a single string of hope

Every single line, you know

Is a single string of hope

Tied tightly like a bow

Let go like a balloon

For every single addict—to see

From his lonely corner sidewalk

To the comfort of her goose down

From the Tetons to the sea

The Price You Pay For Being Born

A couple days of patience

and a miners rest, she’s

Sleeping like a baby

in her Sunday’s best, I

didn’t wake her up

I was too forlorn, but

That’s what you get for being born—

I was taking out the trash

like the other weak, with

The temper of a mime

I began to speak, when

She woke she’d a fever

and a thousand words, I

Guess I’d spoken them all before—

Must be something in the water

cause I’m overboard, with

The seaweed and the starfish

dried out on the shore, it’s

Nothing I would suggest

drowning in a well, it’s

Just a way to be by yourself—

She dreamt of her family

from the outer space, and

Gave me a healing

full of peace and grace, but

I took it for granted

like most lovers do, it’s

Loud as hell in this quiet room—

Words form a meaning

if you spin them right, it’s

Like turning hay to gold

if it’ll save your life, so

Leave the baby in the basket

wrapped by your front door, it’s

The price you pay for being born—

Acting like you don’t know is an art in itself

It’s hard

To see

Out this pit

Of despair

When you’re down

On your knees

In the cold

Summer air

And it’s hard

To conceive

Memories

When you care

Looking for

What you lost

In a house

Built of mirrors

And it’s hard

When you know

All of this

Is a joke

Convinced

Or exposed

Either way

There’s a host

To obey

Or believe

In what you

See in me

That’s alright

It’s ok

Sip your honey

and tea

I just thought

You should know

I don’t know—

Yeah I know

Tchotchke

You read my sadness

Word for word

Like I’m a novelty

Then put me down

Back in my place

Some oldtime tchotchke—

And I wonder how it feels,

Window shopping too?—

From the corner of my gladness

To the outskirts of your sadness

Where nothing is for certain

And no one is to blame

Except we don’t glimmer anymore

Or sparkle like we used to—

Ornamental at our best

Tokens from another life

Morning Light

Sometimes there’s

a drop of hope

in the morning light,

before the sun turns over

and the evening grows dark

where the uncouth gather

and the emptiness starts,

leaving me dormant

waiting for the morning light.

Tongues

I’ve tasted many tongues,

but saved the slammed doors

and holes in sheet rock for

the one’s I’d somehow outgrown,

knowing them sincere like

an afternoon alone or

tastebuds in the morning sun—

after enough drinks to make me social,

after enough drinks to make me honest,

after enough drinks to make me pure—

unwilling to apologize for the bad taste

tongue tied like a little kid hoping

to be lost in the shuffle and left alone,

where features seize to be and

voices make no sound where

nobody feels and nobody hurts.

The Boys Who Left Town

There was no hope for us then

We were already too far gone

Gone from where? Neither could tell

But going gone, regardless.

Aprils Fool

I wish I could have been

The air of reason

Forever calm

Before the storm

Instead of becoming

Those howling winds

Those howling winds

You knew before

But having been

Picked over plenty

Like a jukebox full

Of another’s score

And though I never

Sought to reign

Like Aprils Fool

I seem to pour

In Our Time.

Remember— oh brothers and sisters

that we are the philosophers of our time.

Us haggard poets of principle and measure,

no matter the plight must rise.

Through tears of understanding

with honest eyes do I

accept thy pleasure’s burden—

to see within our time.

His Revelation, Her Over-Time

With a white satin napkin

He wiped away his pride

That’s it my Lord, my Savior

What more have I to hide?

The pills induced his coma

His blood ran thin with wine

His revelation managed

By the nurse’s over-time