screaming at a set of dice...” Kevin Devine Trouble

“A laundry list of problems doesn't make you interesting and never getting help doesn't make you brave. Not listening to reason doesn't mean that you have faith. Your just cutting off your nose to spite your face...” Straylight Run Sympathy For The Martyr

Such Perfect Form

I haven't felt right
for a long time.
I keep thinking someday
the sun's gonna shine.
I need a grown up.
I need a man.
I need a path 
and I need a plan.
I need a blue eyed boy
to take me on a date
to a bluegrass club
in a blue-hearted state.
I need to wash away
the face I see 
when my eyes are closed.
You came like a ghost.
Raise my glass
for a toast.
I gave you the most
you could ever hope to behold.
I stuck up for a friend.
Nothing much to defend.
Story's over: that's the end.
Only I couldn't find my pen.
Oops.
I'm bleeding again.
And the drops curve
in such perfect form.
It's all that helps
to keep me warm.
The rum hits the back 
of my thorny throat
and suddenly I see words 
I didn't know I wrote.

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

I was drunk when I wrote most of this. But, seriously, someone take me on a date to a bluegrass club. Do they have those in the Northeast? There's gotta be some in NYC. The bigger challenge is finding someone to take me on a date.

Womp womp.








"Haven't had a dream in a long time. See, the life I've had can make a good man bad..." The Smiths Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want

"Get back here 'cause, baby, these blue eyes are never as bright without you..." I Am The Avalanche Green Eyes

"You've become a ghost. You're floating somewhere in between the waking world and a landscape of dreams..." Saves The Day As Your Ghost Takes Flight

"I was sticking up for my friend and there's nothing much to defend. It's a lost fight. It's a lost fight..." Heatmiser Not Half Right

"The poison make its way through my body slowly into the pleasure centers of my brain..." Pedro The Lion The Poison

Morsels

We are all
so very small.
All of us,
if we should fall,
are only morsels 
underneath the stars,
underneath the nebulae,
those spinning specters in the sky.
Take solace is the rain
that brushes your cheek;
it keeps your blood running
and strengthens the weak.
Be grateful for the wind
that howls and swirls
and puts out of place the hairs
on the heads of all the girls.
It's easy to praise
the great hot sun,
but don't fret the haze
or a cloudy day.
No one was ever hurt
by a little bit of gray.
So fragile and futile
are our little lives,
we'll be taken by surprise
by the falling skies.
For if we all should fall,
we are all so very small -
so very small -
but the earth knows all.

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



We got hit by hurricane over the weekend. It did a good deal of damage all up the east coast of the US, but the death toll has been fairly low especially considering we don't get hurricanes all the way up here. It's weird shit, though. Still, it wasn't any Great Red Spot, haha. I sort of saw it as the planet giving the Northeast a good scrubbing.

Hope everyone's drying out!





"It's always the old to lead us to the war; it's always the young to fall. Now look at all we've won with the sabre and the gun. Tell me is it worth it all?" Phil Ochs I Ain't Marching Anymore

"I spread into a distant hum. I droned along with everyone. And the earth grew green and nursed herself to what she used to be, all our senseless shouting calmed to quiet in her ancient memory." Kevin Devine All Of Everything, Erased

170811

I hate you
though I said I wouldn't.
I love you,
though it does no good.
Behind my eyes,
I can still see
how you had me
fooled all along.
Along with my dreams,
you were shuffled
up
and exaggerated
and told
and retold
like a fable
like a fairy tale
in chapter and verse,
but now my tone is terse.
I wish it
in reverse.
I don't sleep
for the secrets I keep.
I can't breathe anymore.
You lied and took and tore.
You exist while I
am still sore.
I plead, but
you ignore.
And the crimson blob
found on my floor:
it's just my heart,
it's just my core.
I ripped it out,
consequence to you.
It's worthless now,
like me to you.

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








"Well, I dreamt I saw you walking up a hillside in the snow, casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows: one for sorrow, two for joy, three for girls and four for boys, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told." Counting Crows A Murder of One

"It's not right. It's not fair. I'm still a mess and you still don't care." Fountains of Wayne Little Red Light

"I don't care so gouge my eyes. I'll spend the rest of my entire life blind. Consequence to you." Manchester Orchestra April Fool

Later’s Laments

The liquor makes your eyelids limp
like your leg when it’s asleep,
but you like the way it dulls
all the madness to a peep -
between your ears -
this talks is cheap.

Prolific when you aren’t bleeding
and fucking genius when you are
like the mark of ingenuity
is in each and every scar.
I’ll meet you underneath the sky
or find you by the bar.

But we’re parallel
and scared as hell
and I can’t think
or touch or tell.
I only know,
somewhere, we fell.

So, Later’s laments
are Today’s regrets
and you’re nestled with your paperbacks
and your homemade mix cassettes
wondering how long you’ve got
‘til you’ve paid off all your debts.

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



"I caught you nesting with your analogs, glassy eyes from kissing poison frogs, becoming infinite against his couch..." Bad Books You're A Mirror I Cannot Avoid

"The rap is scattered. It hides its ingenuity. I gave it this little part to give it continuity..." Bo Burnham Bo Fo' Sho...lol.

Peace of Heart

All I want’s a little peace
in my heart and in my head.
I want the chaos to cease
with the words that I’ve said.
Close the book on this chapter,
lay the past to bed:
I just want the quiet
and the calm instead.
When my voice stops shaking
and my words have all been read
you’ll feel your own hollow;
you’ll know your own dread.
But my blood is hot
and it spills red
and my soul is hungry
to be fed
and you’ll be left behind
while I look ahead.

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

2am poetry. [I spoke bad poetry.]







"Don't kill yourself to raise the dead. It never works. You'll only end up joining them." Kevin Devine You'll Only End Up Joining Them

"I sit home and drink alone and hope that bottle speaks, like you, like us, like me..." Manchester Orchestra Deer

"And I know that it's dangerous to judge, but man you've got to find the truth and when you find that truth don't budge until the truth you found begins to change...and it does, I know, I know." David Bazan People

Pinned

It's the same story
and the same signs
with the same endings
and the same bullshit lines.
I will never speak
your name again.
I thought you were softer
than you were then.
I took your photo
down today.
I said my goodbyes
in my own way.
Sick to my stomach
from the wonder and worry,
but none of it matters
inside of this fury.
Permanence is myth.
I'm always just a phase;
I'm always just an option
and no one even stays.
I'm pinned against the wall
with your hands around my neck
and I'm growing old and cold.
I am your walking wreck.

