It's the panick its the scramble
did you see that distraction
blurring out the light
did you catch that ratchet
how is this boat holding up
grasp at the clasp
i'm falling down
its a cinacle clinicle day of laughter
how did we make it this far
how did the grass stay green so long

you've always been taking up the mantle
how did you hold on for soo long
Look its a shooting star
its a far off light in the distance

Thank you my friends
thank you my love
i havent met you yet
but you've taken such good care of my heart
you've let it fall and you've built it back up
it w ill be ready for you

look at the fluttering leaves in  the winds crisp air
they are waving to  us
how did you enjoy my company when i was so selfishly involved
how did you spend your time when i was dancing abandoning any thought
i shut you out for so long

thank you for waiting
the truth though

is that i've been waiting too
i just knew youd be there for me when i found you

"The next speech to be given
Is one we need to hear
I'd like to call on William
Who has overcome his fear
William, please come forward
And take your place with me
And children, listen closely
As we let dear William be...."
William then ventured forth
From the back where he sat
He was dressed in a long jacket
And a worn out stove top hat
Before he started talking
More instructions were delivered
"Don't laugh, or talk or clap people...."
While at the front William shivered...
The class went deadly quiet
And William went to speak
No one could quite hear him
His voice was soft and meek
"Four Thcore and Theven yearth ago
Our fatherth brought forth
Upon thith continent
A new nathion, conthieved in liberty.."
William finished speaking
The class just sat there dumb
No one knew this William
From where had this one come
Each year in school since JK
Willaim rarely said a word
And if he ever answered
No one really heard
But today...today he was a hero
Standing proud in his black hat
He had stunned them into silence
Knocked them dead just where they sat
He practiced with the teacher
Every afternoon at home
He worked on words in secret
When he was sitting all alone
The Gettysburg Address
Never, sounded quite as great
As when recited by young William
This young man in grade eight
He had broken his long silence
As the year came to an close
By reciting Old Abe Lincoln
In his black and borrowed clothes
He'd defeated all his demons
Showed his lisp just who was king
Now he ventured into high school
And the worst that it could bring
The bell went off, class was dismissed
The silence was now burst
The children stood to exit
And they let William leave class first

What is equality?
But an eight letter word,
Shot down by pathetic attempt to make it real.
What is used?
Who can stop the ominously eerie sky from encroaching on a one beautiful legend?
Left behind to face dispair,
Constant thoughts and motions releasing explicit actions and words for the world to see.
Gaze upon the broken,
Push the weak,
Stomp on the hopeless.
Watch them break and shatter one last time.
Disintegrating dust gets lost in the wind,
Slowly moving to the back of a faded memory.
Just another face lost to the long forgotten sorrow.

I loved the way she looked smoking her cigarettes
Her eyes would squint as she inhaled the toxins
She dragged on them for as long as possible
and her mouth would curl into a smile after she exhaled her perfected smoke rings
Her lipstick would leave a ring around the base
and her fingers trembled when she flicked the ash to the ground
And the way she stubbed out the lit end with the toe of her shoe
and the way she thought nothing of it when everyone else knew it was killing her.
It was a sort of beauty that one only finds in ignorance

Take a deep breath inventory
Of yourself
Do not count your hands or feet
Not your wandering legs or
Wavering arms
Do not take inventory of your clothes
Not of your favorite shoes or
Your special hat—not even your
Coat that you save for those cold,
Cold nights
Ignore your car—payments or paid off
Your home—apartment, trailer, mansion
Your work uniform—whatever that may be

Make emergency stops only
You are still several miles from
The intersection of contentment and identity
And you have not been there
In far too long
Do not take inventory of how you look
In a summer dress or a tuxedo and bowtie
Don’t count your history with
Drugs and alcohol
Don’t count your computer, your television
Or that collection of movies
Or albums
Or books that you’ve been working on
Don’t take account of your ability to curl
Dead weight
It’s just curling dead weight
Don’t count the number of visible abs
You have
Or your BMI

You are so much more than a body
You are so much more than possessions
Your body and belongings have not
Done you well to feel like you belong

Instead take inventory of your joy
You have some joy don’t you?

Count your friends
Count your love letters
Count the moments when it rains
And you have an umbrella
Count the last time you had strawberries
Count the start of every kiss
Count the paid off credit cards
Actually, count those twice
Because freedom counts for twice as much
Account for all of your freedoms
Take inventory of playing catch with your dad
Your last home-cooked meal
Account for the last time you rode a bike
When you didn’t think about exercise, you just felt the wind
Count the times you wrapped birthday presents
Count the smell of the last bouquet of flowers you were given
Count the last time you went to the zoo
And you swore, nobody ever fell in love with the
Animals quite like you did
Cause you have an eye for beauty
And you’re seeing it everywhere
Take a deep breath inventory of the beauty you have seen

And when you can’t seem to find anything that matters
To take inventory of
Count those dark moments where you still
Have the hope to rack your brain
To try to find a memory where you had joy
If you still have hope to try to find it
That is joyful
All on its own
Because I know they can be hard to find sometimes
Those things worth taking inventory of
But I have found the greatest of these things is love
Not the way I love Pulp Fiction and Casablanca
But the way I love my wife
And my father and my mother
And a good rescue
Cause that is what I’ve had—a good rescue
And life is sweet like honey
Not because it’s easy
And certainly not because I feel good all the time
But because I have found joy in a rescued life that I can hope in
When I take a deep breath inventory
I have to realize all I have is love
The rest will go away someday
But not my hope and joy and love

i just walked away,  
my journeys astray,
dreams - the ash in the ashtray,
but i had not seen them all,
it was not time yet for them to fall,
but we just let them,
and let no more stem.
i loved watching you,
you loved reading me,
now i can feel it, so real,
how it really felt, our bodies,
clung to each other,
i still smell you,
from so far apart,
i hear our skin on each other,
i want to dream of it,
feel it all again,
but i cannot sleep,
but lucky you, you can,
you have for a long time been.

