Oh, how the light
Always manages
To see through
The dark.
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Pigeon-Holed in Maybe
My insignificance is remarkable.
Perhaps another day maybe,
and this all won’t seem so absurd.
Comparison Theory
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.
Flirting with Death
It’s much easier to lie
in the afternoon light,
steady’s the humming
bird that takes flight.
Oh whispering wind
forgive me tonight,
how flirting with death
has been a delight.
The Road Between
Sometimes all there is to do is drive
and drive, and drive, and drive until
you forget to where you’re going,
you forget from where you came,
and you remember there’s no difference
except the road which lies between.
And when you don’t got the wheels
or means or place to stay
you walk, and walk, and walk until
it all makes sense enough to go away.
And you remember not to worry so much
as in all walks of eternity
you’re a part of this one, and the heartache
pain and blame is all just slapstick.
It’s a grand ole comedy of magic and men
who’d drown before they’d ever dive in.
So the next time I, see-you-me,
I hope we’re swimming in the Milky Way!
Travelers through time and time forgot,
our elephant minds remember.
Our Current Social Dilemma
We went from public displays of affection
Straight to public displays of everything
Now leaving nothing to the imagination
Embracing it all, then apologizing for it after.
It’s like some convoluted social stream of consciousness
That forms a figure eight of disingenuous pandering
One which tastes to a choir of social unrest
Like change, its value null, when in reality it’s all just
As sad and dull as high school sex.
the Goodwill.
The allure of hanging
Like an old-timey suit
Is just that.
Poetry for the waste-bin,
Ready for the Goodwill.
Temporary Fate
I accept this temporary fate
In faith with the sun
In faith with the moon
In faith with the stars
Sinking through the ether
To rise like Roman candles
In the gasp of morrows yonder wake
the bliss of ego-manic thought
There’s something happening when
There’s nothing left to lose—
The apple of the eye
Is begging for the truth—
I admit, it’s possible but
The language that we use—
To disengage, it’s all the same
Our fears of being used.
There’s something distinct in the
Absence of yourself—
Like when you manifest
Your love in someone else—
He’ll seem incapable but
The patterns that you choose—
To disengage, it’s all the same
Our fears of being used.
Now there’s a sinner and saint on the corner of the block
One’s got a rifle in hand believing that he’s God
They’re both wrapped warm in the bliss of ego-manic thought
To disengage, it’s all the same
Believing that it’s not.
Your Biggest Fan
I’ve got the words
Just not the plot
The characters though
I’ve never forgot
Tied like a thread
Sincerely knot,
Your Biggest Fan—
To have and have not.
Words Of An Average White Male 