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







"These sour grapes when the joke goes bad, this same smirk, same bullshit laugh, the egg on my face when I can't go back. I didn't plan for that." Kevin Devine 11/17/10

"I am bottled, fizzy water and you are shaking me up. You are a fingernail, running down the chalkboard I thought I left in third grade. Now my only, consolation, is that this could not last forever even though you're singing and thinking how well you've got it made." Incubus Just A Phase

Burn

Long, late nights
and playful bites,
the cheerful smiles
over so many miles
are barely memories yet,
but I want to forget.
You ruined so many
songs for me.
Songs I used to love.
(Songs we used to love.)
They're just nails on a chalk
board anymore and I can't talk
or think or feel right,
a piercing through my temples every night.
I've done my fair share of my unfair shit.
That doesn't mean you'll get away with it.
Undeserved second chances
and false-start to stop romances:
mistakes from which one day I'll learn.
For now, I want to see you burn.

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




"My baby shot me on a mountain top. I get my kicks - yeah - from the bottoms up. And all of these people saying they've had enough, well I don't think that you'd understand. I've done my fair share of my unfair shit. That doesn't mean you'll get away with this. I hid your name upon the quilt I knit; still, I don't think that you'd understand." - River City Extension Holy Cross

"There's a hole in the ceiling down through which I fell. There's a girl in a basement coming out of her shell. And there are people who will say that they knew me so well. I may not go to heaven; I hope you go to hell..." Counting Crows St. Robinson And His Cadillac Dream [I know I just used this recently, but the sentiment still stands.]

"And it's not what were owed, but it’s what we’ve earned, and it's closer than we realized that it's time now, to burn." Kevin Devine Time To Burn (Another Bag Of Bones"

Skeleton

The punch in the gut,
the swearing, the smut,
caught her mind
up in a bind.
She did it again,
forgot to lift her pen
so the clouds still hover.
And she doesn't recover
from any of it.
A battle of wit,
but she's too drained to care
how many scars are there
or how much more her liver can bear.
Connect the dots, the rips, the tears.

Shuffling on her sidewalks,
but - at every turn - she balks:
a scared skeleton, hiding
and only in her walls, confiding.
Yet she suspects the drywall
of conspiring to tell-all.
She's looking for a home
or a soul with whom to comb
the strands of life she has left.
Her youth: victim of theft.
But it's always out of reach.
There's a crack, a hole, a breach.
There's a quiver in your speech.
There's a lesson here to teach.


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



It's not that I'm being prolific. This one and the one I posted yesterday are actually just poems I started a while ago that I didn't feel able to finish at the time, but now feel I can finish adequately. You tell me.

However, I may become more prolific now that some of the older ideas have been worked through a little.







"There's a hole in the ceiling down through which I fell. There's a girl in a basement coming out of her shell. And there are people who will say that they knew me so well. I may not go to heaven; I hope you go to hell..." Counting Crows St. Robinson And His Cadillac Dream

Threads

The sun that rises for you,
slouches in her skies.
She pulls her hair back
and takes a breath
to start her day,
but one just fades into the next.
The nexus between living
and operating
has dissolved into
a dew
and a few
take notice,
but the rest just turn their heads.
Frayed and tattered are her threads.
So, life goes on without you,
but its air is stagnant.
She finds her fragments
mingled with yours
in her glossy magazines
and in the fronts of her stores.
It's nothing tangible.
It's nothing she can hold.
She's just left in a corner,
in the dark, in the cold
where it's safe, but not sounds,
where she hopes not to be found.


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

I guess I'm starting to deal with it. But not really, haha.






"O that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! O God!
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!"
- Hamlet (being only a little over dramatic)
Hamlet, Act I, Scene II

Smooth The Shakes

What do you do
when the summit is so far away
and the voice in your brain
has your nerves torn and frayed?
The alcohol in your veins
keeps your tone from turning gray,
but it stings your throat
and makes the words you wrote
bitter with betrayal;
the hand that holds the pen is frail.

But you wouldn't care
if you disintegrated into the air
or if the ground ate you up.
You've had just about enough.
Your love is out of reach
and passion you can't teach.
Another swig to smooth the shakes,
another cut to numb the aches.
Because: what difference does it make?
For our apathy, the earth will forsake.

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

This is about watching something slip through your fingers and deciding not to give a fuck because the world's going to shit anyway. Happy Friday the 13th.


By the way, rejected last lines to rhyme with "make" include:
"I fuckin' love Drake!"
"Everything you say to me takes me one step closer to the edge AND I'M ABOUT TO BREAK"

Just thought you'd like some insight into my creative process.









"You see, I'm feeling everything. Nothing gets by." - The Frames What Happens When The Heart Stops

"Am I correct to defend the first that holds this pen?" - Brand New Good To Know That If I Ever Need Attention All I Have To Do Is Die

"You waited your whole life, said you're lookin' hard for something. You look so hard and you never find nothin' and the chances run like sand in your hand..." - The Builders And The Butchers Find Me In The Air

"Prescribed pills to offset the shakes to offset the pills; you know you should take it a day at a time." - Panic! At The Disco Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks [LOL]

The Devil Once Knocked On Your Door

The devil once knocked on your door.
His face, you'd never seen before.
He promised you riches galore.
He told you there was so much more.

He took your hand; you pulled away.
"What more is it I have to say?"
the devil asked in grave dismay.
"Just promise me: this time she'll stay,"

you answered and the devil nodded
and the blood in your veins clotted
and your stomach, it knotted;
for, in hell, you'll be surely be poked and prodded.

But your deal is done.
You're eternity's begun;
and you don't bother to run.
You're the devil's new son.

You shut the door and turn inside;
it's there you find your blushing bride.
In vows, your hearts are mortally tied.
"'Til death do us part,' heavily on your mind.

You'll lament on how this deal never expires.
You wonder if she'll miss you when the fires
sneak in between the saints and the liars.
But you know it's worth it just to lay beside her.

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

...for when you're desperate enough to try just about anything.







[Though "Reaper" appears in my acknowledgement here for mostly comical purposes, this really was a great show and it's on Netflix Instant, so you might want to check it out. RIP, "Reaper."]

"I FUCKING LOVE THE DEVIL" - Jess and/or Jackie

"When you make fire with the devil, don't be surprised if you get burned. You were among the lucky ones and he only took your hands." - The Builders And The Butchers Raise Up Your Weary Hands

"I want to make you happy but the devil's out my way, so I'll just pack up everything. Roll it out and up the devil's pay." - The Old 97's Up The Devil's Pay

Lowercase

You take solace
is the silent seconds
when the shouting
behind your eyes
ceases.
Pieces
of you on the floor
from the night before
are swept under the rug
or picked up and plopped back into place.
You're an empty space.
You're a fall from grace
and you vanished without a trace.
You're a proper noun in lowercase.
The sting's etched out
across your brow
like a beauty mark,
like a vow.
The breath in your lungs
now tastes so sweet,
when once the task
was such a feat.
But that piece of your soul
will not be missed
in exchange for the scar
along your wrist.

