She called our love kitsch
From the 17th floor
Williamsburg high rise
Overlooking homeless in the park
Under dressed and over exposed
Was I kidding her or just killing myself?
Fascinated by her manic beauty
As she tore apart the morning in disguise
Throwing fits of rage like I’d paper in a bin
Stripping away my senses like her past
It wasn’t as much a choice as it was survival
Leaving her lust like the vanilla
She tasted on my ghost
While laying down the underpainting
For her latest masterpiece in loss
I don’t really know
Exactly what I am
Perhaps a shadow of my former self
Turned inside out
Back to his former self
Like a Ferris Wheel spins
I can be any focused face in the crowd
Though I don’t know the difference anymore
And we’re too old for carnival games
We were so full of dread
Neglect and forlorn
That it made us invincible
And Oddballs to others
I’m a writer at my worst
Never at my best
In the belly of the beast
I’m boiled like the rest.
So now all we get is tomorrow.
While yesterday’s dreams unravel.
Ticking like a clock are we
ever able to grasp the moment?
Present in ourselves,
though hardly in another.
Tomorrow’s but a shadow
hurrying to catch up.
I’ve got this Rolodex emotion
Whose contacts intertwine
Like a bramble of commotion
When I’ve dropped another line
Life ain’t always about
doing the things you want to do,
more likely than not it’s
doing the things you have to do.
And maybe some cool shit along the way.
Not all of us get the happy ending
Not all of us get the sad one either
Most of us get the open ended
Rattle-Tat-Tat Who-Dis-Mad one?
And frankly, with enough kicks in pocket
I’m pretty alright with that one.
All these words, I wonder
Are they merely inaction?
Inaction with consequence?
My own due process, which
I know I deserve