The morning started with a shower
Arms braced against the wall in a kind of supplication
Pushing hard so damn hard you want to fall
You let the water wash your  dreams and pain away

The morning started with you leaving
Saying I'm so nice as you walk out the door
I know your tired cause we didn't sleep
I remember your whispered promises that were quickly disposed of

The morning started with you lying next to me
While I played Rilo Kiley
So close I could touch you but I could tell you didn't want to be touched

"Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can’t move
Awake but cannot open my eyes
And the weight is crushing down on my lungs
I know I can’t breathe
And I hope someone will help me this time..."

I played it in a moment of honesty
My one true expression as I watched the distance grow between us
I wanted to fuck you again cause I hoped it would mean something
Thank you for teaching me that the third time is the charm and the fourth is for sleeping not fucking
It's hard to find this kind of rejection early in the morning. Thanks for staying open late to accommodate me.

The morning started with me laughing  at you when you said where's the underwear?
Writers can laugh at painful parallels and prophesy true unintentionally but not uneventfully
It doesn't help me not want to fuck you again
So we fuck again for the third time. The last time.
You kiss less when your not drunk

The morning started with some smoke and water and generic Advil
Proscribed to all the fallen like vitamins
You look good naked
Next to me
I wonder what this morning will bring?

This morning started with me inside you the second time
You made me cum inside you like you wanted something that I had to give
Maybe love maybe pain -you did like to be hurt
You didn't remember that I said I want to hurt you less cause I actually like you
I choked you cause you wanted it more than me
I feel like Kriegers robot arm sometimes
Perhaps we could just affix a cock to the arm and I could be replaced
Go on vacation to the city of lost whore sluts
I hear the buffet there is wonderful

The morning started with me inside you
On the kitchen floor
I threw you up against the wall too hard
You fell down so I took you right there
On the linoluem Under flourecent lights
You were so tight and tender and tough
You fucked me desperately like you hadn't been getting enough
Sorry for banging your head up against the fridge

The morning started with you next to me
Both of us drunk
You kissed me right
Out of the many there are few that do it
It's a weakness for me and dangerous to believe in the power of knowing through a kiss
You dry humped me like a dog on speed
It felt good
That and the kissing
I said no
I wouldn't fuck you
Like I said before
You said it had been to long
That you never did this
I said I needed to wait
That I liked you
I didn't want you to be just a fuck
Not just for you
But for me
Sometimes even seasoned whores need to feel special
I said that I'd fall too quick
You can be very persuasive

The morning started with me on the couch with your friend
We had makers and he had Jameson
He called it neat but it had Ice
I didn't say anything
You told him that you knew me for a long time and that i was gay
In retrospect it probably helped that I talked about color and carpets and paintings and poetry
I tried not laugh as we tried to pass of our little deceptive parody
Sure it was successful but what does it really say about me that he'd believe it
Oh the irony of pretending to be gay to get a girl
The things we do
He left after a long soliloquy on decorating and fashion
I think you might be like me and sometimes confuse the facts of your friends and stories with your dreams
I thought your adept practiced and surreptitious deception was endearing
I wanted to kiss you all night so I was glad he left
After he was gone I told you in the bathroom that I wanted to kiss you all night and you dropped your pants and peed in front me
You looked at me like no big deal and said what I don't care
I really starting liking you then

The morning started at the bar the night before
You sat down and smiled and flirted with me
You told me I would have to wait a year and a half to fuck you
As we drank way too much and both grew more beautiful and gracious with every ounce of liquid forgetfulness

The morning started the night before at your work when I hit on you cause you were laughing and smiling and had a little halo

The morning started like any other morning
With lies and  rejection and sweetness and passion and loneliness
If I knew I was going to be used like this
I would have used a condom
Not to just protect against the std's but to protect from intimacy
I hope I won't fail on both counts
A little worried
That's why I write this story

As long as there are teenagers extant,
Anomie and alienation of an unripened generation
Shall spill upon this site in cliched cries,
Dabbling with threats of pills and lies,
The endless pain felt gives one fright.
To this old soul who wonders silently,
Will these thousands of pained children
Make it through to their next incarnation

So much angst, so much anger,
I wonder if God created poetry
To salve their wounds.
Their unknown futures loom,
But all I read is  hurt and doom.
You shall survive, children.
Awful poetry, some good, you will write.
But write and write till your heart be calmed,
For even ancient kings felt the anguish  of the soul,
And we profit even today by King David's psalms.

This wizened fool has his hands full,
Mouths to feed, bread to earn and bake,
As midnight is almost nigh,
He rests prone and adds a verse to this old poem
He long ago scribbled down, grimace-smiles now,
Realizing there is little difference tween him and the
Sad Eyed Teenagers of the Lowland.

For poetry salves his wounds still, even now,
Unashamedly, he thinks, hallelujah!

taking over this town
they should worry
upon their final throne
my impermanent resting home
mine and their's
mine when i want
their's forever
you have the heart of a lion
for working so damn hard
you've been restless for so long
just have a cup of coffee with me
and watch the sunset
then sleep and watch the sunrise
as strings tie and tie
i'll be there to hold your hand