I won’t be getting better
Though I’ll play it like I do
You know I’m not that clever
Or else then I’d be you—
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This Wilde Charade
The romantic in me
Wants to kick the charade
And love you less like Shakespeare—
But it’s this Portrait
Of Dorian Gray that’s damned me Wilde
I don’t dare
carnival games
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
Oddballs
We were so full of dread
Neglect and forlorn
That it made us invincible
And Oddballs to others
belly of the beast
I’m a writer at my worst
Never at my best
In the belly of the beast
I’m boiled like the rest.
Tomorrow’s Shadow
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.
cool shit
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.
Yours, in waiting.
I will always be here
Alone, in waiting.
Who-Dis-Mad one?
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.
Then only dust remains
I like listening to the sound
Of beautiful melodies
Ones I haven’t the heart to play
Ones I haven’t the strength to ignore
Mostly those that come in waves
After morning, noon, and night
You can hear them like catching
The glimpse of a shooting star
Barefoot atop San Jacinto
Bend Oregon or Williamsburg highrise
Naked in the ecstasy of flight
Knowing even as your approaching
You’ve already begun to disappear
Words Of An Average White Male 