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It wasn’t ever fun
Even when it lasted
There was always hidden
A motive and agenda
Something I couldn’t figure from afar—
I needed microscopic certainty
That I’d have to disappear
In order to remember—
For them to forget—
That either of us had ever existed
I can see you laughing from
the corner of your smile
And it’s not the kind of laughter that
means hang around a while
And it’s not the kind of laughter that
says let me lend a hand
It’s the kind of smile that
tells you to drop dead—
I can see you laughing from
the corner of your eye
And it’s not the kind of laughter
that is taken by surprise
And it’s not the kind of laughter
that breaks before it bends
It’s the kind of sideways glare
that kills you from within
Cause I can see you laughing
and I hope it serves you well
In corners we’re all suffering
but I’m not laughing now
She seemed relatable
like a French new wave film—
Her hair was tangled by
the absence of the thrill—
My mind fell blind in the dark
each movement felt removed
In black and white it all looks like
some senseless noir doom.
Descending ladders with a
backwards forward view—
Replaced reminders taken
for some other you—
She stepped calm in the light
another foreign move
In black and white it all seems like
you just might make it through.
Now there’s a towel on the floor
white as a dove
Transcending shadows as if
orders from above
The clock just turns and spins
a spiral of what’s lost
In black and white it all feels like
we’re dying to be caught.
In black and white it all looks like
there’s nothing to turn off.
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
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
There was no hope for us then
We were already too far gone
Gone from where? Neither could tell
But going gone, regardless.
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
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.
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
Politics without comparison
would make for a far less
hostile and egomaniacal landscape,
as the press will pit red against blue—
it seems as long as ratings are on the rise—
until no man is left standing,
so that we’re all watching the Donkey drown
and ignoring the Elephant in the room.
