Just as the waves will bend to the will
Of the moon
I'll fall to yours

The night is most comforting
When the chills and shivers
Are outweighed by the warmth of a welcoming ignorance
While the sea of stars, seemingly endless
May momentarily provide solace to a sailor lost at sea
Eventually the horizon returns
To remind the lost soul of its vacancy

There is a “For Rent” sign
As old as the neighborhood itself
Riddled with wilted flowers
Decorated by rustic bullets
While the vacancy screams for a tenet
Who may momentarily provide redemption,
Something, at least, to fill the space that has been empty for so long
It has forgotten what warmth once was,
There is no number to call
No realtor daring to step close
For if they do, they themselves are riddled with wilted flowers
Decorated by rustic bullets

While the moon illuminates a drunken smirk
And shines upon fortunate forgotten regrets
The sun steals its place soon enough in the morning
The horizon returns the gift of once thought lost
Chills and shivers
For while the sailor dreams of finding his land after so long
There is momentary comfort in the sea of stars
For he knows nothing else

It's time to turn out the lights
And let this city sleep
A raging heartbeat is exciting
But eventually needs to breathe
And relax

It's time to turn out the lights
And send everyone home
For every working time and party time
There is a quttin' time and closin' time
We look up at clocks for a reason

It's time to turn out the lights
And enjoy the night while we can
Either sleep through it or laugh it away
But the day will be back soon enough
She'll hit the light switch yet again

It's time to turn out the lights
And go easy on ourselves
A busy life is exciting
But we eventually need to breathe
And relax

An unstoppable force
Meets an immovable object
Instead if colliding head-on
And wrecking the world around them
The force slows in its tracks
The object uproots itself
They meet in the middle
To exist in a wonderful paradox
Because who cares what physics dictates is possible
It shouldn't matter anyways

I don't believe in you
Nothing personal, only policy
One developed a long time ago, and rooted deep
Like a ****, started off small
Not watered daily
But instead fed by the constant scorching heat of doubt
The stray falls of skepticism from the clouds
And the scattered whispers from weeds among us
They come in large amounts

You hold a strong title
And have been called many names
None of which I think are worth a breath
So instead they share only one
God
Love
Family
Friends
Purpose
Optimism
Hope
They are all as redundantly ridiculous and deserving of ridicule
As the next
A clown car in which one silly, silly entertainer emerges after another
Each one's existence almost goofy enough
Worthy enough
To provoke a mixture
Of a scoff and a giggle
Almost

However, if someone were to be here, where I am now
See what I see
Know what I know
Feel what I feel
I could understand, ever so slightly
Why they might choose to believe

“When life gives you lemons
Make lemonade”
Past that, no instructions
No passed down successful recipes
There’s nothing there
About how to go
From a sour fruit
To a delicious drink
In this cookbook that makes no sense,
With a mix of different languages
And scrambled pictures,
There’s everything else
Pages stuck together
Pages missing
Scribbled correction of improvised recipes
But no instructions
From anything successful
Only pictures of what should result

Very few go to the store
Planning to buy a lemon
Usually, it’s the “perfect” couple
Not yet in the scopes of life
Not yet a target
So in love with each other
They decide to take on the challenge
Of a lemon
Before they even buy it
They’ve got a peeler
A blender
A juicer
Room in their hearts
And high hopes
A recipe they’re sure to work
Not realizing that lemon in their eyes
Will still hurt

For the rest of the shoppers
That lemon isn’t wanted
It’s thrown at them
With the speed and intensity
Of a major league pitch
Breaking the catcher’s glove
Taped with a note that says
“Handle with care”
“Good luck”
But no recipe
This ignorant “couple”
Doesn’t know the first thing
About dealing with this…
This…
Accident
Mistake
Error
Slip up
Life wrecker
Unwanted
Unplanned
Lemon
So they do their best
To take what they’ve got
And see if just maybe
They can make that **** work
Realizing that’s all there is in the recipe
Stuck between
“Lemon” and “Lemonade”
Partly ripped
Scribbled in the margins
Thrown in there with the same intensity
Is simply
“Make that **** work”
Whatever bitter drink that comes out
Is forced to do the same
Add this
Add that
Sprinkle a little bit of
“What the hell is going on”
A dash of
“I never asked for any of this”
And sometimes just a smidge of
“This might be alright”
The flavor is constantly changing
Getting worse
Getting better
Then it tastes like tears
Salty at first, then bitter
Then it’s too sour
Then it’s too sweet
With that occasional
Flavor of orange juice
And all that’s asked is
“Where did I go wrong?”

But right before
It was all ruined
Before it was a mistake
It might’ve been good
Sweet
Savoy
Tingly in the way
That makes your upper lip curl
Just enough to tease
Just enough to make you constantly wonder
Maybe it was good
Maybe
Just once
You might’ve had
Lemonade
Sweet
Savory
Lemonade-----J.M.

Let my mind roam this world
Each nook of river and valley
And shall I grow bored
When all is explored
I'll hope for a spare galaxy