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

This just puts together some of the lines floating around in my head. Not that this is a new topic for me or anything. You'd think after over two years, I'd be over it.








"I was hollow then 'til you filled me in. Now I'm empty again." - Rhett Miller Come Around

"To settle your debts you took a dozen steps or started on the path. Kept falling off when faced with righteousness. You couldn't work the math." - Kevin Devine Between The Concrete And Clouds

"But if they would kiss, there would be sparks...the beauty marks." - Old 97's The Beauty Marks

I'm Not Ready For This Sort Of Thing

The pot whistles as the water comes to a boil, but Anna hushes it so it won't wake Adam. She pours the piping hot liquid into a white mug (the one that has the little chip on the edge by which she once minimally injured her bottom lip). Her bare feet hardly make a sound on the linoleum as she walks across the kitchen for the tea, a spoon, and her Honey Bear honey.

For now, she sits at her kitchen table, gently stirring and carefully sipping the soothing concoction. Adam's tee shirt covers her frame to about her thigh at which point the cool wooden chair then meets the inside of her knee and gives her legs goosebumps. She couldn't remember when she knew Adam wanted her, but she'd known it fairly confidently for some time. The sex which should have surprised them both, even scared them a little, had become such an inevitability in the backs of both their minds that the normal bout of pre-coital nausea she often experiences never afflicted her.

She wonders if it could ever really be that easy. But then she remembers that it really wasn't all that easy at all. There were tears and bad words and years, days, hours, minutes, and seconds. She wonders how anyone could fall out of love, fall out of waking up feeling good and full. It seems like something one would have to work to do, though she knew that even she had experienced the phenomenon.

Adam was awake the whole time. He heard the pot whistle. He heard her little feet pitter and pat on the linoleum. He heard the spoon spinning in the little white mug. He hated waking up without Savanna even though this would have been the first time he had ever awoken to her. However, he was comforted when he realized he was in her bed; he knew she couldn't have gone far and would certainly be back. She wasn't a dream. She wasn’t running. She wasn't gone.

He climbs out of the bed and performs a quick search for his clothes, picking up only his boxers and pulling them over his hips. He surveys her room. His stomach turns a little as he considers the consequences of turning the doorknob and walking out into Anna's living room, finding her sitting at her kitchen table at the other end. Does she regret it? A deep breath and...

"Good morning," he says, opening the door. She was un-startled. His body relaxes. This isn't a stranger, he reminds himself jovially. What am I even talking about? Why would it be? It's not like I'm in the habit of sleeping with strangers!... He shakes his head to himself.

"Hey," she says, looking up from her mug, smiling as she watches him saunter through her little living room and into her even littler kitchen-slash-diningroom area. "There's hot water on the stove. I'm sorry, I don't have much, but there's tea, some milk in the fridge. If you're hungry, there's cereal...oh, and uhh, I could give your shirt back," she stumbles.

"Don't worry about it," he assures.

With his back to her, he reaches over his head to open the cabinet, pulling out a green mug and then opening up the drawer with assorted utensils in search of a spoon. She watches. She watches the muscles in his arms and back stretch and contract and she feels how those same muscles had felt in her hands just a few hours earlier. Her eyes follow his spine up to his neck and she remembers the soft spot under his ear where he likes to be licked.

"Is there sugar?" he inquires, this time startling her.

"Uhh, under the coffee maker, in that little bowl," she points.

"Is there coffee?" he jokes, picking up the little spoon sticking out of the red sugar bowl.

She laughs, "No," in a defeated tone. "Shut-up! I didn't bring you here to mock my lack of house-keeping!"

"No, the house-keeping is quite good. Everything's nice and clean; it's so clean, there's nothing in here!"

"Just for that, I'm keeping the tee shirt and you're gonna have to give me a damn good reason as to why I should give you this tea bag," she teases, holding up the very last tea bag.

"I think you’ve got me there," he sighs. "I guess the good looks and the charm can only get me so far, right?" he kisses her on the forehead.

"Hmmm, almost..."

And he kisses her cheek, the tip of her nose, her mouth, slowly, and sits down beside her.

"Alright. Fine," she concedes and hands over the lonely tea bag.

"Thank you. That'll do fine in my sugar water," he presses the tea bag against the wall of the mug and watches the color change from clear to yellow to brown.

They sit quietly, each stirring and sipping as if in so sort of choreographed performance, each wondering if the other is thinking the same thoughts.

"How did your parents meet?" Savanna finally says.

Adam pauses as if searching his memory for the cute anecdote his parents surely him at one point about their meeting, falling in love, marrying, the whole nine.

"Yanno, I'm not really sure. I just know my dad was working at the paper at the time."

"They never told you?"

"Or maybe I just never asked," he laughs. "I think he was working at the paper and she was, maybe, like, the friend of a friend of a friend of his editor or something? They had mutual acquaintances? I know he was working at the paper. Either they never told me the story or the story just isn’t very interesting and I’ve since forgotten," he stutters as his hand wanders almost involuntarily to hers, grazing the skin that covers her pinky finger.

"Do they still love each other?" she asks, still stirring her honey into her tea, trying to achieve just the right level of sweetness.

"In some way, I think," Adam answers. "They like each other at least, but, Love? I'm not sure," he explains. "Do yours?"

"No. Love, even Like...even Tolerate, dissolved a long time ago. I remember; I watched," she confesses.

"I'm sorry," he sympathizes, his hand now all but holding hers. "Maybe that's just how it is with people. We're all so indecisive. We're all so picky and needy, but never all at the same time, never harmoniously with each other, so we always spar."

"How do you avoid it, then?" she asks calmly, hiding that his comment had caused a twinge of pain in the hollow of her chest.

"Don't fall in love with anyone you'd actually want to spend the rest of your life with."


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

Do you ever think about the Library at Alexandria?














"It seems like I should say 'as long as this is love...,' but it's not all that easy so maybe I should..." - Counting Crows Anna Begins

"Because people are so fickle. They fall in love at different angles, so really I could lose you just as quickly as I've gotten you. And that's the kind of thought that makes me nervous and worried if you'll really think I'm worth it, when the rush wears off and you're left with this busted person. But if you tell me you will I will do what I can to believe it..." - Kevin Devine People Are So Fickle

"There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind. Orr was crazy and could be grounded. All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions. Orr would be crazy to fly more missions and sane if he didn't, but if he was sane, he had to fly them. If he flew them, he was crazy and didn't have to; but if he didn't want to, he was sane and had to. Yossarian was moved very deeply by the absolute simplicity of this clause of Catch-22 and let out a respectful whistle." - Joseph Heller Catch 22

Wisdom

You still hear that voice
that betrays and berates
and you question your sanity
and curse the fates.
What solace you find
in these trivial traits,
with the guise of satisfaction
they surely create.

