Everyone knows magic dolphins don't have dorsal fins -
it's a well documented fact.
The Bedouins who discovered super salmon have done extensive research on that.
Every mating season,
they swim up the sides of a tsunami
to rain roe upon unsuspecting salami salesmen.
It's a hard business to get into,
unless you're from Genoa.

I am a fool
A tool
A rave roaring menace

A sinner
A devil
And I beg for no penance

Relief is to me
What work is to you
And so in this life
I'll live like a fool

In truth a man tries to be what he can
But deep down he thinks,
"I'd rather be what I am."

Understand this land
Of mountains and quick sand
Where one can rise to the top
Or sink through to the bottom

In autumn I see an array of leaves
Who wish in some sense to be more like me
Changing different colors before they die
Then lying down
Onto the ground
To make all fertilized

I try
I do
To be more like you
Until my heart goes dry
And my energy's used
Left dying and withering to form a pile of ash
Every missed opportunity,
You can't get back.

Like trash we pile
In a hurricane's eye
And our biggest denial
Is that we don't lie
Or that we don't mind
Or have no time
To give to someone else what I know to be mine.

Oh, what a suit;
what fine noble thread,
below blinding pearly whites
and such a nice hair of head.

"Lose a little now to gain twice as much later.
Don't be a dope," (schmuck, fool, sucker.)
That's what he said through sharpened teeth.
I should've known better than to believe a single thing.

A wolf invited himself inside and talked me into buying his sheepskin suit, but it turns out that he was a fox disguised as a wolf in sheep's clothing, and so I bought the wolf's skin too.

"A two-for-one deal,
whaddaya say?"


I can't believe I fell for a walking cliché.

Never look down on a man with a dream,
for he is master of his own destiny.
His path in life may seem clandestine,
but he knows what he wants and he knows what he means,
and he's willing to sacrifice everything to make it happen.

When you hand them a key
then send them blindly down a hallway.
They try opening every door
and knock on the ones that won't open.
This is what you were hoping for:
The echoes of their handfalls
resonant off the whitewashed walls
while you dance to the rhythm in a room they'll never notice.

I wish I had a time machine to go back and kick my own ***.
Or at least try to talk some sense into myself.
"Listen kid, this **** doesn't bode well. You're burning alive and headed for hell."
Maybe writing is its own kind of time travel.
Billy Pilgrim knows what I'm talking about.
"Chin up child. Stop playing wild. I know you're trying to make your own style,
but you'll lose more than you'll gain."
But before I step in and turn the dial, my future self comes back to slap my hand.
"Let it be," I'll say to me.
One day you'll understand.

I told them all I just wanted a small hovel and a shovel with which to dig a hole to bury all the things I never cared to see again.

I said sometimes the things that make you who you are are best left forgotten and covered with soil,
regardless, (or rather, in spite of,) what they will one day grow into.
Nobody knew what cloudscape this particular beanstalk would lead to, but they climbed it anyway.

They reminded me about that one time when I mentioned that someday I'd grow wings and fly off into the imploding sun.

I told them all that I don't like being quoted.

Is it ever any wonder that I should wind up back here?
The bittersweet nostalgia and the taste of old tears are just a reminder of what I've lost over the years.

I could argue that it's a good thing.

The best intangible stuff best left behind.
But I'm reminded of what I forgot.

But then I remember why I forgot it.

A liquid thing.
Somewhere between melting and floe.
A shifting thing,
separating sheets that shroud the unknown.
A spiraling siphon that grows as senses heighten.
A quickening pulse that gathers and glows.

"Man, I thought I told you the show doesn't start til eleven."

No man, the show goes when I do,
to wherever I'm headin'

He glides down the street on free swinging feet.
Slides through the scenes in this ballet of dreams.
The only audience he needs is watching from heaven.

It's a burning thing.
Somewhere between an eruption and candle,
with sizzling skin left behind by things too hot to handle,
and footprints singed into the sidewalk.

It's a shifting of plates inside the brain.
A breaking up of the saner parts.
A typhoon of thoughts and a flame in the heart
that hits the body like an earthquake.

The madness that started in March
is traveling into May.
I didn't even watch a single basketball game.

I love storms,
but not strife.
And, for sure, lightning strikes.

