Funny eh!
How when you put yourself to sleep
like a baby, you sleep like a baby…
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Funny eh!
How when you put yourself to sleep
like a baby, you sleep like a baby…
Isn’t it ironic.
The one place we go together,
we always go alone.
There’s a sewer pipe
in the dark, by the L.A. river
like a grave in the ground
where people sleep
by the highway, by the neighborhood
where pumpkins soon
will be replaced by
feasts of Turkey, stuffing, corn
and carefully locked doors,
then to be replaced by balsams and fern
white lights and tender eyes
of Christmas morning,
regardless of the hole by the L.A. river
where people sleep
live, and love—and pray, regardless
of the election, regardless
of the president
I still weep.
Do you?
Halogen yellow bursts
of light, turn signals
burn bright, through
white lines of Topanga
Morning sunrise, her and I
up all night, we rise
like silhouetted tree
under the belly of LA sky,
gaze upon a sea of fog
clouds, shower faint
hallucinations of
spontaneous future
Travel
The slammed door said I’m hurting.
The silence said I’m scared.
The walls between us listened
when no one seemed to care.
The portraits on the wall,
oh how they seemed stare,
where deep within night
the stars poured ever clear.
The door knob turned eventually
as silence did it’s head,
the sea between us parted and
the portraits went to bed.
While all the world was sleeping
with all their monsters fed,
the boy and girl slept soundly
no sooner had they met.
This decade tasted
bittersweet, as now I welcome
this peaceful sleep.
After a good, long day of self reliance, sleep, and in depth personal analysis, I am left with this thought.
What you do from here on out is your own cross to bear.
Though like a broken record I’ve continued to circle in place.
But why?
Einstein said, “insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
Well, though I agree I’m no Einstein, I’m not insane, I’m just a bit of a slow learner.
See, the hardest pattern to break isn’t necessarily the pattern but the mission so to speak.
We’re all on our own personal mission, aren’t we?
And whether or not we choose to accept it, it exists.
It’s taken many years through trial and error, deliberation, and self reliance to understand.
Carole King said, “you’ve got to get up every morning with a smile on your face and show the world all the love in your heart…”
Carole also had two children by the time of her divorce and continued to create with love and compassion.
So what’s my personal mission? And what’s yours?
Will we rise tomorrow with faith and gratitude in our hearts or repeat the same patterns that no longer serve us?
Olmec said, “the choices are yours and yours alone.”
But of course we all need a few humorous anecdotes to help us get through.
And I will, as will you.
Tomorrow, reach a little further than you did today. Try something new and show the world the love in your heart. The choices are yours.
And I’ve built my cross, one which I’m willing to bear.
It’s a heavy son of a gun, but I assure you I’ll be walking, hand over foot—that which does not kill us, makes us stronger— like Nietzsche once said.
Taylor calls for me from those stairs in Italy
I’m walking by a pay phone on the beach
Reminders from the East and a girl named Cicily
Talk me into circles out of reach
Send letters won’t you son to remind us what you’ve done
Don’t be a stranger call us once a week?
I buried what was left of my heartache in a trench
On that lonesome stretch of sand I was released
Now Bret he reads the lines in the background of my mind
There’s no one in this room to hear me sing
When journaling in thought feels like a raven’s claw
It’s Taylor who sits calmly next to me
The grass rests underneath her cheekbone by the sea
While chemicals channel flowing dreams
It’s 8am in August while I pour the gin and tonic
Listening to the ocean’s cresting wave
The cobblestone in Rome for which once walked me home
Now Cicily I hear her gently speak
There’s no such thing as time, if you believe that then that’s fine
But darling I’ve got no tears left to weep
I did my best to please the priest listening to me
Still Lucas rest assured me of my grief
I didn’t have to sail to France to find a girl to dance
I just went out every night for one last drink
So now as Taylor calls to me from those stairs in Italy
I pick her up once more from memory
I play my part as she sings me to sleep
I pick her up once more from memory
I play my part as she sings me to sleep
She breathes in deep
and exhales his dreams.
In the early evening calm
he falls back asleep.
And just as she wakes
in the mid-morning sun,
he brings to her coffee
just after his run.