But there's no wisdom
in masks or charades,
and no wisdom
in poisons or blades.
The shock of the feeling
reminds you in fades
like the sun and the moon
in their daily trades.

You repeat those words
like incantations
because there are miracles
in recitation,
but that magic's not in syllables;
it's in the sensations;
it's in your blood;
it's in the vibrations.


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

I can't believe how inactive I've been. It's depressing. It's mostly because work is tiring me out. It's leaving me feeling quite uninspired which means that I either need a vacation or I need a change...or both.

In any event, I started writing this poem back in December / early January. It was only four lines up until about last week. Now it feels about right. It can actually be taken, at least by my count, in two totally contradictory ways. So, have a ball.

I am also trying to honor one of my 2011 goals by writing a new vignette. I just haven't decided whether it's not or even whether it's worthy of posting, but I'd really love to post anything that isn't a poem right now!







"I know there's no wisdom in razors and I know whatever I thought I'd found was really just a mask."

"I bite my tongue every time you come around 'cause blood in my mouth beats blood on the ground." Incubus Blood On The Ground

New Monsters

Broken mirrors
and black cats,
superficial smiles
and dirty rats,
I'm losing focus
and fading fast,
wishing the future
looked less like the past.
If you can never have too much
of a good thing, I think
I'll sit back an have
another drink.
Watch the old sun set
and the blurry moon rise
and maybe someday find a way
to break off all these ties.
I would kill for a short
long-day.
I think that I'm a liar;
it sure feels that way.
For all the vice
swept under the rug:
new monsters between the ears
are kept warm and snug,
but I'd never tell you
I'm okay
unless I meant it.

I'm okay, okay.



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






"Say the words you used to wish you heard back when you focused enough to be good." Bad Books You're A Mirror I Cannot Avoid

"Here's to all our vice and our secret double life. I'll sleep with one eye open, maybe you'll save my life." The New Amsterdams All Our Vice

Grip

She sees so much better with her eyes closed
and maybe that's what's real - who knows?
And who's here to say it's not?
Maybe this is just the side she forgot.
It's warmer here
and someone's always near
like a blanket over her shoulders
"It's okay, it's okay" they told her.

The hours are getting closer
and her legs seemed to force her
down an uncertain path
where she assumed she'd meet the wrath
of her own imagination,
a dreamy manipulation
where the lie is sweeter than the truth
and the realization is unsettling and uncouth.

You think you've come so far,
but all that awaits is wine and a guitar
and an empty bed
and a cold floor on which you bled.
Your hands always seem to shake
and every smile you shoot's a fake,
but you're "not losing your grip,"
or so says your shivering lip.

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










"...And when I come, I will come on like a dream." AA Bondy O, The Vampyre

"I'm so glad that my memory's remote because I'm doing just fine hour to hour, note to note." Elliott Smith Waltz #2 (XO)

"My hands, they always shake, and no one's calling my phone." Kevin Devine Ballgame

Slip Into Flames

You've been afraid
to spit fire
out of fear
you're a liar.
Keeping your balance
on a wire
where the situation
grows ever dire,
but you slip into flames
growing higher and higher.

With the rest
of the silent,
you knew
just what that meant.
Someone's lord took back
the years from you He'd lent.
Now you smell
the devil's scent
and it fills your lungs
with red resentment.

Dissent from your lips
does a patriot make,
compels the earth
to swing and shake.
As the bile in your stomach
causes it to ache,
stand up:
we've a country to take
or I'm afraid we'll all
be doomed to bake.

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

Another one about doom, the end of the world, and people who don't speak up for the things in which they believe (and this isn't to say I'm not also guilty).





"And she walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land just like she's walking on a wire in the circus..." Counting Crows 'Round Here

"And if your God makes war then he's no God I know 'cause Christ would not send boys to die..." AA Bondy American Hearts

"It seems to me we get the same shit from them both. Reform don't work; I think it's time we tried revolt, but I don't got the guts to jump up and go first so I just shout until my throat hurts (and I curse and I curse)..." Kevin Devine No Time Flat

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.

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





"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."


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

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.

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

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

Freeze

I don't know what
it's supposed to mean,
but I feel you every time
I feel the breeze,
like there's a part of you
in the branches of the trees
or you're buzzing around
off the wings of bees.
It's not that simple.
No, it could never be.
So, the only thing I'm good at
is subtracting the threes.
The hum in my head
is such a tease
since my memory of your voice
is muffled and meek
and I feel like I lost you
with the greatest of ease
before I had the sense
not to let you leave.
Would it have mattered?
My begs, my pleas?
Couldn't you feel
my silent decrees?
Words are too late now,
so I'll just leave you with these:
you're in every moment
I wish I could freeze.

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

I fell back into cheesy emo poetry. I'm weak. I'll try to be better next time.





"What do you mean?" Jackie Granja February 13, 2010 (lol)

"I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself to hold on to these moments as they pass..." Counting Crows

Repeat

You know those moments you get every once in a while, once in a long while, that are perfect snapshots of how life should always be? Those precious rare seconds of complete happiness? I'm living one right now. I know it and, while in this moment, I know that I'll be sad and that I'll miss it when it passes, which it is doomed to do because moments are just that: momentary. We'll talk about it years from now: that time she was here and we didn't leave my apartment for a week and we stayed in, reading books and eating take-out and listening to records and having sex. Utopian days on repeat.

I set the needle down and open the window to let the early summer air in. It's always summer, but the heat doesn't seem so brutal today. The normal tasks of eating, sleeping, breathing: they all seem less brutal in these moments. A guy could get used to this.

In a slinky white camisole and white panties, she's curled up on her side on the recliner with her serious face on, looking hard at the tiny text of her book. She doesn't even know what she's doing to me, just by sitting there. She doesn't even see what I see. She doesn't know that just watching her read turns me on. Would she hate me if she knew what I was thinking right now? Her smooth legs, bent at the knee and leaning against the back of the recliner, are taunting me; I just want to see them spread.

I take my seat on the couch and pick up the opened magazine I'd placed on the coffee table. I haven't read a word since she woke up and peered out my bedroom door. She caught me in here by myself, said she didn't like that she woke up alone this morning. I told her I'd make it up to her tomorrow and I intend to. Now, I just peer over the edge of the magazine pages, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. The record pops a little, but it sounds just fine and I want to take her hand and make her dance for me. I wonder if she would. Would she?

"Love this song," I say as I stand up.

