A gentle wind
Lawnmower children
Suburbia moans like a dying hound
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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.
Wind Chimes
Wind Chimes float—
With effortless ease—
It’s something we—
Could never quite be—
Two souls swirling
In the restless ear of want.
Juliet
She was warm and aware
Her bright eyes full of care
By the moon she was fair
as light danced through her hair
Like a sound, Juliet
she spoke wise with regret
Where I found it quite strange
by the light steady rain
Where footprints should have been
she had gone with the wind
While I lay awoken
by the rays of her infinite light
that old hotel
Each drive cross country
I’ve laughed, I have
Cried
Sang
Danced
Purged
Prayed
Lost and
Loved.
Etcetera,
etc…
So if you decide
to drive across state lines,
could you do me a solid?
Stop in Fayetteville.
See if that old hotel
is still standing,
the one I first told her I loved her,
—bedbugs and us—
before sleep took her away
and that cheap wine
nursed me tender
til morning’s
cruel light.
But how will you know
that old hotel? Well,
it’s just like all the rest now
I’m sure, remodeled to dust.
Another ghost among the many,
love’s whisper in the wind.
It’s all understandable. (for every no one who ever was)
To be honest
and be open
put yourself in
her hands like you’re a toy.
There’s a reason
for each season
pollen eaten
her wind cradles a boy.
They know nothing of us,
and we
know nothing of them.
We all
just sort of pretend.
We’re bitter still.
In the air there’s a bitter chill.
Like a car crash
I tell you that
it’s not too bad
we both just try not to stare.
In the glove box
there’s a snuff box
full of coupons
I keep in case that you cared.
The leaves on the ground,
remind me
how powerless that I am.
It’s natural to fall down,
we all
just sort of try to fit in.
Leave me alone, no don’t
leave me alone.
Memories fill my head
like waves
crashing down on the shore.
Just as soon as they hit
cast away
back to the ocean once more.
To be bitter
or be broken
understand that
this is for no one who ever was.
The morning
I’ve missed you
said the morning
to the man
at the top of the hill.
I’m so sorry
said the man
to the rising sun.
Don’t be sorry, be present
said the wind.
We’ve missed you, that’s all
said the trees.
And we’re glad that you are here
said the sun.
Thank you
said the man
at the top of the hill.
Now go
said the morning
there’s so much more for you to see.
So the man began
his descent into the valley
this time
with only his shadow trailing behind.
getting out of bed
However you get up and out of bed
or off the sidewalk
however you dig yourself
out of the grave is commendable.
And if you choose nothing
that too is just as valid
as choosing something.
I see far too many people
driving themselves mad
with work and love
and money and power
and fitness and greed and guilt
trying to fit into some sort of
idea they’re bred to believe
will fix them when really it won’t.
They don’t need to be fixed
or loved or loathed or accepted.
They just need to listen.
Listen to the air.
Listen to the ice crack when hot water hits.
Listen to the sea spray.
But I know nothing really.
All I know is what I see and what I see
is beautiful and diseased and delicate
like a rose petal or a dandelion flower
plucked from the earth by a child
in the outfield of a baseball diamond
wanting nothing more than to drift away
with the seeds he’s blown to anywhere else.
However getting out of bed
or the sidewalk or gutter is the first step
and the rest well, the rest is just —
up to you I guess.
The wind
And all the other times
The wind —
Giving it’s all
— Just won’t quit
Blowing you down
Forever and ever
Picking you back up
And tumble weeding
You onward
A momentary peace.
Quietly
seated
at rest
with desire
though
still
desirous,
he knows
better
than to
chase
the wind.
No longer
a girl
not yet
a woman
she will
find
her way,
at rest
by the
phases
of
the moon.
Together
they
are bound
by
foolish
pride
in one another,
backstroking
in tune
to the
ever-changing
tide.
Words Of An Average White Male 