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They had me at goodbye
as they always seemed to die
slow like a rose
one day jubilant and alive
then like sleep goes the week
and it’s noticed that the rose
has died. But see, I kept them there
all wilted and decayed
brown and crumpled I’d debate
taking them to the trash
throwing them away, though
a rose in its youth is beautiful
so too is a rose left to dry.
So I pressed them between pages
and drew a pretty picture
poured ink from my memory
so that even in death
they’d remain
alive.
God
the places I have known
and the places I have seen
and the places I will see
God willing
God help me
and to think
I don’t care much for God
only as much as he pulls for me
but oh God oh God oh me
what wonders we have to see
if willing, and willing
I let me.
While someone’s tightening the belt
strapped firmly around the throat
and another’s sporting her crown of thorns
trailing hoots and hollers towards hell
there’s a man dressed casual
waiting for the bus, and it’s cold
and he’s dancing with himself
and he’s smiling, sadly so am I.
A large portion of
poetry is spam.
But I don’t eat that stuff,
at least not until I get to see Hawaii
then who knows?
I hear, fried with an egg, it’s good.
When in Rome, you know;
when in Rome.
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
The perfect body
will never build
the perfect mind
as there is no
perfect mind, there
is no perfect body
but only our minds
lonesome perception
of what perfection
should look like
that no body can ever
really have in mind.
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.
It’s a shame
how much more
I need all of them
the one’s I have loved
when I break they bend
made not of wood
or stone just amends
a man on his knees
who now understands
the difference between
women and men
is the woe that binds
two hearts like a thread.
We are built up of
so many different lives.
Like thieves in the night
we steal bits without telling
those we’ve robbed.
How curious it is that those bits
would be so conveniently
left out for our taking.
How awfully clever too.
Words Of An Average White Male 