She looks up from her book and grins, her bangs brushed just over her brow.

"I know; you said that last time you played it for me."

I graze her knee with my fingertips, then her arm up to her shoulders. She smiles and I lightly rub her shoulders until she looks up at me and I down at her. I bend down until my lips reach hers. "Dance for me."

She laughs, "Uh uh, no."

"C'mon, dance for me."

"I'll dance with you," she negotiates.

"Okay," I say and I grab her hand and pull her up, her book thrown onto the chair.

I take her right hand in my left and I wrap my right arm around her waste, placing my hand right at the small of her back. Last night, I learned she's ticklish right there, but she doesn't know I know that. She giggles.

"Am I that bad at this?" I ask.

"Haha, no, not at all," but she takes my hand and moves it up slightly. Let's call the whole thing off, I think, and I move the hand again, but this time over instead of up and I pull her in closer. With my face buried into her neck, am I bold enough to plant a few soft kisses? Before I'm able to answer that questions, I feel her warm lips brush against my neck and chin until they find my lips.

Back and forth, we sway to the song with a twirl here or there. Really, I'm not that good at this, so I'm extra sure not to spin her too hard. She's smiling, so she can't be having a terrible time. Back in my collapsed arms, her fingers seem to find all the spot on back I never knew were so sensitive. I'm a little hard, but hoping she won't notice. Just in case, let's get this show on the road: I kiss her neck and my fingers fondle the edge on her camisole, lifting it over her head.

She grins. "Again?" she asks. I don't stop kissing her and she doesn't stop smiling as she pulls my shirt off.

I spin her around and push the bedroom door open with the collective forces of our bodies. The mattress collides with her back as I battle with my belt. I don't want to take my lips of her. She pulls me under and helps me with the problem. We fumble over each other with impossibly graceful rhythm until nothing separates us anymore. I don't know where I end and she begins. The darkness is a mask and we don't have to be ourselves under its influence.

Breathing deeply, eventually, our bodies turn to mush. Somehow, I think I can even feel her limbs tingling. As I begin to pull away, she pulls me back again and kisses me hard, then smiles and rolls to her side.

"I'm hungry," she says and she gets up to find the take-out menu.

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

Vignette #2.

As a select few people know, there's another one I wrote similar to this one that I didn't post, but may edit and put up later. That one's written from the woman's perspective, though. They comes as a result of listening to a lot of Minus The Bear.



"A few summers ago, we spent weeks in her room just having sex and listening to jazz and that was the life..." Minus The Bear Let's Play Guitar In A Five Guitar Band"

"And you're holding on to me like an old love that you know every inch of..." Minus The Bear My Time

"Black and white dress puts me into a trance as I memorize you..." Minus The Bear Excuses

I Ain't Got No Home

"I'd like to see the ol' man" I tell the nurse, comin' in outta the rain. The nurses don't think he got much more time. His fits are gittin' worse. "We don't think he's got more than a couple weeks," the nurse says and I take my hat off 'cause it's impolite not to greet a woman by takin' yer at off. She tells me that they think my playin' might doim some good, though, so they let me in even though I missed visitin' hours by a couple. He don't get many visitors these days. Except me, acourse. These halls and little rooms have surprisin'ly good acoustics. Not that it matters much to the ol' fella. She tells me they had him strapped to the bed most of the day, afraid he might go and hurt hisself real bad. Or someone else. Or worse. When I open his door, though, he quiets down a bit. He can't talk no more, she tells me. He just makes noises. Loud unes at that. Scares the whole damn place. He thinks there ain't no other patients or somethin'. He gave one of them nurses a real hard time a few days back, she says, and now that nurse, she won't go back in to see him. They think he can still write, but he ain't calmed down enough for anyone ta give him any writin' u-ten-sil in a long while. He only try to communicate by makin' noises and fast motions. He can still see and he can still hear, though, and I may not be much to look at, but I can give ya an earful if you can hear.

"You should start working here, maybe," she says. "He won't hush for anyone else." I says to her, "Thanks, but Ima geetar player. I play gigs in New York City. I ain't got the the brain matter for takin' care a ol' folk or folks whose heads ain't screwed on quite right. Now, don't get me wrong, it's a wonderful and much needed profession, but I ain't got the stomach for it." She grins and gives me the one-up and I grin back at her. "If ya ever find yerself if the big apple, though, you should look me up," I says to her. She smiles and her fair skin blushed faintly and she leaves me and the ol' man alone.

"So," I says to him, "one a yers or one a mine today?" I throw my hat down on the table and pull my jacket up over my head, the one with the broken zipper I never did get fixed. I take the stool next to his bed and start tunin' my music box up. "No opinions today?" I says to him. "Oh, right, you can't talk no more is what I hear. That true?" I ask, doubtin' it. He's a stubborn one. "I guess it is, huh? Well, how's about 'I Ain't Got No Home' then? One a yers. Standard tunin': E...A...D...G...B...little e."

I strum 'em all through once. That'll get the idear across anyways. And I plays him one a his own songs and then I plays him one a the ones I been hearin' up in New York City, 'round the folk clubs and beat bars and poets' pit-stops, and then I plays him one a my own songs.

"I wrote that one, there," I tell him. "That's right. That's my own. I've been writin' - you know - whatever been comin' into my head for a while. Just ain't really put tunes to it, but why not?" He wrote his own tunes. He taught me a thing or two about havin' sumthin' ta say and how a reliable geetar can help ya say it.

He just lay there, quiet, but grinnin' his little grin at me, maybe a little wider than usual. I won't let on how the nice nurse lady broke my heart tellin' me he can't talk no more. His stories are the stories ya listen to. He's been all over this land. He's been trapped in the dust bowl and stowed away in box cars. He's been east coast, west coast, Gulf coast, no coast. He's always been a workin' man, though. He always been workin'. Paintin' and singin' too.

Now they tell him he's crazy, legally in-sane, and they go an' lock him up here in this ol' buildin'. All them stories can't be just the ramblin's of an ol' crazy man, though. He was sane when he was singin' 'em, writin' 'em all down. It wasn't that long ago he was out there, on the road, in the corn fields, with the union folks. He's got all this history in him. Maybe that's what drove him crazy. Maybe that's enough for put a sensible man over the edge.

I know he's gonna die soon. He knows it too. I probably won't come back here no more neither. I don't just come for his stories - no, that ain't true - but the songs just don't mean as much just comin' outta my mouth as they do when he sings 'em along with me or when he tells me he was walkin' on a hot road out in Cali when he wrote it. He never told me where he was when he was writin' "I Ain't Got No Home." But I think I know where he was.

