As much as I want to resist
As hard as it all is
Like a caged bird released
I have to start a new life
And it’s not an escape this time
but rather a strange consequence
of choice that if it turns out
I’m running again than fuck it
like Vanilla Sky I’m gonna fly
Every once in a while
I see myself come back to myself
in a skewed sidewalk reflection
somewhere, out there, I am
Complete.
Robin Williams
under the right light
had the warmest
coldest, sincere
blue eyes.
Oh, those blue
blue eyes.
Like Arctic waters
were those sad blue eyes.
Just a man who
made voices
who made miracles
who made hearts sing
who made hearts sigh
though he couldn’t see himself
without those majestic blue eyes.
So perhaps he made a choice
with all depression laid aside
to go out as himself
before disease could take his mind
before it could wash away
those blue blue eyes.
Before we knew one another
New York City Central Park
feeding ducks in the pond
Austin making quack-quack sounds
and Tina wanting to go
I looked at you for a long while
before you looked at me
and through my camera lense
I took a picture in black and white
your gaze, tender and aware as if to say
I am here and I’m glad you are too
and I nervous in my boyish wonder
trying to play coy though who was I kidding
tip toeing every word as I so often do
upon first meeting before I muck it all up
with the nonsense I carry like tattered old books
though that day there was no room for Paradise Lost
there was no desire for Walden or Poe
stepping lightly off the curb in those Italian Leather loafers
I thought went well with your hesitant smile
perhaps you felt it too when time stopped
not literally but figuratively as real as a care free afternoon
like that which was the fall in Central Park
and I think I even paid for dinner that night which I couldn’t afford
for all four of us since I had the credit
just trying to be nice, because well
you know, I was happy and I think you were too.
I took off my clothes
my skin suit
and rattled my bones
clicked my heels
and down the hatch
I went spiraling forth
into a bleak oblivion
where not even the dark
could hide, I
stood staring into nothing like
a Mona Lisa replica
my conscience hung midair
like a wine stained sheet
pinned neatly to dry
and there were no bones about it
I had completely lost my mind
stumbling down West 4th and Pine
crossing line after line, every time
after time just me, myself, and I
delirious in my delusion
picking homeless men off the street
with tears in both our eyes
I’m no different than you my dear friend
neither are you from I, he said
you’re going to be all right, he said
as for me well, I’ve lived a storied life, he ended
with a reassuring glance as I handed him two dimes
for it was all I had
collecting my clothes
skin suit and conscience
brave the winter, he said
spring needs you
I’ve missed you
said the morning
to the man
at the top of the hill.
I’m so sorry
said the man
to the rising sun.
Don’t be sorry, be present
said the wind.
We’ve missed you, that’s all
said the trees.
And we’re glad that you are here
said the sun.
Thank you
said the man
at the top of the hill.
Now go
said the morning
there’s so much more for you to see.
So the man began
his descent into the valley
this time
with only his shadow trailing behind.
All my life
I never wanted to hurt anyone
I just got in the way
until I wasn’t
anymore.
Life was shit
and life
was all we had
stuck staring
at the Casco Bay
from a lighthouse
that dark summer
where nothing
would go right
and everything went
predictably wrong.
We held each other
in the morning fog
sharing our breath
as if on life support
barely hanging on
you and I and a plug
but we’d picked blueberries
earlier that month
and though life
was shit that summer
nothing went to waste.
My guitar as of late
has been bringing me
all types of sadness
but it’s a happy sadness
it’s a healing sadness
it’s an honest sadness
I’ve fought so long to forget
that it’s funny how
with no one listening
except the walls and this
box of cous-cous
I haven’t yet opened
but sort of sing to
as it’s eye level on the shelf
where I put my phone to record
I am able to free myself
one melody at a time
turning sadness into song
and song into myself
I sing.
Was she ever happy
or was she just pretending?
Was I?
I agree to disbelieve any such questions.
Foolish notions.
I’ve given it far too much energy
to accept such nonsense
and far too little to concede.
What a crime to disregard our time
together no matter how wild
or foot-dragging it was.
I may be a fool but I’m not a foolish fool.
A pity? No.
We were glorious in our infancy
and though covered in blood and tears
marvelous in our dying days.
So many histories
So many lives
cherished
and now
this.
Words Of An Average White Male 