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Rudimentary Silence

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Only in the slightest

Contradictions find us

Taking a piss in the back of a waiting

Rudimentary silence

Little acts of violence

Testing the waters like leaving the bathtub

Full of standing water

Babies left to wander

Dipping our beaks in a pool not so shallow

Now—

Actions without reason

God I’ve got this feeling

Down like the old folks whose tennis balls are wearing out

Obligations find us

Contradictions bind us

Tight like a truckers hitch secured to nothin but

Ourselves if we’re willing

To hold someone who’s willing

To kick the creator for all the stupid shit we’ve been through

Now—

Everybody wants their own way

Standing on clouds there’s no reason to shout out loud

When everybody gets their own way

I can guarantee somebody won’t be pleased (laugh out loud)

friends from strangers

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Now I make my friends from strangers

who hardly ever consider my passing,

who instead make plans to bullshit

and practice talking casually in the park.

Hollywood Boulevard

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Nobody seems to notice the homeless

Except the little girl

Piggy backing her fathers shoulder

Slouching, down Hollywood Boulevard

French New Wave Lifestyles

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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.

Where Praying Mantis Lay

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There’s something bout the Summer

that makes this all ok, yet something

bout the Winter that

would have me feeling grey—

Like the cement of a tombstone

or the flowers of decay

In Springtime there’s a forward march

No Fall back plan could save—

Perhaps it’s in the heatwave

that makes this all ok, or perhaps

it’s the chemistry

where praying mantis lay

A Delicate Cage

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What I release to the night

Let’s me wake in the morning

Where I’m light as a feather

And stiff as a board

Oblivious to the slow dying

That I keep in a delicate cage

With just enough space

And water

And love—to survive

Tchotchke

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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

Tongues

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Myself or you

Who to believe?

Our tongues

Entwined

With poetry

The trail’s bare

Just fallen leaves

Our bread it’s stale

And crumbling

Proper Horrorshow

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Perhaps our first impression

is ultimately the last extension

of our false self—

primped and proper horrorshow—

doing any and everything

to impress upon the willing,

whether or not we recognize that self

is null and void of consequence

having fooled them all except

Ourselves.

Morning Light

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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.