He was home. He just didn't know it. Some men's homes ain't where there stuff is or where their families sleep. Some men's homes are where ever they can get to with a sack a clean clothes dancin' against their backs and the sun beatin' down on their necks. Some men just ain't at home if they ain't sweatin' or bleedin'.


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


I'm trying to write more prose, but shorter than my usual 20 - 40 pages "short" stories: a series of vignettes. I have already written one (that would need editing before posting) and am in the process of writing another. So, those are what you can expect in short term.

This is just a hypothetical account of an event that happened. In short: this is what I imagine Bob Dylan's last visit to Woody Guthrie to be like. Guthrie had Huntington's before anyone knew what Huntington's was, so he was diagnosed with various mental disabilities and Dylan would visit him at Greystone Hospital in Morristown, New Jersey. Woody's mother also had incorrectly diagnosed Huntington's and I believe she died in a fire she set, which also killed her daughter, Woody's sister (if I remember correctly from Guthrie's autobiography Bound For Glory). I have no idea how debilitating the disease was to Woody, so he probably was able to talk the last time Dylan visited him in real life, but - as I said - this is only hypothetical. In fact, the characters don't even have to be Dylan and Guthrie, as they are specifically left unnamed. The name of the song (and the title of this vignette) is a Woody Guthrie song, though. This is a scene I may visit again in the future as it's something about which I've considered writing a full story. So, we'll see.




"Woody was not celebrated at this place, and it was a strange environment to meet anybody, least of all the true voice of the American spirit." - Bob Dylan Chronicles [page 98 - 99].

"I'm out here a thousand miles from my home, walking a road other men have gone down. I'm seeing a new world of people and things, hear paupers and peasants and princes and kings. Hey, hey, Woody Guthrie, I wrote you a song about a funny old world that's coming along: seems sick and it's hungry, it's tired and it's torn. It looks like it's dying and it's hardly been born. Hey, Woody Guthrie, but I know that you know all the things that I'm saying and a many times more. I'm singing you the song but I can't sing enough 'cause there's not many men that've done the things that you've done. Here's to Cisco and Sonny and Leadbelly too and to all the good people that traveled with you. Here's to the hearts and the hands of the men that come with the dust and are gone with the wind. I'm leaving tomorrow, but I could leave today. Somewhere down the road someday, the very last thing that I'd want to do is to say I've been hitting some hard traveling too." - Bob Dylan Song To Woody [1962].

That Same Old Moon

The twilight ended
hours ago
and the calm, cool dark
seeps through the slits
in my blinds.
But the darkness is shattered
by a thin ray of light
that stretches over miles
and lands
on some far away coast,
where a lonely boy
sets the needle down
on a jazz record.
I know you see
that same old moon.
The one above my head
that now sleepily awakes
over yours.
Soon, you'll look up,
as I do now,
you'll see its face;
you'll see its shine
while I see yours.

Can you see mine?

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

I just sort of feel a little less alone when I look up at the moon or the stars and realize all the millions of people who are looking up at that same moon and stars at the exact same time. Not everyone at the same time, but a good fraction of the population. People thousands of miles away from each other can all see it. It sort of unifies us no matter who we are. We all look up and can see them. When I look up, I wonder if you are. When you look up, do you wonder if I am?

Happy stargazing.




"Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog where no one notices the contrast of white on white. And in between the moon and you, angels get a better view f the crumbling difference between wrong and right..." Counting Crows 'Round Here

"A few summers ago, we spent weeks in her room just having sex and listening to jazz and that was the life..." Minus The Bear Let's Play Guitar In A Five Guitar Band"

Point To Pray

There's always something to say,
only not enough voices,
but when selective memory fades
we'll be trapped in the trenches of our choices.
Raise your flag to heaven
since you are God's gift
and cross you fingers that
His judgment will be swift
because you can taste salvation
on the edges of your lips
and in the blood, when you bite them,
that drips.
I hear the pop of the first seal
and see the mane of a white horse
and the end has begun,
but you feel no remorse.
You're certain your savior
will bring you home
to live in love
and worship at His throne;
so pop another seal
and hear the galloping on -
pop, pop, pop -
and we'll all soon be gone.
Pop, like the last bottle of campaign
on Doomsday.
Pop, because now there is no point
to pray.

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

The end of the world is still a fascinating concept to me. The four horsemen rumble around in my head a lot. I think it's a really powerful - and terrifying - image (example: see below). There is no redemption. There is no hope.

Have we - as a species, as a planet of disconnected souls - gotten there yet? Are we all too consumed with who IS right or wrong, or IS moral or immoral, or IS winning or losing, or whose god IS the one and only? Can we put the score cards down and say "Planet Earth: zero" and start working on fixing that? Not just for our planet's sake, but for each other?

Or have the seals begun to pop?

I heard this story on the news this morning:
"Prosecutors said Mr. Sucuzhañay (pronounced suh-KOO-shen-y’eye) and his brother, Romel Sucuzhañay, who was not seriously hurt, were attacked because they were Hispanic and because the assailants were under the mistaken impression that they were gay."
[Full story here: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/04/21/nyregion/21brothers.html]

So, you tell me.




6.1 And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, Come.
6.2 And I saw, and behold, a white horse, and he that sat thereon had a bow; and there was given unto him a crown: and he came forth conquering, and to conquer.
...
Book of Revelation, Chapter 6
[http://www.reformed.org/bible/kjv20/B66C006.html]

To Remain Unread

These are the letters I write,
but never send
and they all have your name
scribbled on them.
If the words remain unread,
are they meaningless:
a love never loved
unless professed?
Scales are the measurement
and clocks are the consequence
and I really wish I knew
whether this was your preference
because I'm awake at night
and I don't think that you are,
but I still wish I wasn't stuck
here, so far.
Distance can be counted
and felt
and this is just the hand
that we've been dealt:
for better or worse
and I'll dig through the dirt
'til I find a way to bridge the gap
and end the hurt.
I know I shouldn't say it -
or maybe I should -
but I would change everything
if I could.


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

Mhmm...




"And these clocks keep unwinding and completely ignore everything that we hate or adore..." Bright Eyes A Scale, a Mirror, and These Indifferent Clocks

"Three-thousand, five-hundred miles away, but what would we change if we could?" Counting Crows Raining In Baltimore

Exit

Don't say that you missed me
even half as much as I you
and for the record
distance does not make the heart grow fonder.
Wander
from coast to coast
while my sorry soul surrenders.
It's not a sonnet or a song.
Silence is Survival:
throw my throat out with the trash
and thrash the rest
to the fist that holds this pen.

Defenseless.
Defenseless.
And you know what
my best is.

Back turned.
Insert knife.
Twist
and shout
and splatter
and plunge.
Expunge,
extol,
exorcise:
and I could be your best bet;
let alone
your worst ex.

