On our way into
Santa Anita one day,
an old man had tipped
over in his wheelchair.
There was a pool of blood
beneath his smooth head.
I was with my Dad.
He was around the same
age as the poor injured man.
I was 12.

Seeing that man, and watching
the blank stares of the apathetic
crowd gathering around the
man, and the blood, and the
fallen wheelchair, I knew that
nobody would win, and the
horses that ran were the luckiest
of us all.

i woke up in the blues,
sat on the only chair in the dark room.

put on my torn shirt, worn shoes,

I wished upon a tumbling star

and down the steps, out the
front door
I went.

the puddles electric shimmer neon.

a robin dances fragile and free.
(I tip my hat, ah, what the hell.
I wish the robbin well.)

old man Bennett sitting on a park bench
in the rain
feeding pigeons.

how are you? I ask.

he sighs, ah, things don't get any better
don't get any worse.

he gives me a smile. (ah,
what the hell, quiet mercy,
I gift him a smile.)

I woke up with blues,
wished upon a falling star.

fell into a full moon.

(feel the pull!)

it rolls me over
the ocean of misty streets,
tall alley walls,
the dark corners hiding my heart.
(so give a smile to tomorrow.
???will there be cold beer in hell.)

I ve lost my way,
creature of silent sorrow .
(so throw me a smile.)

I fell upon a fallen star,
how far from the grave?

a crow caws at my window.
the night is so long.

wishing on a tumbling star,
no matter how you look at it
you lose.

I woke up in the blues,
sat in the only chair in a dark room.

And I'm cold in my bed
Tired
Pillow covered in tears because that's where they're used to falling
And I just want to be loved

And I know I am by my friends
And my family
But I want to be stuck in someone's head
And I want them to rub my arm and make me a little bit less cold
And maybe have my tears land on their shoulder instead

I want to be the poem and not the poet for once

this absurdity of words blowing up the windows
so that some forget their names
life crumbles in rooms without walls
we are trapped between the skin and the moon
the world prepares us for dying in the most explicit way
through its calculated violence
trapped in the hive of fear
she is also an enlightened despot
one might get trapped without noticing
when we want to be free to be kite tamers
escape routes vanish in the dictatorship of cruelty
blood is currency in the exchange of illusions
one day can last as long as a life time
the horizon brings no relief from sunset

I don’t care about dying
I don’t even feel this life is mine
I just want a restart
To get it right this time

I wish I were born again
Back in 1982
So, I could erase my mistakes
And do the things I didn’t do

I wonder what it would be like
Living from my guitar
Singing songs from my heart
Travelling under the stars

Now I’m bolted to an office chair
Enclosed by partition walls
Losing my graying hair
Tormented by phone calls

I wish I were born again
Back in 1982
So, I could erase my mistakes
And do the things I didn’t do

I should’ve never let go
Those deep emerald eyes
That sunny smile that shone
So beautifully under blue skies

Now, I’m hiding in the kitchen
Pursued by my two ex-wives
Running around like a chicken
While dodging flying knives

I wish I were born again
Back in 1982
So, I could erase my mistakes
And do the things I didn’t do