You're crazy alright
I can see it in your eyes
And I should know
Because so am I

You're clever, for sure
I've seen that look before
A face so bored with common words
It craves for something more

I'm smitten, I'll swear
I think I'd better beware
Because I'd do almost anything that you could think to dare

So let's swap rules
And play a round of truth
I think I'm willing to admit
That you are rude
And super cruel
And I'm totally into it

With those longful stares
And sideways glances
I think I'll take my chances

Cause I'm not scared
Of frightened faces
I live for doomed romances

I don't want to turn you into my confessor,
but I'm quickly becoming obsessed with telling you my thoughts.
Too much honesty can get everything *******,
and my heart's already in knots.

Best in show,
a pomeranian;
You know it.
Bet you thought that glossy fur would fade before the time to grow it.

I'm annoyed by your showy words and non sequitur phrases.
I've had it up to here with toy dogs and indistinguishable faces.

I've a proposition to make -
not one to be taken lightly -
What if we switched places tonight then held our lovers tightly?

Would we feel like strangers in their embrace,
or would we finally understand:
What it takes to calm me down,
and what it means to be your man?

I like it under this tree.
It makes me feel free,
I can say and think funny, silly, or sad depressing things.
I can just be me.

I want to sing,
I want to scream
at the top of my lungs.

I want to run full speed to the end of the sidewalk
and keep running after the concrete is gone.
I'll throw open my arms
to embrace whatever beauty I find waiting beyond.

When the stars fall down on top of flipped cars,
there's always some guy thinking it's just some molotov.

That's the thing about gravity;
It's so easy to take for granted.

Could we slip into the deep abyss
and fill the void with some kind of bliss?

It's just another Friday night,
and this is how we get our kicks.

Could we quit this ride into the sunset's dying light,
and throw a welcoming party for the stars?

Seems an awful waste -
they're always there,
and there's still gas in the car.

We can drip from the middle of this double-lit candlestick until we reach our combined wits' end.

Would it make less sense to do so?
And if we did,
could we still be friends?

You keep throwing caution to the hungry winds,
while I stand by and fly my kite in them.

It's just another Friday night,
and we're all wondering where to begin.

There are so many things that I want to say to you that I shouldn't.
There are even more things that I should say to you that I wouldn't.
You remind me of somebody that I used to know.
One who let me break their heart then broke mine in revenge.
I'm scared that I might do it again if you ever give me the chance.
It's why I keep my distance.
It's why I hold my silence.
I've always had trouble with letting things go.
It just means so much to me -
every word you say.
I've always been afraid of letting people in.
I'll exhaust every effort in pushing you away.

If you draw a minus sign through the first angle of the first N in the word None, then you'll end up all Alone.

All the things you think you want
hang precariously from string.

Pretty, precious, fragile things.

Reach out to grab one and they all fall to pieces.

Side by side,
rows and ranks, cow hide, leather flanks.
Hard to the bone.
Tough to penetrate.

Don't go thinking any connection is a thing.
Don't go justifying would-be mistakes.
People are people,
even when reduced to a number.
(Especially when reduced to a number.)

What are the odds of this sum equaling one?
Nevermind.
There is a mission,
and work to be done.

You were so solid.
A statue in the face of a coming storm.
You saw it,
but you're not one to flinch.

You ate it whole.
A whirlwind dive down a steady eye.
Now we're lost in
the place that you call home.

Won't you spit us out?
We fell through the cracks of our many flaws.
You never doubted
what it was all about.

I'm sick of over indulgence.
I'm tired of disgrace.
Won't you give us all some leeway,
so that we may save some face.

I
Fell
For You
In Too Many Ways

I spent my days crying
while longing for escape.
You always knew the simple path was long since overgrown.
I guess I have myself to blame
for the price of being another chip on your shoulder.

Life can be so rich.
Dig enough holes,
and you'll find they're all connected.
Dig deep enough -
past all the **** -
and you just might hit a mineral vein.

The funny thing about finally finding what you've always wanted is seeing how long it takes for you to lose it.

I guess they knew it all along,
though I never let on.
Games are much more fun when no one knows they're playing.

Beat this one before,
but I'm not keeping score.
You can only make so many points with what you're saying.