Exit stage left,
but this is not an exit
and when you think the story's over,
when you think the credits should start to roll...

you'll still see my face
and all the years that you stole.

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

I was annoyed and couldn't sleep several nights ago, so this is a half-asleep stream-of-conscience (stealing ideas from Taking Back Sunday, Elliott Smith, Saves The Day, Brand New, and others). Some are subtle, some are not. I'm really only posting this because I chuckled when I noticed that some of the shit I stole out of songs were in there unintentionally. (Do I use more lyric puns when sleepy?)

Hopefully, I will have some better and more original materials in the coming days, weeks...





This may take a while:

"And if you ever said you miss me then don't say you never lied..." Brand New Jude Law And A Semester Abroad

"I'll do everything I can so you can be what you do, coast to coast, coast to coast..." Elliott Smith Coast To Coast

"Am I correct to defend the fist that holds this pen?" Brand New It's Good To Know...

"The worst is over; you can have the best of me..." The Starting Line The Best of Me

"Well, shake it up baby now (shake it up baby), twist and shout (twist and shout)..." The Beatles Twist And Shout (Totally different context, but what the hell, hahaha)

"I'll leave the lights down low so she knows I mean business and maybe we could talk this over, 'cause I could be your best bet, let alone your worst ex..." Taking Back Sunday Bike Scene

"And your love will be warm nights with pockets of moonlight, spotlighting you as you drift: the actor in this play and you walk across the stage, take a bow, hear the applause and, as the curtain falls, just know you did it all..." Saves The Day This Is Not An Exit

"So if I'm a liar then you're a thief; at least we both know where the other one sleeps and lets end this tonight..." Brand New You Stole (LOL)

The Contagion of Lethargy

These are the same white walls
and the same cold stalls,
the same busy typing
and the same early rising.
I'm as blank as these pages,
haven't written a line in ages
and I tally the losses and gains
with an ink that runs through my veins.
The contagion of lethargy
breeds despair and apathy,
but we swore it was never be we
because the future we could see
needed hands holding up arms
and voices carrying alarms.
We dubbed ourselves
the Warning Bells,
but our revolution
suffered stagnated evolution.
Has our youth lost its thunder,
our passions torn asunder?
Monotony and misdirection
and misunderstanding our own reflections
breeds disillusion
and false conclusions.
Disaffection drains us dry;
he is menacing and sly
and so our spry skin is thickening:
the sight is sickening,
like we can't see anything at all:
no rise nor fall.
How much longer can the setting sun wait
for a savior to seal our fate?

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

Somehow I didn't post anything in February. So, I'm making this one public since it's been sitting around here in draft mode for weeks.

This is about visionaries who go blind.









"If we're now so dissconected, it's our reflections we ignore..." Kevin Devine The Burning City Smoking

"Everybody's talkin' 'bout revolution, evolution, masturbation, flagellation, regulation, integrations, mediations, United Nations, congratulations: all we are saying is give peace a chance..." John Lennon Give Peace A Chance

Wind

The wind sings your song
like a lullaby
and it whispers your words
like strings and tin-cans.
It carries along your smile
on clouds or the backs of birds
and when I breathe it in,
your scent tickles my nose.

But the longer we go
the fainter it gets.

And I want to write a love song
that isn't just a guess.

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

I really do apologize for the lame, cliche title. It's a short poem; my options were limited!






"I wish the world was flat like the old days then I could travel just by folding a map." Death Cab For Cutie The New Year

"I need a phone call. I need a plane ride. I need a sunburn. I need a raincoat." Counting Crows Raining In Baltimore

Nothing But Trouble

Oh, son of fire,
oh, fallen star:
what gloom you have brought
to us thus far:
skies of mud
and oceans of tar,
and miles of men
with no life
left in them.
Do you count the sinners
like sheep
to comfort your
tired, boiling brain?
The promised ones
have fled the city;
this scene's about
to get real gritty.
I'm face down
with a mouth full of dirt,
but I'm not angry,
just a little hurt.
You want me to listen;
you want me to see:
there's ferocity and fury
in ever degree.
The fire rises up
and the earth slips out from under me.
Your expression is priceless:
glee and excitement,
a childlike grin
and no tinge of resentment.
You're almost beautiful
as monsters go
and I'm sure this pain
is all you know.
Does doom twinkle
like bombs in your eyes
while you listen to our tortured
and suffering cries?
You dance to machine gun music
and bathe in the rubble.
I suspect, however,
you're nothing but trouble.

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

Taking a walk with the devil.






"I talked to the devil 'cause that's what young boys do." Frank Palmeri Talked To The Devil

"And what does a mirror show you, can you see the gray? Your sadness it is quite lovely but it's the sadness of a slave. Why don't you give yourself a rest, oh give yourself some room. You can't get your arms around everybody. You cannot carry the doom...of the living and the dying, how easily you bruise. Oh Delia don't go 'round when the devil's loose..." AA Bondy When The Devil's Loose

"Trouble makes no scene, she sweeps in surgical and clean, leaves me begging on my hands and knees. And she's always on the clock, but she doesn't own a watch 'cause she wrecks me straight into my sleep..." Kevin Devine Trouble

Pretending

What do you fear the most:
your reflection of that ghost
that hangs on
the shoulders of your shadow?
The promises you've broken,
the truths never spoken
ball up into a cancer.
The lying's in the answer.
The chain you drag
you built
with hatred and heresy
and hallucinogens.
Your heavy heart
chugs blood along through
ungrateful veins
who simply spit it out.
So you bite your lips
'til they're chapped and bleeding,
feeding into delusions,
reading into illusions.
You swear the voices
get louder at night;
you sing to yourself:
it's alright, it's alright,
Rage dismisses your
half-hearted pleas.
He plays with your head.
He is such a tease.
When time builds no
brighter endings,
you might as well quit
all your pretending.

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







"So you crawl up those stairs and sing yourself to peace." Wild Sweet Orange House of Regret

"It's okay, it's alright, nothing's wrong." Elliott Smith Waltz #2

"I'm nothing it I'm not the rage." The New Amsterdams Drinking In The Afternoon

The Guilty and The Saved

When the world explodes
don't say You didn't
see in coming.
The seas are humming
and the skies are preparing
to plummet.
Are we Your puppets
or are me masochists?
Which winds will blow our seeds
into oblivion?
You see our shadows
lurking in corners and under beds.
Your sheep,
misbehaving so well:
they make the earth swell.
It's enough to make You weep.

A fire-breathing counterpart
counts down:
our days are numbered.
Fault feeds the flames.
Is a fall so far behind?
The end of times?
The daylight dissolves;
the heat rises.
The devil devises
his dreadful deeds:
that fiendish fallen angel.
Who will wake come morning?
The guilty or the guilty or the guilty
or the saved?
Who would know the difference
anymore anyway?

