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Your life is filled with
(secret)
quiet alcoholics
(secret)
closet drug addicts
(secret)
depressed poetics
fearful dramatics
queer heretics
aimless combatants
insufferable habits
(secret)
little bunny rabbit.
Oh, my life is full
and filling up —
sure ain’t cheap these days —
3.50 here
4.65 a gallon there, thus
I’m riding on empty,
with a flask
& letter
returns
to send her
tucked gently in the glove box
(where my secret (secret) stays).
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.
A sweet chorus of birds
lingers in the air, as
the morning wains on
expectantly
that old dog bark
rings heavy on my mind.
Pulling the covers overhead, thinking
the day can—and most certainly will—wait for me today.
My feet are sore
and my heart is silent.
I’ll stand when I’m ready, till then
I’ll snore along till noon.
Seven months &
Two days
since…
Nothing really makes sense,
does it? Didn’t then,
doesn’t now!
Life just goes on until it doesn’t.
Like the envy of a caterpillar
for the beauty of a butterfly.
If you’re tired,
don’t boast.
Everyone is tired
of
Everyone &
something else.
Farewell yesterday
and thank you
for today
is tomorrow
already,
that yesteryear
is merely a mirage.
I’ve always kind of been saying goodbye.
Even when I’ve said hello.
I’ve always meant,
Goodbye.
I keep coming across memories
in the background of my mind.
They say to live within the present
or else life’s a waste of time.
But presently these memories
have left me color blind.
And I can’t quite find my way out
of this never ending rhyme.
I keep coming across memories
like bicycles speeding by.
Their features blur together
with wind burnt summer skies.
How presently these memories
present themselves as I,
remember each one vividly
to whom each one I’ve lied.
How precious are these memories
kept sound within the dark.
Each one with their own melody
from which I’d never part.
Though presently these memories
which bear my open heart,
may one day get the best of me
for now are works of art.
The only time
I was ever certain, were
the times I’d lost my mind.
But even then,
I never had a clue — I did.
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.
Words Of An Average White Male 