sometimes pigs do fly

I have past the point of no return

where apologies have lost there meaning

Where no explanation is needed

because hell has frozen over, and I swear

I saw a pig fly the other night

but perhaps that was just my reflection

bopping down Magnolia Boulevard

watching taillights fade

and counting them like crows

One, then two, and four and eight

Oh I thought, what a burden it is to sleep

and what a wonder it is to wake.

I made a phone call that night too

and said some terrible things

that by way of the universe

I guess I just needed to say.

I am that guy sometimes — not all —

but sometimes pigs do fly.

So this is who I am

I won’t apologize

Good luck out there

If you stop judging it all,

it’s actually quite wonderful.

One Philadelphia Night

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

another night

At the end of the day

I am nothing but

sweat and fat

and bad breath

and poems

strewn out among sage

and corkscrew, lighter, and coffee mug

wine and love for it all

all the things that I have carried

and still carry till this day

another night

another light

twinkling in the Friday night hysteria

of weekend fun

unseen.

a beautiful life.

At the end of this life

if you can say

I did some things

I really, really enjoyed

and helped some people

along the way

all the while

laboring loves labyrinth

then that

I’d say

is a beautiful life.

At the end of the day

At the end of the day

we’re all just

butthole tissue

flesh, bone, and spirits

away from the truth

if there is any, well

we’ll surely find out

at the end of the day.

So keep it clean cause

you’ll never really know

until you do, I guess.

getting out of bed

However you get up and out of bed

or off the sidewalk

however you dig yourself

out of the grave is commendable.

And if you choose nothing

that too is just as valid

as choosing something.

I see far too many people

driving themselves mad

with work and love

and money and power

and fitness and greed and guilt

trying to fit into some sort of

idea they’re bred to believe

will fix them when really it won’t.

They don’t need to be fixed

or loved or loathed or accepted.

They just need to listen.

Listen to the air.

Listen to the ice crack when hot water hits.

Listen to the sea spray.

But I know nothing really.

All I know is what I see and what I see

is beautiful and diseased and delicate

like a rose petal or a dandelion flower

plucked from the earth by a child

in the outfield of a baseball diamond

wanting nothing more than to drift away

with the seeds he’s blown to anywhere else.

However getting out of bed

or the sidewalk or gutter is the first step

and the rest well, the rest is just —

up to you I guess.

whAt iM sAYIn iz

When you can’t flip the script

tear it to shreds

then start to letter together

a list of demands —

whAt iM sAYIn iz

— to extort the unexpected

and accept no less

than those shreds of life

tell you to deserve.

affliction or redemption

What’ll it be

said the man

on the stand

to the reflection

looking very grim

sunken eyes

of redemption

come on come on

choose our next addiction

this time though

be aware

aware of my remission

I know I know

what fun is there in that

hell why don’t we find out

it’s either or perhaps

I’ve given you the right

that now I’m taking back

the will to fight the urge

I know that’s what I lack

so taking down the mirror

with no one staring back

the man poured the reflection

with ice into his glass

he calmly took a sip

one more than another

and when the glass was empty

to him it did not bother

just one more

thought the man

understanding his reflection

it’s up to you to choose

affliction or redemption.

backward or forward

However many backward steps

you take today

tomorrow

take that many steps further along the way

because not everyday is a good one

nor is everyday bad, you see

I knew a man no different than

any other shapeless face

who kept on stepping backward

day after day after week after year

until he’d completely lost his way

you see, an inch becomes a foot

and a foot becomes a mile

it’s backward or forward that separates

the man from the grave.

till death

we mustn’t

die

broken hearted

but rather

live

loving life

till

death

do us part