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There’s something bout the Summer
that makes this all ok, yet something
bout the Winter that
would have me feeling grey—
Like the cement of a tombstone
or the flowers of decay
In Springtime there’s a forward march
No Fall back plan could save—
Perhaps it’s in the heatwave
that makes this all ok, or perhaps
it’s the chemistry
where praying mantis lay
What I release to the night
Let’s me wake in the morning
Where I’m light as a feather
And stiff as a board
Oblivious to the slow dying
That I keep in a delicate cage
With just enough space
And water
And love—to survive
It’s hard
To see
Out this pit
Of despair
When you’re down
On your knees
In the cold
Summer air
And it’s hard
To conceive
Memories
When you care
Looking for
What you lost
In a house
Built of mirrors
And it’s hard
When you know
All of this
Is a joke
Convinced
Or exposed
Either way
There’s a host
To obey
Or believe
In what you
See in me
That’s alright
It’s ok
Sip your honey
and tea
I just thought
You should know
I don’t know—
Yeah I know
You read my sadness
Word for word
Like I’m a novelty
Then put me down
Back in my place
Some oldtime tchotchke—
And I wonder how it feels,
Window shopping too?—
From the corner of my gladness
To the outskirts of your sadness
Where nothing is for certain
And no one is to blame
Except we don’t glimmer anymore
Or sparkle like we used to—
Ornamental at our best
Tokens from another life
Myself or you
Who to believe?
Our tongues
Entwined
With poetry
The trail’s bare
Just fallen leaves
Our bread it’s stale
And crumbling
Perhaps our first impression
is ultimately the last extension
of our false self—
primped and proper horrorshow—
doing any and everything
to impress upon the willing,
whether or not we recognize that self
is null and void of consequence
having fooled them all except
Ourselves.
Sometimes there’s
a drop of hope
in the morning light,
before the sun turns over
and the evening grows dark
where the uncouth gather
and the emptiness starts,
leaving me dormant
waiting for the morning light.
Call me by my medicine
not by my mistakes
It’s all I have to offer,
it’s all that I can take
Call me by your reasons
my reason not to stay
And let me be the treason
to help you walk away
I keep trying to focus
on the good things, except
it’s all the little bad things
that keep reminding me
of all the good things
I should be focused on.
I can only dip my pen
so deep into the well
before it comes up dry
and thirsty for more.
Words Of An Average White Male 