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Everything
and everyone
you ever loved
will one day
find themselves
at a crossroad—
where you’ll be
standing
pocketing fists
hunched like a Lily,
or else dancing
ripped like paper
on a wall full of flowers
looking lovely—
except they won’t know you
anymore, not anymore
than you know your own self—
cheeks, rosy as embers
the lush on the floor,
I’ll know his name well
you bet I’ll be singing—
So best get to knowing,
before you regret
a lifetime pretending
you’ve remembered only
to forget.
Whatever it is
will be there tomorrow
Wherever it’s gone
will come round again
Don’t worry so much
it’s natural, sorrow
will feed your soul
with life again.
There’s no denying that’s a pretty face
There’s no excuse still for being late
The corner store’s got a sale on
Greeting cards that sell have price love
There’s truth in breathing at an even pace
There’s beauty bending to bear the weight
Now either way you feel overwhelmed
Exchanging coffee for whiskey now
I’ve got a big bad wolf of a habit
Full of hot air and over dramatics
Got a house built solely of glass when
I huff and puff well nothing happens
I gave her cashmere for Christmas once
She gave me friendship when I had none
There’s proof in putting a sweater on
The back of someone you’re giving up
I’ve got a big bad wolf of a habit
Full of disdain for love when I have it
Got a house built solely of glass and
No stones left to throw just ashes ashes
The well’s not dry
The handle’s just stuck
Below the bucket’s full
Is that water, or just rust?
Dangling by a thread
The bucket I can’t see
I try but cannot grasp
The God! Damn! rope
I’d rather cringe
in ecstasy, than
quiver in disgust.
We revel
in redundancy
it’s all we have to trust—
ourselves against the odds
initials on a wall, each letter
carved with dignity—
till dignity is lost.
We’re clueless
with the clues,
useless feeling used.
Each hopeless
a romantic, each helpless
as romance is.
And we can smell our own,
like cattle led to slaughter,
knowing that we’re next.
Our herded hearts must witness
each blow before our last.
What a bore it is
To see yourself
Reflected in the eye
Of another’s
Lonesome smile
Where you can see
The charade
Designed like a maze
Where nobody gets out
And everyone’s stuck—
Feeling most unwell
With it I feel
Something
Without it
I feel Something
It is I as I is it
And can be many things
A pebble in the shoe
A headache after dark
A dismal brackish thing
That I wonder if it feels
Something without me?
It’s probably for the best
To leave it alone.
Her love
Like a phantom
Continues to be
A Footnote
On this broken
Chandelier
Of a story
For the underground
For every bad breath morning
For every kitty litter night
The only thing I’d change
was the fabric softener,
which still lingers
like her kiss
in my daydream eyes
Where the message is pure
as fresh cut grass
The smell of sage and
Himalayan Shilajit
For the extra couple hours sleep
I’ll take the 50 dollar ticket thanks.
And pay it with a smile, smugly
the day after it’s due—
Words Of An Average White Male 