Topanga

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

October. Topanga Beach

yourself and happiness

The only road block

between yourself

and happiness,

is you.

Mural, Santa Monica.

When I was a kid—after bedtime—as quietly as I could, I would crawl from my bed, onto the floor, then elbow and knee my way down the hallway to lay in the doorway of my brothers room…

When I was a kid—after bedtime—as quietly as I could, I would crawl from my bed, onto the floor, then elbow and knee my way down the hallway to lay in the doorway of my brothers room to watch his television.

He’s four years older than I am and, well, I thought he was really cool.

One, for having a TV in his bedroom. And two, for probably knowing I was there but not saying anything.

Whatever he was watching didn’t really make a difference but it was comfortable there, on the carpet, with the blue light flashing.

A dark bedroom can be pretty scary to a child, especially during a thunderstorm.

Now that we’re older, we speak when it is necessary, but not all the time.

Probably less than either of us cares to admit.

He’s a busy working husband and parent while I’m pretty much all over the map.

Though when we do talk, it’s a meaningful talk of mutual reflection. He provides me with information from four years down the line and I remind him that I’m listening by offering whatever small insights are on my mind.

I thought he was great then and I still do now. No matter the distance the bond between two brothers is strong and unwavering.

Basically what I am saying is I look forward to the next time we’re able to watch a little TV, crack a couple jokes, and just hang out—without any pressure—even if it means the carpet or floor, that’ll be enough.

The Sweatpants King And His Little Brother

Love is a language

Love is a language

a well written play

worn like a curtain

pulled closed on a stage

the cheering erupts

thrown roses at bay

behind a closed curtain

life’s finest display.

Mac On Happy High

In the company of friends

I knew I wasn’t kidding anyone

I just never knew how obvious I was

Until they told me and then, well

I just felt a little dumb, but glad, really

to be in the company of friends.

Thanksgiving 2019

Light and love.

For once I’ve got nothing to say.

And that’s o.k.

Or, no…(insert breathe here)

Best not talk about it.

Best leave’er be.

Besides it’s 6:00am and

I can’t sleep so you tell me?

See, the sun’s still going to rise

and I’m still going to run

and Allen’s still going to love

everything and everyone.

And now that I believe again,

so it is, as it was, as it’s always been.

Light and love, light and love, light and love.

Artistic illusions

Make my bed

Spread the sheets

They are white

They are clean

There’s a nestle of bird

Who sing softly and sweet

There are bills

To be paid

Overdrafts

To be made

But I’m conscious today

Knowing that rot can wait

I have given enough love, I’ve wrestled with the thought

Spared quarters like rain to a cynical saint

I’ve got no time to spare

All this death in the air

Has me feeling quite good, transcendentally great

Forgive me but truth is

Artistic illusions

I’ve no cross to bear climbing trees and it’s clear

That I

start to see past

The sun and moon

The sky opens up

There’s nothing left to do

This closure’s my mantra to you.

Wash my face

Clean my teeth

Knock on wood

Once a week

There’s a pub inn Philly

Where I dug my own grave

Comb the depths

Of your hair

Try and act

Like you care

I’ve been watching your play

Mixing tonic with pain

You have given enough love, so much work to be done

Put your suitcases down, for a while and remain

Like a park bench in autumn

Or leaves that have fallen

I’ve got proof there’s a cure, you just gotta find yours

Forgive me but truth is

Artistic illusions

It’s a tale to be told, when you’re young and your bold

And now I’ve

Got to go back

To the way I was before

And now you’ve

Got to go back

To the way you were before

This closure’s my mantra to you.

beauty pinned in a box

Pour-pour-pour

until my memory flows

black with the silence

where nobody goes.

Just give me more-more-more

and no I don’t wanna talk

I don’t wanna turn back

like these hands on the clock.

There’s always something else

another book on the shelf

it’s either fact or fiction

neither one’s any help.

Cause really I’d rather not

and I can’t bear the thought

all these wheels turning

but mine never shut off.

They say to walk the walk

if you’re gonna talk

always hateful and violent

beauty pinned in a box.

They were such delicate wings

see that sweet little thing

that you nurse like a virus

that could never be me.

So I just pour-pour-pour

and I quit asking what for

everything for a reason

not all reason makes sense.

If I’m half truth and fake

how much more would it take

to convince you I’m bad news

I’m your biggest mistake.

So give me more-more-more

things eventually bore

and all this method acting’s

become more like a chore.

See there’s this figure eight

I’m ruled and can’t escape

like the number thirteen

I see all over the place.

I’ve learned it’s better to walk

for miles— comfort —in thought

leaving alone the people

happier when you’re not,

around like a clown

bringing everyone down

I’m not bitter I’m better

glad to sit this one out.

So just go-go-go

go-go-go-go-go

go-go-go-go-go-go-go

go-go-go-go-go.

taking the cuffs off

What’s the point in saying anything

with so much more to say

than what you’re actually saying

you just kind of don’t think you do anymore

or perhaps you haven’t found the right words

because I could go on all day about it

so don’t lie to me kiddo

I could punch all the mirrors in the world

but it wouldn’t make a difference either way

that’s just a cop out and I’m taking the cuffs off.

it happens all the time

tell someone

you love

a simple truth

and watch

while they

twist

and disfigure

your trust

until it is

so unrecognizable

you can’t help

but help them

pick apart

every last piece

of flesh and goodwill

until there is

nothing left

but the laughter

of strangers