So tell it to the wall, babe
cause I'm not staying.

The minutes of the hour, day, week, year, decade, lifetime . . .  
grains of sand slipping too quickly through a hand trying desperately to hold on.

For what purpose?
To fling into the eyes of our enemy?
To add to a castle that will wash away in the tides?
To feel like we've got some semblance of a grip on this intangible thing called life?

We're all just holding on to a fistful of nothing,
and we're holding on too tight.

Still awaiting the day when the poems saved as Private outshine the ones posted for the Public.

I don't like that I like it.
I'm uncomfortable with it's familiarity.
I hate that I love it.

I despise the obsession.
I loathe the acceptance.
I confess that I'm upset with the extent of its influence.
I'm not okay with how okay I am with getting lost in this confluence of forces.

Please don't coerce me into this kind of metamorphosis.
I don't want these wings.
This isn't the sky that I'd care to travel.
These aren't the clouds I'd choose to drown in.

The next thing I swallow won't be a mouthful of lies.
Certain circumstances notwithstanding;
I'll burn these feathers before I use them to fly.

I'd been holding out on living until I found out she'd died.

There're a series of silhouettes standing still in my backyard.
They are the ghost versions of my former selves.
I stare into their dark.
A number of moments go by,
then all at once -
they come alive.

This one jumps his leg.
That one is falling down.
Gyrating in a pattern that isn't quite clear.
That one lights a cigarette.
This one sips a beer.
Circling as if playing a game of phantom music chairs.
I see one buckling over.
Another lunges out.
A patchwork design of folly and crime -
I can't decide what it's about.

If only I could get a top-down view,
then maybe I could see
the purpose of this pointless motion;
this parade of all that's me.

So I'm stuck with my Strange
I've learned to embrace it.
They say, "Cool your jets;
Youre acting insane."
I say so be it.
I'll love the deranged.
I'm a cracked flower vase with some spray painted lilacs in it.
Spread me out amongst the fakes and I'll vainly attempt to pollinate them.
I had to learn how to drown before I could swim.
All life changing decisions are made on a whim.
Give me a chance and I'll make you regret it.
I'll pull out all the stops so you'll never forget it.
"There once was this kid . . ."
"I once knew this man . . . "
Where is he now?
Whatever happened to him?

I've decided against advancing toward her goals.
They hold nothing for me.
A thing like this can't be bought with gold,
though I sold it all for silver.
Melted down to form a mirror.
I think I saw someone else reflected.
A stranger's eyes seem clearer when my own are so
blind.

A man of action,
I was,
for a series of months.
I worked my *** off and fought all of my thoughts.

A constant distraction;
that's all I want.
No matter what happens,
I cannot get lost.
Caught up in longing for what never was.

Let me be a rock,
let life wash over me.
I'll stand solid in the middle of a stream.
Feeling no feelings.
Dreaming no dreams.
And worrying not about these waters that will erode me.

Cracked the only egg left in the basket.
You really shouldn't plan your whole strategy on something so fragile.
There's a question left unanswered but I'm afraid to ask it.
The yoke of old folks is their fear of change.
It's unfair to blame them for it;
it was ingrained at a young age.

I threw up into the dark and wondered why the monsters wouldn't eat it.
I folded myself into complicated origami shapes
and wondered why nobody tried to unfold me.
I surfaced through a swamp full of muck just to take a deep breath.
I spat oxygen into trees and remembered that they prefer carbon dioxide.
They don't love me.
Nobody does.
I once chewed on bark and spat out blood.
I once swallowed sap and lost my taste for syrup.

I hate it. I hate it. I hate it so much.

I fell down wrought-iron stairs once.
I wondered why my friend didn't find it funny.
I was hurt and out-of-breath, but he didn't even laugh.
He should have laughed.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him so much.

On my last night in the state,
his friend told me that they ****** each other's ***** once.
I promised not to tell.

The next time I go on a date,
I'll feed my date dates,
and I'll hate it.
I hate it.
I ******* hate dates.

If I ever fly a kite again,
I'll try my best not to think of every smug ******* who told me to do so.
I'll just let the string go,
and count all the swirls on my fingertips.
Squeeze the sand between my toes.
Kiss some innocent know-no-better
with the taste of salt-water on my lips.