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

"Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away."
- Revelation 21.1











"The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?"
Percy Bysshe Shelley Ode to the West Wind

"Then they'll raise their hands, sayin' we'll meet all your demands, but we'll shout from the bow your days are numbered. And like Pharaoh's tribe, they'll be drowned in the tide, and like Goliath, they'll be conquered." Bob Dylan When The Ship Comes In

"I prayed for providence; God said, 'Don't pray no more. You went and made your mess, keep your blame off my feet.'" Kevin Devine All Of Everything, Erased

Hallucinating

You're allowed to look now;
this isn't a prison.
See, those walls are just air.
The shiny metal bars
are just figments,
apparitions.
Your far too busy brain
built them up,
but you have no savior
to break them down.
You're hallucinating,
but this is nothing new.

Dank depictions of doom
dance between your ears.
It's a fairy tale warning
that keeps you up at night,
makes you shiver in the sunlight,
makes you jump with fright.
In earlier soliloquies
you've heard yourself recite
your voice rattles
and your tongue bites.
On the ground
is where you'll end up.

Duck and cover,
cover up.
The poison that you swallow
won't kill you -
unless you're luck -
so drink up.
Baby,
they're only bad dreams;
they're all just bad habits
to blow off some stream.
No need to worry;
don't give it one more thought -

But those lessons you've been learning,
may need to be retaught.

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

Continuation of a theme.











"I'm hallucinating -- hallucinating. I hear you cry. Your tears are cheap, wet hot red swollen cheeks, fall asleep. I want to hurt him. I want to give him pain. I'm a roman candle. My head is full of flames..." Elliott Smith Roman Candle

"Why don't you give yourself a rest, oh give yourself some room? You can't get your arms around everybody. You cannot carry the doom... AA Bondy When The Devil's Loose

"Drink up, baby, stay up all night with the things you could do, you won't, but you might. The potential you'll be that you'll never see. The promises you'll only make..." Elliott Smith Between The Bars

Drown

You suffer your habits
and mask all the dwelling

and you smile along

like your brain isn't swelling.

They know that there's something

that you aren't telling.

From out of the wreckage,

you stretch out your arms

and you swear from now on

to do no harm.

To yourself
you vow
not to shutter again,
but you know it’s only
the way your head spins:
the ice is thin.
When the voices begin
and sing their hymn
you know you’ll be unable
to rise against them.

Your senses are susceptible
to the slightest of slights
and you roll up your sleeves
like you’re ready for a fight.
You back yourself into corners
and can’t find your own way out.
There are seas out there calling you
if only there was light,
but the darkness robs you
of your wits and your sight.

Those drugs keep you stable
by kicking you around
and you feel more at home
when you’re too lost to be found.
Where sanity is impossible to conceive
and nightmares are easy to believe,
that’s where you’ll always be,
underneath the bow.
So, lay your head down
and for good now -

drown.



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

Sometimes shit happens that shakes your bones. They kick you while you're down. Then, you have decisions to make: to get up or stay down, to shape up or decay. "You choose whether that slip is repeated and permanent or not." The options are clear and the ball is in your court.















"I try to will myself away while shouting habits plead their case..." Kevin Devine You'll Only End Up Joining Them

"One time I broke my vow. We laid a circle of roses, symbolized what was forever..." Sunny Day Real Estate 9

"The morning finds our bodies washed up thirty miles west..." Brand New Play Crack The Sky

Here's To The Decay

You’re only prolific in your daze
because words make more sense that way.
Senses sing while hearts soar,
but you ponder what it’s all for.
Sliding, seeking, sidestepping, shrieking:
is this a nightmare in the making?
Making memories out of fantasies
and hearing love inside of ever sneeze,
these haunting lullabies
are embedded behind your eyes.
And when the cries are no longer audible
you shout out for the infallible,
but He cannot shut your mind down:
no, child, you’re just a lost sound.
That ringing in your ears
isn’t even the worst of your fears
because fire fights from your throat
and you choke on every note.
Hell finds a deeper home
where your thoughts were once free to roam
so now demons and goblins reiterate
the revelation that is your fate.
It sickens you to the bone:
the skills you’ve honed
that lock you in your heated space
when there’s just too much out there to face.
The heavy air follows you - it lingers -
and you wrap strands of hair around your fingers
until your fingertips are white and cold.
You’re about to fold
and you know it won’t matter;
you can’t hear above the chatter.
Your bruises prove the existence of colors:
your body's a canvas for all your failures.
Your nerves are fried
like your dignity and pride.
You’re mechanical and monotonous.
You won't put up a fuss.
In times like these, what’s a little weakness?
Just one more flaw to confess.
And you know it won’t make you feel better,
just a little bit deader,
but the world is gray anyway:
so here’s to the decay.

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

Fight off your demons (and goblins)?













"I'm racing towards the one mistake that locks me in my place." Kevin Devine Just Stay

"And every word is nonsense but I understand and, oh Lord: I'm not ready for this sort of thing." Counting Crows Anna Begins

"Grey is my favorite color. I felt so symbolic yesterday. If I knew Picasso, I would buy myself a gray guitar and play." Counting Crows Mr. Jones

"Blue stars don't seem so bright when everything you see is in black and white." Socratic Decay

Choir Of Miles

Ashes are green now
in this delusion
and humanity
feels so foreign.
Only unlucky fools
believe those smiles
smiled, showing teeth
that - like bars -
trap the truth inside
our ivory prisons.
Every syllable that escapes
is uttered three hours late.
Our secrets slept
with the Eastern sun
so you remind me
of the moon.
You were tangible
and touchable
once
but that was back
when the sky was blue
and the sun was yellow.
Now they're just sad
and chicken.
I can't hear your voice anymore,
not even when I'm listening;
there's a choir of miles
singing hymns of a different ocean.
You used to have sapphires in your eyes,
but now they're just stones.
I guess when life is living you,
it's tough to feel anything at all.

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

Not gonna go there.












"Our secrets sleep in winter clothes." Neutral Milk Hotel In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

"The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly saying, 'Death to all those who would whimper and cry,' and dropping a bar bell he points to the sky saying, 'The sun's not yellow: it's chicken.'" Bob Dylan Tombstone Blues

"In the world we stole, there was a choir there." Sunny Day Real Estate Pillars

"Stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes, stones in your mouth, stones in your ears, stones in your mind, stones in your eyes, stones in your eyes...Living in a jar, think the lid's the sky. You're hoping for a savior on your cross outside. Stars are just a million little fireflies. The sun is just the whole world and the light outside." Brand New In A Jar

"Life is what it makes of you." The New Frontiers Passing On