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

Laying Down and Underpainting

She called our love kitsch

From the 17th floor

Williamsburg high rise

Overlooking homeless in the park

Under dressed and over exposed

Was I kidding her or just killing myself?

Fascinated by her manic beauty

As she tore apart the morning in disguise

Throwing fits of rage like I’d paper in a bin

Stripping away my senses like her past

It wasn’t as much a choice as it was survival

Leaving her lust like the vanilla

She tasted on my ghost

While laying down the underpainting

For her latest masterpiece in loss

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

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.