I swear to God, I hate it. I don't even know what it is.
I hate it though, I hate it so much.
I hate it, anyway,
I don't even know what it is.

Highly educated, low-life prince.
I heard he graduated but no one's seen him since.

No one laughed at the funniest joke ever told.
In fact, many of them cried,
while others went batshit and lost their minds,
but most just sat and stared;
Catatonic.
Unaware.

Everything broke;
nobody cared.

While embarrassingly unprepared for it, the forces that be occasionally sweep me up in their infinite mystery,
like a reddening leaf freed from a tree by a sudden gale.

To float through the air of a seasonal gasp that ends too soon,
only to land in a stream that flows too quickly for me to catch my bearings.
The tale they tell of it will never do for the real thing.

It's such a rare and unforeseen breeze that ever brings me nearer to you.

How I wish that it would blow more often.

It's one thing to not look a gift horse in the mouth,
but it's another thing entirely
to admire the horseshoe as it knocks your teeth out.

Use context clues.

Far up
Far out
Dive in
Jump out
Win-win
No doubt

I can taste the wind in my mouth

I'm this
You're that
He what?
That's wack
I'm good
They're bad

Tell me I'm the best you've had

Who's vain?
Not I
You'll jump
I'll dive
They're dead
we're alive

And we'll do it again sometime

Play a song they know,
behind smiling faces, having a great time.
Making memories.
Having a night that will result in a story.

By the time you realize you're in a bad situation,
it's already too late. The damage is already done.

Smiling, laughing in the sun. Passing around drinks, with the logo facing out.

Party favors you make believe aren't the whole reason for your being there, for the gathering in the first place.
Partaking until you can't feel your feelings, can't hear your thoughts, can't feel your face.

By the time you find out just how ******* you are, there's already no escape.

With too much fun, comes the twisted fun-house mirror, reflecting something back that you refuse to identify with. ****, rusted and stained.

Horrified. Alone. Afraid.

Headbutt a field of daffodils.
Uppercut a pair of shears.
Fall asleep on railroad tracks.
Throw a wrench into your gears.

Kick a chainsaw in the teeth.
Do a backflip into quicksand.
Take a bath in sleet.
Eat your own hand.

Sleep in a bed of cement.
Bash your head on concrete.
Throw yourself into a volcano.
Cook your own meat.

Swim in a tsunami.
Surf a typhoon.
Drown yourself in madness,
but please just do it soon.

Watching people watch football is like watching a competitive sport of its own.
A kind of histrionical show-down of who can be the most obnoxious;
Who can really drive home the fact that they want this particular group of color-coded men to win more than the other,
with egregious displays of enthusiasm being the most popular mode.

In a parallel world, some of these folks could make decent actors.

My brother, for instance, reminds me of a young Leo:
He yells and shouts but never quite manages to sell me on it.

My uncle's more like a Michael Caine. Calmly sharing reassuring statistics and factoids throughout the game.

Meanwhile, my father's much more stoic. If he has any real interest in who's winning, he doesn't show it.

I've seen this behavior on display in other venues
(the workplace, concerts, church,)
but it definitely seems to be the most pronounced with sports.

I slid into a time portal that turned into a home.
I hid the lessons I forgot to learn underneath a rotting poem.
I leaned against a no-one and found out who I was.
I did it all to feel alive,
and/or just because.

No, not like that.
I mean, literally.
I'm about to leave,
and I could use the company.

I've spent the majority of my life developing the body while ignoring the mind.
Wait, I mean it's the other way around.
I get confused sometimes.

You give me hope when I have none left.
You fill my lungs when they're out of breath.
You show me how beautiful it is to be alive,
despite the impending weight of death.

You give peace to my troubled soul.
A value that's worth more than gold.
You trip me out,
you fill me up,
you give me more than I could ever want.

You catch my thoughts when they're out of bounds.
Everything I've lost has suddenly been found.
You make me want to sing Amazing Grace,
but I'm struck dumb every time I see your face.

And in the silent spaces between,
I give thanks.
Thank you, beautiful.
Thank you for saving me.
Thank you for existing.
Thank you for everything.

I couldn't be me without you.